There’s something there.
Right under the surface. I can feel it.
It hasn’t showed itself yet, at least, not fully. But I feel it, I feel it.
Its uneasy rumbling leaves me shaken.
Unable to pretend that my fears mean nothing.
So I go small, I shut myself behind walls and doors that I pretend are thick enough to keep it out.
But they’ve never been very good at keeping things out.
Everyone tells me I need thicker walls, “you shouldn’t feel this much” they say “its not healthy”.
I tell them I do have walls, but they only shake their heads and say “yes but you’ve put doors in them”,
and they’re right.
I’ve put doors in my walls.
And not only doors. But ladders
Ladders to lead people over my walls and doors to let them inside.
Because who am if I’m not bubbling just underneath the surface?
Loose fitting clothes.
An uneasy stomach.
Shaking hands and a chill that makes it’s way all up your spine.
Food left scattered on a plate. “I’m not hungry” you say, and it’s not a lie.
You barely feel anything anymore.
A void opens inside you and you let the emotions spill into it.
You thought you’d find relief there. In that black expanse of nothing.
But the numbness is not relief.