blue house

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i am a hoarder of sorts. if hoarding includes feelings, memories, and thoughts then consider me a hoarder or just really fucking depressed. honestly, i still can’t tell the difference. i just know i hide the past in the outermost room of my head and carry them like stones. possibly that’s the reason as to why my head feels so heavy amidst of an attack.

at my heaviest, i shut people out. i often feel as if it is bothersome to let them into my personal problems because again, they are personal. i can’t let someone into a messy house. mainly because my mom would remind me to never invite anyone in the case you can’t organize the mess in your home. she would say- si son problemas personales, tienes que resolverlas tu misma.  this meant i had to resolve my own issues but you wouldn’t tell someone with flu to fix themselves in this manner. they need help. maybe that isn’t the best analogy to the current situation but ‘normalizing’ the abnormal seems the only why to make myself understood.

she also used to say- it seems like you walk without your head most of the time. she isn’t wrong. my head isn’t connected to my neck most of the time, at least not anymore. my lungs and my brain feel as if they aren’t interconnected. it becomes and is harder to breathe. you can say anxiety is like an inactive bug waiting for a trigger to come in the form of an attack.

most of the time, it’s sudden like an unexpected earthquake hitting your home with a magnitude that’s out of your comprehension. it splits your head open. your toes are clenching to both edges. you have to decide to drop or hold on to that sanity.

this house is going down. you’re going down with it.

 

 

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