Take a look at my thoughts

My little sister is 15 years old, and she’s been drawing ever since she could grip a pen. She painted this for a school requirement. My sister is really shy. So when I told her that I was going to take a picture of her and her finished work, she partially hid behind the canvass.

DSC_3050

Peek

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Anxiety, not Insanity

It’s reading and rereading the last message we sent you when we don’t get a reply because “Ummmm…was is something I said?” “Did I offend you in any way?” “I should probably apologize for wasting their time because they’re too busy, and I’m not.” Yes, it’s over thinking.

It’s a lot of uncontrollable over thinking. It sounds like paranoia. Somehow our minds could create the most bizarre connections between things. It’s like forming a conspiracy theory about things that could or could not be. As crazy as it sounds, sometimes our theories turn out to be true.

It’s feeling guilty even though you didn’t do anything wrong.

Anxiety. It’s not being able to eat despite feeling hungry. It’s the collywobbles, but even you don’t know why they’re there. It’s telling people that you have gastritis when you really don’t. Do you really want to explain your mental illness to your friends who are enjoying their meal?

It’s feeling disturbed when things aren’t in order because you have OCD tendencies, too. I mean what if something goes wrong because it wasn’t at the right position in the first place?

It’s caring too much, then pretending not to care that much because some people don’t like the clingy you.

It’s “overreacting” because you’re scared.

It’s an illness that people mistake for insanity, when it really isn’t. It’s an illness that makes you feel like you’re having a heart attack whenever it strikes.

It’s painful. Heck, it’s pain itself. It makes your chest burst when it peaks. It makes you beg for it to stop…to just stop. It makes you cry, it makes you horrible…and it drags on for days.

Sometimes it paralyzes you, and you stay in bed not wanting to get up. Sometimes you have to get up, and you put on a pseudo default happy face so you don’t have to explain to anyone how conflicted you’re really feeling inside. Sometimes it’s insomnia because your thoughts won’t let you sleep, and you end up popping a sleeping pill you’ve been hiding under your pillow.

No, we can’t turn it off and be “normal” like you when your patience has ran out. Believe me, even we are trying to be patient with ourselves. We only ask you to understand us. We’re sick, but we don’t use our sickness as an excuse.

It’s not just wanting a hug, it’s needing a hug because damn, you’ve never felt so safe and comfortable in your life. It’s needing a hug because after all the chaos happening in your head, that’s the only thing that makes sense right now.

Wishes are for Little Girls

I’ve given up wishing for you
I’m going to stop searching for dandelions to blow
Stop staying up late waiting for the clock to hit 11:11
Stop looking up at the sky at night to see the first star to appear,
Or wait for a shooting star to whiz across
Stop wasting my coins on wishing wells
Stop blowing fallen eyelashes from the tip of my finger
Stop wishing for you when I blow out the candles on my next birthday cake
I’m done with all that because another girl did the same thing,
She got her wish – you.

-Poem originally written on November 30, 2015 in a notebook labeled Compositions for the Imaginative Minds.

Eyes

I stare at them, not in a creepy disturbing way

I stare at them observantly

I study them, absorb every detail, take mental notes

I was curious, and this was an opportunity

to look at them without getting caught

Bothered by the question whether they were black or brown

It was a mystery that I was so eager to solve

It was a puzzle that I just had to piece together

After all this time, this was a chance to finally find out

My method was on-point, direct

I start at the corner of his eyes

The part where he won’t catch me staring

From that angle, the outline is midnight black

I begin to make conclusions – they are black

I talk to him, he faces me

The afternoon sun casts its rays

The light indirectly flood his face

His eyes illuminate revealing its true color

No, I think to myself

They’re brown

And it’s not just any kind of brown

It’s definitely not the dull type of brown

It’s the shade of brown that makes you stare in awe

It’s the tint that makes me forget that my favorite color is green

His eyes are my new favorite color,

And they’re the fondest things I see

I sit beside you, half listening to your words

I sit beside you, gawking in wonderment

Astonished by the galaxies in your eyes that are windows to the universe that is your very soul.