Drowning in the Stars and the Sea (a Brain Dump on: emotion)

Oftentimes it feels as though I simply don't feel anything. As though I'm devoid of emotion.

But that's not precisely true.

Most of the time, its too much. So much that it blurs into a static. Much like my thoughts when I don't have something to do.

My chest aches, feel wrenched open when I look at something that's supposed to make me happy. The ocean. The stars. The rain. So many little and big things.

Pure, unfiltered happiness, like glittering sea glass, like the vibrant, delicate structures of an orange slice shimmering in the sun, but as heavy and dense as a yawning black hole; it's too much. It spreads through, filling my limbs, my torso, my heart, my head, my throat, like it's about to inflate me and make me burst open in an explosion of blood.

It's not light, not vibrant, not bubbly. It's slow. Heavy. Creeping up, like sun rays reflecting through honey and amber, It's too much. It makes me want to shapeshift. Stretch, melt, make myself bigger, make room for all that feeling. Simply melt into and absorb whatever is making me feel. Nostalgia is worse. It's all so painful.

So I make it stop, make my thoughts unfocused, dim the lights, so to speak.

But I shouldn't. It doesn't matter how confusing those feelings are, how utterly clueless I am to handle or interpret them. They are a beautiful thing. Complex mixes of chemicals and signals causing the actual physical sensations of expanding and being pressed down at the same time. They aren't comfortable, but they're mine. It feels like drowning.

Yes. That's what it feels like. Drowning in shards of colour, in crackles of light. In wisps of smoke. In rivers of glittering sand. In amber and honey and molasses.

Right now, one particular mental image makes me feel that. That and so much more. It's nothing remarkable. Just, the idea of standing on the deck of a ship out at sea; the warm glow of the lanterns filling the cabins, but not quite spilling out onto the smooth planks. Standing there and looking out at the vast expanse of ocean. Feeling it churn under your feet. Smelling it. Feeling it permeate your skin. Feeling yourself melt and absorb it. Marvelling at the vastness of the dark water below, and the darker sky above, and the stars—there must be millions mottling the sky, bunching together, like the ocean does on smooth wood; droplets rolling of their own accord across the deck and sides, reflecting every tiny pinprick above.

The stars would look like they're sailing too, accompanying you on your voyage. They'd look so close together, almost touching.

But they're lonely creatures. Just like the solitary figure standing on that ship, head tilted upwards in awe and wonder. An expression of longing. A hint of sadness. Seemingly right next to the crewmembers, but oh so distant. Wishing that simple moment would stretch out forever, fearing its loss, but at the same time overwhelmed by the sheer wave of...feeling swooping through, threatening to sink you, drown you.