There is always noise.
No matter what I do there is always noise, no getting rid of it. All I can do is replace it, make it something good or silly or stupid instead of something bad. I replace it with books, music, quotes, scenes from movies and tv shows, recollections of curious conversations, and heartwarming still images that are buried in my mind; pulled from the memories of a child not yet exposed to the cruelties of humanity. To the cruelties within herself.
It works, most of the time. But then I get left alone too long and the noise gets too loud and it drowns out everything. Hours I will sit, think, imagine and come out of it convinced of some new truth about love or hope or fear or hate and I'll write it all down and forget it again. Sometimes. Other times the bad noise will come, and it will force anything lighthearted into something dark and parasitic.
Insults, memories of arguments and soul crushing moments, the cold empty feeling of realising no one is with you and the clouded fragments of something that pretends to be the truth and it never ends and it's too much too much too much too much too much and then it just
pauses and
rewinds,
replays,
fast-forwards,
over and over and over again until my head is screaming and my bones shake and my blood boils underneath writhing skin and my heart shatters itself again and again, grinding it's remains into dust.
The noise vibrates in every atom of my being and it kills me without the mercy of actually letting me die.
Sometimes I think there's something very wrong with me.
- to silence
YOU ARE READING
Big F**king Mood: A New Narrative
Non-FictionA series of thoughts, questions, lists, rants, daydreams, and confessions. TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of depression, anxiety, bullying, and sexual harassment.
