Dear Asthma,

You and I have been together for a long time now. And in that time, we’ve shared quite a bit about ourselves with each other. That is why I’m writing to you. What I’ve come to realize, Asthma, is that I hate you.

All of these years, you’ve tried your best to keep me down; when I’d be running up and down the basketball court, stopping and popping my flawless jumpshot, you’d be there on the sidelines with your jealousy. You’d grab me and say: Nice shot, but let’s take a little breather. So then someone else would sub in for me and I’d sit on the bench, holding my head back and puffing on that stupid inhaler.

And what, exactly, do you have against kittens? Why must my eyes water and lungs tighten if I want to rub noses and make little baby-voices with an adorable feline? That really sucks, man.

Asthma, I think it’s time we parted ways. I need to be alone right now. Being with you has been suffocating and I’ve never had a chance to really discover myself, discover who I am. For all I know, my calling could be as a long-distance runner or a dog-washer. If I stay with you, I will never find out, because you and your controlling ways would never let me. If you want to dominate someone’s life, that’s fine. But it’s not going to be mine anymore. I need to live, Asthma. I need to live.

Not yours,
Steven Seighman