The Maelstrom Inside Her

She’s like a lost hummingbird dancing in the eye of a hurricane. Searching for a way out of a jealous storm that wont let her go.

I see her drowning in emotion. Arms flailing for help that will never come, gasping for air but she still cant breath, life has a stranglehold on her throat but refuses to let her die and the strange, comforting, finality of death never comes to claim her.

For her, there is no reprieve even in sleep. And 'normal' days where she can claim to be fine are few and far between and might as well be considered holidays for her. Each day a polymorphic puzzle of trying to balance her emotions versus the expectations of those around her.

She’s a woman coming apart at the seams like an old rag doll ravaged by the abuse of life, forgotten by time and those who scarred her. But no matter how much time has elapsed, she’ll never forget what happened. Shes desperately trying to pull herself together, hanging on to a single thread of hope, praying she won’t crumble to pieces..

..But prayers go unanswered no matter how loud she screams for an answer.

Time flows in a linear path but her mind stands still in a river of torment, fixated on a moment that only exists in her thoughts. Life made difficult from a mind half way broken. Lifting her head with whatever pride wasnt taken and feigning confidence is even painful..

I see her screaming in a room full of people until her voice collapses on itself and her fragile mask made of rehearsed joyous expressions designed to make other people comfortable shatters revealing her emotionally scarred face and eyes that well with tears made of pure anguish but no one notices.

She carries her depression in an emotionally overtaxed heart that bleeds agony if you squeezed it softly. Depression is the wrong word to describe the turmoil inside her. Compression is a more apt description, as she shoulders the unbearable weight of dealing with the horrific side of existence.

People tell her to have hope but hope is not a universal truth but merely a jape demonstrating that god has a dark sense of humor. For hope is only a coping mechanism for depression, a proverbial carrot on a stick she’s chasing as she simultaneously tries to flee from the minotaur chasing her through a never ending labyrinth of depression within the catastrophy of her delicate mind.

Some days, she probably feels like splitting her skull across a jagged slate of rock to the let the light inside her world of persistent darkness because pain, always reminds us that we are alive. Other days, she wants to cut her chest open with a knife, so she can pull her rib cage apart to let the maelstrom out. I think she should and only then, will the people in her world will know how it feels to burn from the inside out.

And every once in a while, she feels like giving a handgun fellatio to receive it’s explosive absolution. But responsibility to her loved ones anchors her to a world she no longer wants a place in..

Little does she know, my world would be noticebly less radiant and less splendid without her in it.