Your being is like an elephant in the room sitting in the dry air. Our conversations are spoken through the dead pauses and flailing topics.
I'm trying. I really am.
But I don't understand us. I don't understand the way your eyes flicker left to right when you're nervous, or how your fingers pull on the bottom of your pants when you're irritated. I can't understand the face that your laughter sounds like a million symphonies playing at the same time, or how your jokes fall flat. Not because they aren't funny, but because you want them to **** a mood.

These past few months have been more liberating than I care to admit. I found my own routine in the disorder and I'm slowly rising to where I want to be. But it's like I've hit a brick wall with a door but no key. I am left breathless and confused after every day.
I'm talking to the moon because nobody else is listening. Nobody else will ever understand me except me...and I want to keep it that way.