The Puzzle Place Pt. 1

I always felt like something was wrong with my mind...like it was a place that I couldn't understand or control.

Something's wrong, I thought.
I was 16 and couldn't articulate it, and wasn't sure how to fix it or if it could be fixed; so instead of asking for help, I told no one.

"Maryam, what's wrong?" My homeroom teacher asked, a line of concern on his forehead, while looking at my once top-of-the-class-turned-to-failing-grades-midterm-report.

"Nothing sir," I lied. I was embarrassed because I couldn't explain what was wrong. Imagine I couldn't explain something? Me?

Me: Ms. Mouth
Me: Ms. Top of her class
Me: Ms. Peer Helper.
Me: Ms. Class president
Me: Ms. School Newspaper editor

Who would believe me?

And what could my homeroom teacher do about it anyway?

No one could wave a magic wand and make my mind better. I knew that much. So again, I said nothing.

I've worked hard to stay present and aware of when my mind interprets things incorrectly or turns things around and upside down or creates a mental cloud, but being aware that you are sick doesn't make you better yknow?

Being able to get the right cure does. But what if you can't? Or even worse, what if the cure doesn't work?

It just makes you more aware that you are helpless and can't fix what's wrong...so, what's wrong, stays wrong.