Burning from the inside

There’s a ball in my stomach. And it squirms.
It’s warm, too, like it has its own pulse.
And it has mass.
I know I have to put it aside, put it out of my conscious mind. I cannot deal with it now. I’m too busy and I need to be creative. I need focus.
But how do you ignore something so hot, heavy and ugly?
I stared at a blank page for an hour. Ready to pour onto my sketchbook that is The Tension, and all I got were dry eyes and a slight headache.
This ball, this knot, paralyses me. It calls me to question more than I need to question now.
It gets in the way of everything.
I have a twitch, even when I’m not stressed, where I tap my right leg up and down. Right now, both legs are under the desk, working like pistons. It is something I cannot stop, less I will my mind to stop it. It takes that much focus.
There are bits of clarity, here and there. Little times where I know everything I going to be OK (and not because everybody tells me that it’s going too be OK). I know because I believe.
But the mass and weight of this ball in the pit of my stomach won’t stop glowing fire-hot.
And no matter what, I cannot will it to go away.

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