all those rage, and i'm still here?

thirty - four

"Let loose, can you?"

Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed I just want to scream my lungs out into the world—with no restriction, no inhibitions, no fear and no hesitation. Sometimes I feel like I'd drown in the world's chaos and unyielding bluster. Sometimes I feel my eyes twitching and my breathe deepening each time, my head in the clouds and suddenly the world's in pause, and I look around, observing the recurring noise that seems unstoppable every single time. Everything came into a halt as it felt like they were moving in fast forward while I stood in place, statuesque. There's something that feels foreign yet at the same time there's a sense of familiarity to this feeling.

Everyone's moving. Everyone's talking and complaining and muttering something to themselves. They're still going at it—while my gaze traveled back and forth and my head following their voices. My head spins and my stomach churning at the sight as I felt a lump in my throat. I feel like absolutely losing my mind, over everything. It's maddening, it's exhausting, it's breathtakingly depressing and I just want to scream endlessly I could choke in my own voice.

The madness flows from my blood to my veins that the only thing I desire is to let loose. To let go of the control, to let go of the desire of being prim and proper, a goody two shoes, conservative version of mine. To stain this picture perfect painting of myself with the own blood from my hands. The overpowering emotions has been, once again, swiftly brought back into the surface, each triggered by exposure to every single human in front of me.

"Dinner's ready."

The immense fatigue was felt by my very system that I wanted to stay in bed the whole day. In the end, I stood up, breathed deeply once more as I closed my eyes. I found myself on the dining table, my lack of expression unfaltering as I felt like everything had come into a halt and yet again, it was only me. There were so much chaos, as if fast forwarded, while I remained still, trying to follow through their mouths. Once again, everything's inaudible and I could only hear the deafening silence in the back of my mind, clearing me out from the havoc.

I found myself in different places. Everything, everywhere, all at once—like that one movie, but now it's my life. I found myself in the same expression, devoid of any emotion filled with silence as the backgrounds changed from the dining table now to a classroom with my chattering classmates. The next thing I knew, I was in the gymnasium with my fellow students, or I'm out there in the mall, in the city, in the streets—with the crowds.

They talk too swiftly and move too swiftly and my eyes bore into them as I felt the extreme fatigue sinking deeply into my body. That overpowering feeling had once again made its way into my miserable, slow as if I was a turtle, pathetic self. I parted my lips as I breathed for more air, my lips drying and I feel as if I can already peel the dead skin off and bleed.

I bled.

I bled when I lost my mind.

It's triggering something, and once again I found myself stopping for a while and in a span of seconds, I am enraged. It felt as if a caged wild animal had been freed. My rage, it is. The clacking of the lock signifying it has been opened was therapeutic to the beast, readying herself to finally taste her freedom. Leaving the cages with steel bars was as equally overwhelming as her earlier feeling.

Stepping into her newly found self expression, I knew that she wanted to take control. To let go of inhibitions, restrictions, anxiety, and hesitations—that desire had always been there. It has been driven to deepest pit, far away from the surface in the darkest alleyways of oneself. It shall never be let out, they say. Perhaps when it truly does escape, one mutters that it becomes the true self.

That in every fake smiles, encouraging words, and selfless behavior one has escaped the reality that wrath exists—and has done an incredible job at suppressing its primal desires. It shall hunt until it is satisfied and had truly unleashed rampage into the world.

If only there was no control.

If only there was no need to act as ethically as possible.

For now the madness has not subsided, but has been felt tremendously throughout the bones of the owner. The overwhelming emotions begging to be let unrestrained had made its way into a pen, forcibly making its owner scribble the agony away in a piece of paper that would nearly tear it apart, thankfully the writer had that one thing that kept everything in order—control.

Once again, I found myself as that owner, writing my way through my deepest emotions enclosed in four walls of which I know feels home to me the most. The real danger often comes from the outside, from the masses. In this space, I am welcome to feel my extremity and not be ashamed of anything. In this space, I am secure and safe from the drama and opinions that will surely tear my soul apart, as I might only tear a paper instead.

I am, once again, in my room writing my emotions away instead of projecting it out on the world.

Perhaps the control has not slipped away.