And now the water was coming.
"I feel myself torrent," I said again. This time, I didn't whisper. And this time, it wasn't a confession. i feel myself torrent
My friend Lena called it a breakdown. My doctor called it "emotional dysregulation" and wrote a prescription for something that came in a teal bottle. But I knew better. This wasn’t breaking. This was melting. The dam I’d spent twenty years building—brick by polite brick, mortar made of "I'm fine" and "don't worry about it"—had cracked along a fault line I hadn't known existed. And now the water was coming
It was a fact. Like gravity. Like rain. Like the river that would keep running long after I was gone, and the one that would keep running inside me until I wasn't. And this time, it wasn't a confession
The words came out wrong. They always did. But for the first time, they felt true.