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Locked In

Man locked in a roomBeing awake and unable to speak, unable to communicate has to be one of the worst ways to live.

Once, in high school, I had to have surgery. When I woke up, I was nauseous, weak, and unable to speak. While in that state of post-anesthetic paralysis, all I could do was steam for help in my own head as a doctor behind a curtain ordered a pizza with what sounded to me like the most disgusting assortment of toppings imaginable.

Within a few minutes of standing up, I vomited.

I don’t think of that moment often, but today I did as I had a similar experience.

I was trying to get somewhere this morning when three of four different “domestic” issues—nothing serious at all—and I don’t know why but immediately my stress level skyrocketed.

For no good or even discernible reason.

But there I was, seething because my dear, sweet family dared to interact with me.

Not my proudest moment, but not really my focus here either.

No, my focus is my inability to articulate my emotions or to even speak when I get upset.

After all the benign issues were handled, I left to take my daughter to where she needed to go and, the whole way there, I couldn’t speak, couldn’t talk about what happened, couldn’t talk about the day, couldn’t ask her questions about her day which was going to be filled with lots of fun and exciting events.

I was locked in by my anger.

It’s happened so many times, and it’s paralyzing. I can’t tell people I’m trapped, and yet if they poke me hard enough, the bubble will burst and all of my anger and rage will pour on so poor, unsuspecting person.

Usually a loved one.

So, I’m writing this for those moments, when I’m locked in, when I can’t explain, can’t speak, but that I love them and will hopefully be back soon.

(Featured Image Modified from Original)

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