It settles in, sometimes at night, and turns my slumber into restless and confusing dreams. I dream of profound sadness and sorrow, but when I wake, all that’s left is the heaviness on my heart – none of the actual dream remains.
My heart tha-thumps louder and harder, I sink into moodiness and wonder where my life is going, what I’m doing, why I feel this way.
I have to start accepting myself, I said last night, and then woke this morning on the verge of tears. A hard run did nothing to loosen the hold, just left me feeling crappy and down on myself.
I feel unloved, under-valued, invisible. Poof. Would anyone notice if I disappeared, other than the pile of laundry and dishes that would amass? (They would, of course they would.) (Wouldn’t they?)
I want to wallow – sit in the tub and cry until it’s gone. I want to get rid of it, once and for all. But it seems no matter how far I come, no matter how much I manage to love myself and see value in what I do, it comes back. Eventually, it creeps in, settling where it is decidedly uninvited.
Go, I whisper, Before anyone knows you’re here. I hate carrying this secret.
It looks at me, from its seat at the kitchen table. It’s not going anywhere, not today, anyway.
And so we dance, me trying to stand in front of this sadness and everyone else, blocking it from view. Smiling hard enough to distract, until the smile snaps and I’m here, horribly, painfully exposed, as a sad, lost little girl sitting alone at her kitchen table crying.