ADDICTED TO OXYGEN

My name is Mark, and I have a disease. I’ve never talked about it before, let alone spoken in public to strangers. I’m grateful for this opportunity to come forward, and for your unconditional support.

It started a long time ago, as far back as I can recall. My insatiable craving to breathe. I was a shy, insecure kid. I had discipline problems in school. I didn’t fit in with the normal crowd. My parents divorced when I was five. My mother married an alcoholic who beat me and once, in the bathroom of a state park.... Do I have to go into all of this?

Anyway, I’m sure most of you have similar stories. Of course I knew oxygen was dangerous. That is easily catches fire. That it prematurely ages you. But I was young and thought I would live forever. I’d seen old people in rest homes shriveled like prunes due to their lifelong addiction. But like all addicts, I thought I could handle it.

Peer pressure of course played a big role. In high school all the popular kids were doing it. And there was this one girl I liked who was a heavy breather. So I got hooked. At first I just gasped. But then I started panting. One night the electricity went out and when I lit a candle my hair caught fire. I could have died.

My grades suffered. I dropped out of school. I fought with my mom and cut off everyone who didn’t share my habit. But nothing matter in my life but oxygen. My whole day revolved around breathing. I had become useless to the world.

But man, it was such a rush! I’d never felt anything like it before! All that fresh air just overpowers you with a sense of euphoria. You think you can do anything. Of course you don’t consider the consequences. I’ve even read oxygen changes your brain, short circuits the parts responsible for decision making.

Oxygen made me do things I’m ashamed to admit. Things I would never do if it weren’t for my addiction. When my mom took me to visit my grandmother in intensive care I waited until no one was looking and put her respirator mask over my nose. My mom was touched that I was going to visit her every day, but it was only for the oxygen.

Soon I began stealing to support my habit. I forged prescriptions to get bottles from medical supply companies. One day my mom discovered my stash in the back of my closet and kicked me out.

I started living on the streets. I know I probably look fifty years old. I’m only twenty-three. That’s what oxygen does to you. But people like us, we just keep falling until we hit bottom. For me the moment of truth came when I got some ozone by mistake. I woke up in the hospital.

Now that I know I’m genetically disposed to my addiction I understand I’m not a weak or a bad person. It was the oxygen talking. Your support today has given me the courage to conquer this dreadful chemical. I’m proud to say I have now been oxygen free for, let’s see, three minutes and fifteen sec