My Friend Tells Me My Brain is Like a Hollywood Movie

I’m at the gym when a strong thunderstorm rolls through, rain angry-lashing the asphalt and I look up, consider the building’s height—am I strong enough to cling to the rafters when the deluge comes? To think my obsession with rain began suddenly when I wondered what if it doesn’t stop? My therapist calls this an intrusive thought, says it’s good to label things so I get my label maker and I label Anxiety, I label OCD and I label River Birch and Quaking Aspen but the labels don’t stick to tree bark. My friend comes to the gym and brings me a snack, says I’m here. I label Kindness. As the rain softens I wonder if I’ll ever be the type of character who says I love a good summer thunderstorm while rocking on a front porch swing drinking raspberry iced tea. I worry my brain is a Hollywood movie people get tired of after seeing it too many times. I label Fear and Sadness and Forest Ghost and Star Jasmine and Pansy. Pansies dry out when it gets too cold but the sun brings them back. Sometimes I want to disappear in this way. Just long enough for someone to edit me. I imagine a director yelling cut! and my world is no longer black and white. I label Cassiopeia and Polaris, Exhaustion and Uncertainty. I want my brain to be the kind of movie with a score that sounds like midnight rain kissing the roof. I label Hope.