Motivated by how I am today, I’m endeavoring to describe emotion on paper–particularly, this emotion. Might as well make productive use of it by channeling melancholy into a writing exercise.
Since late last night I’ve been feeling this fist-sized knot stuck in my chest, making it difficult to breathe, or to sit up straight, much more to stand up. Try as I may, I am only able to turn the corners of my lips a fraction of a centimeter up; I just can’t find anything to smile about. I only see the dark skies, the raindrop-stained windows, the murky puddles on the road. All around me the air is chilly and harsh. Everyone’s abuzz around me, but I neither hear nor care about what the conversations are all about.
There are very few things that I like less and that affect me more than a cold shoulder. It’s as if the ghosts of memories attached to being shunned/ignored/treated with disdain just constantly stand lurking outside my door, waiting for any opportunity to come in and haunt me, pull me to the ground.
I can still think rationally, of course; I am still able to tell myself that I may just be over-reacting, that I’ve just allowed myself to be overly sensitive to the slightest dip in the level of affection that is communicated to me, ever since that bloody, lengthy episode in my life. I am also assuring myself by trying to take a step back to look at the bigger picture, to be reminded that I have a big, powerful, loving God in charge of my life and my relationships.
Yet I still feel low. I think I have something to apologize about, that there are things that need to be discussed–but what can I do if I’m the only one who wants to talk? Should I just convince myself that this really is nothing more than a molehill?
The knot is squirming in my chest and weighing me down some more.