Lately I feel like a vessel containing radioactive toxins.
Sometimes my emotions burn so much that I feel their physical manifestation, their heat, radiating from my pores. They come on slowly at first, until they ruminate to the point where my body becomes too small a home for them to reside in.

These "toxins" generally consist of: Sadness, anger, resentment, desperation, embarrassment, and hurt. When they rear their woeful heads my face gets hot, my stomach clamps down, my whole body feels like its preparing for an epic battle. Yet, the only things that results from this "lock down" are tears, or sometimes nothing at all. Nothing to the point where there is not a thought in my head, like I've disappeared out some emotional escape hatch. But the feelings are always there...always.

No matter how many times I scream and cry and acknowledge my darknesses, they still remain. And I remain confused as to how to permanently sever them from my body and mind. Even as I write this, and I am reminded of my trials and tribulations, my throat tightens, and I grow weary from the burden.

I am sick to death of getting "advice" from other people, even those I go to for spiritual teachings. Every one's experience is different, and I just can't see how any one person could possibly have truly meaningful advice on the experiences of another person. They can give that advice to the best of their own experience, but the reality is that they can ONLY give perspective from their own experience.

Am I making sense?

All the talking and advice giving and getting I've been doing throughout my lifetime feels stifling now. The thought of it feels suffocating.

Perhaps it is because I yearn to see and define my life through my own experience.