Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.
I feel my heart beating a million miles per second. My chest is collapsing and the very thing that keeps me alive is expanding. I close my eyes and swallow, tears threatening to spill. On the outside I look fine. But it feels as if someone tied my organs in knots.
I'm not even scared of anything in particular, and I don't feel the typical "something is going to kill me" fear. But I'm afraid.
I'm afraid of the feelings, I'm afraid of myself. Tear one, slowly struts down the side of my face, onto my pillow. One tear stain. While it doesn't physically stain, the emotion does. The fear will forever be on my pillowcase.
Fear.
I feel like that's all my life truly is anymore. Fear to fit in. Fear to be unique. Fear of being myself. Fear of not. Fear of living. Fear of dying.
Constant headaches, can't walk without stumbling or feeling as if my legs wanted to stop working. My throat feels like it's closing. My chest feels like a tiger is standing on it, while digging it's claws into my spine from the front of my body. It feels like someone took a hammer in hand and swung it mercilessly at my gut.
All of me feels the pain, constantly. Sometimes it's a dull pain, sometimes it's not.
Where the tear left my right eye and slid down my face, it feels tight. It feels like the tear was acid, and it's not slowly burning the skin it left in its wake.
My hands are so incredibly cold. My hands. My arms, my legs and feet, everything is cold. Except my face is burning. And my chest is on fire. Drawing heat from whatever source it can.
I'm drowning in blankets yet it feels like snow.
I sit up in an instant, my chest tight, breathing heavily. I feel my head fall, ever so slightly. And I'm down again. There's a lump in my throat I can't swallow. Every breath is labored.
Thoughts start swirling in my head. But it's so much more violent than just a swirl. It's as if innocent thoughts turn into monsters.
Like when shrapnel is taken up in a tornado, harmless on entry, but once it's swirling at eighty miles per hour, it can decapitate you on the way out. That's what my thoughts are. Shrapnel.
So cold.
For some reason, scratching myself feels good. But not scratching the way you scratch an itch. It's digging your nails into yourself and dragging them across your flesh, leaving red hot marks. It's the most pleasant of pain.
It's coping.
It's a temporary solution to a never ending problem.
My chest feels like it's not big enough to hold everything inside. It feels like everything is fighting for it's way out, pushing and shoving to get to the front, for a breath of fresh air.
Of course that's not what's happening, it just feels like it. Overtime I've become better and describing these feelings. I want to tell people. I want people to know why I can't always be sunshine and rainbows. I don't want attention, I want understanding.
But I also don't want anyone to know. I don't want anyone to see this part of me. Because it consumes me. I turn into a monster. No on switch. No off switch. No volume control. No changing the channel.
I'm rambling, sure, and nobody's listening. Who knows what will come of this, I don't.
I need to vent, but don't know who to. So if anyone ever reads this, if I ever read this again, that's what I'm doing.
I'm writing this because the shrapnel in my brain needs to be let out. Before I decapitate anyone, that is.
But so what if it does, a lot of people suck in this world. I just don't want it to hit the wrong person.
I guess I don't really know what I'm doing anymore. Or why I'm doing anything.
My head is pounding.
My skull somehow has forgotten how to be a skull.
My chest is increasing in pain. Why!?
All I want is to vent to someone without anything bad happening. Without feeling bad about venting...
I guess I'm done.. For now...
