Toil & Trouble

Sometimes, without warning, reason, cause or justification...

I just want to sit and cry.

Two sides of my mind start warring:

"It's okay, cry a little if you need to. No one minds and it will make you feel better."

"Just WHO do you think you ARE? What possible right have you to cry now? Nothing is wrong, you are safe, how dare you?!"

I usually don't. Because I don't want or like to, or because I'm in a public place. And because the latter rationalisation usually wins out.
Instead I just get a headache from the inner conversation, and I worry that all I've done is delay; adding some more steam to the pressure cooker so that when I eventually do cry, it will be for that much longer, that much harder.

On the other hand if I, on the rare occasion, decide it's okay to let it out, I end up feeling drained. Most times I still get the lecture about having no right to cry. Berated by my own guilt yet again.

True to the self-perpetuating nature of this mental state, I get stuck in a loop. Overthinking, overloading, overcomplicating, overwhelming.

I want to cry.
I debate whether or not to succumb to the feeling.
I question whether the choice I make is the right one.
I do a lot of positive and negative self talk.
I notice that a lot of thoughts are subsequently and simultaneously running through my head right now.
Repeat step one.

My only saviour in this is distraction, but again this is only a delay switch.

As much as I hate them at the time, I think those pressure cooker days are necessary. Empty the pot of emotions so it can refill over the next undeterminable amount of time.

That's me (or, rather, my mind): The Bubbling Saucepan. The Emotional Cauldron.

It's somewhat comforting for the moment to objectify it all. I sense it appeals to my creative nature to imagine a wood furnished room and to assign.

For now, the cauldron bubbles steadily on the fire in the corner, as it was.
Neither simmering down nor boiling over.
As it was.