Cirrus@Austlit

'My final in-patient rehabilitation clinic was situated just a block away from the beach. Occasionally, my partner would take me to the waterside cafe early in the morning, when the light was still soft and grey and my scheduled day of therapy had yet to begin. I would try and match my jagged, imperfect breathing to the soft cadence of the tide. I imagined my heartbeat falling in sync with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the ocean. The salted breath flooded my veins like a painkiller. I was hypnotised by the inexorable motion, the reliable inhalation and exhalation of a giant pair of lungs. I imagined the scars on my head were thin, glittering lines of salt that marked the places the tide had touched. Later, two more lines of salt would precipitate on my chest, below my reconfigured pectorals.' (Introduction)