Syllables and sentence fragments run through my mind. Bits and pieces of conversations, I can almost hear the sadness in their voice, or the laughter of the moment or even the anger hidden behind them. I can see each cursive letter, each period, and comma. The explanation points and the question marks. They’re confused and running into each other. Not one knows where it’s meant to be or who it’s suppose to go with. As I lay alone at night I try to make sense of them. I try to put two and two together. It equals 4 right? I don’t know anymore. It all looks like a disaster and it keeps me up for hours trying to unjumble the mess. My mind is my prison. A cluttered room. Each thought is hidden away or thrown about on the floor. A part of it here, a piece of it there. Memories are stored away, some are preparing to be burned, some are on waiting. Thoughts come and go as they please, taunt me when they wish. Each night I try to sort little by little and when I think I’m on to something they bring a friend home and I have to start all over again. Anxiety, It’s a mentally exhausting battle within yourself, a never ending circle of unanswered questions and what ifs. What are we? Masses of solid space on a tilting globe? it constantly leaves you wondering who you are, who you used to be and who you’re supposed to be. If I barely know how to handle myself, how could you? Our mind is fragile, our emotions on edge, we need to be handled with patience and understanding. Each action we perform, every word spoken, every decision we make, as small as it may be, is life changing. Everything happens for a reason is a saying that is both a blessing and a curse, I feel as if I make the wrong choice I can alter my fate. I feel crazy, sometimes I need to be reminded that I’m not.

I almost don't know how I made it home. The roads between your destination and mine were just scarred into my memory, I could do it with my eyes closed. As my iPod played background music to my thoughts it's as if each vocal was drowned out, no thanks to my thoughts for I couldn't hear those either and not due to the down pour that surrounded me. It was the numbness that clogged my ears, the sense of nothing. There were many things to be scared of that night. The lightning that menacingly casted over my vehicle, the wet roads beneath my tires, the sheet of water that covered my windshield or perhaps the fact that I haven't slept in days. It was hard to focus and not just because of the above circumstances but the fact that my mind was hauntingly occupied by you. Plenty of things could have killed me that night but dying of a broken heart was by far the scariest.

I find myself craving beautiful words that make me feel whole, 

that describe the feelings my broken sentences can not.

 Helplessly scrolling poets pages for hours to come up empty, much like myself. 

depression is when you don’t really care about anything

anxiety is when you care too much about everything

and having both is just like what

Having both is staying in bed because you don’t want to go to school and then panicking because you don’t want to fail. Having both is wanting to go see your friends so you don’t lose them all, then staying home in bed because you don’t want to make the effort. Having both is having the want of being in love but pushing away anyone who even comes close because you're having a battle within yourself. You can't even love yourself how could you believe anyone else can. Having both is just exhausting. 

"She had acquired some of his gypsy ways, some of his nonchalance, his bohemian indiscipline. She had swung with him into the disorders of strewn clothes, spilled cigarette ashes, slipping into bed all dressed, falling asleep thus, indolence, timelessness...A region of chaos and moonlight. She liked it there.”

-unknown