I wish I could find the words to describe it.
But, I canít.
Loneliness. Despair. Disconnected. Dejected. They are just words.
Words canít possibly convey the depths of emption boiling with such violent turbulence in the deepest recesses of my tortured soul. Not by themselves, at any rate.
Even the most perfectly positioned adjectives are helpless when attempting the task. Whether they are standing tall, proud and poignantly posed by themselves or flowing together woven in exemplary literary harmony, they simply can not begin to surmount the task.
What I need is to weave bits of myself in with the words, in order to create a fabric I can fold around you, to provide a glimpse of what goes on within my tormented mind. With this fabric wrapped around you, I can part the chimera and step past the veil of unknown, and then perhaps I can light a candle to show you what resides in the shadows.
For the most part, I think I would compare it to drowning, maybe suffocating. It feels like some sort of asphyxiation, at any rate. I say drowning, because it has that sort of sensation to it.
I feel as if I am deep below the surface of the water. All around me is darkness, except far ahead and above me, where I can see a glimmer of light. My arms flail wildly, pulling my thrashing body closer and closer to the surface. My lungs ache and scream for oxygen as my hands claw through the water in sheer desperation.
As I frantically flounder through the water and pull myself from the depths, the surface looms ever nearer and finally seems within reach. I can sense the cool and refreshing air that lies just beyond the waterís edge and my body aches for it. Like a crazed animal I thrash my way upward. My hand stretches to break through the surface of the water as if it somehow thinks it can suck oxygen into my anxious lungs.
I canít break the surface, though. First my hand and then my face, my mouth already opening to receive the life sustaining air, collide with a thin membrane that refuses me the sweet oxygen my lungs so painfully starve for. The membrane is clear, like some sort of plastic sheet and it clings to me, causing a new sensation of panic to course through my panic-filled mind.
As if the watery depths I struggle through arenít enough, now the film wraps around me and entangles me in its grasp. I canít even fight it; the pressure of the water forces the film to wrap me up like a soggy mummy. Now, the weight of the film guarding the surface drags me down. A burning sensation fills my every fiber, my lungs are imploding, I know they must be and once again the darkness enshrouds me.
In terror, my minds struggles with the concept that my body has died, leaving only my brain to cope with the terror of the unknown. I can even feel my body as it dies. It stiffens and extends, arching backwards. I can tell by the change in the light that my body has rolled over, leaving my dead eyes to stare into the darkness below me.
Not a great analogy, but the best I could come up with at the moment. Like I said, words just canít describe the journey of terror; that is my life. That is as close as I can come to describing the every day battle that rages in my soul and haunts my every living moment.
©2006 J.L. Day