100 mph

Sometimes I feel like my heart is racing at a hundred miles per hour. That somehow I’m so out of shape that I don’t even have the stamina to keep up with my own mind anymore. But I guess that’s just what having a mind like mine is like. I know some of you understand that feeling.

I’m a person that can’t understand good things. I can look at this world around me and feel how beautiful it is, and see how great people can be, and all these little things that make life such a wonder, and yet, I can’t believe in good for me.


I’m supposed to blame that on mental illness, the chemicals that my head lacks and the psychological damages resulting from my childhood traumas. I’m coached into believing that I can’t help it, and it’s not my fault. But I have a lot of days where it doesn’t make sense to “blame” anything or anyone. It’s a thing that simply is, but if I work hard enough I can change it. That somehow I can rewire my brain and learn how to trust others and myself.

Because when I’m experiencing something good, I become really scared. Terrified, actually. Sometimes there isn’t even any thought behind it. My body just enters flight mode and I shake, and want to throw up, and tears start forcing their way down my face, and I can’t breathe, and I just want the world to end; at least just for me.


But when it comes to trust I realise how fake everyone is about it. I don’t believe that trust is even something that should have a word anymore. You don’t feel trust or the lack there of… you just decide it. You just convince yourself that your negative assumptions are wrong. That’s all that trust is. But if I can’t do that one simple thing, I wonder if I can have any relationships that are truly meaningful. Or am I just like everyone else and constantly lie to myself and others?

My head spins on these things that don’t even have purpose. When I’m feeling happy I constantly seek out all of the reasons not to be. The ways in which the people I’m close to are going to let me down. How my presence at this moment is simply that; a presence. The same way that I don’t need anyone, no one needs me. It’s comforting and excruciatingly painful at the same time.

I live in a mess of grey and sometimes miss the days when things seemed so black and white. I keep telling myself that the day to day is what matters most. The moment. And that these moments right now are so precious and the most meaningful that I’ve had in some time, but inside, it really hurts to know that things like this aren’t lasting. And that I’ll either destroy something beautiful as I always do, or I’ll convince myself into believing a lie and become shattered in the end. How many times can a person recover from that type of thing?

So my head and my heart are at war again.



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