sometimes you wish you could express your pain. just throw it out there, with the help of words, brushes, instruments. but the fact is, you can’t. not when the pain is strong enough, not when it’s real, not when it’s overwhelming you.
then you realise you’ve become like your grandmother, because you’re using one single Kleenex in a half hour, constantly.
it fills you completely and you just want to get it out, although you don’t even really know what that’s supposed to mean. you wanna puke, but then again you promised yourself you wouldn’t, this year. and you’ve already broken that promise too often since January.
it’s completely wet and you don’t even care.
if you wished for one thing, it would be that the headache stops. but you don’t wanna take medication, you don’t even wanna search for it. maybe you wanna punish yourself. maybe you’re afraid that one single drop of water would actually make you puke. maybe you’re enjoying this pain, in a very weird and unhealthy way.
it comes in waves, the grief, just like the tides. there’s the crying periods, when the tears fill your eyes, your cheeks. the Kleenex starts to dissolve.
you’re too overwhelmed.
and then there’s the other periods, in between. they are still only a few, but they’ll grow, they’ll prevail, eventually. you know that. but again, you don’t really care. maybe you don’t even want it to happen. maybe you wanna keep and cherish the pain until you can figure out what it really is and how to make it go away properly. but of course you wouldn’t have enough patience for that.
the Kleenex is just a small, white curtain of liquid now. barely a dry corner left. it’s starting to tear excessively.
no matter which period you’re in right now, you’re agitated. searching for something to do, for something to get you off your thoughts. of course there’s no such thing. not yet, anyway.
it’s fascinating how a completely wet Kleenex can still fulfil its job. you’re wondering however that works. but, really, you don’t really care. as long as it doesn’t completely tear up, at least. as long as you can abuse it without going to the trouble to reach for a new one.
you’ve watched tv until just now, but it doesn’t work anymore. you don’t wanna have to concentrate. reading of course was never an option. probably you wouldn’t even understand a children’s book. and it’s not good for the headaches, anyway.
your nose cries in tides too. everything seems to lead back to the sea.
you know you should eat, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. nothing would taste right. sleep would be the wisest thing, but trying is so hard. and trying is failing, of course.
but the tides just won’t wash you away. no matter how badly you hope for it to happen.