Typical

My finger lingers above the keyboard as I consider for a moment whether I really want to do this. Do I really want to type what it is that I'm thinking, what it is that I really want to say?

What will happen if I did? Would there be looks of horror tomorrow morning; muffled whispers as I walked down the corridor? Would there be pats on the back and “hear hear”s and a steady stream of support and understanding? Or would there be nothing? Would silence greet me in the way that it does every day, tomorrow no different from today or the day before? Would anything be different? Would I realise the sad and lonely reality of things, that no one cares or reads or listens?

And what would happen if I didn't? How long would my finger hover above the keyboard before my mind moved on to something more pressing like what's on TV? How long before my mind settles on another subject and allows my heart to stop beating in my chest, sending my blood pounding around my body in a manner that I find most uncomfortable? Me, the supposedly calm one, the supposedly quiet one, the one who never speaks out for herself and just goes with the flow. I don't like the feeling that is coursing through me. How long before it ends? What can I do to make it stop?

My finger lingers above the keyboard and I stare at it, willing it to start typing away, to start what I can't bring myself to. I will it to write what is in my head so that it will be gone and I can stop thinking about it. Once it is out and in the world, there is nothing more to think about. It is up to others to think about then. It won't be my burden anymore.

I drop my finger onto the keyboard. It doesn't matter where it lands. Wherever it is, whatever letter starts the torrent, it has begun and nothing can hold it in now.