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A great poem by Ellie Storm:

Amnesiac Optimism

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Grinding whistling growing pressure

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Like a kettle on the stove

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boiling over

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a rattling pressure cooker

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screeching

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My joints calcifying

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Teeth grinding

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Hair pulling

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Clawing at my skin. Flaking picking bleeding stinging. Face scrunched up and gurning.

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No sound. My body still except for the vibrating, clenching, grinding tension and the engine tick of my brain counting pyramids of numbers tapping them out to impose some ordered beauty onto an ugly discordant world that demands i look at its ugly but not react to it

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HeadGettingSmallerCrushingMyBrainAsTheRoomGetsBiggerAndThere’sLessAirAsThePressureRisesAnd-I-Start-Hitting-My-Face-With-ThePalms-Of-My-Hands-And-The-Second-Knuckles-Of-My-Fists

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and I see flashing lights and my legs give and I collapse on the bed

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and it’s soft

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and I’m real again

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I’m calm

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I’m serene

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and the world’s the right size again

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And I’m crying

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but at least the tears are…

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