Times ticks by either too slowly or too quickly, never inbetween. Never at the right pace.

Waiting in a checkout line almost always takes too long, but on the rare occasion that it does not, I feel nostalgia for the conversations that I could've had.

From this, you can tell that I am the type of really annoying person that cries before the nurse even cleans my skin with an alcohol wipe. Like most two year olds.

But if we're being quite honest, nurses don't make it to that point because by the time they bring the alcohol wipes, I have already ran out the door

From this, you can also tell that I am the kind of person that rehearses almost everything I might say in a day enough to make the most interesting convo topics seem so boring that history teachers everywhere die just a little inside.

On the same note, I'm so scared of dying that I have already planned my own death and funeral at least seven times just to make sure I get it right.

I want food served at my funeral,

Cheeseburgers with sweet pickles and hotdogs with chili and cheese.

No church service.

Put my lifeless body into a long dress with flowers on it

Please make sure my make-up is pretty, all I have ever longed to be was beautiful.

Plant my body beneath the ground somewhere like a seed so maybe I can sprout and grow again.

I'll probably end up pre-writing my obituary because I don't want anyone to mess it up.

Also because I highly doubt that there is anyone else that could understand me better than me. Matter of fact, I dont think there is anyone that could even begin to comprehend the mess and chaos of my broken being.

One thing I don't understand is that my Anxiety plans it's trips months in advance just to be on the safe side.

Anxiety is the friend that Depression and Bipolar Disorder brought to my house for dinner without asking first even though there was a mutual decision stating that Anxiety is a bad friend and she's kind of annoying.

And oh my god, what do I do? I don't have enough chicken casserole to feed them all.

Oh, nevermind. I think Anxiety is a vegetarian.

I'm rambling; excuse me.

I always talk too much or too little and silence scares me because

Silence is sometimes deafening and then other times, silence is not there

But how can something be there one second and then not be there the next?

There is a cycle that I, Depression, Bipolar Disorder, and Anxiety all follow in together.

When silence is deafening, I get lonely so I talk.

But sometimes I can't find the right words to fill an empty void

So then I get anxious, which of course leads me to having mood swings

Which then leads to months of ripping bed sheets off of my bed so I can go to sleep, but I am not even tired.

This causes me to be quite a lonely individual.

And loneliness is always too far or too close to being twisted inside my rattling ribcage.