A Girl's Diary

Bender of Water

Is it possible to be all written out? It is even possible to write all of your thoughts from today, from yesterday, from the day before that and the day before that on until forever ago, that your mind no longer recalls anything further to record, to speak out loud? That your mind can't think of anything that wouldn't be redundant anymore?

What would it take to do that? I want to know. The more I write, the more my brain becomes a place I want to be. The more my conscience and me may think together, may be on the same page for once and agree on our feelings. That we maybe in sync with our processing of every moment of every day. 

How many entries must I write. How many pens must I drain? How many sounds in my head must I endure to get to the end of what I have experienced in my 19 years of life? Each word I vomit blends the tones of some of the many voices in my head together. How many words must I write for them to all speaking harmony? 

How many hours away from my cell phone, the being who's waves separate beyond repair the hundreds of thousands of voices screaming in chaos in my small hall where my mind resides, how many hours away from that terrible devil must I spend to hear my own song again? 

Why am I even counting? Shouldn't I just throw that devil away? When did it sink it's claws in me anyway when I should have natural armor against it? 

What must I really do to quiet my mind enough to hear my own voice again?

Have you ever wondered what a monk must feel like? To actually act on the want to not want for anything? What's that like? Is it worth it? I imagine without a doubt that it would be, but that my need for stimulation crosses me off of the list of potential candidates. 

I think I could embark on my own monk-hood though. Without the devil that fits in the palm of my hand, and instead with a pen and notebook which I covered in magazine clippings, I may blend the harmonics in my mind more than they have been for years. 

Silence is underrated. 

There is nothing more that I would like than some silence in my head. I think for years i've heard the same echoes piling over each other and amounting to a ringing so deafening that I couldn't even think. 

I couldn't even remember simple facts for the span of a few simple minutes. The power of those voices and the need for harmony is paramount. The voices actually clogged my ears and my eyes and the sensors in my finger tips. 

Oh, how I missed my fingertips. Once a test said they were my primary sense. But the voices stole them from me as my muscles tightened and tensed until my primary sense was the taughtness in my neck and between my shoulder blades. 

I missed my fingertips more than anything else in the world. It took losing them to realize that they were everything that I lived for. 

On a walk yesterday, I reached up and touched a tree branch. I reflexively recalled countless trips to any store with my mom where she would remind me not to touch things, I might break them and there was just no practical need to go around touching things. 

Right now, I would not recommend touching everything in the risk of spreading germs. 

Of course I do not wish for that to happen. 

I do however, wonder if anyone else has lost the sense of necessity  in their minds of the feeling of one's fingertips against any surface, new, old, rough, silky, smooth, course. You see, when I touched the smooth bark of that simple tree, it was something I had seen and never forgot the sight of, but I had touched it and forgotten the feeling. I felt so alive to simply touch what I'd been seeing for so long. 

Just like that a simple movement ignited a whole dusty circuit in my brain, and I felt happy. 

I believe theres things in our minds that unexpectedly and unpredictably make us unhappy. While I don't think there's anything wrong with being unhappy, I think maybe we should always keep our minds open to what those triggers for unhappiness might be. 

For me, I forgot how valuable the stimulus of focusing on the fingertips is. 

Most of all, I miss the feeling of being submerged in water. Your movement would be restricted but only reluctantly. Your temperature would be cooled to comfortable no matter how much exertion the skin shown. Water is tranquil and the feeling of it seeped in through my skin and into my mind itself. 

From my time away from the water I have learned this. It was like many things of my childhood, taken for granted. I miss it very much. 

The memory is very sweet though, the power of it enough to drive away my stir crazy nerves right now. 

I am more alive for ever having met the water. Though my nerves feel ghost stimuli and my back tenses from lack of exertion, I know the feeling and I may strive to feel it again. 

As always,

thank you for reading.