A Mind Full of Endless Thoughts

5

    Charlottle gave me a few different diagnoses, but there's one in particular that she used to describe my lack of being able to communicate my feelings through words. She called it Alexithymia. She said it's a result of PTSD. My childhood and breakup with my ex were so detrimental to me that I lost the ability to truly communicate how I feel to others, especially when it came to having to physically talk about them. She said that sometimes I don't even recognize that I'm having an emotional crisis because I can't find the words to explain them. That's the reason why I was so closed off with you. To help combat that she encourages me to write because that helps me to get all of my thoughts out. She knows that I've been writing this very long letter to you, but she hasn't asked me to let her read it or see. She just asks if I've been consistent with it, which I have. Whenever she starts asking me questions that seem a bit difficult for me to answer out loud, she gives me this note pad to write out how I'm feeling instead, and it works to a certain degree. What I mean by that is that although I answer it's still very vague. At this point, I believe the only way for anyone to truly know how I feel is to find a way to read my mind and hear the thoughts as they come into my head and start swirling uncontrollably. I just wish I could've at least tried to say everything I wanted to you before I knew I wouldn't get to see you again.

   Someone once said say it while they are here because when they are gone it will be too late. Sorry I couldn't think of anything you said to go with this. I'm stuck thinking about the same thing every day since you've been gone. I 'm trying my hardest to forget you, but I won't lie to you. This is the hardest shit I ever tried to do. I know it sounds bad, but I have to in order to move on. People always talk about the stages of grief, but I'm literally stuck on two stages. Anger and denial. When I think about what you happened, I'm just like there's no way this is real and that you'll come knocking on my door and we'll watch tv and eat junk food all day, but you haven't come yet. I used to drive past your apartment, and I so desperately wanted to stop and knock, but I knew you wouldn't answer because you weren't there. I've been telling myself that you're just on a very long deployment and you have no service, but I know that that isn't true.

   Then the anger sets in. I'm mad at myself for being so weak and not being able to remember what happened, but what really is weakness. At some point in every one's lives, they experience a time where they are weak. People are so damn stuck on the thought that being weak means that you deserve what you get, but that's so fucked up and a miserable way of thinking. I think that when you're weak or experience a weak moment someone should be there for you. I was your someone and I wasn't there for you and the weight of what I did completely crushed you and ruined your state of mind at times. Blue you seemed so strong. You were better at hiding when something was bothering you than I was and just because you had more than one moment of weakness doesn't define who you were for me.

    The real anger that I felt toward myself was for not telling you what was so easy to say. I loved you and I wanted to be with you, but my beliefs or the beliefs I grew up knowing went against that. I hate being judged and you know that. Judgement to me is one of the most detrimental things I could experience. I've been judged my whole life and that's why I part of who I am. Eventually I started to realize that what others thought didn't matter, but there were still parts that I held on to because the judgement would be too much for me. You didn't care what people thought. You always said that someone could judge you all they want, but you shouldn't change based off what they think because at the end of the day it's your life and you're the one who has to live it. You were right and I vow to never care what people think again but isn't that going to make me so closed off? I don't know.

Memory

   I was sitting in my room writing a story on my laptop that I had started a while ago. It was about a girl who struggled with herself as she went to college and tried to balance life with her grades and basketball. You came up behind me, "What are you writing." You tried to get a peak, but I closed my laptop fast because I was self-conscious when it came to my writing. "Come on Chance, I promise I won't judge. I'm always so curious as to what you're typing about. "Promise you won't judge," I gave you a hopeful look. You held out your pinky and I wrapped it in yours. I opened my laptop and scrolled to the top. After you read few pages, you turned to me with a weird look. "What," I was nervous. "I knew you were smart, but you're one hell of a writer. No wonder everyone asks you to write their college essays for them. You ever thought about publishing any of the stuff you've written," you said so impressed. "Nah, I don't think it's that good. It's just an idea that I had in my head. Writing helps me stay sane and keeps me calm," I said blushing. You went on to read more and even started giving me a few more ideas. You were the first and only person I let read some of my work. I was scared of being judged, but you didn't judge, you just gave me some really good critiques without trying to completely destroy my work. I loved it. I'd even run new story ideas by you, and you were always supportive, no matter how wacky they sounded.