The front of my head is a dam for tears and the stress is intense. When I move my skull I can feel the pressure shift and slosh and threaten to spill. I struggle desperately to quell the flow, thinking of the runoff and collateral. All those wet inhabitants dealing with the runoff. Why should they suffer because I wasn’t strong. So I shore myself up constantly, building bricks out of vice and mortar in pestilent habits between so the cracks are unseen and the rocky foundations seem stable when viewed from afar. I keep it together for them.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.