Its hilarious looking at the sky through a door and out the window. I'm becoming numb to true feelings of happiness and sadness. These are the pains of growing and maturing. I'm not sure whether growing out of people and things you love is a positive or a negative thing . I'm not motivated to do anything anymore and that's fueled by the people closest to me. I mean everyone assumes that [266] knows everything about me because (pronoun) is close to me but that's hardly the case.
I'm too observant for my own good. My brains works quickly and I process information faster than I'm able to cope from situations which often leaves me stressing on how to go about the transitional phase. TRANSITION. Transitions have been hard for me ever since I was young but I try to break things down in my break things down in my brain in a more digestible way.
Short Story: Megan wrote in the most intricate hand writing known to man. I mean this shit was really beautiful. She was beautiful and quiet. Learning to write at the age 6 left her behind many of the other students in grade school, but when she did begin her fingers became skilled at weaving perfect script in at least 10 different languages. She used her hands as her mouth and wasn't a woman of little words, but rarely was verbal exchange necessary for her. The people of the town knew that her simple smile was equivalent to the bright hellos of any of the ordinary girls. Megan was far from ordinary, she was a sea a mystery that no one dared enter not because of fear but because of glancing over the vast sea. She walked about the gray town that was plagued with storm clouds and green trees with her journal everyday, smiling politely at familiar faces. She sat in the same seat of the same café everyday and wrote for 4 hours. No one dared bother her, not for lack of words to say but because of what had become routine. She was troubled. TO BE CONTINUED.....
In my community there is a plague of mental health issues. The bones of minority women, and elderly women seem to be unbreakable under the pressure of their children and society. Their backs made of virtually steel and their smiles made of kisses from the sun. I mean there was Mellisa an elderly Vietnamese woman who sat on the bus next to me her gaze was strong and her words soft and kind floated out of her mouth so eloquently smothered in a thick accent that i could barely understand, I didn't dare let her know that because i was mesmerized by what seemed to be an extension of life. Then there was a flash of the sun on the window that reminded me that i couldn't see the same things on both sides of the bus and behind my eyes was gray matter. DONATE MY BODY TO SCIENCE WHEN IM GONE.
There was a boy, a black boy holding two birds in a cage today. He was my age. I thought that was cool.
SERIES OF METHODS:
The numbers method: Turning words into numbers or situations into numeric equations. I literally came up with this equation idea in a crunch of time however it seems to work for my own personal use but you can make your own if you want and I'll provide an explanation later . The things that mean the most to me (right now) are emotional stability and experience ( and these things can change based on who you are and your circumstances.) Then my fault or my downfall trait would be altruism (which fucks me up) and directly related to that would be self help which i need to improve on.
