Untitled

16-11-98
I feel that I am so full of words. They go round and round in my head, and I'm hoping that getting them out will make them crystallise and help me to get my mind back.
I cannot cry.
I went from a hysterical, screaming mess to this.
On the way back from visiting my friend I could feel it, this blackness inside me, like it was crushing my chest, and it got worse and worse the closer I got to home. By the time I reached the showground this dread and despair had got so great I wanted to turn round and go back, go away, go anywhere. It dawned on me that I'd have no-where to go. Then the phone conversation, by now, old news. He said he wanted to be my friend, that he missed me and that he still cared about me. Then he hung up on me because I couldn't stop crying, in a way that only a 'friend' can.
As I got to my flat, this 'thing' had got inside me and was sitting in my chest, weighing heavier and heavier. Something he said made it explode, pushing pain and despair to every cell of my body. And that is where it sits. For a while I wouldn't let it out, I didn't want to cry in front of a 3 year old child, and I didn't want to cry in front of someone I hardly knew, and I knew if I started crying I would never ever stop. So the feeling sits there, in my chest and stomach and arms and legs, it has somehow worked its way into every atom that makes up me, it leaps between neurones, it is pumped round and round by my heart, it sits in the lymph that bathes my tissues, weighing heavy on every proton, every neutron, every electron that make my physical form. Waiting. And that is what I am afraid of. I know it has the power to consume me, but it is waiting, biding its time until I feel just a little better, squinting and glaring at me through red eyes , then it will take pleasure in knocking me down again. It will wrap its bony fingers round my heart and squeeze every last drop of blood from me, and fill my veins with pure, unadulterated pain. It has hidden my mind, my feelings, my 'soul', and is keeping them, ready to shove them all back at once, knowing its job will be done. As soon as I am whole I will be consumed with self-hate and it can step back and watch me sink.
I need to get it out. I need someone to hold me. I need to fall asleep in someone's arms, my face streaked with tears.