searching for a door in a brick wall

Gripping the floor with my feet and supporting my voice with abdominal line-backers; shoulders up, open sternum, grounded grounded grounded, be on your voice and let whatever's coming up inside inform your breath. He's prying my arms from my chest, "does that make you feel exposed? Good" and telling me how I'm greedy with my emotions, "they know there's something there that you don't want to give to them". When asked what came up for me, I say that everything I love is being taken away from me and the only words I'm allowed to utter are 'why not' as these sobs are being witnessed by 26 eyes. Permission to access the rage in our souls results in "thank you, you went there": what came first the scream or the fury?

The worry has been a knife point in my back forcing me to step forwards into the darkness and trust, trust, trust. I run until my lungs burn and shout until my throat is raw.

I am stopped dead in my tracks by a gaze as blue as ice and as unsure as my own. My breath is heaving and ears tingling. Neither of us know any answers but he shook my shoulders and challenged my race:
"Are you pulling a Jonah?"
And they continue to slam.

What came first? The scream or the fury?

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