I was watching someone’s story just now, in awe of their ex — I could feel the love behind the words, but also the pain. When you love somebody so deeply, so honestly, that love is undying. It moves through phases of hurt1 and sadness just as much as it does joy and pleasure — and it’s all a part of it. Nothing is full or whole unless it touches both ends of the spectrum, and everything in between. The heart wrenches as much as it flows, it curls up tightly, so small, protecting itself, trying not to exist, and then.. it expands.
I wrote this out of hurt and of hope in a couple minutes cos I felt so much like crying, but felt a stronger urge to write instead. I’ve felt so much the past couple months, achieved many goals, but relapsed in one area, and became sober in another. It’s been heavy, yet fulfilling. Awakening, but hard.
This is freewriting, about nothing specific, just a feeling, no editing. I know it’s been a while, so thank you for waiting.
To know what it feels like to cry from the inside, pulling from a well deep within, your stomach twists, fights, clings desperately to try to keep it in, to shield your feelings from the world, and the world from your feelings. Anxiety arises swiftly, spiraling in thought imagining an emotion’s escape. It’s embarrassing, humiliating, you’re a clown, crying, and everyone about you is laughing.
No one shows their true feelings. We bury them like the dead, but they don’t rest in peace. There’s a war there’s a war there’s a war. It hurts to feel it inside of you. Memories of people places things battling inside of you. They stick the serrated edge in and twist it. They pound the inside of your shell, battering till it bruises. You morph yourself trying to hold it all in while it fights to come out. The walls become thin, with welts all around, but they do not break. They distort, become a new shape, disturbing, demented. You don’t recognize yourself anymore. We fight so hard to escape ourselves, it’s strange, wanting to be anything but real and honest and raw.
My feelings ram outwardly from the inside, as clenched fists pummel from the outside. I can’t breathe, but I feel something else, something other than what my heart screams. I’m squealing. It hurts. But I’m numb. The indifference we all strive for, it’s here. I’ve arrived. And I hate it. We want to feel something, anything, so bad — anything but our own feelings. And there, at the bottom of my cheekbone, I feel it. There’s a leak. A droplet of pain escapes, it dribbles toward the corner of my mouth, I’m lying on my side. I let it run past my lips, it slips under my tongue. It breaks my heart cos in that one drop, I taste every feeling I ever had that I pushed deep down, into the hole, never to escape. I taste what it feels like to live and be alive. I taste the wound, and I taste its suture. It’s split, but it’s healing.
Do you lock it all up inside of yourself? Why? When will you set it free?
abusive relationships excluded