most nights

Most nights, it feels like there's a gigantic lump in my throat.
I can't swallow it and it won't come up or anything. It feels like I swallowed my entire heart and it's sitting there, halfway down my throat. It's pushing and shoving, trying to get digested, or at the very least, out of that fucking cave. It gets angry and pounds its fists on the cave walls, always hoping that will help. It never does.

It's the same thing with the thoughts.
His name is Mayhem and he won't leave me alone. He swims around my brain quickly, always reproducing, that whore. First there's one, then two, then four, then eight, then too many. Too many horrible offsprings of his. I try to organize them. I open up cabinets, drawers and cupboards and hurriedly try to put them away. I don't care if it's child abuse. They're much more like creatures. They deserve it. I don't want them to feel valid. I want them to sit in their hiding spots and collect dust. They're too polished when they're swimming around in my head. Hell, if I could, I'd just throw them in a fire. Unfortunately, you can't burn one thing in your brain without burning everything else with it. Though somedays, that doesn't sound too bad.

So of course, when Mayhem is playing his role, there's always the next step.

The tears.
They build up gradually. Sometimes I try and stop them, and sometimes I go to town with them. Sometimes when I'm on the verge, I imagine you're here with me. I picture telling you every little thing that's really on my mind. As my acidic words continue to spill out, the tears try to do the same. When I'm laying in bed pretending you're here, I try and hold back my tears for you. I squeeze my eyes shut, hold my breath and just keep talking until I choke. Then I let some of them happen and apologize to you. It's not very ladylike to allow yourself to be seen as such a wretched mess. But you listen to it all and maybe even try to help or comfort me. But by this time, it's all out of control and my imaginary you fades into the darkness. Then, you're gone. Mental emphasis on the word gone. Just like that. It's just me, alone in my bedroom. The realization sinks in that it's always going to be like this. That's all there is to it.

It's been like this a bit more often than most nights. But hey, if I can wear a smile to all my classes and keep my grades in the 80 range, it's all the same, isn't it.