I could write you essays in my head of all the things I wish I’d say or said. 

All the words I somehow can’t force through these heavy lips. A disconnect between the paragraphs racing through my mind and a mouth that refuses to follow suit. 

I scream in my mind hoping you’ll somehow hear. Begging your mind to reach out to mine to hear the words so loud I almost see them blazing through the blank darkness in my mind. 

It hurts more than I know how to express to have the words I fought to say pass into the night without any sign of having been received. 

I don’t need answer nor solution. While either would be lovely, all I’m asking is to be seen. 

At times like these, I hate my mouth that fails to express the complexities and difficult thoughts that swirl through my mind. I hate the nothing words that fall through uncooperative lips to paint the illusion that all is fine. 

My soul screams to be heard but fails to force the thorny thoughts through quaking lips. 

I hide my tears and hold in sobs until hot rivers form on burning cheeks as throat tightens trapping turbulent thoughts in what will be their tomb. 

You see me. 

You ask “What’s wrong?”

Lips move without sound

Then the damn releases and wracking sobs pierce the air. 

My mind still screams in attempt to somehow communicate willing lips to form into what should be familiar shapes. 

You stare into your phone. Never looking at my shaking form. No further words. No sign that you can see or hear me. 

And my heart breaks more. 

Every fiber of my being wills my mouth to just answer the question you asked what seems to have been a quarter hour passed. I beg my hand to reach out for my phone, so close yet what feels to be so far away. I plead with my body to find some way to communicate, some way to respond.

But so much time has passed and my breathing comes in ragged gasps and no matter how hard I try to suppress the echoing wails, they continue to ring out beyond my control. 

And I begin to feel like a ghost trapped between worlds, unable to be seen or heard. 

Or maybe you got annoyed by my lack of response and thus no longer wish for an answer. 

But I don’t like that interpretation. 

Maybe I’m not really crying. Maybe I just think I am and in reality I just sit here unconcerningly. 

I’m scared. 

Something is very wrong. 

I can’t fall asleep. My brain isn’t working right. It’s not working right in ways that make it hard to explain what’s wrong. I can’t do simple math in my head. Like I couldn’t do 810-260 no matter how hard I tried earlier. My brain refused to hold the steps. 

I’m scared. 

I don’t know what’s wrong. You say it’s stress, but that feels wrong. Not in a way I can truly convey, though I’ll try. 

I feel utterly calm most of the time. I stay awake into the early hours of morning with little to no distress. I simply do not feel tired, neither physically nor emotionally. 

I don’t think I’m depressed. When I get depressed, I stop singing. I’ve been finding myself singing more lately,  not less. I don’t feeling depressed either. 

Yet, initiating tasks has more and more seemed insurmountable. My memory fails me again and again. I know there’s more, but, quite frustratingly, I can’t seem to remember right now. 

My soul craves to be known by you. I write you essays in my mind, craft pages of the things I wish to say. I will the words to somehow travel from me to you, hoping beyond hope that I suddenly gain control of telepathy. 

But I say nothing. 

I finally convince my legs to carry me to bed, unable to tolerate the pain of feeling invisible. 

You stop me. 

You tell me to come sit with you. 

You envelop me in a familiar embrace. 

Sobs slowly fade away and breathes begin to flow more smoothly. 

My mouth hesitantly crafts broken sentences. Sounds to convey meaning but fail to reflect a fraction of what dances through my head, pleading to somehow be heard. 

I’m calm once more, yet fragile still.