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I couldn’t be still.

Even as a child, I needed to keep my hands occupied. The mind problems came later.

I needed to move constantly. I needed to think about something, anything to keep my mind occupied.

Complete silence from the outside world wrecked my brain into numbing thoughts.

Perhaps I moved too fast from fear of the stillness.

Of the lightness.

Of the freedom.

Of freedom from the heaviness.

I had never really been still, though.

I moved, all the time. To make sense of my environment.

To occupy my restlessness.

I displayed a calm, collected self outside. Few noticed the brewing storm and the need to keep moving. To settle the unease.