My Brain, My Prison

My brain is both my best friend and my worst enemy.

I'm acutely aware that my brain has gotten me much of what I have today. My brain is at least partially responsible for my Bachelor's degree, my admission to graduate/law school, my career strides, my romantic partnership, my money management, my ability to cook, my friendships, etc. 

My brain has many positive attributes: It allows me to remember minutia by recollecting the appearance of pages from a book. It allows me to think critically, to reason well, to argue my case. It allows me to write, to learn, to listen.

But my brain also fails me. It gets caught up in things within and around me. It notices the protruding cuticle on my left index finger and admonishes me to pick at it until the skin bleeds. It notices the too-dark hair follicle seen through my pale legs after shaving and compels me to perform minor surgery with a safety pin. My brain notices the too-small "o" on my torts notes and begs me to eschew the remainder of the lecture in order to rewrite the page. It notices when my boyfriend doesn't kiss me before he gets up in the morning, and it impedes upon my thoughts for the remainder of the day to deliberate when he might decide to leave. 

My brain is the reason I patiently wait for all the dash lights to go out in my car before switching it into drive. It is the reason my spices have to be in alphabetical order. It is the reason I can't bring myself to throw away magazines, receipts, or birthday cards. It is the reason I can't start answering No. 2 until I'm finished with No. 1. 

My brain is the reason that at 11 p.m. every night, I take a piss, turn on the hot water to wash my hands, switch it to cold while I dry my hands, brush my teeth in the cold water, turn off the facet, climb into my bed, plug my phone into the wall, spoon my boyfriend, drift to sleep. It is the reason I can't sleep when this routine is interrupted.

My brain is what makes me burst into tears without warning, and it is what prevents me from explaining my sorrow to my loved ones. It defies logic.

My brain is my prison and my jailer. It is both the four walls I can't escape and the agent who keeps me there. But it is also my only hope of busting out.