As a child, I got used to silence. The kind found in sleepy hospital rooms, hidden between the dull, intermittent beeping of an electric monitor and the steady drip of an IV bag. With each interruption, nurses entering to draw blood or family members coming to offer false moral support, my body craved the void. I fell in love with the innate stillness of it—the calm it provides, the secrets you can wedge into its depths. Learned to seek it out in times of chaos, a force to ground myself in. Eventually, it became a necessity. The most difficult addiction to curb. An obsession. A… condition.
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