#composition two

[detoxifae]

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰...

ᵐᵒᵈᵉʳⁿ ᵗʷⁱˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵖⁱᵉᵗ ᵐᵒⁿᵈʳⁱᵃⁿˢ ᵃʳᵗʷᵒʳᵏ | moodboard

[az193689]

Spot the Real Me

I don’t know who I am sometimes. I don't know the difference between the person I present to the world and the self I know. I spent a long time trying to perfect the person I present to the world to be someone everyone would like and feel safe around. I spent so long shaping that person that I lost sight of my inner self. I know I’m putting on a mask, but I don’t know what is behind the mask. 

The self I know and the self I present to the world are muddled together, leaving me confused most days. I know I’m showing the world me, but a modified version of me. There is ADHD Anita bouncing off the walls, scared and anxious Anita hiding in the corner, mom Anita keeping everyone safe, tired Anita napping the day away, daughter Anita, sister Anita, friend Anita, and many more Anitas. Depending on the time, day, people I’m with, place I’m in, and other factors, those different Anitas emerge. They are who I present to the world, but they are also the Anitas I know. They are vastly different, yet they all come together to form me, and I make minimal effort to hide them from the world. However, I mostly show the ADHD side of me. 

I’ve found that ADHD Anita is more entertaining to people. She’s more willing to talk to anyone, says silly phrases like ‘kookoo banana bread’, is friendly and entertaining, makes her friends and family laugh, has unlimited energy, flies her cousin around on her shoulders, is down to do anything (even jumping off of a roof), and is more fun in general. Although ADHD Anita appears to be the Anita most of the world prefers, she still has her flaws. She screams her lungs out for no reason when she wakes up, rants about baths for too long, bakes at one in the morning, loses her phone in the freezer, and spills her chemistry solution twice within fifteen minutes. The world likes her until she is too much. Despite ADHD Anita not giving those perceptions another thought, inner Anita dwells on them at every waking (and occasionally sleeping) moment. 

Inner Anita is composed of the ugliest parts of me from my insecurities and doubts to my shame and mistakes. She is the Anita that creates my internal conflict. She always has something cruel to say about the actions of any of the other Anitas to create inner chaos. Inner Anita sits in her room and ruminates over the words said to the other Anitas. Inner Anita takes every comment made to her worldly persona and filters them to find the ugly. She searches for words that indicate she needs to be better, and if there is no indication of improvement being needed, she makes up her own flaws. She lets her thoughts spiral out of control, turning them into an overwhelming monster that eats her up inside. She believes she is a retched person who needs to be better but is unable to improve. Inner Anita allows the doubts, fear, insecurities, and pain to consume my waking life with constant whispers in my ear and plague my dreams by encasing my mind with her dark vines. Inner Anita is the only Anita present through my lows, thriving off of my misery. When she emerges for the world to view, other Anitas hide her true nature behind self-deprecating jokes and assurances that I’m fine. Inner Anita is the most distinct part of me, but the most defining characteristic about her is that she is always there, waiting to ruin me all over again.

[az193689]

The Chaos of it All

Locked in a glass prison. I’m able to watch my world fall apart, but unable to act. This crystal crown keeps me captive. I escape, but then I’m lost. Traversing through the dark forest of the mind has me wandering in circles. The wind whispers empty promises and destructive lies to lead me astray. Finally, a bridge. The hypnotic light at the end beckons me closer to the way out. But amidst the stars circling above, the ruins of my life are looming, waiting for the perfect moment to come crashing down. In the center of it all: Mei. Beautiful.

[az193689]

Oh, the Places I'll Be

I want to be a rock. Mindless. Emotionless. Lifeless. A formidable force prepared to take on any challenge thrown at it. A rock is unphased by the trials of life until the river runs too fast and cuts through the stone until all that’s left is debris of what it once was. A rock is unbreakable until the wind blows too hard and wears away at the allegedly impenetrable surface of the stone. From a boulder to a stone, a stone to a pebble, a pebble to sand on the beach, time catches up with the rock. Maybe I already am a rock, beaten down by the world until I’m nothing but dust in the wind.

I want to be a tree. Sturdy. Unmoving. Steadfast. Firmly rooted in the ground even through the torrential rainfall of the spring, the blazing heat of the summer, the roaring wind of the fall, and the heartless chill of the winter. Through it all, the tree stays upright, adapting to the conditions around it without any hesitation. Filled with rings of proof of its survival throughout the years. No matter how thin or thick the rings, they are still there. Nature is no match for a tree, but the world is. No matter how deep the roots descend, the world will cut it down from the trunk, deaf to the resounding thunk of the once lively tree crashing to the ground, never to grow again. The world will create conditions even the tree cannot escape from as it burns down in a flood of flames, leaving nothing but ash drifting through the smoke filled breeze. Maybe I already am a tree, cut down and burnt out by the world.

I want to be anything but me. Anything to escape the barrage of thundering horse steps in my head. Anything to evade the formidable presence of my surroundings that overpower my senses. The endless white noise of the world does not drown out the chaos in my mind. It only adds to it. The relentless flashing colors of life do not mask the stained walls of my soul. They only serve to further muddle my perception of myself. 

Whether I’m a rock, a tree, or me, all aspects of the universe will be working against me. Even the gravity keeping me tethered to the earth works against me as it compresses my spine and crushes my soul. I’m constantly inundated by the waves of life. It ebbs and flows, but it never stops. Life never stops, not even for the rocks in Stonehenge, the trees in the Amazon, or the girl sitting alone in her room.