When I am screaming to myself, "Just let me live," one might think I am talking to some external power exerting restriction over me: smothering parents, toxic friends, an omnipresent God. And while it's true that I cry to the universe at night over things that they control, they are just binding my wrists; I am always the one pressing the knife to my throat. The way my stomach twists itself when I'm in the presence of others like it's a damp towel to be wrung, the way my mouth deftly sews itself shut so that my thoughts may never roam, the way my legs will never hold a fighting stance because all they've been taught to do is run, that is all me. The sun and moon, forever looking over my actions, have long since realised it, so maybe it's time that I do too.