The other night I dreamed that a clot grew inside of me.
However, not one of organic matter, but rather this intangible sorrow manifesting in corporeal form like a tumor.
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I felt it too.
As it grew, I felt it like a blaze sending that sensation of a white-hot, emotional burn nothing can sooth through every part of my body. Instinctively, I started doing that whole crying pre-show. You know the one. Your face contorts and moves involuntarily. Meanwhile, your eyes start to moisten as your vision slowly blurs more and more like a fading movie scene.
That’s usually the point that one feels the relief of tears roll down their cheeks.
But I couldn’t.
I tensed up; I screamed; I writhed as if this clot was some demon a priest was exorcising out of my core.
But nothing came.
All I could feel was that sensation of sadness growing to an unbearable point as if it would eventually pop my eyes out of their sockets and blow out my ear drums as something detonated inside of me.
My ears started ringing.
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I began heaving, fingers digging into the ground so aggressively they bled as I tried to violently hack up the ever-growing thing invading me.
Then, just as I felt every bone and sinew and muscle in my body beginning to separate, I woke up.
And I screamed into my pillow.
I still haven’t gotten it out.
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Inside the Mind of Daniel Thompson (Podcast)
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