In the midst of autumn...
A gentle gust gallops across the grass. It stirs the scattered leaves, whisking them every which way.
I wonder if the leaves can see what I see.
Swirls of green. ADHD.
My randomness has become uniquely me.
I am a leaf, floating in a flurry of fluttering feelings. Profusely green.
I am various shades, shifting with the various states.
I forgot my keys! Neon.
Hunger. Juniper.
Anxiety. Chartreuse.
If I could choose, I would be no other color.
For I am a leaf, floating in a flurry of fluttering feelings. Yet always...
Profusely green.
And unapologetically me.
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Where there's Art there's Heart
Here's a stupid thing: I adore art, but I start to panic whenever I step into a gallery. In the one place I should be at my contented best - surrounded by walls teeming with creative expression - I fall apart. What ought to be an enriching experience, tacitly designed to facilitate the exploration of human empathy and perspective, is for me an overwhelming purgatory of anxiety that compresses me to the point I cannot breathe. At the same time, I experience a sense of extraction, as though my head is being prized open to create a hole so big my sanity could evaporate. Somewhere between these two opposing forces of vice and vortex, I feel myself dissolving in a stream of panic that makes me want to cry; and I feel so daft feeling this way, that all I want to do is run for the hills.
By Caroline Janea day ago in Humans
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