I am screaming.
Can’t you hear me?
I’m screaming into the nothing – the void – the shallow pools of silence with the air that escapes between my lips that are barely touching – but they are closed. I checked. My tongue can divide them and peek out, wetting my chapped lips against the biting December air, but not for long.
My lips clamp shut again.
But I’m still screaming.
My brain is misfiring and I am drowning in words that I know are harmful. I am a bystander, watching the words flicker in front of me, and I know they are false. My heart pumps blood throughout my body, and I know my heart is still working and it’s not broken because I can feel my chest tighten and my pulse quicken, and my skin gets red when these words shuffle in front of my eyes. Even if I close my eyes, images dance behind the dark lids – the perfect movie projector. I set my own stage and provide my own scenes for the drowning to commence.
I am so frustrated. My emotions are confused and can’t find a soft place to land because I know what logic tells me. I don’t want to be here. I’ve been here. I recognize the trees and the dirt roads and the colors painted in my memory. I’ve discovered these secrets. I’ve planted these flowers. I don’t want to be here.
I know. It’s normal to regress. I just need to feel and express. But I also know it’s rare for me to get through these valleys unharmed. But I know who I am, and I know what happens when I feel these big emotions. I am cosmic. A hurricane. My energy explodes and I am destroyed. Vesuvius erupts.
I’ve been doing so well being able to handle myself. But isolation is making things really hard right now. And I am not sure how to handle so many conflicting and confusing emotions. I am angry. I am so sad. I am lonely and lost and afraid. And I don’t want to be spiritual about this. I want to be human. I want to be held. I want to be hugged and told I don’t have to be this light-worker. I want to cry and feel like I am not “making a scene”. I don’t want platitudes. I don’t want to live up to a certain expectation.
My wild woman is tired.
I’m tired. I’ll probably delete this later.
But right now, I want to open up my mouth and roar.
