The Intruder Inside My Mind
Knock. Knock. Knock.
An intruder inside my mind, knocking endlessly.
A fuse burning down in the dark, reminding me that every second counts.
Every spark that drops is another chance to study, to work, to do more.
It pulls at my nerves like the strings of a guitar that
instead of creating a beautiful melody, cry out in pain.
It washes me in burning gall,
gurgling up my throat,
crawling its way upward until I can't breathe.
Like a book without an author, it writes itself in my head: scenarios, stories, things yet to come that I never asked for, never wanted to see.
And then it starts, questioning me over and over:
What if I mess up?
What if I fall behind?
What if I try my best,
and it still isn't enough?
What if I'm a sponge, soaking up knowledge,
pressure... everything, until I can't hold it anymore?
And with time, like a sponge that has absorbed too much
I will overflow, and everything I worked for will spill out and disappear.
Then they arrive...
The holidays, when mornings no longer lead to classrooms,
when days are no longer pages left to complete, but pages left open,
carrying nothing but the gentle weight of themselves.
And the pest that used to hammer relentlessly through my skull
realizes that it's time to take a break from
pulling, ripping, slicing through thought after thought.
Like a sponge, we spend our lives trying to absorb the world,
collecting every drop of expectation,
every hint of worry,
thinking that holding it all is what makes us worthy.
But a sponge is not meant to hold onto water forever.
If you never learn how to empty yourself,
if you never learn how to let go of what you carry,
the world will eventually squeeze you dry.
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