"if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me"

"if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me": song lyric from Mirah, off her album C'mon Miricale

content courtesy of chaosrah on youtube. I do not own this video.

My mind is a vortex of spinning cognition and introspection. Never stopping, never slowing. It's at its worse when my thoughts get so loud that they proceed in a shouting match with one another. There's a screaming opera of voices in my head right before I sink, sink into a hole, spinning downward, buried beneath my thoughts like a pile of dirt slowly crumbling over my body, compressed under a heavy and pensive elephant sitting on my chest.

If I think too much, I can think myself straight into a panic attack. I wish anxiety on no individual. You honestly feel as if you are dying, as if there is nothing you can do. The harder you try to calm down, the more you try to halt thinking, the worse it gets.

Don't get me wrong, I love thinking. I have a very complex inner life. More rich than, probably, most people's day to day lives. My brain is a crazy place. But sometimes, in rarity, I long for a quite mind.

Recently, I've been listening to a lot of Mirah. Her music makes my mind quite. She sings the words I am already thinking, so my mind just stops, listens, lives. There is no reason to think when the thoughts are being passed through your brain by another. Maybe this is why hypnotist have jobs and commercials tell you to "buy, buy, buy" and we obey.

Anyway, with this influx of thinking, I've realized that I haven't written in a long while. So, I packed my notepad and have been frantically scribbling and scrawling these past few days. Word vomit, some may say. This has helped, my mind may not be completely quite, but it has turned the volume down. My brain is quite enough now to realize that, frankly, "if you felt good inside, you wouldn't be so scared of me." This you, thye may not know who they are, but I do.

I wrote this, these are my thoughts. I am secure and safe now, and wish you were too. You'd at least, then, have the courage to live your life unabashed.

So.

QUE PENA

quality is a trait I stopped searching for once you choked the suss out of my curiosity.
ugly is the more I see, the closer I get.
ending is my tolerance and compassion, the pity you deceived your way into guarantee.
please leave me alone. I need coping, I need to lament my losses and gasp for the air that has long vacated my livelihood while buried beneath grand and lofty egos.
everything is frigid, chilled.
no air colder to breath, ice crystals stab my esophagus and consume my lungs, freezing my heart frigid and numbing my head into a solid stone of slush.
again
no, I can't do this again.