speaking the language of jet planes

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to escape these feelings. The urgent desire to scream until my lungs explode. Maybe this is what it feels like to want to create violence. To be the spark that sets off the fire. Because there are these brief moments of insanity when I’m convinced that crushing myself against something concrete and unforgiving until it hurt might just be better than this. Momentary enough to recognize the images immediately upon surfacing as internal manifestations of my own unexpressed fear, hurt, anger, outrage, animosity, indifference . . .. So I push it away in order to keep moving. But the pressure remains. Making it difficult to draw breath. To see colors with my eyes closed. To imagine what it would feel like to not feel like this.