It’s amazing how my emotions hijack my body. During times of pain, and loss, and longing, my heart feels as if it’s expanded into my entire chest cavity and throat, trying to burst out. It’s uncomfortable, like something huge is stuck, something that needs to be ripped out through my mouth. The ache is so painful I can feel it, and I have to fight the urge to thump myself hard in the chest just to shift it somewhere else.
It makes it’s presence known. I can’t focus on people around me, I just sit and marvel at the fact I’m still able to breathe with this thing within me. It feels like a thick, slimy, sack – but inside are a thousand of me screaming and crying and holding myself. Thousands of me struggling to catch my breath through the tears, thousands of me vomiting because my staggered breathing has disturbed my stomach. Thousands of me clawing at my chest to stop the pain. A thousand pairs of red raw eyes pleading for anything to end the grief.
It’s like hearing thousands of me sobbing through a muffled wall. No-one else can hear it, or feel it writhing inside of me.
I sit quietly, ‘mmming’ and ‘ahhing’ to my friend on the sofa. Inside I’m dying.
The funny thing is now I’m home alone, I don’t cry. I can’t shed a single tear. The all-consuming pain is wrapped around my heart. Tethered-in tightly with knots I tied myself.
I wonder if a cry would do me good? Or, if I started crying; would I ever stop? Either way, it won’t happen.
I’ll sit with my knots, fingers barely touching the rough string. I can’t unpick these myself, I only seem to tighten them a little more.