My mother asks me
“Why don’t you write anymore?”
“I can’t write, ma”
I don’t know how to explain it to you
How do I tell you that
Words don’t make sense to me anymore
They jumble up in front of me
Expecting me to string them coherently
But I can’t
I can’t process emotions anymore
I can’t seem to understand what I’m feeling and why
Everything feels like tangled earphones
Except these don’t have an end
I can’t find out where it starts and where it ends
All i can see is a colossal mess
It’s so overwhelming that i’ve forgotten what it feels to feel anymore
I crave human touch
I ask you to hug me because science says we need 8 hugs a day for survival
And it’s true, I need them
I was so used to being able to hold my friends
So used to being held
That i forgot that it was a privilege
A privilege I no longer had
I want you to hold me because no one else’s touch in the house feels good
It doesn’t make me comfortable because i have bones to pick with all of them
I want to be held but you hate being touched
I want to be hugged for hours at an end without talking
But you don’t like hugs
And in this house, I only like you
How do I tell you this is all that i feel
How do I express this desire without words
How do I tell you that even talking feels like a task
I know you say I’m always on the phone but
At this point, I am barely functioning anymore
Half the time I can’t reply to friends because they keep asking me
“What’s up?”
How do I tell them that my brain can’t process what’s up anymore
That I am so worried about my future, about our future
So much so that I’ve become zen
There is no panic in my mind because I’ve convinced myself so
I refuse to read the news because i can’t deal with the horrors each month brings forth
Is it anxiety? I don’t know
Am I depressed? I wouldn’t say so
I would rather call it sadtember and talk about yeeting myself off a bridge because
It feels more natural to joke about it than to actually talk about my mental health
I would rather feel accomplished because I took a shower today than cry because I’m not productive
What even is productive?
What should I be productive for?
The future that is in ruins?
The job that I probably won’t get because of this crashing economy?
The college admissions that I’m worried about because there are too many kids in our country and not enough good colleges?
The colleges that don’t even consider extracurriculars
The exams that check my intelligence just on the basis of my ability to rote learn
I can’t bring myself to be productive
None of this probably makes sense
But I hope you understand ma
Everytime you say “why don’t you write anymore?”
My brain goes into an overdrive because I’m forced to think about these things
And I panic
So my brain goes numb
I stop processing things
And I tell you
“I can’t write, ma”
Wabi-Sabi 