Normal is Boring

My Room

                 

My Room

I walk into my room and lie on the floor. I like it here. This is nice. I feel like all good ideas come from lying on the floor of your room. I'm sure John Green came up with all of his stories while lying on the floor.

I exhale. It's quiet.

...

But.

Then.

It's not.

I walk to the corner of my room and slide down the wall. And I start crying. It can't be quiet. Sometimes I think that no one cares. But at the same times so many people do care. It's just tough. It's so freaking tough. Anxious thoughts come piling in. Worthless. Inadequate. Small.

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth and wipe away my tears.

It's safe here. I repeat to myself.

I climb into bed.

...

I feel like my insides just won't calm down. I need to do something that will make me feel something. I think about my options. Talking to him. That makes me feel happiness. Running. That makes me feel relaxed. Sleeping just stops everything. Music makes my heart smile. Books take me away. I don't have to be me.

...

I stare at the dark ceiling thinking of something anything. I roll to my side and a single tear slides down my face.
"I am okay," I whisper to myself.

And then I drift off into the darkness.