There are so many moments that I spend focusing on how to breathe. Even though it’s involuntary, I can’t help but to tell myself to just breathe. I can’t help but tell myself that without this reassurance, surely my flow of oxygen would stop. Surely, it would cease to exist at all if I did not constantly remind myself of its existence or if I would have not birthed this illusion of self control. Maybe it would be easier to breathe if I didn’t concentrate so much on it. If I allowed myself to entertain the idea that the one thing keeping me alive is something I cannot control. That in a sense, I am helpless in my own body. For no matter how long I hold my breathe, my body will eventually revive itself. Because ultimately in the end, even if I decided to jump off of a building, my body is the one that makes that ultimate decision to stop working. We are all trapped inside our own bodies. Therefore, it is completely mad and completely redundant to tell myself, to remind myself, to breathe because my body will just do it for me. And as much sense as that seems to make and as normal and natural that might appear to everyone, I can’t let go of constantly coaching myself through my own breathing. Because if I accept this to be true, then what is it that I have control over then, if not my own body? And how can one be at peace breathing without subconsciously knowing that with each breathe they take is in submission to their own helplessness? Something so natural and normal becomes so unnatural, so abnormal just by the way it can be ran through the mind. In simplistic terms, breathing is involuntary and that’s necessarily a good thing; however, why is it that involuntary motions our bodies make are not looked at as things that render us more helpless than we already are? This is where man’s helplessness truly originates from. Because never have you been so helpless from the time you were born and you took your first breathe.