I am at the depths of human emotion right now. To the point that writing is a chore. I force the words, hoping that they will take with them the pain in my core. It's a physical pain that consumes me. There are times that I become overwhelmed with life. I’m sure we all do, but this is about me. I write that, hoping to be funny, but what I see when I write the words is a desperate cry for something to be about me. For someone to come and ease the pain, or at least to acknowledge that it’s there and that they feel hurt to see it in my eyes.
It’s been a couple days since I wrote that first paragraph. I considered scrapping it and starting over, but it’s a good reminder of where I’ve been. Anger has come to relieve me of the rawness of the pain. Amazing how anger can be such a powerful friend. I’m sure the pain will return, but from experience I know that it will be less powerful when it does. That provides some comfort.
Specifics I am unable or unwilling to share at the moment. I’m not sure if it’s a fear of allowing others to see my core or a fear of having to face it myself. I choose to shroud myself in vagueness and hide from the realities until anger has stripped the pain of it’s devastating power.
Life, however, does go on without my permission and will eventually sweep me along with it.