Thought.is

I wondered if I should leave enough room in my suitcase for my mental illnesses, or if they’d fit in my carry-on.

Today, I looked in the mirror and I decided I hated my legs—my thighs specifically. Up until today, I hadn’t minded my thighs. They were always wobbly, always pale, always riddled with a little bit of cellulite, but as far as thighs go, I was okay with them. I run constantly and my thighs help me. They push me further and faster, and even when they ache and shake, they never give out on me. But today, I decided I hated them.

I fall for boys who are nice to me. That’s my problem; I have a soft spot for compliments and affection, so when you took my hand and gave me your jacket when I was shivering, I melted.

You’re sitting three desks in front of me and you keep turning around to catch my attention. I’m ignoring you—I don’t find you funny and I want you to leave me alone.

Overshadowed by his older brother Halloween and outshone by his little brother Christmas, Thanksgiving shrinks into the shadows, often forgotten about.

You tricked me. The calm before the storm — I had heard other storms often did that, pulled that kind of stunt, but I didn’t think you’d be one of them.