Frantic Friday

I just feel so suicidal. It is not like I wanna die or anything. I just want to be heard. And everything hurts and it disperses and transverses into hate, anger, and makes me want to curse. At the world. My heart hurts. My throat is being stepped on by a million men. Walking on it like a bridge that can no longer keep itself up. Its weird to have such uncontrolled mind. It has many many thoughts of its own. And you are not a part of them at all. I woke up this morning, transfused with sadness, bitterness and anger. And I just want to shout at the universe. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. The air will forever feel cold to me. It will forever feel weird . It will forever feel like a distant nightmare. Every single breath I take, I feel like snow is just flooding my lungs. My esophagus burns. It all burns. And you’re in fear of even just speaking because of how scary it is. its terrifying. Sometimes it’s too much and you feel clueless. Your mind is spiraling like the topping of a cinnamon roll. And you think of the things that are comforting. Aren’t cinnamon rolls comforting. I look at my socks all the time. They have a spiral like shape on each side. I have green socks with Swiss rolls on them. I think to myself all the time, what would life be like if I were a Swiss roll? Would I be wanted? Would I be taken into? Or would I be swallowed whole like a Swiss roll? I just said that twice cause it rhymed. But you see how when you type certain words, you reveal your true authentic self each and every time even though it’s messed up? It’s the weirdest thing. Everything is going to feel weird at first. It’s going to be icky like catching cooties on the playground. I remember when that was a thing. I always had the illest cooties because no one wanted to be around me. I felt like Greg who ate the nasty cheese. No one liked me. And I never knew why. Is it because I seek comfort from animals? Is it because I like to wear weird clothes? Who knows. I was the oddball in middle school. All the way through high school. I was either too loud, too quiet, or didn’t have the best clothes. I didn’t wear Jordans and Adidas tracksuits like the other kids. I liked band t shirts, chokers, and platform buckle boots. I enjoyed listening to the deep sounds of rock, and could care less about Pop. You know? Does this all even make sense. When you have general anxiety like myself, your thoughts are practically everywhere. And I mean literally. EVERYWHERE. Its kinda like tiny Swarovski rhinestones that fall out of your pockets with the holes on the bottom. also like the kid on the polar express that lost that Santa bell from his sleigh. You seen how heartbroken and confused he was? Like he had no clue that Santa was going to send that bell back to him and he can literally shake it in the Christmas spirit. My head hurts typing this. My thoughts give me a headache. Its kind of like a tumor on your head. AndI’m using too many similes. Thats my issue. I compare everything to anything. And it only makes sense to me. When I wrote my poetry, my therapist just goes “you know this is good.” And I’m just like “how so?” And he says : “Melanie, the things you write just doesn’t make sense. And maybe things aren’t supposed to pull together or make sense. Maybe there’s just isn’t a correct way or a right way. We’re just a figment of each others minds.