on anxiety
ongoing musings of an anxious mind
words
When words fail you, what remains? Sometimes the thought of voicing something, of acknowledging what rumbles around in the brain is nauseating. And sometimes even thought fails. Unwilling to even glance at unpleasant thoughts, the mind buzzes. Not blank, but wordless, thoughtless. White noise. Is it possible to reclaim words for my own? By writing, can I transfer my thoughts out into the world, remove them from my skull, though I lack the strength or energy or will or motivation to move my lips? What makes no sense in the murkiness of thought, could it be made clear through typing these characters? Dear Subconscious, you have my permission to write as you will, take this offramp and let me be.
aches
It’s so frustrating to have no control over one’s own legs. Am I in control of my body, or is my body in control of me? The more I think about it, the more pain I feel. Is the wandering mind so strong that it can cause such intense physical pain? Rather, The Subconscious, instead, is the reigning champion of being. It seems to do as it pleases, whether one likes it or (most commonly) not. Would that I were not a prisoner to my own brain, that I could order my subconscious to behave, and that it would listen. Is this how parents must feel when their children grow to disobey them and ignore their commands? What a petulant Subconscious I have raised!
rainy days
I like rainy days, I do. They are my favorite days. I love to read, to watch movies, to be cozy with a warm blanket and a hot cup of anything. I know I love these things. I do, I really do. They make me happy. They are my favorite things to do.
Get melissa’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Today, it rained. I drank cocoa, I played games, I watched my favorite shows. I felt nothing.
