My brain never shuts the fuck up,
it just changes the channel without warning.
One minute I’m fine, reorganizing my thoughts,
next minute I’m spiraling over nothing
like it personally attacked me.
I laugh at the wrong times,
overthink the right ones,
carry conversations in my head
long after everyone else went home.
If there’s peace nearby, I probably missed it.
I don’t sleep—I hover.
Eyes closed, mind sprinting laps,
replaying moments I should’ve let die years ago
like they’re breaking news.
I know it’s ridiculous.
That doesn’t stop it.
I’m functional chaos,
held together by sarcasm, caffeine, and smoke.
I look calm enough to pass,
but inside it’s a fucking yard sale of emotions
with no price tags and too many voices.
I check myself constantly—
Was that weird? Too much? Not enough?
I over-explain, then regret explaining,
then regret existing in the first place
for a solid thirty seconds.
I don’t trust silence.
It feels like a setup.
So I fill it with jokes, noise, distractions,
anything to keep my thoughts
from getting too creative.
Some days I feel sharp, electric, unstoppable.
Other days I’m convinced everyone’s tired of me
and just too polite to say it.
Both feel equally real.
I know I’m a lot.
I’ve tried being less—it didn’t stick.
Turns out shrinking yourself
doesn’t quiet the mind,
it just makes it louder.
I don’t need fixing, diagnosing, or saving.
I need space to exist without apologizing
for how loud my brain is
or how deeply I feel everything.
I calm the static the only way I know how—
slow exhales, hazy thoughts,
letting my mind wander
instead of strangling it into silence.
It’s not perfect, but it’s survivable.
I’m not losing my grip,
I’m just aware of how thin it is.
And somehow, that awareness
is what keeps me standing.
So yeah, I’m a mess—but I’m a conscious one.
Still laughing, still trying, still here.
Anxious, restless, self-aware as hell,
and refusing to disappear
just because my mind runs wild.
This isn’t madness.
It’s just what happens
when you feel everything
and keep going anyway.