I’ve been thinking. My school is on strike since yesterday, and I have nothing to do. So I’ve been thinking.

I finished reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath yesterday, and I couldn’t help but resonate myself to the character Esther who is depressed and cannot write. I am depressed, but I can write. The only time I cannot write is when I am not depressed, and that makes me question my own creativity.

I would like to think that my ADHD medication is not putting a stop to my creativity. I feel good. I feel organized. My thoughts are still a chaos, but I find myself deflecting them often. I do not have the time to be sad and I do not have time to write.

I like the way that I can collect myself, rationalize my priorities, even make my bed every morning (which I never did before !), but I feel like I’m fighting to write, fighting to let my words flow freely, fighting to compose poetry, fighting to retain the things about me I love the most.

I started to type this up an hour ago, and I’ve barely written 200 words. Two hundred words feel like an infinite stretch to my infinite feelings. I squeeze my thoughts in, between each space of every word I write, but they are just tiny scrawls in invisible ink.

I have so much to say, countless things to express and so many questions. I am watching the light snow fall outside. I can see every single snow flake that melts as soon as it touches the ground because the sun is shining. My thoughts are no different. They are beautiful and sad and cold and blue, and slowly fading away.

For the first time, the sun is shining in my life and I am not sure I like the warmth.