War

Inside my chest feels like a war.
My heart doesn’t pound against my ribs like it used to.
With excitement or joy, warmth or love.
I feel like I have a weight pushing down on me.
And even though my body becomes more and more uncomfortable to live in each week, it’s not the weight I keep stacking on that’s giving me this feeling of pressure.
I have a mix in my life, a balance of work and education. Something I’ve always hoped would bring me responsibility and stability in my life.
I have a social life with a few different small groups of friends. We smile. We laugh. We sing. We dance.
I’ve enjoyed the groups that I’ve been with. At times my heart is lifted, and the pressure seems to dissapear, just like it does when I’m unconsciously asleep.
But now, I can’t keep my brave façade visible, because the hurt that’s going on inside is pushing through. Hopefully trying to escape my body, to rid me of this horrible feeling.
I feel awful. I feel foul. My mood has become increasingly sombre yet ferocious.
I wonder at times, when I’m in my bath, when I’m driving my car, when I’m walking along a balcony of a 10 story building.
Should I drop in that hair dryer? Should I drive into that tree, oncoming traffic, off of that cliff? Should I just jump off?
These thoughts snap me into reality, and frighten me away from such things. But then the pain and pressure I feel comes back, as I realise I have to deal with these feelings before I act soo radically.
I’m afraid of how I feel and how it affects others. Or if those others can even notice it, let alone ask me what is wrong.
I’m becoming increasingly cynical and depressed, and I’m afraid of being swallowed whole.