Emotion is an Illness, Vent 1; Violated.

I could not fucking describe the emotion I'm feeling right now. In a metaphorical sense, I want to tear my insides out so that I can stop feeling this. It's absurd how much emotion isn't stored in brain tissue. I don't want to feel the trauma in my stomach, lower; in my throat, in my chest. I want it somewhere I can handle it. I don't want to feel it in my hands because it's unreachable. It's like putting a laser in front of a cat; I'm compelled to grab, I can feel it within my grasp, but it'll never ever be within reach. At least in my own mind I can create handles for it, nooks to sink the fingers of gentler thoughts into. I can't sink my fingers into something incorporeal that is spiteful enough to always be just out of my grasp. I'm supposed to be getting better, I'm supposed to be prepared for this I'm supposed to know what to expect. There's no use hating myself for it but that doesn't make me feel any better, either. I don't want to react this way, just as much as no one wanted me to react this way. How does anyone even talk about this? How do we... God, fuck, this is awful. It's awful. I hate it. I'm allowed to hate it and it's allowed to be awful but how long will it be before I can move on? I just want to sleep, my bed is so comfortable, I have so many stories to tell myself, I don't want to be awake I want this all to be gone in the morning. I know I'll feel better when I put my clothes on, I know I'll feel better when I've gotten some sleep and wake up in the morning and eat breakfast and take the first step outside. I'll put my favorite sweater on and wear comfortable pants and drink apple cider and sit on the bench across the street from my favorite hot dog stand. I'll fucking make it through this so help me God, I'll learn how to grab things I can't reach and wrestle them into submission.