Pain

It surfaces—whether you want it to or not.
You can’t hold it in forever.

Today, I have to face my pain.
My cup is overflowing—brimming with insecurities, whispers, and assumptions that might not even be true.
But it still hurts. Physically.
I can feel it in my chest. In my heart.

No one really understands what it’s like to be different—unless they are different.
Some people are great at taking life at face value. They don’t dig deeper, don’t stop to consider the emotions in a situation. Maybe they can’t. Maybe they weren’t built for nuance.
It’s black or white, right or wrong. Don’t you dare show emotion. Don’t you dare feel, or you’ll be labeled as “too sensitive,” “too much,” “too weak.”

I feel sorry for those people.
Because even though they seem untouched by pain, they’re missing so much.
“I’m over here.”
“Can you see me?”
“Can you look into this lonely, broken soul and actually see my pain?”
“Can you see the teardrops flowing like a river, with nowhere to go?”

I’m hurting.
I’m crying out—but no one hears me.
I’m waving, I’m shouting—but it’s like I’m invisible.
Blind eyes everywhere.

I can’t do this anymore.
It hurts too much.

So—what’s in Alice’s rabbit hole today that might help numb this?
Antidepressants? A little something “extra”?
Alcohol? Food? Anything to stop the ache, even for a second?

I shove these feelings deeper and deeper into the corners of my heart, hoping they’ll just disappear.
This is where things get dangerous.
Because now, hopelessness seeps into my mind, spreading like wildfire through every neuron, devouring them like it’s starving.
There’s no more room in my heart to contain the pain—so it moves in upstairs.

Depression rolls in like a twisted parade, organ by organ, soul by soul.

Where do I go from here?