I Popped My Balloon.

You hear people speaking of 'bottling emotions' up and to have a filled bottle is bad. This doesn't sound dramatic enough for my sweet usage so hear me out. I feel that 'bottling up' should best be replaced with 'blowing balloon'. Here's the picture, imagine a balloon. Think of it's rubbery texture and to how it expands when air is exhaled into it. The bigger the balloon gets, you can see it's skin stretching wonderfully making it look more tough than it really is. That's how I had feel when I popped. The more you blow into this balloon, with your misery and sorrows, you are actually developing a brilliant hard exterior which seems to be giving you super powers to have great emotional control. I had this great emotional control going on within me. I could choose my emotions and could flicker away anger and sadness from the tongue. I thought this brilliant knowing all I need to do in order to keep this power is to just keep blowing. Remember the balloon. It looks tough with it's stretched skin, but really, it isn't. I was driving back home from work slightly past midnight when my balloon freaking popped. I cried so violently and I screamed the hurt (assuming that when a balloon pops, it can feel the pain, and the pop is pretty loud). Random thoughts flew out of me, and they buzzed around my head like flies, irritating yet reminding me all the same of all that had happened. It took me half hour of yells and tears to have actually picked another balloon from my spare, regaining composure as I started blowing once more. It's a drug really. You know of it's power, yet knowing it harms you all the same, but you just can't help yourself. Oh well, poppity pop!