stains of circumstance

i just want to write, and write, and write, and write.

i have feelings within me, strong feelings, warring feelings, painful feelings--- all bubbling inside of me, threatening to injure me if i don't let them out. they're ripping at me from my very soul; scratching at the cage of my body to be released.


i'm scared of them. and yet i don't quite know just what they are.

they are like shadowy monsters; shifting and looming, shapeless and screaming. they threaten me, and cut me, and antagonise who i am. they are familiar. i know these feelings.

what are their forms? what are their names?

they have no names. they just have impact. and i recognise them.


i hate the way i feel. i hate these feelings that come back every day to haunt me. small things set off large ones.

these feelings overpower me, and make me weak in my body; in my stomach, in my head, in my heart.

my heart is the culprit. he is the one that is betraying the rest of me. he has opened the door and let those shadowy figures in. they always wait outside for the smallest sliver of a chance to dash in and ruin me.

my father has always said to me, "alyssa, control your emotions." so i stand up and box them all in. i wrap cellophane tape around them. i tie them up tightly into a bundle. hoping and hoping.


i have tried. effort upon effort. stuffing my feelings into the closet of my consciousness, i whisper don't come out. don't come out. don't come out.

they pound against the door and shriek at me.

my whole life is a battle against my own flesh.

my own heart.

i'm frightened of the way it makes me respond to what is happening outside of me. the clash and the conflict that occurs when i feel a certain way and the things around me don't match with what i want and everything becomes a jumbled, ugly, blotchy mess.


"stop being so dramatic, alyssa"

"but i can't control the way i feel."

"don't let your feelings control you then!"


i take a deep breath. i hit my fist against my chest to quieten the noise.

"stop feeling," i hiss to myself. "go away."


it feels like being ignored. always it's hard to keep the closet locked. i feel the doors will break.

everyday i cannot pinpoint what these feelings are. they are always rioting within me but i cannot identify their origin. anger? sadness? despair? misery? loneliness? pride?

they will always be inexplicable.







" s u r r e n d e r   i t   t o   G o d . "

i want to cry. i don't want to open the doors. i don't want to unfasten the box, to tear off the cellophane, and the string, and let them roam free. what if they seep into my brain, and infect my logic? what if they take hostage of my muscles, and command me, like a wooden puppet?

my fears mingle with the disorder. my body loses strength as i push to resist.





" s u r r e n d e r . "

i open the doors, slowly, gingerly. quickly i cover my eyes to protect them from attack.

yet there is no rapid fluttering of bats wings or swarms of flies rushing towards dead flesh. the feelings ooze out, like mud. they disgust me and the smell is unbearable. notwithstanding i bend down and i scoop them up, reeking but powerless, and throw them to God.

"here! take these horrible creatures and make me free from them."

God reaches to embrace me, and my heart stops sneering at me, subdued.

i sob as relief floods the chambers. i toss the mud away, out the window, into the bin, away away away. as the sun peeks in the room is illuminated and the old feelings are nothing to me.

i don't keep them anymore. God takes control of them, and they cannot control me.


perhaps i am free.





some days the feelings come back. they multiply like maggots and try to wriggle in under the door. sometimes they hide inside, growing steadily, and i have the inclination to trap them in my closet again.

but always that voice comes to me, clearly and sweetly.
"surrender."
"surrender."
" s u r r e n d e r . "

then i open the closet again.

and i am free.