You lean in to talk to someone. They take half a step back.
You cup your hand over your mouth and breathe. Nothing. But you know.
So you rinse. In the morning. After coffee. After lunch in the office bathroom, hoping no one walks in. Before bed.
The burn means it's working, right?
By noon it's back.
I lived like that for eight years. "Extra strength" bottles. Gum in every pocket. I stopped leaning in to kiss my husband good morning.
Then at my annual checkup, the nurse took my blood pressure twice.
"That's high for you. Up about 20 points from last year. Anything change?"
Nothing had changed. Or so I thought.
That night I found a thread of 38,142 people describing my exact life. Not similar words. The exact same ones.