Heart burn

Posted on November 25, 2016


My heart has a hole in it, and everything is pouring out.

I can’t help it, it just doesn’t stop.

I tried covering it up with the usual things:

Apathy, sleep, trivialities that I try to pass off as distractions.

Nothing works.

It just pours, and pours, and pours, and pours.

I’m afraid that if it keeps pouring, there will be nothing left in me.

Just an empty shell, a hollow heart hardened and worn out.

There will be nothing left of everything I worked so hard to keep in.

Did you know that keeping it in can be just as self-destructive as letting it out?

Some people think it’s healthy to always keep things inside.

Well, it’s not.

When your default is keeping everything inside, you get pretty good at building it all up.

You just stack them on top of each other, like a neverending game of Jenga.

And when something so little nudges a single block,

Boom! They all fall down.

You’re suddenly back to the mess that you were, and you hate yourself for it.

And sometimes you get so tired that you don’t even bother building it up again.

You let the mess be a mess.

You’re not even fighting it anymore, you’re too beat down and tired to push back.

You suffered a blow and can’t find the strength to get up.

You let it puncture your heart, letting everything pour, and pour, and pour.

You let the words flow. You let the alcohol trickle down your throat. You let the nicotine into your lungs. You let your heart break. You let the tears flow.

At first it’s a comforting thing, finally letting everything out.

There’s a certain comfort in knowing that you’re given a chance to rebuild yourself because you’ve finally been obliterated.

Yes, obliterated.

Not just broken – you’ve been broken too many times to the point that minor repairs just won’t do.

Life completely broke you, and you felt changed – something you’ve always wanted to feel.

You can somehow let yourself rest from putting up your guards.

Then, it gets destructive.

Your feelings have escaped.

You would want to throw plates. You let self-hatred eat up your brain as you down bottle after bottle, cigarette after cigarette, thinking why you ended up like this.

You start to say things you don’t mean and make rash decisions out of anger.

And when you pause and reflect, you realize that you don’t recognize yourself anymore.

You’ve changed , and it comforts and terrifies you.



You let out the anger you’ve kept inside for so long.

You let the frustration run its own show.

You’ve become like Carrie after getting doused in buckets of pig blood,

Like Lazarus coming back from the dead,

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

You felt power for the first time in a long time.

You felt a fire in your heart, desperate to fight back.

So you fight back.

You build yourself up again, and you let that fire consume you.

You won’t let anything stop you from fighting back.

And when you feel yourself feeling down again, you let that fire force you to keep fighting.

Your heart has a hole in it, and everything is pouring out.

And that was the best damn thing that ever happened to you.