theme? what theme?

Writing class is exhausting. Emotionally exhausting. Liberating, exposing, unearthing, and unnerving... draining. Wow.

In selecting an object to write about, I chose carefully, hoping to avoid the emotional torrent which overtook me at the first reading of even a tiny piece of my work. It seems instead that even a deeply buried, tiny piece of my heart is sharply sensitive to the light. Can't the callouses protect me? It used to work that way. So much to say, so much I'd rather not say. As I work through the seemingly benign assignments, ever wary of exposed nerves and thinking that I'm avoiding contact, I find myself instead faced with a steadily rising, slowly surging flood of tears. A helpless feeling, as if the toilet didn't quite flush, but instead regurgitated its contents back upward, creeping towards the rim, almost in slow motion - but not as slow as my reaction, reaching for the plunger, breathless, fearful of what's coming, yet unable to stop the flow of tears... or shit.