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An exercise in description

One of the things we talk about in my workshop is how difficult it is to convey a feeling in writing.  Feelings are abstract, and, as a result, indescribable for the most part.
I, however, am going to try.  I'm going to try to convey the feeling of a particular kind of sadness.

Imagine a lead peach pit in the middle of your torso, roughly a third of the way up from your belly button and two thirds of the way down from your clavicle (for girls, this would be just a little bit below the breasts). This peach pit, being a lead peach pit, is large enough so that you're aware of its existence and heavy enough to be uncomfortable, but not quite large enough or rough enough to cause physical pain--it causes merely discomfort.  From this peach pit emanates waves of coldness and nausea--almost like morning sickness.  You have that sick feeling, that feeling that you could vomit at any given moment, but you don't; instead, you only feel sick.  These waves are strongest around the lead peach pit, but they reach  up to the chest, enshrouding your heart in a feeling of coldness, not unlike the feeling you get from smoking a menthol cigarette or inhaling Vicks Vapor Rub.  It's not, however, cold enough to numb your heart or the entrails within your bowels; your viscera is very aware that things are not as they should be.  The coldness and nausea does not stop at your heart.  It funnels together, rising up through your throat, up your esophagus, filling the sinus cavity, but somehow, when it gets to the sinuses, the feeling is no longer a cold, nausea-inducing feeling; once it gets to the sinuses, the feeling is a feeling of pressure, a feeling right behind the eyes and nose and mouth and cheeks.  If you give into this feeling, to this pressure pressing on the eyes, and nose, and mouth, a feeling of panic will ensue, a wild feeling of helplessness, a feeling that you have no control whatsoever over your body, over your actions, over your emotions, over your life.  If you give into this feeling, the mouth will quiver, veering downward at its corners, the tears will come, the nose will run.  You will have no choice but to allow the feeling to reign over you, and so you must ignore the feeling, you must act like it's not there, despite the pressure in your sinuses, the cold, nausea-inducing feeling that is climbing up your throat, enshrouding your heart, squeezing your viscera, and sitting right in the middle of your belly, like a peach pit made of



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