How I Cured My Crazy (kinda)

​Some people are quiet. They keep to themselves and enjoy reading their books, or watching their tv shows. Simply put, they appear to the naked eye to be quiet. 

Who are the quiet people? Those are the bookworms, the writers, the inventors… the people who have the most to say but remain to themselves. The beauty in these quiet people is they never say anything but their mind constantly is going. Whether its with ideas or creations, they continue to create and think while the world looks at them in their silence.

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THAT is the weird shit about me though… because for anyone who knows Alissa Anglis… she is the LAST person that you would describe as “quiet.” 

So why is it that a person as loud and obnoxious as me.. .finds such comfort in writing? 

Believe it or not… I have a lot in common with these quiet people. My mind is constantly running.. With thoughts, emotions, feelings, ideas, creations…. The whole “nine yards” as my ninth grade English teacher would say. While I am the person to be talking EVERY second of the day… and also the person to be confronting others with her emotions… I SOMEHOW still always have more to say. How? No fucking idea.

Maybe its the fact that I speak two different languages so I am always running through two different cultures/dialects when I want to speak… or maybe I am just that complex of a person that I always have more to do/say/think/feel. 

Some may see this as super annoying… which don’t get me wrong… it definitely is. I wish I could sometimes turn off my brain and just listen to the sound of nothing… similar to my ex boyfriend who seems to not have had a single complex thought in his life (just kidding.. kinda). I wish I could just turn off the on-going thoughts so I can just enjoy fucking nothing for a SECOND. But as of right now.. I have not quite mastered the “shutting the fuck up” skill just yet. 

So what do I do to silence some of the commotion in my brain? Well.. besides talking ALL the time… I write. 

Sometimes about the things that clutter my mind and make no sense to anyone else.
Sometimes to say things that no one will relate to or things that are not acceptable/ “okay.” 
Sometimes to just say the stupidest bullshit because I feel overwhelmed with my life and emotions so I need SOMETHING to relieve the fucking hot mess I call my brain. 

With struggling through a pretty rough heartbreak, I have found myself with A LOT more time alone and in my own brain. IN FACT, the other day I did not talk to a single soul until fucking five o’clock in the afternoon. However, once I got on the phone with my mom I was so mentally exhausted that I felt that I had been talking all fucking day long with no stop. 

This is how the brain of Alissa works… 
**sees a tree**
OH i remember one time i climbed a tree when i was younger.
When I was younger I was scared of bugs.
I hate bugs but when I worked with kids it was annoying how they cried when they saw bugs.
I remember working in a daycare.
I want to have kids one day.
My parents had kids young.
Why can’t I have the life my parents have and the love they have?
How come I am hurting right now when I was just happy a week ago?

All because I saw a fucking tree. 

Now of course, because I am going through a heartbreak, this day everything was relating back to my ex-boyfriend at the time. But, even when it has nothing to do with a heartbreak… my brain just seems to be on a consistent loop of relating things and connecting things which makes “silence” nearly impossible. 

But what is my relief? 
Well besides the gym when I can completely distract my mind and focus on the strength and pain that I am experiencing in the moment of lifting...well writing.. duh , I mean that is pretty much the whole point of this article. 

Although the satisfaction may be temporary… isn’t everything in this life temporary? Even life itself is temporary… so any sort of relief I can get.. I will fucking take that shit glaaadly. 

After writing, I feel a type of calm that the beach brings me. I feel at peace, in touch with my mind, and free. Don’t get me wrong… I am fucked up sometimes and like everyone else, I have my craziness and my flaws. But, writing is my outlet to get the fucking hot messiness out and somewhat organized (while some of my pieces of writing literally make zero fucking sense and are organzied about as much as Victoria Secrets on Black Friday). 

But at the end of the day the only person that it needs to make sense to is me… just like everything else in my life… depends on me… relies on me… 


FUCKING HORNET JUST TRIED TO STING ME AS I AM WRITING THIS RIGHT NOW I FUCKING TOLD YOU GUYS HOW MUCH I HATE HORNETS UGHHHH. 

Like I was saying before I was rudely interrupted and almost literally shit my pants… 

I wanna close this shit out with the fact that I am proud of myself to be as in touch with my brain as I am. It is fucking annoying… and louder than me. But, with all the bad comes all the good. The reason I am so creative and type “not give a fuck,” is because I can think as much as I do and be able to be collected enough to make sense of all of the bullshit that runs through my mind. 

Thanks to this sweet lil thang called writing ;)