World War III

It grips at the edges.

My core is solid, centered up in the highest mountains of my consciousness, but the weeds are growing on the outskirts of my mind, vines entangling my thoughts into a smothering void.

I try and tell my brain to shut up but it’s a hopeless case – thoughts scream at each other until they’re thousands of tangled up strings with no end and no beginning, only the overwhelming certainty that I can never just sit in silence. It makes me wish my brain was a pool where I can peacefully tread in the direction I want, limbs working together to get me where I want to be and not thrashing against each other. I take deep breaths but I can’t close my eyes because the images become more vivid and then it’s pictures on top of the words and I can’t concentrate.

I tell them I know what chemistry is doing, I know it’s all in my head and I can meditate or talk or write but even writing is so hard when I’m even overthinking every single word that leaves my brain as another piece of dirt in the mound of infinite randomness. I don’t know what peace of mind is like because my brain is always at war.

Doesn’t it sound silly, the fact that I’m so bothered by my constant high tide of thoughts? Ignorance is bliss. I wish I didn’t read about the stars and the new planets orbiting red dwarfs and let my imagination get to them, light years away. Because then they have to come back. And the strings tangle and tangle.

Some things make it better, but they have better use than to help drain the endless fountain. I wonder if stars also feel that being infinite is awfully lonely.

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