****.

Why do I always end up doing this when I get frustrated? The dude doesn't do his work, I know, but it's not fair.

I can't talk to anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone.

It's not that bad! It's not that bad! Yes, I know! Please stop telling me so.

The logic, the fact, is immovable, but the emotion comes tumbling down
like an avalanche, gathering momentum and pace.

The thoughts race, anger, despair, sadness, hatred, hopelessness, worry, confusion, terror!

Jesus ******* Christ, I have to get the hell out of here! I'm gonna go postal if I don't!

I finish my task at hand and head straight to the men's bathroom, lock the door, and sit on the toilet and cry.

Breathe in, breathe out, Breathe in, breathe out ******* this! **** it all!

****, I have to call Mom.

I take out my cellphone and find her number and call her.

Ring....Ring......This is [redacted] at [redacted] speaking.
"Hi, can I speak to [redacted mother's name], please?"
Yes, hold on.....she's in report right now, can I take a message or is it urgent?
"Yeah, it's a-an emergency. This is her son, Joshua." I chuckle nervously.
Okay, Joshua, I'll grab her for you........Hello?
"Hey, mom." I sob.
What's up, baby?
"I'm ******* losing it, Mom. All this **** is happening, and I'm feeling suicidal again, I'm having a ******* meltdown, I just--I don't know if I can do it."
sigh....Well, do you want to check yourself into the hospital?
"I don't think I can face it. I never get the help I need at the hospital."
I know, I know...Okay, I can't talk right now, Josh, but look, call me in half an hour, okay? Promise me you'll call me, okay?
"Okay."
Okay. I love you. I gotta go.
"Okay. I love you too. I'm sorry, Mom."
It's okay, call me in half an hour, alright? I love you.
click
I keep the phone to my ear for a second, processing the conversation. Then I turn it off and put it back in my pants pocket.
I get up and wash water on my face. My beard is growing. I dry off my face with the paper towels, and I take a deep breath. Then I go back outside.

Out into the world, which I must face, or die.

Built up tears,
A dam released,
Violent movements,
Punching bags.

And all at once,
It liberated itself
Of its confining chains.

Alone,
An empty house,
All that movement in still air,
Very much hoping to be heard.

And the irony
of not knowing how to explain.

Harsh tears,
Ripped heart,
A voice made coarse,
Anger,
Frustration,
Fused a total meltdown.

An agonising cry,
Desparate movements replay
On days when feelings numb down,
And a hole widens from deep within,
Projecting from an empty shell,
Onto a vastly absent world.

All the kicking,
The punching,
Sore knuckles,
Aching knees,
Swollen eyes,
Dripping sweat,
An utterly spent heart.

And a hot scalding bath later,
An hour or so,
When souls filled a place called home,
It was as though nothing ever happened,
Simply a day well spent,
Rather eventful.