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you know about the voices that speaks in your head?i listen to them somtimes. most of the times. sometimes they tell me good things. sometimes they make me wish for bad things. |
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about this blog
it's basically the inside of sakinah's brain.but mercifully edited, censored, and anaesthesised with a heavy dose of prozac. tagboard
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Design: doughnutcrazyIcon: morphine_kissed |
actually, mozart made me write this
I've often toyed with the idea of having latent ADHD or minor schizophrenia during the many, many times when attention(and possibly sanity) sputters and leaves me hanging on to the cacophony of voices in my head. They would shout at each other over the one corner of my mind that I can call my own, growing ever larger and threatening to take over all. But I'm not necessarily frightened. Sure, there are bad days, but night always falls at the end of it and the blanket of dark studded with stars make better reflective sessions than Prof Luis'(no matter how kind, informative or frank he might be).In the end, I would search for the correct clinical diagnosis of ADHD and find out that I am far more fortunate than what the statistics describe. True, my train of thoughts typically run late, some of the carriages are empty, the tracks are awfully bumpy, but take a look at the scenery outside. Forest crowned mountain, azure skies with rainbow stripes, fishes with wings, baseball boys batting away- it's an enchanting sight deserving to be frozen in time and in memory. But the beauty of ideas, of imagination, is that it expands and it grows! The mountain swells up and belches out smoke and lava (it's a volcano!), cats and dogs start falling from the skies (can I hear KER-SPLAT?) and the baseball boys, well, lets keep that one to myself (*tee-hee*). However, usually, unfortunately, sadly; the train would pull its stop way too soon. Here I am stranded in the middle of nowhere. Here I am tracing the remains of a premature idea. And the voices in my head would falter to a stop, while my own rises uncontrollably begging and crying for them to return. Ideas and imagination (might these be the names of the uninvited guests?) are drugs potent enough to interfere with the form. How many times have I managed to plant an idea inside myself and let it grow to fruition? Not many. It's a bit impossible for it to literally rain cats and dogs, the yellow child in my head will remain trapped in my head (hopefully so because there are times when the kid scares me a little), and chances are I'm not going to be owning a PS3 anytime soon. But ideas did manage to convince me that there is a purpose for every one of us, that the thorn by my side is secretly my friend with reason, that every cloud has a silver lining, and dentistry is precisely where I'm supposed to be at. That last bit might require one to stretch the imagination by a mile, but hey, if that's what it takes, then who could help it? It's not like I'm lying to myself, not really. |