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Updated: Dec 1, 2021

Lately, I have had many musings that I've wanted to put down, but I haven't. Some, because I couldn't find it in me to sit down in front of a screen after a nine hour work day. Others, because of reasons more complicated than that. But all of them, because I couldn't mould my thoughts into sentences. Things that seemed so clear inside my head, somehow when spilled into words, were robbed of their clarity.

A few days ago, emotional constipation came up in a conversation. A term I thought I came up with, by the way, but is an existing concept, where an individual is unable or unwilling to be express their emotions. And although I haven't researched it in depth, I'm almost sure everybody goes through at some point in their lives, irrespective of their mental state, content, depressed, or otherwise.

The way I understand it, it doesn't need a tragic, life-altering trigger to manifest, although that is the most plausible scenario. Its origin could lie in something as routine as just-one-of-those-days to a devastatingly soul-crushing heartache. Whatever the underlying cause may be, the result is always the same. Bottling up of that which should have been expelled out at once.

Fortunately for us though, this internal struggle often finds a way to resolve itself. A conversation, a song, a movie. Before you know it, your subconscious is provoked, and out comes the muck. For me, one of my favorite shows brought me on the other end of this screen again, but that's a story for another time.

I'm still not entirely sure if I was constipated. If I were, I'm not entirely sure if I'm over it. But in this moment, right now, it feels good to have dumped this out, literally.

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Grateful and more, yes, but fuck my life.


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