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Alexithymia

Samuel Scott

Friends,this is me telling you how I don't know howto tell you how I feel.Like when I feel this burning passion in my chestand I don't know why it's always "burning"always "flaming" always... something else I know.Or how I use the word sad. sad. sad. depressing all the time,it makes me want to go crazy and yet how. many. times.have I told you I'm "crazy"?I also hear that love is grand and I believe it sobut those four letters on my lips are always so short they taste of clichéslike roses, red, falling in, breaking up, more roses, and maybestarstruck.I could tell you I'm feeling mad when I've been playedor sour when I've been touché'd but neither of which describe how infuriatingit is to use "infuriating" when I'm actually violent.no, seething.no, boiling.Burning!But wasn't that passion? And red was love I guess insteadI'll say mad.

Friends, when I'm humiliatedI sink to a place where "sinking" isn't overused,

and I'm no longer comfortable using "awkward" in its place.When you laugh or give me pity I feel shitty but more somy self consciousness becomes conscious of how often I use"soft" or "sensitive" to describe myself,and the irony that each of those words are but a hard shell of sounds and vowels,their softness and their sensitivity, lost somewhere in a realmthat you or I cannot describe.

It is emotion,and yet it feels so still when I must sayit is in motion.Each joy, each hate, each hope, each disappointment.Another way to tell you that I don't know how to tell youhow I feel.

Only that I'm feeling...that I'm feeling.