what it feels like

I feel like I'm being smooshed between malignant forces: from the inside, my stomach is turning turning--diet coke and sunflower seeds for lunch. The press is lurching and liquid and smashes unexpected and I think of it carefully as if my thoughts were careful hands and the pressure had spikes.
On the outside, bricks. Rough and square and heavier and heavier. Piled flat both on my shoulders and my lower back, even though I'm sitting up. My jaw resists opening, even, and my neck bending.
I can't I can't I can't.