I just feel so broken.
The world spins around me. Whirling, swirling until I think I'm going to throw up. A carnival ride that never ends. Yet time stands still. Seconds tick by with unbearable tedium. Moments hang swollen in the air, stretching, unending. Minutes take hours. Hours take days. I'm torn by the contrast.
I want to scream just to change something. Make the ride stop. Make time resume a normal pace. A primal scream to empty all I feel into the sky. A scream would break the silence. But it would not break this spell inside me. I could scream until I lose my breath. Scream until my voice is gone. Nothing would change.
I understand why young girls cut themselves. The sharp pain of a knife would be something new. A different pain. Atleast something would feel different. Would these feelings leak from my body mingled with my blood?
I'm too old to think it would help.
I'd like to start smoking again. The strike of a match. The first caustic drag. The soothing ritual of inhaling and exhaling. Visual confirmation that I am still alive, still breathing. Could I poison just the bad parts? Smoke them out of my body.
But again, I know it wouldn't help.
I'd like to say night time is the worst, but it's better than the day. Atleast at night the children sleep and I don't have to try to pretend things are fine. Because they aren't. Night is more oppressive. More isolating. But atleast I can be honest with myself. This is painful, and if I allow myself to feel the pain, maybe I can turn it into something less soul-crushing. I just don't know how. I know what won't work. I just wish I knew what would.
Maybe it's the heat. Summer nights are the worst. If you're happy the night holds all the hopes and promises of the future. The world is yours to conquer. But the hardships of life rob you of that optimism. Now summer nights are sticky. Unfulfilled possibilities get caught in the air with the humidity. The summer air is oppressive. Heavy with all the unspoken angst. Hard to breath. You could almost suffocate under the weight of the air, and the dying dreams. Hard to sleep when you can't breath.
Don't mind me, I'm just feeling melancholy.
Must be that season.
This too shall pass.
Soon I hope.