When my sanity is all over the place, I call no one for backup. I keep it in my own closet, hidden from plain sight. “What a funny little thing chaos is,” I mutter under my breath. It swirls into a tornado of cheeky companions, all tucked beneath a massive red warning sign.
What seems like a mismatched band gathers around the closet like a strange little neighborhood summit. What’s not so funny, however, is the fact that my sanity is still all over the place. And the rotten grapevine slowly tangles between them.
When the weight of all things chaotic becomes too much, my sanity—already all over the place—turns against me. My head hurts from thinking too much (but not thinking makes me spiral). And it all makes me wonder, “Is it just in my head, or do they do what I think they do without even knowing it?”
While I’m wandering through the jungle of tangled thoughts, I get ambushed by another force. It hurts more than it shows. I find plasters on my skin, even where nothing seems wrong. My reflection stares back at me strangely. I don’t think she (or anybody else, for that matter) knows that pain isn’t always graphic—it can look deceptively pretty.
When I get dismissed as being too dramatic, I close the closet and sigh.
“When my sanity is all over the place, all I want is one small, gentle act of kindness. Is that really too much to ask?”
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