It’s the heaviness, the queasy, leaden gathering of yet-to-be-wept tears and panic rising. It’s the feeling of being trapped. Physically trapped and wanting to move on, see different views (or the insides of different rooms), of being unable to settle. Emotionally trapped in a brain that works against you every hour of every day – even going as far as to suggest, once in a while, that there may be some respite only to whip it away with a smirk and a humourless giggle. A brain that finds an array of methods in which to remind you that you are pointless, that it is all pointless. Mentally trapped, unable to focus, incapable of making a reasoned decision so life is a series of avoidances and ill-thought out selections.
The nausea rises at the base of the rib cage and settles like a rock, sending panic waves outwards at irregular intervals. Suddenly I need to get away. But physical escape is the only option. Where is the mental break out, the emotional getaway?
I’m not sure when the tears are going to overflow. They are building and threatening but I’m holding them back for now. Everything aches – joints and fingers, neck and shoulders, stomach and even face – my eyes are sore; there’s a tightness in the sinuses that has nothing to do with a cold.
I wait for it to be released again. There is no other way.