Have you ever wondered what happens to your body when you hold your breath? I believe most of us have tried to figure out how long we can go without oxygen. We submerge ourselves in a pool and hold on to see and as much as it feels unnatural we try it anyways. Physically I can hold off a little over a minute before panic sets in. That panic feeling is the build up of carbon dioxide in your lungs triggering your nervous system to force a breath out. Your body recognizes that you can’t hold off any longer and once you’ve reached that critical line your body tries to protect you and force the carbon dioxide out and reintroduce you to oxygen.
But what happens when your heart has reached that critical line and it’s not time to come up for air? This unbearable distance feels like my diaphragm is fighting against me. Everyday feels like I’m a gasp away from the surface and maybe if I hope enough I’ll get to reach the top, see the sun in his eyes and feel like I’m back to life again. That is what it feels like on the worse days. When being away from him feels like an impossible task. Breathing is quite involuntary but at the same time my heart is clenched and my air supply is on low. My heart is in a constant race and I feel beside myself most of the time.
The distance is torment, but there are moments where I catch my breathe again. The sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, the memory of stolen glances feels like small gasps of air during these weeks in between the next embrace. There are moments, critical moments when I want to implode, I know I’ll see him again but it’s as if my body doesn’t recognize that as true. I’m physically impatient and unlike holding my breath under water, this isn’t some just because, I don’t want to know how long I can go without him.
Je t’aimerai pour toujours mes yeux brillants