On feeling wild, restless, insecure, and a whole host of other unpleasant things

When I was in the seventh grade, a bird flew into my science class. We were all screaming like idiots, because the bird kept on flying dangerously close to our heads. Eventually the bird found its way out of the room (I vaguely recall someone shooing the bird out after it had landed on a chair), but not after it had hurled itself bodily at all the windows.

My heart feels a little like that bird, trapped in a room and throwing myself futilely at the windows. The problem here, however, is that I am both the bird and the room. I'm trying so hard to be free of myself, to the point of inflicting pain upon my person, but I can't just fly out. There are no open windows, no open doors, no twelve year old showing me the way out. I'm raging inside myself and it's breaking my heart.

I can't fully express what it is that I want, either. I can't free myself from myself, because so much of what has made me is inescapable – and I wouldn't want to escape it. I want to face it head on, and let myself heal. I want to know where I've been, but I don't want to be here anymore.

I'm restless, I'm dying to be free of this strange incongruity between myself and me. I don't know how to connect who I am with what I want to be.

And I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. I can't find the words to express what I'm feeling, what I want, what I fear. I feel wild inside, and not in the "girls gone wild" sense, but in the "wild and wounded animal" sense. Wild, wounded, and searching frantically for a place free of hurt and pain. While trapped. Inside myself.

My mind is a helluva place to be at this moment.