She has so many words that run through her head–fragments, memories, wishes, fantasies, run-ons, lists, whole paragraphs, interrupted thoughts, and inexpressible sounds that all blend together until a throb erupts from her head, and it reverberates from her head, echoing in a loop, the vibrations moving like waves through her body when she feels the fluttering in her chest, she wonders if its the anxiety or the side effects of strain she continues to put on her body. When her stomach pulses she tries her best to ignore and distract, start a project, take a run, play a game, anything to calm and soothe the anxiousness in her body expect what it needs . . . . . .

MOMMY! The great distractions of children. She appreciates the distraction, but she feels guilty because she’d rather be running, or riding a bike, or just walking somewhere, but she’s needed. She’s happy she has two boys. She’s happy that overall they seem healthy and happy. 

She’ll be happier when she can just be alone with her thoughts though. She starts a blog, hoping that writing it down will help her make sense. That writing it down will help her release some of the anxiousness, help release the heavy load of thoughts that cloud her mind, that are like endless bricks stacked up to create a wall that separates how she wanted to be perceived and who she really is.

She tries to hide it all and keep it all inside, but deep down she wishes that someone would see the facade, that someone would take break through the bricks that she’s so meticulously laid down.

And then she thinks, why doesn’t she just take them down herself instead of stacking more and more on top, burying herself in what feels like a coffin if she continues down this path. And there it is, her biggest fear, so in control that she feels that she can’t rescue herself, that someone else must relieve her of this burden that she’s built. 

A closed mouth doesn’t get fed, which is true for her in so many ways.