Through the Fog

Tag: racing thoughts

  • Where Is My Mind?

    Where is my mind?

    I swear

    it was here yesterday—

    before the overthinking,

    before the memories

    started rearranging the room,

    before every quiet moment

    became another place

    for my thoughts to wander.

    I search for it

    in unfinished conversations,

    in songs

    I should’ve stopped listening to,

    in old photographs

    that remember

    more than I want them to.

    Maybe I left it

    in a version of my life

    I never got to keep.

    Maybe it’s still sitting

    at a table

    where I thought forever

    meant forever.

    Or maybe

    it’s buried beneath

    every expectation

    I couldn’t live up to,

    every mistake

    I replay

    like changing the ending

    is still an option.

    Some days

    my head feels

    like a house

    with every light on

    and nobody home.

    Every room

    filled with noise,

    every hallway

    echoing

    with questions

    that don’t have answers.

    But every now and then—

    there’s a moment.

    A deep breath.

    A quiet sunrise.

    A laugh

    I didn’t have to force.

    And for a second,

    everything settles.

    The noise steps back.

    The weight

    loosens its grip.

    Maybe my mind

    was never lost.

    Maybe it was just

    buried beneath

    everything

    I never gave myself

    permission

    to put down.

    So I’ll keep looking.

    Not for the person

    I used to be—

    but for the peace

    I’ve been carrying

    inside me all along,

    waiting

    for the noise

    to finally make room.

  • Losing Sleep

    I’ve been losing sleep again—

    not because I can’t close my eyes,

    but because my mind

    won’t close with them.

    Every thought

    shows up louder at night.

    Every memory

    suddenly needs to be replayed

    like it’s trying

    to prove something.

    The room stays still,

    but my head doesn’t.

    It circles the same questions,

    the same regrets,

    the same unfinished conversations

    that should’ve died

    hours ago.

    I tell myself

    to let it go.

    As if the mind

    listens

    just because you’re tired.

    But exhaustion

    doesn’t stop thinking.

    Sometimes

    it makes it worse.

    So I lie there

    watching shadows shift,

    counting hours

    instead of sheep,

    feeling the weight

    of everything I avoided

    during the day.

    And somewhere

    between midnight

    and morning,

    I realize—

    I’m not really

    losing sleep.

    I’m losing peace

    one restless night

    at a time.

  • Losing My Mind

    I think I’m losing my mind—

    not all at once,

    not in some dramatic collapse.

    Just slowly.

    In little ways

    that nobody notices

    unless they’re looking close.

    Forgetting things

    I shouldn’t forget.

    Overthinking things

    that shouldn’t matter.

    Turning the same thought over

    until it cuts deep enough

    to feel real.

    My mind doesn’t rest anymore.

    It loops.

    Repeats.

    Builds storms

    out of silence.

    And I keep trying

    to act normal—

    keep conversations steady,

    keep my face calm,

    keep pretending

    I’m not exhausted

    from fighting myself

    all day long.

    But it’s getting harder.

    The noise follows me.

    Into quiet rooms.

    Into sleep.

    Into moments

    that should feel safe

    but don’t.

    And the worst part is—

    I can still tell

    something’s wrong.

    I still recognize

    the distance

    between who I used to be

    and whoever this version is

    staring back at me now.

    Maybe I’m not losing my mind.

    Maybe I’m just carrying

    too much pain

    for too long

    without putting it down.

    But either way—

    I’m tired.

    Tired of feeling

    like my own head

    is a place

    I can’t escape from.