Bursting

I'm currently listening to Hilary Duff, because it's Valentine's weekend and (once again) I'm single as single can get (whose idea was it to go to a school that's only 30% male while a large gay population and any straight single guys smoke...seriously, whose idea?!?!) and 1500 miles away from my family and best friends and Hilary Duff makes me feel like an angst filled 13 year old again. Plus, there's the fact that she's just one of my musical guilty pleasure (along with Demi Lavato-I'm basically still 13 at heart I think). But, anyways, that is not the point of this.

Sometimes (especially lately) I get this feeling deep inside me like I'm going to explode or something; like there's just too much inside of me. I'm bursting at the seams and there's nothing I can do about it. I just want to take a knife and slice myself open, sternum to bellybutton, and let everything out, let it all fall out. Or maybe I could just stick my finger down my throat and throw up everything: all the emotions I can't show, all the pressure, all the sadness and worry. I just want everything I can't normally get out exposed, so everyone can see what's going on inside me and just to get it OUT. I just want to get it out there somehow because I don't talk about it. I can't talk about it. But instead I'm just standing there and I can hardly move because I'm busting and it's all I can do not to start tearing my flesh so everything can escape and I can be free. I can move again. And maybe with everything out in the open people will understand, they'll know. They can just look at everything laying on the concrete at my feet and I won't have to explain and stumble around looking for the right words to say, because goodness knows I'll never be able to get everything, or anything out, on my own.

Whatever.