Chronicling release of a different kind

Often I find myself tense. Every muscle, every toned-untoned sinew taut...with an expectation of impending doom. Of walking on a bridge made of cards, one loosely placed on the other...of a gale that constantly keeps flapping the cards, gently menacing, threatening to flip one over and send me hollering down into Whatever Lies Beneath. Life is made of constantly changing variables, they say. Life is so variable, so changing constantly everything seems like an impossible soap opera at times...most times. And the frustration that comes from this acute sense of helplessness, the frustration that feels like gnawing nausea. It's always there, you do things to fix it, but you just want to throw up. Helplessness should be combated with Hope, they say. But what is Hope without a deadline? Till the time you don't set a time by which one of the Fucking Variables change for the better, how can Hope continue/ survive?

Times when things just seem to be going so out of control that it's like being chained to the ground, sitting on a chair with your pants down or skirts htiched up, your arms shackled as well, and your arse being rogered from beneath...which you don't like at all. BUT you cannot get up and unless you want your arse taken for free, you have to smile through it too. Oh yes, you are also up on a stage for the whole world to see what a good job you do of smiling through a Free Public Anal Session. Frustration that doesn't let you cry...Because since you can't do much about the Fucking Variables, you feel stupid, crying. Frustration that turns the tears inwards, down your trachea in a huge ball of saline water that chokes you. Once you start spluttering, it gurgles right back up, shooting out through your nostrils and stinging your eyes. Tears that swell your eyes shut and crystallize on your lashes as dirty, white flakes.

Anger, so MUCH of it that you want to (s)lash out,s cream or... RUN. Just run, without a pause, over railings, traffic, sleeping dogs, kids in the parks, Mother Dairy, wheel barrows, up escalator, over building tops, , into fields... RUN...all the while screaming, howling, letting it all out in one rising crescendo... But will they let you run like that? 'Freak' they will say. why can't she seek a normal release, they will say. Show me normal, please. Need that expanse to run, to scream, to weep, to be. Perhaps then you can feel cleansed. Cleansed of tears, cleansed in tears. Pure, so pure...