One could say that my mind might go deeper than the ocean. I might seem too much for this world, but the truth is that the world is too much for me. It could be a trend.

This is me, my lifestyle and the truth of my existence. Every single day feels like a journey when I have not even taken the first step, yet I have walked a thousand miles.

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Morning

As the sun rises, I watch from the highest peak. One could say I rose like the sun; it was not as if I did not like to sleep. But when the thoughts invade, who am I to curtail them?

At my side is my journal of my thoughts. Written in human words, no one understands it but me.

The deep surreality of the morning makes me appreciate the peace before the world wakes up. One claims that the mind is sharper when it is early. For once, I actually agree.

As I observe the sun, I wonder what Franz Kafka felt when he was alone with his thoughts. Did it consume him? Actually, his mind was faster and slowly rotted.

I wondered, will that happen to me? Will my mind leave me empty? I write the lethal whispers of their comments, the comments—heavy, yet intriguing. I could survive without them, but I know I had to listen. Were they the source of my creativity? Did the abyss influence my words? Will my creativity die if they leave? Am I nothing without them?

Their words are violent, yet this is my definition of a calm morning.

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Take the Quiz: Which Inside Out Character Are You?

Inside Out is a classic but what character matches you best?

Afternoon

We all wear the cloak of normalcy while we are severely exhausted, tired and stressed. Actually I am tired of seeing all those masks. I am tired of psychoanalyzing every conversation, person, word and even myself.

I watch every interaction, replay previous ones and withdraw deep into myself. A smile here and there. I am normal, I tell myself. Saying is believing, or is believing saying?

The truth that whispers when I need it. The truth that makes me question if I was staring at the abyss like how Friedrich Nietzsche described. I see a lot of people trying to exhibit such characteristics as a trend.

The voices laugh. What a blessing and a burden. I see how lies and manipulation play out in front of me. I should stop them, but the psycho before the analytic decides to enjoy the show. Many have questioned my silence, but what they don't know is, silence is not the absence of noise, but when the silent voices begin to speak.

My words are heavy, which is one of the reasons I refuse to socialize with others. The deep thought of being alone is less flattering. Why? Even in the world of noise, my silence is dominant.

The world and the mask each wear—the circus of madness. Yet, this is a normal afternoon with a coffee in my right hand.

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Night

The night consumes the sun and decides to dominate. I am in love with the night. Maybe it is the cold, eerie silence, I am actually in love with.

Either way, I had my own way of expressing my thoughts. At this time, the words don't consume me. I begin to learn that my words are my words.

The world might see me but they don't see the girl who questions herself, the girl who hides in her mind and builds a fortress of knowledge from it. All they see is a girl smiling and nice to everyone. But they don't know, they can never know.

They should never know. The night comes to an end, yet that is when I am just starting.

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Conclusion

A “thought girl” has never been a trend. I did not know such existed until it found me. It is not about aesthetics but the genuineness of your soul.

It might be heavy on words that you can not say, but besides the madness, you can still breathe. Each day might feel like you are battling someone, and that someone is your own reflection.