Rooftop Thoughts

 

rooftop, snow, and winter image

The sky was attractive tonight. When I looked up into the overcast, I think that I see a star!

It was not a star, just a plane. How unfortunate, but at least I had my moment. Everything is sort of staged anyways, right?

The trees were dope too, I like how the moonlight distorts them.

I just sat there with my green, gazing from the rooftop.

The music in my ears was good too; “My Morning Jacket”. I am pretty sure the world is ending, and that I am going to go with it, but I am okay with that.

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Sonder

I am sorry,

Stranger passing by-

The streets are damp 

The city is loud

Everyone looks gray 

Yet, our eyes still meet
I am sorry, stranger 

Who’s eyes are as sad as mine 

Are you wondering too?

Wondering what could be troubling me too?
Stranger, person passing by;

Do my eyes also make you question this sonder feeling?
I am sorry, stranger 

For all of the wrong situations you will meet 
I am sorry, friend 

I should have said “hello”

I am sure you can resonate 

With this world being gray to you, too. 

Simple Complexity 

 At the mark of 4:36pm, I wake up from a three hour nap. I lay still in my bed, knees to chest as I continue to tell myself I am going to get up, while it gradually gets darker outside. The spot of light projecting onto my heavy blankets slowly depletes as I remember my reason to nap in the first place.

What a cold, but beautiful morning it was. I love waking up to the person I love. I skipped the gym to get a coffee and soup with a friend, I even enjoyed the jazzy Christmas music in the Café. 

When I return home, I sit in silence before receiving a phone call from a close friend. My main focus is typically others well-being in conversation, making me unprepared for his simple question of; “are you okay?”. Supposedly, I sounded “off”.

Of course I am, but I cried anyway, and explained that I only needed to push the anxiousness away in this moment, it serves no purpose. 

I ended the phone call to have my four minutes of tears and began emerging into the thoughts of; “Maybe I am just on this earth to feel these things and educate.” 

Maybe so, but I caught myself anyways. I will never let these feelings and thoughts consume my life ever again, but I have to acknowledge them. 

The hard truth is, these are a variety of symptoms I live with, and must learn how to coexist with them.

Of course, panic strikes me when these emotions resurface. Though, I know that it is normal. Maybe not compared to other individuals lives, but my own. Maybe it does make me feel “strange” or look “strange” as an individual, but the important thing is that overall, aside from mental-illness-ick beyond my control, I am incredibly happy. 

Repulsively Corny 

 Baby, I wrote you this cheesy love poem,
Because life doesn’t feel real to me right now

It’s like being in a movie with you, and I really like how we feel.

I turn into a teenage girl in a famous 80’s romcom

-the one who is painting her nails in her bedroom, listening to The Cars. 

Smiling about the notes passed in class. 

My life changing when I see you, again. 

Everything about this life turns into a love story. 

You.

My breath of fresh air that kept me from suffocating. Yes, technically nothing matters, except the things ourselves make matter. What matters to me, is you. 

You and I holding hands and emerging into our consistently changing world. 

It’s Not You It’s Me 

I noticed you crying in the backseat on our way to my home far away. Our depart.

I watched you wipe the skin under your eyes silently, you have always had a hard time crying. I have always admired the positivity, but feel sorrow when it hurts you. 

I said nothing, because I know what you were thinking. You were feeling, remembering, and learning.

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.