Tension

May 24, 2012 § Leave a comment

Tension

In my life, I’ve experienced sadness so all-consuming, so deep, that I believed myself to be Sadness. We were One. And every morning was a fresh bruise.

I have also experienced hope. Standing by the ocean, the tide low and the sun sinking towards the earth. I knew it would rise again tomorrow. I knew I would rise again tomorrow, no matter how many times I fell.

There has been joy. The silly moments. A wild dance party, lights dim, an uproar of music and laughter. Someone grabs my hands in the dark and we twirl, and all I can see is a blur of happy.

There has been anger. Lying on the leather couch, cold and unwelcoming, and staring out at a summer day. Resting my body as it wrestled with well-known pain. Pain to which doctors shrug their shoulders. My mind a blur of Why? My temples throbbing, my pulse quickening, the tears a cry of It’s Not Fair.

When I feel, it is these blurs. In my panic, reality dissolves, replaced by that larger-than-life Terror, that overwhelming Fear. In happiness, my world slips away and all I see is Right Here, Right Now, the Wonderful. In anger, all that exists is the colors blinding my eyes and the roaring in my ears.

Feeling is a blur. Living is a blur.

But I find the worst ache is the not living, the not feeling. The confusion. The “stuck.” The tension.

Outside the blur.

Some days I walk through life and I can feel this tension in my soul. Feel it physically, as if I got mixed up in a game of tug-o-war gone wrong. I walk down the street and my throat feels constricted and my heart beats boom. boom. boom. Steady. I watch my arms swing by my sides and my feet move step after step. And I can hardly stand it. Being in reality, but being neither here nor there. Or even there. Anywhere. Feeling…nothing.

Feeling…

Tension.

Some people describe it as “lost.” Not knowing where to go. Dreams clouded by fog, belief in self in critical condition. Staring at s sign that points down two roads.

For me, it is Tension. It is getting up and brushing my teeth and eating my breakfast and a few hours later crawling into bed. It’s a million days repeated. It is, to be quite frank, Who Am I and What The $%^ Am I Doing? It’s wishing you could break into laughter or burst into tears and instead sitting in a rocking chair. Back, forth. Back, forth. One place.

And it’s true.

Nothing could be worse.

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