The things I don't say
unfinished letter #9
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I am sitting at my desk at home, 30 minutes into an hour long phone call.
My legs are noodles, unable to stand on their own. My muscles are weak. I am shaking, vibrating on a cellular level. But the effort that led me here hasn’t been physical. The effort that led me to this place of being utterly spent is a conversation.
This is what it feels like to open a vein and drain the hurt I’ve wound as tight as I can just to keep it from exploding. This is what it feels like to unravel the threads I’ve knotted and knotted and knotted again.
After all, there are smiles to display and teeth to show on any given day. There is model behaviour to perform.
There are bills to pay. There are appearances to keep.