Sinking

This is my mind. It's a little chaotic at the moment. (P.s. I curse a little.)

Do you ever have this dire need to completely and utterly spill yourself all over blank pages until they're full of words or colours, or anything that expresses how you feel, or the thoughts that are buzzing around your skull?

It's like this gut-wrenching need to just lose everything that is inside of you so you can remember those feelings in the future, or maybe just so you can get some of them out and away because you can't handle so many things all at once and it's almost suffocating you and causing this build up of pressure to form behind your eyes and you just want it out, out, out.

Then you take those pages out and try to put something on them, anything to help describe what's going on in that completely fucked head of yours but everything you put down seems inadequate or simply wrong and you have no idea how to express yourself any more. It's like the English language has completely evacuated itself from your brain and now you feel like maybe it's time to turn to something else like French or Spanish because surely your brain hasn't forgotten how to form simple, descriptive sentences, no, no of course not, it's just switched itself to another language that's all, that has to be it, of course.

So when language fails you and you're sitting there frustrated and tearing your hair out or scraping your nails up your arms to just feel and to get some sort of reaction from your brain to see if it's working, you begin to panic. You register the pain, hear the scraping and the tearing, your eyes fill with tears and you can taste the blood in your mouth from biting too hard on your tongue to stop the screaming, just to stop all that screaming. You realise your brain is not the problem and it's just that you've become this god damned idiot who can't even form a sentence that's good enough to help ease that build up of pressure in your head and you just want it all to stop, stop, stop.

It's rocking back and forth, it's tasting the blood and hearing the screaming that knocks you back to reality and you realise that it's just too f*****g hard to spill yourself onto blank sheets of paper because where do you start? What can you possibly choose as the starting point of all of this messed up bullshit that's been building and building and building over years and years in your chaotic little head? There's too much to choose from and not enough time and it's just easier to sit there and to scream and scrape and tear, to just feel instead of writing or talking because you are incapable of expressing these things correctly or adequately.

The pressure continues to built and build and you just want to let it spill from your mouth and onto someone else's shoulders because the weight on yours is getting too heavy and you are sinking, sinking, sinking, and soon there will be nothing left.

Reviews

[just is]

I know these feelings,
This is really good, emotional and very well written.
Your imagery is wonderful.