Old Spaghetti 

As I sit here and eat my reheated lunch, I stare blankly at nothing while my mind sinks into anxiousness. I begin to reflect on this past month. 

If someone were to ask me how things have been, I would answer “Too much”. Things are better, I think. Something is the matter, but I am sure that I am fine.

Minutes into thoughts, I find myself on my kitchen floor, inside of my empty, but not quite quiet house. I am not even anxious about my personal current affairs, but of one’s I have potential to create. Everything is too beautiful right now, it’s just anxiety. 

Maybe I am just…silly. 


Empathetic Downsides

I wish that I could take every person’s pain away. Pain they are feeling now, pain they have felt before, and any pain they have been holding onto. 

I wish that I could save everyone. I know that I can not. I also know that I can at least help them save themselves  

Still, no one deserves such pain that makes someone desire to slit their wrists.

I wish that I could take the tainted blood and turn it into butterflies.

The tears into cotton wisps. 

The constant noise in their heads into laughter.

I want to be the flashlight that guides them through the darkness, charged with love. Charged with love, because batteries die, and my love is endless. 

Reflecting ;Without Shoe Laces

Some nights, I still think of the hospital. It is hard to believe that it was only five months ago, for I feel more recovered than I thought I would be within this time span. When I think about the hospital, I can sometimes feel the cold tile on my feet. Most people in the facility kept their shoes, without the shoe laces, but I maneuvered my way in socks. Wearing the thick, red socks made me feel a sense of normality, like it was cold winter in my home. I remember wearing the scrubs, and the only kind nurse calling me tiny, and asking my mom for more clothes for even more sense of normality, along with my books to read.

“Tiny?” I thought to myself. I disagreed, but that was part of my problem. 

Some nights, I can still recall waking up with panic attacks. I would drag myself out of my bed, and find my way through the dark hallway for a nurse. I thought it was another seizure. The nurses would proceed to attempt to comfort me, but I eventually pretended to be okay, because I knew that they would only write it on my chart. Still trembling inside of myself, I laid back in bed to fight the panic attack off. Tears would fog my eyes before forcing them shut. I had never felt so alone, and unsafe in a place that I searched for the opposite. 

I miss the mother-like figure that I shared the room with. An addict that I set no judgement upon. She would speak softly to me to comfort me, even though she was torn up herself. We were the only ones that we could cry to, each other. The only people who would not write the behavior on a chart. Our emotions were being treated as unnatural. 

The environment was bleak, which is completely not what helps people psychologically. The first day, no one seemed to talk to each other. Everyone was at least 10 years older than me, addicts and people who flipped out from their medication. It was my mission to brighten the atmosphere, and help everyone else simultaneously, even though I was the only one on suicide watch. Though, I also knew that it would help me as well.

I miss Michael, a man in the wheel chair who liked to cause havoc anytime possible. 

“What does it matter, we’re crazy, right?” He would always say. There was also a time that he banged on the barred windows for no other reason than to piss the nurses off, even though they payed no attention. Each time, I would tell him he should stop. He would always hit me with; “We can get away with anything in here, we’re crazy.” Michael wasn’t crazy, he just had nowhere else to go. He played piano, and I would sing. We would go nuts at night, when everyone’s medications would make them wired and then crash. 

As the patients condensed, a family was truly being made. A perfect one? No, but every family has it’s sociopaths. In the darkest place, I was smiling, and it was not the medication. It was love, unconditional love. Acceptance, and knowledge that I never thought I contained beforehand. I was the “baby”, but the one everyone seemed to be proud of. Proud of me for taking care of myself, before I was in their positions. The patients were some of the most honorable and memorable people I have ever met.

Nights like tonight, when I am reminded of the hospital, I am also reminded of my gradual recovery. I am reminded of how beautiful life is. I look to my side, and remember that I am in love. I think of my sister, who has done more than she will ever know without speaking. I think of my parents, who tried to understand, and did everything they could, even if they did not understand. I never forget the love of my friends, and their smiles that kept me living. I think of the hospital, and compare it to where I am now. The happiness that I feel has healed the majority of sadness I had within myself. Never have I ever thought I would have clear thoughts after crying in the shower, wondering what having clear thoughts is like.

With all of the inconveniences, pain, loss, and sadness life may come with; I still take gratitude for this life each day.

With these thoughts, silent tears roll down my eyes. Tears from joy, and disbelief that I am where I am now.

I have expressed the importance many times before, but can never express the euphoria that life is enough. Even if it feels like your world is ending, even if so, there is constantly a new one being created. All it takes is to love one thing.

Placing The Blame; 7 Years

I do not know you anymore. I do not even think that I can recall your face in the dark, like I once could. I remember a soft voice, but not how to determine the tone. 

You don’t even notice. If I were to say that, would you know why that is so? Would you consider?

You don’t even notice, and I truly think that you unintentionally let it happen. 

I think that you are lost. You have everything in your mind working exceedingly, but you are so lost in heart. I know that things are just; “What is”, but feelings validate such. 

You are so caught up in you, that you don’t even notice.

You probably won’t ever hear this, because where is my stance?

There is a greater chance you may not read this. Not a damn line.