Angry
It’s
not disappointment, nor confusion, nor frustration
those
feelings you seem to think I’m having
because
your training tells you I’ll be shocked, surprised and overwhelmed
by
information overload, unable to take it all in, as though it’s far too much -
but
that’s not it at all…
No
- I fully understand, I’m simply focused on your voice,
the
reassuring practiced tone of directness - no beating about the bush,
no
use of euphemisms, just the bare and brutal truth
of
your honesty, coming straight to the point
leaving
no space for any doubt…
But
- after that - it’s very different:
a
sudden narrowing darkness on the periphery of vision,
a
caving-in of walls, a falling, breaking sky
and
a hard shattering of light, brilliant glittering crystals
and
cracking blood-red beads, shimmering sparkles cascading to the floor
where
they settle, puddling in pools around my feet…
And
then deathly quietness, an emptying-out of sound
except
for the hollowness, the echoing noise that is the droning of your voice
still
outlining clinical options and decisions,
oblivious
to the shit-storm that’s hitting me,
quivering
and shaking, a rising gorge, a boiling up of anger,
a
roiling, towering rage, cowering under the enormity
of
the scale of this miserable betrayal, the depth of disappointment
that
my own body should dare to let me down
and
fail to go the distance
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