Hold On, Let Go

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.