Serenity

I can write. I could write for hours. Days. Ramble on about my thoughts. One after the other. I can draw. I could draw exactly how I'm feeling. Static noise. A field of dark shadows. Sketch of vertical lines and black smudges. I can play music. Sit down at the piano. Play my thoughts. Incline to a point of pure bliss, then plummet to jarring desperation and disorientation. But the second you ask me why my forehead is wrinkled with uncertainty or why my fingernails are bleeding from constant worry, my mind goes blank. I don't realize that society doesn't know what's going on in my disquiet, jumbled mind. And for some unusual reason, I can't say exactly what I'm feeling. It's so hard for me to utter the words anxiety has placed into my vocabulary. My ears start to ring at the sound of, "What's wrong?" My mouth becomes dry, and my body frozen. Agitation and fear win. They usually do. They're quite the team. With fear, there comes doubt. With agitation, there comes compulsion. Everything is linked. There is NEVER one without the other. They communicate, and their only goal is to deteriorate your mind. Then comes dejection. This is the worst of all. The feeling of lost hope. Disconsolation. An outcast in your own flesh and bones. Your skin feels numb. Sort of like the feeling when your foot falls asleep. You know your soul is there, but you can't feel it. There comes a point where sleep just isn't sleep anymore. It's an escape. A paradise for passion and inspiration. For lost souls. You cannot set me in a room, and tell me to pour out my lost soul to one who's holding a clipboard with a high pony tail and is always generated with simple answers to questions that are the complete opposite of effortless. But you can give me a paper and pen. I will splurge my uncertain reasoning like blood gushing from a cut. I can make sense of things. To see the way you're feeling looking back at you as words on a paper is surprisingly therapeutic. It's a realization. So before you ask what's wrong or why my eyes are darting around the room or why I continue to play with my fingers, maybe consider that sometimes, I don't even know what's the matter. It's not my fault. It's just the result of realizing what is reality, and what hides in the shadows. If you were to break your leg, it would take time for it to heal and be back to normal. My mind is just a little broken, and like any wound, it needs time to recover. So be patient with me. I'm still learning, too, believe it or not. We all are. We're all learning our place in this world, our significance. It will take time for that 'Aha!' moment, but if you've already found it, then keep chasing that feeling. Don't shrug it off, hold onto it, because your life depends on it. Sure, we can get by in life with a stable job and material things. But at the end of the day, we just want to be happy. When you're in bed at night, stare at the ceiling and ask yourself, "Am I happy?" If the answer isn't a simple yes, then do something about it. Find what makes you the happiest, and never let that go. Stop stressing over things that you can't control, and live for those moments that you can't put into words. ​After all, happiness is a choice, and we should never stop choosing it.