Rampaging emotions.

My stomach is in knots; rumbling, grumbling, and issuing painful shots of electricity through my sternum.  Stress and anxiety can cause extensive discomfort, and they become precursors to horribly debilitating anxiety attacks.  Add into the mix that I  eat a considerable amount of food when distressed, and you can glimpse into my digestive freewheeling and its reactive nausea.  Yet, I cannot seem to stop shoveling spaghetti, with marinara sauce and a delicate sprinkling of parmesan cheese, into my mouth.  With the speed I have hoover-d the pasta, it is no small wonder that I have not run to the bathroom and witnessed the Italian feast in reverse.

My gullet craves more exotic fare.  Sweet potato rolls, yellow curry, jasmine rice with vegetables galore, whole burritos filled with black beans, cheese, and guacamole, with small additions of sour cream, fajita seared vegetables, and shredded romaine.  These things have danced through my head the way sugar-plum fairies leap across the stage in the Nutcracker, leaving me craving an unquantifiable amount of food.  If an elephant can eat so many pounds a day and sustain, imagine me with tusks of ivory and gray, weathered skin, or at least I desire their dedication to pounds and pounds of food.

Anxiety is an odd and obnoxious emotion.  It does nothing but create a dull ache within my muscles from being perpetually flexed, my breath shortens and I find it hard to sustain deep, calming in-takes of air.  I just wish I could by-pass anxious.  I would not find myself curled up in a ball, holding my stomach, moaning at the pain the spaghetti baby is causing in my abdomen.

I am angry.  Why did this happen to Dave?  He never smoked, never drank or did drugs, he eats healthy, exercised, so how come those who abuse their body (and I include myself in this representation) are living and flaunting their destruction while a man who wanted nothing more than to be a father and grandfather dies before his time?  How come the universe unjustly deals these cards in a perpetual game of blackjack (hit me, hit me… FUCK!)?  He played the safe cards, but apparently the house won.  And the stakes are so high.

Even in this ocean of words, there is a deep residing fear.  Dave is the backbone, the strength of his family, the heart, the center; he is a man who is loved by anyone who meets him because he emanates something wholly caring.  He is an eternal and perpetual father-figure, a caring man with a guiding hand who loves his family fiercely.  I just wish I was there to help hold his hand, take some of his burden, whisper one last time, “Dave, I love you, you will always be my family.”

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