Can't Explain It

I can't explain to him the empty rage like spiders crawling under my skin, whirlwind flames spinning through my brain and cutting off any sane, logical thought process. I can't explain to him the blind fury, desperate and alone but determined and proud. Don't want Don't need I'm fine.
Fingers clench, aching to reach out, to find a strength of will and understanding that isn't there to grasp.
I can't explain to him the knots in my chest, tight and choking, rising up my throat; a scream begging to happen. No reason No purpose I'm fine.
I can't explain to him why I hate him sometimes. That it isn't really him, it's me. The little things he does and forgets bug me, but the extent to which my body reacts makes me furious, my brain lashing out at itself, and him, because he's near.

I can't explain the urge to scream, scratch my eyes out, cry, or pull my hair from my scalp

for

no

real

reason.

Oh, it's real enough in my head.

Like a banshee tearing through me.

But the logical part of me knows it's insignificant. That something inside me is taking this miniscule thing, whatever it is, and inflating it, taunting it, urging it on and making it grow into monstrous proportions, throwing my hormones into an emotional frenzy where nothing in the world is GOOD ENOUGH.

and I can't

explain it

to him.