You know that sound a teapot makes when it's pushing steam out at full force?
That is the noise that I am making inside, viewing myself as someone that is sitting on the couch, pulling hair from the head, that awful screeching at maximum blast. It's like being a teenager, the angst and anger spewing this way and that, so pent up, so alarming, so...ARGH!
I hate this life. I hate it. I hate it. Woe is me, woe is me. My life is at a standstill, I am going nowhere, this is nothing, he is ... They are... The screeching continues, piercing my own ear canals. I imagine the blood trickling out of them, staining my shirt and the couch. NOWHERE. STUCK.
Woe, woe, woe, dear child. Where is the comfort, where is the feeling that things will be okay, the assurance of a mother's touch, her hug, her guiding words...
Woe, woe, poor child, poor baby. Screech, screech. The downward spiral is about to take hold, about to pull me under, when I realize:
I am an adult.
Damn it. Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT.
And where do we go from there? The child adult sits on the couch, eyes absorbing the tears that were going to spill, unclenching the fists of rage, seemingly relaxing. Ah, relaxing...adults don't do that. The tension has turned to something else: it has turned to some sort of sadness, embarrassment, ignominy.
Body slumped, deadness taking over. I am an adult.
And, with that, there goes my hope. My world. My sense of being.