Wednesday, May 2, 2012
I sit down to write and I fall apart. There is so much inside of me that needs to get out. Worries, anxiety, memories, hope - and yet every time I attempt to put words to the chaos I feel inside my throat constricts, my stomach clenches, sweat begins to trickle down my neck, my eyes well up, and I feel frozen. In a word, I panic. I've spent the last two years reconstructing myself, blindly replacing the remnants of shattered dreams back into some resemblance of reality. Why is it not done? When is this journey going to be complete?