It’s suddenly feeling like too much. All of it is suddenly rushing in on me and weighing me down and causing me to become paralyzed from moving forward and, thus, fucking up whatever it is I could be salvaging right now. This doesn’t feel like “a bad day”; this seems more real, more permanent than that. Suddenly, it’s all the things I’ve said or done or was or wasn’t or could’ve been or actually was and all the memories and all the faces and all the heartache and even the happy things that I’ve lost that now cause heartache and all the things that are gone and all the things I can’t do that are slipping through my fingers and all the images and all the tears and the cycles and the memories – oh GOD, the memories – and all the moments and all the gifts I missed in my oblivion and all the things I wanted but lost and all the things I never wanted but held onto for whatever reason and all the things I can’t shake off and turn into something else and all the people who see things I know aren’t really in me and all the lies I’ve told myself and all the fear that any of it is going to, at any moment, crush me. It’s all becoming too much. It’s already been enough. This may be too much.
“And the noise. Oh, the noise. All the noise, noise, noise, NOISE. ” – Dr. Seuss