thank you.

To whom this may concern,

I wanted to reach out and thank you. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't have been able to escape the gnawing feeling inside the walls of my chest, clawing to get out. I'm not exactly sure if it's trying to "get out", but it sure has the persist-ency like it wants to. I'm not entire sure how it got stuck in there in the first place, either. I'm not even sure if it's entirely stuck, per se. I guess I'm not sure of a lot of things. What I do know, is that it's like a slug; it just sits in there. It feels like a slug. It sits there unbothered, until it runs into some... salt.

S.A.L.T. Sad. Ass. Little. Thoughts.

Once the salt touches the slug, it's all over, or so it seems. One sad ass little thought enters my brain and it all spirals downward; like a start of an avalanche. One chunk at the tip falls onto a bigger piece, that piece falls onto another piece, and another, and another. It all comes crumbling down and I'm stuck in the thick of it. The chunks of snow covered rocks from this metaphorical avalanche is the salt on the metaphorical slug that lives inside the bars of my ribs; I call her -the slug- my feelings.

You've helped me by reading this. Well, at least, the slim chance that you'd be reading this, helps me. By seeing this letter, you've allowed me to escape the all-too-familiar drone of complacency; the unbearable static of misunderstanding, broadcasting from myself to others and vice versa. Thank you for laying eyes on this piece of writing, it really puts things into perspective for me, to see it all laid out; like airing out some dirty laundry. Even if you don't see this, the laundry still gets aired; you're really just the clothesline that's there, whether I air this out or not. You've unintentionally pulled me out from underneath the rubble, and for that, I thank you.

You see, I've been feeling torn... actually, more like ripped apart. My heart and guts are pulled forward, up up and away, toward the tip of that mountain. The same one that started avalanching. Meanwhile, my head and thoughts are pulled down and out, like the tumbling snow and rocks falling off that same cliff.

I really am that slug inside, being pulled in two directions. Like a pair of butcher hooks have found their way into and through both ends of her; my feelings, and then started ripping her apart as if shredded slug was somewhere on the menu. If it's on the menu, you already know we can't forget about the salt. Every inconsistency in conversation, every mistake I make on vacation, every time I miss a chance to speak up, and every word out of my mouth that ruins an occasion... it all gets crushed and pressed into super fine grains of delicious S.A.L.T.

I wanted to thank you for allowing me to squirm like this, on paper. It's much better than squirming in my own cauldron of a vessel; this human flesh. It's like a slow cooker in here and I'm fucking roasting. These words that pour out, they come from the bottom of my heart, these are the juices I'm cooking in. This is me squirming. The being pulled in two directions are evenly matched and somehow, I'm at peace with this flavor. Peacefully squirming my way through 600 words or more, airing out my dirty laundry on Vocal, one letter at a time. Thank you for tasting what I've cooked up, I really did put my heart into it.

Sincerely,

My will to live