The words inside my head scream at me with veracity to be let outside, please, for the love of god, let us out. You know you want to. But it’s hard to place them together in a way that makes sense, and it’s hard to let out words that are just words until you make them truths. A lot of us don’t like to say things out loud for fear the repercussions may be far worse than the anxiety of holding them in. But there’s only so much space inside our heads, only so much room for thoughts to grow until it feels like you may burst at any moment like a water balloon with a few too many ounces inside.
A friendly face on the screen in the form of a licensed counselor offers words of encouragement and a safe space to vent… but if I can’t trust the words with myself how can I trust this stranger taking notes and diagnosing my reasons why? I already know I have “daddy issues” stemming from a biological father who left while my mother was still pregnant with me. I already know I have unresolved abandonment issues from a life with a mother who — I feel deep down — never got over her own. I know I struggle with physical touch from a momentary lapse in judgement that led to a brutal and psychologically damaging event. I know I will forever feel damaged and broken from a life I grew and lost in such a short time. I know my reasons why. That doesn’t help the current rollercoaster design from going off the rails occasionally and causing collateral damage.
The strength I found in the bottle that allowed me to live through my loss is the same strength that is barring me from fully living my life. Its claws have sunk in with the force of a thousand earthquakes, and my heart is the fault line they shake. It stings behind my eyes and pours down my face in rivers while my brain yells at me to sleep… because with sleep, there’s the chance I won’t feel. There’s a chance I will dream and end up in a beautiful place that will fill my heart with happiness for the short-lived duration. There’s also the chance for nightmares, for the dark cloud I crawled away from to find its way back and cloud my vision so that I am running the whole night. I dream I am desperately trying to get away from something, but I can’t stand up straight, it’s like my legs weigh a thousand pounds. My bones hurt in my dreams, like I am crushing them with each step. Those nights, my brain is working on over-drive, and I wake exhausted and with tears in my eyes.
The words in my head beg me to write them down, to let them live, to prove they are there for a reason. The words in my head repeat themselves and explain themselves like a desperate plea for survival. I can’t type them fast enough. They appear and sometimes disappear just as quickly, and I’m left pulling at imaginary strings like trying to remember a dream; the harder I try the faster they jump back into the whirlpool of thoughts, causing me to frantically try to make sense of it all.
Moments of clarity come with a force to be reckoned with. My heart swells when my brain says “Now I know why…”
I’ve always known why. I just force myself to lie, to myself. I ask myself, why dwell on things in the past you cannot change? Why let the things in the past decide your future? And I can see clearly. I can breathe deeply, like breathing fresh air after being stuck in a basement for too long. The words tell me, see? It wasn’t so bad. We’ll leave you alone now. For a while.
