Voices reduced to a single pin point. All you can hear is your breathing. Why the hell is my breath so ragged. Palms clamming up like you’re at prom. Your gaze feels laggy, your brain refuses to see the openness your foolish mind thought would be a welcoming freedom. Just jump already, a voice echos…

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The stories we tell ourselves shape the people who we become. “I’m tired” will emancipate itself into an over indulgence in coffee. You’ll yawn, lope around the place, and sit back and watch cat videos for the first part of your day. Little stories you tell yourself help keep you solidly placed in the one…

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