Quiet

Another weekend, another city. Last week, Clearwater Beach, Florida. This week, Boston, Massachusetts. I’ve found myself split living almost between my own house and hotel rooms, being overloaded with things to do. 

In these hotel rooms, I lay awake at the disturbing snoring of my parents seemingly losing my mind with every new noise that escapes their resting bodies. I retreat from their never ending noise with my headphone, melting my eardrums with whatever playlist I think is loudest. I sat at the pool in Florida for days, taking in the rays of the sun while the waves danced in the distance and kids who probably should’ve been in school screamed. I went on a college tour with my brother, eavesdropping on the prospective freshman eager to one-up whomever they were talking to. At Amalie Arena, I turned myself into a super fan for a team that almost stole the Stanley Cup from my Blackhawks in 2015. I returned from Florida to the busiest (and nosiest) city in the world. In other words, I’ve spent the past couple weeks surrounded by never ending noise. 

But all I’m looking for is some peace and fucking quiet. I can’t even escape the noise in my own head, feeling suffocated by the thoughts that plague me. The inability to retreat from the noise is bringing me closer to the edge I frequently reference in my posts. 

At this point, my anxiety mixed with sleep deprivation and constant noise is driving me crazy. I actually can feel myself turning into a Hulk-like creature at the slightest inconvenience. These gestures are not to be confused as unimportant because of the pain and depression I’m going through. 

I guess all I’m trying to say is I’m craving a time in which I’m free from the noise. From the bullshit. From everything. 

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