As if a wood-splitter has landed on the bridge of my nose, the pain steadily, and often sharply, oozes up through the centre of my skull.
Bicarb-soda and vinegar-like, the sensation of fizzy bubbles swirls up my sinuses and around the back of my eyes.
My eyes swell with watery tears, my nose runs, just a little bit.
My body shivers. My body desires warmth but the head, which I'd like to dis-own today, which already feels like hot, hard metal, wants to be cooled down.
My uterus sheds its lining.
I want to shed the dark, heavy cloak of this entire experience. Hang it on the shelf. Better still, burn it, so no one else will try it on.
The head tells me it must serve a purpose, but my soul does not receive it happily, this cloak.
Stop wearing it then. Take it off! the little voice inside me says. But I don't know how to, I reply.
I contribute to a million memories for my children. One of them will be of Mama writhing, wishing she could chop off her head.