Breathe in. Breathe out. Two very simple motions that have such a huge impact. Without the ability to do both, we would not be able to survive.

Look happy. Why are you smiling? Every brow furrowed, every straight line, always taken as anger. As sadness. As confusion. “Nothing can be that funny,” they say as you look down at your phone, replying to a message. “I didn't think you had any friends.”

Be quiet. Speak up. So enthused in conversation, you don't realise how much you're projecting. “You're trying to gain attention,” they complain. Avoiding all the negative comments, you whisper to your peers. “Wow, has she lost her voice?” They laugh, still finding fault.

You're not good enough. Show off. Getting yelled at for being worthless. Not using your time productively. For being the family failure. Always being blamed for not trying hard enough. “Boasting again, as usual,” is said as you bring home a solid A. One minute you're worthless and the next you're trying to seek attention. Being accused of cheating. Of trying to fit in. You couldn't have done that work, you're not that good.

Suck in, push out. The rest of the world is telling you to be someone you're not. “You're too fat,” they said, lowering your self esteem. “You look anorexic,” they now say, after you starved yourself for months, trying to find the confidence within yourself. You can never do anything right.

You're running late. You have plenty of time. Rushing to get out the door on time, with siblings continuously slowing you down. "It's my turn in the bathroom,” they speak, pushing you out the door. "Why are you running late again?" They spit while standing in the doorway. "Chill, you have like half an hour until you have to leave,” your mum says as you try to make an attempt at changing your habits. You can never win.

Speed up. Slow down. The car behind you beeps, taunting you. The restless drivers all lined up your backside encourage you to move faster. They think you're being too responsible. “I'm sorry to inform you,” the sentence begins to your parents. As the police officers stand on the front porch, they explain the accident. How the windows became smashed in. The drivers side door, pushed up against the opposite side of the car. How the truck came out from nowhere. How their daughter is now deceased.

She's finally gone. I'm sorry for your loss. Bullies walk around, looking for another victim. They secretly bicker between themselves, not worried she's gone. "I can't imagine life without her, we were so close," they lie at the funeral, false tears rolling down their cheeks. "I wish she were still here."

Breathe in. Breathe out. Two very simple motions that have such a huge impact. Without the ability to do both, we would not be able to survive.