My therapist keeps asking me to do mindful techniques, and I want to tell her that they don’t work for me. I want to tell her it’s almost as bad as the cult of magical thinkers. By magical thinkers, I mean those who believe you can attract everything you want in life by your thoughts. No amount of breathing or magical thinking can stop these unhinged thoughts in my mind.

Instead, I tell her that I’m writing. She looks at me with a blank face and moves on to the next subject. I get it. Writing — it doesn’t sound as fancy as her mindful techniques, but it does something for me. It’s a way to pass my time, and I prefer it to talking about my feelings. I’m not one to spill all the tea of my life to a stranger.

Throwing Confetti

Life is filthy, isn’t it? One minute you’re happily popping confetti into the air, and the next thing you know, it spreads everywhere. From your clothes to your house, it follows you to every corner. That is the same thing with thoughts. The stress follows you into your career, your hobbies, your family, and your friendships. These thoughts overwhelm me, spilling out like my favorite blueberry muffins, bursting every last blueberry at the highest temperature.

How to move on?

I keep writing.

No one might see it. Or the world might see it. Maybe somebody feels unhinged like me. Or maybe it doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes I don’t even know what I’m saying. I have so many thoughts fighting in my head, and I’m not ready to talk to my therapist, so digital paper is the way to go. And by the time I’m done writing, I’ll find a better way to cope than to practice another mindful exercise again.