The worst level of torture happens in our own minds – mostly in the form of perceptions and lies.
I live in a state of an aching mind. The pressure behind the eyes. The mean reds. The emptiness in the pit of my gut, my heart, and my soul. And most of this ache is something I should be able to think my way out of, if I’m to embrace my own belief systems. I should be able to choose to be happier. I should be able to read something positive until I feel it. I should be able to think in truths and not get caught up in whatever lies I have allowed myself to believe that day.
But my aching mind has been here for months. Months and months and I just can’t kick it.
Eating doesn’t fix it. Working out doesn’t fix it. Reading suppresses it. Praying seems to make it worse – if only because my image of God is much like my memories of my own dad (smacking me on the head and saying, “Just don’t be stupid” as you can imagine is *so* helpful).
It’s that need to cry and not being able to. It’s the need to scream at the top of your lungs into a cavern and enjoy the echo back, but never having the opportunity to do so. It’s the need to sleep unabashedly half naked in the sunlight like I did when I was young and that being completely out of the question. It’s the need for something, something so generic and so specific at the same time it’s completely absurd and renders me inarticulate.
It’s a terrible want that I can’t kick. A want I’ve never had before so I don’t know how to kick it, really.
Anger is easy. I’ve learned to calm my anger. I’ve become quite an expert at completely suppressing it for someone else’s emotional well being. Frustration is not so easy, but putting frustration aside is a daily exercise when you are chronically poor and have a toddler. Wanting material things is easy to kick. Wanting a lot of things is easy to kick.
It’s easy to kick things you have similar experiences with… but how do you kick a feeling you’ve never had?
Wanting something you can’t even identify. Something so imbedded in your core it makes you physically ill. It’s torturous to see shadows and glimpses of this something, but it never comes fully to light. The ache, the want, just hiding around the bend and under a rock. Just out of reach. Just out of sight. But pulsing, and radiating, and letting you know that it’s there and that you are missing it.
In the mean time, I’ll bury myself in The Bridge of San Luis Rey, and see if I can put it off for another night.