You feel too much, I've heard it all my life. What if I told you I knew already? It's not just emotions that draw me away although those are the ones that people will see. Those are the times I am too much for them.
But what about the times when I'm too much for me? Times I can feel incisions ache. It's like a little dull scalpel is tugging at skin. Right behind my belly button but not in it. Or a phantom ache in bones, joints, and skin - a glance and a wince only to disappear again.
Or the times when I feel that gnawing feeling in your gut I've heard people say. Can they tell when one area alternates to another? Can they feel the cold water going down the throat, only to keep feeling the chill sliding down the esophagus to cement the bottom of your gut? Is that the same feeling?
What about when there's a constriction around my throat that is blindingly numbing? There are no hands fastened around as a human guillotine. Yet I am a mannequin - frozen in fear, breathing a steady drum, short and low. Any more and people will know you're awake. My lungs scream for air and even now I gasp. Muscles tense at the thought of speech. How fascinating a nervous system is to respond in such a pattern.
So trust me, I know. I come off as too much at times.
While my body may be screaming, sensing and sending too much, my emotions... Well, my emotions don't show nearly enough.
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Processing
PoetryA collection of poetry across ages, moments, and confusion. Tw - read at own desire
