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.