And the rest is just noise.

Sometimes her words replay on repeat.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter

It doesn’t matter.

And although this sounds grim, I’m really trying to agree with her.

In that, very little actually does matter.

Because my brain is a brain that automatically thinks everything matters.

Immensely.

Everything is worthy of regard.

Of noise.

Or clamour.

And then sometimes, the things that aren’t even worthy of brain space somehow end up lying to me.

They tell me that they matter more.

And without fulfilling their obligations, then this removes any slim pickings of calm from within my head,

So suddenly, everything is loud and everything is shouting about how much is matters.

And there is no room beyond this roar.

And this is precisely what I’m trying to fix.

Medication is a powerful thing. And to those who are all very keen to show off their ignorance, disguised as superiority:

All I can say is that your statements reek of having a brain that is quiet.

Or perhaps of a brain that is loud too, but you’re so deep within its shouts that denouncing life-saving medication is a way to make you feel like this isn’t really you too.

But I’m afraid it is.

I open my arms to you within these loud walls.

Meditation is helping too, I’ve found.

During the day, small phrases will appear within the mists of chaos.

Like small, golden angels.

And for a second or two, things just pause.

This is often enough space to take a rebellious, hasty breath.

And then we go forth.

And pick the flowers.

And play with blocks.

And dance to music.

And see the chickens.

And these small acts of saying “no thank you” to the endless, silent shouting.

Grant me an inch more space each time.

To see that the rest really is

Just noise.

Comments

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Tortillas at Midnight

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