ABBY HANNEY

I’m learning how to crochet. 

My brain amuses itself by thinking of the worst scenarios all the time. Weather its called OCD, Anxiety, PTSD, whatever label a highly paid professional can think of, it all means the same: 

a lot of unnecessary thinking.

It’s not a diagnosis, it’s a disease. The worry travels through your bloodstream, plagues the mind and soils the imagination. It replaces the butterfly cocoons in your stomach with bats, that when awakened slap their wings harshly against the fragile skin of the stomach, and shake appendages with their discomfort. The magic anecdote found in orange plastic can only lull them to sleep for so long and then the thoughts are back. And though it’s true that we can never truly escape our minds, we continue to try and distract it. 

Sports were never truly the escape. The worse you are causes the thought of burden, but become too good and suddenly they’re looking to recruit you in seventh grade. Bats love when they try to recruit you in seventh grade, so they make you quit in tenth. Captain wasn’t any good either, because when it’s your turn to set expectation, you risk giving bats to the nervous freshman who is just too young to already fear failure. 

Next I tore everything from the walls. Up until that point they were covered. All four, floor to ceiling in pictures and posters and sketches and cards. But then they were empty, because if there’s nothing to see, there’s nothing to think about. In theory. But bats are blind too and yet they reproduce like glitter when you think you’ve vacuumed it all up. The thoughts hid under tables and chairs, in the shadows and under the carpet until there was no use pretending they weren’t still there. And so sleep became the next best option. 

A study by John Hopkins university shows that while not conscious of it, your brain continues to “think,” just not in the way thinking is normally perceived. From what I gathered from a short google snippet, while sleeping your brain sorts and store’s information from the day. Reliving things almost, like a small summary. Cool if you’re into science I suppose, but unfortunate if you’re trying to get rid of bats. Sleep is sadly only temporary, and when woken by night terrors and falling sensations, it almost becomes a choice between two evils: 

Think of death, 

or feel like you’re experiencing it. 

Both are equally terrifying. 

I started making things. Bracelets mainly. Knotting and braiding and twisting and tying. But you can only make so many bracelets before you run out of people to give them to, because you don’t like them. They rub on your wrists and get in the way when you try to write. 

So necklaces. Ok 46 is enough. 

Keychains. You only have one set of keys. 

Dolls. Creepy as hell.

Rings. Only can wear ten at a time. 

Painting. You don’t like things on the walls and the closet is full. 

So now I try crochet. 

It’s talking much longer than I expected, perhaps that’s for the better. More time focused on yarn leads to less thought of eventual decay and you might even get a scarf out of it. 

So when I can’t think right, and when the bats fly free within my skin, at least I can play sports and run a seven minute mile and make jewelry and paint and at least, 

I can crochet.