Pressure everywhere. Trapped in a box. Pounding from the inside and outside. Louder, louder, louder it gets, this constant pounding. Following the same rhythm, increasing in volume until it’s the only thing she hears, the only thing that surrounds her, and she’s drowning, drowning in the noise, in the pressure, in the noise and the pressure of it all.
There’s no escaping it, no escaping from the madness. There are days when she tries to keep it calm, to keep it sane. To tie everything up in a neat bow and package it just so, so that all the worries, all the fears, all the questions, all the doubts, they are kept at bay, allowing her to walk that fine line between giving up and continuing.
It’s a constant struggle, a silent struggle.
The words are starting to choke her, bit by bit, day by day. The emotions, the feelings, all of which have to come out, which should have been given some attention a long time ago, are starting to fester like an infected wound, a cold sore. Getting uglier, and uglier by the day.
There has to be a release, right?
The pressure builds; she bites her teeth, takes a deep breath and keeps it all in, knowing that sooner or later, it’s going to explode. And what’s left of the scattered pieces may be unrecognizable.
