I try to stomp out the flames of my anger.

I wake at night, scorching, sweating, swearing as my soul blazes and rages with the most furious fire.

I throw down my best terry cloth towels so I don’t drown in my tears but still I’m soaking, sopping, salty and sad.

I tape my mouth shut to keep my opinions to myself but the tape lamely falls—wet from hushed screams and heavy breathing—my words somehow find wings and soar from my mouth like the fiercest falcons.

I smile pretty, walking oh-so-gracefully, tip-toeing and teetering expertly on these empty f*cking eggshells to entertain and charm you, but I clumsily step down so hard, crunching, cracking and destroying them completely.

I work all day, reading mindlessly, hoping the words will write over my anxious thoughts, praying the rhythm of the prose will replace the nervous thumping of my hummingbird heartbeat.

The thump-thump-thumps only grow more dramatic, more dreadful as they spread and split into my head.

I paint my face each morning with precise little brushes, making my skin plastic, my cheeks plump, my lips pout pinky pink but this expensive mask runs off, rinses off, rolls off after I drip sweat from a downright dreadful panic attack.

Oh, the grand hiding dance, the luscious lies, the superficial song.

It always fails.

I’ll always try anyway.

It goes something like this:

Code red! Code red! Code red!

F*cked-up parts of myself are yelling through crackly walkie-talkies, desperately trying to get their unsteady little hands on a game plan:

Try to lessen this feeling.

Try to numb it.

Try to cover it all up.

Try to hide anything real.

Try to put the façade in place.

Try to find the correct code to shut down—

They got it.

I fall to the floor,

And shut down.

I duck behind walls, hide under the thickest blankets, running far, far away.

But, like a strange game of hide and seek, I always find me.

Once found, I take myself gently by the hands, squeezing supportively, for the next part is not so pretty.

Fingers intertwined, I take a breath and hold myself up—

I close my eyes,

Open my mouth

and

Scream.

F*ck, do I scream.

I scream so that the brilliant vibration of my voice takes hammers and mallets to these poorly-constructed, at-times invisible, imprisoning walls that keep me so quiet.

I scream because I’m so f*cking tired of playing meek, playing dead, playing stupid, playing innocent, playing perfect, playing pretend, playing fake.

I scream because there is nothing else to do.

The glass shatters.

And, from behind the mangled wreckage, I step out.

Yes, me.

The perfectly imperfect, fucked-up, tear-stained, messy-haired, confused, disorganized, screaming, filthy-talking, romantic, freedom-loving, creative, kind, unstable, shy, opinionated, loving….

Me.

Yes, me.

I’m shocked and surprised to find something other than a fragile, wounded animal behind those deadly walls.

I’m surprised to find a fierce woman.

I’m surprised to find a sense of strength and resilience.

I’m surprised to find softness and beauty.

I’m surprised to find me.

So, I close my eyes and scream.

Again and again.

And again.

And again.

Until my voice is raw and hoarse.

Until my tears pour and my heartbeat settles down.

Until there’s no more scream left.

Because when I scream,

When I use my voice,

I feel alive.

I feel free.

I feel beautiful.

Will you scream with me?

Our simultaneous sea of screams will shatter our walls in half the time, double the beauty.

Will you

Close your eyes,

Open your mouth,

And

Scream?

I want to hear you.

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Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: flickr