Claustrophobia must feel like this. So much has happened, so
much has changed, yet the stillness is not letting me get even one word out.
Wish I could write about it, but I probably don’t have the right, or the
strength; about this: this which has engulfed me, a thick blanket as comforting
as a warm hug, as suffocating as a clamped mouth. Not a word gets out, not a
sigh stays in. Closed, hushed and repressed, like a secret must remain; yet,
bursting with the life of a much dreamed joy. How do I get out of it? Or how do
I let it out? Has it trapped me or have I buried it deep? This must be it, must
be what they call claustrophobia. A thick mist enclosing me or an emptiness
waiting to burst out, that my mind cannot seem to enclose much longer. If I break
free, who will pick up the broken pieces? If I hold tight, what if I crush it?
If I let go, what if it takes me with it? If I hold on, what if I am left with
nothing? This must be it. Claustrophobia must feel like this.
