Despicable Feeling (Written April 30, 2009. -Dark Period-)

I feel this emotion, if one can call such a bludgeoning pressure such a simplistic word as that. It’s a razor-sharp pain, it’s a turmoil; a terrible sensation that echoes from the deepest collapse of my heart, to the most peripheral cell of my skin. My bones ache, my muscles spasm, my stomach is most unsettled, my head twitches, and I feel my easiness slip away. No amount of meditation or stillness can return my collectedness, can return my tranquility; I am stripped of control. It is a suffocating stir; an unexplainable torment, which even the most blissful activities cannot decompress. This feeling rushes through me with such overwhelming force, that the ire of it compels an uncontrollable spontaneous cough, at the most sporadic intervals. What this emotion is, I cannot say. I can merely list the gears that compose this bitter and utterly unpleasant sentiment: stress, nervousness and apprehension; an anxiety, the likes of which tear the fabric of my stillness apart. I hate it, I want to be rid of it, and it will not go away until May the fourth has passed.