Think With Your Heart, Think With Your Head

Grace Alatalo

The phone rings.

My grandma’s name flashes on the screen.

Time stops.

My heart stops.

I stop.

My dad answers the phone, he starts to talk but I don’t hear it. I’m frozen, fear having seized my entire body. It’s probably nothing, yet these same phone calls have wronged me so many times.

My grandpa is in the hospital.

He’s fine. At least that’s what my dad says… I don’t know if I believe him.

He hangs up the phone.

My little brother makes a joke to lighten the mood. Everyone laughs, seemingly ignorant to what just happened.

Everyone laughs. Except me.

Is he too young to remember what it was like when Nana was alive? How everytime mom’s phone rang, tension gripped my entire body at the possibility of what that call could mean.

We resume the show we’re watching, trying our best to put grandpa out of our minds.

But not me.

The closing credits start to play and my feet move of their own accord.

Up the stairs. I need to get out of this room before the heavy air catches me in its chokehold.

“Are you going to take a shower?”

I’m barely there, like I’m hovering over my own body. My reply is half hearted. “Yeah.”

When my door shuts behind me the pain in my chest intensifies. 

Snow is piling up on the trees just outside my window, weighing them down.

I feel that same pressure threatening to push me into the ground.

It breaks me.

I slap my hand over my mouth, quieting the frantic breaths slipping free.

If my dad is handling this fine, his own father in the hospital, then I have to as well.

They can’t know there’s something wrong with me.

Panic. Anxiety. Dread.

My nerves are compressing and they no longer fit in my body.

I lead with my heart. 

I stand in front of the mirror.

I don’t know the girl staring back at me.

Deep breath.

In.

And out.

It’s fine, it’s just too early in the morning and I’m just too tired to see right. My mind is playing tricks on me.

I don’t even know what I look like.

I brush my teeth. I wash my face. I change my clothes.

And I’m back in front of the mirror.

I still don’t look right.

My closet door squeaks open.

If I change everything will be better.

T-shirt. Tank top. Sweatshirt.

Shorts. Sweatpants. Leggings. 

Something is still wrong.

I feel the need to claw myself out of my own skin.

You break a mirror and get seven years of bad luck.

How is it possible that I’ve never wronged the mirror, but it has given me misfortune for the fifteen years that I’ve been alive?

There’s school today, and I have no time to hide.

My second alarm sounds, signaling it’s time to go.

I walk out of my house.

I hate how I look.

I open my phone camera one last time as the bus rolls up, and the eyes that stare back at me are filled with trepidation.

Panic Anxiety. Dread.

My nerves are compressing and they no longer fit in my body.

I lead with my head.

Two separate moments. 

Two separate reactions. 

All part of one person.

Both elements of my body are constantly fighting for control.

My head might know what I need, but that doesn’t matter when my heart feels it’s wrong.

Sometimes they are sisters and friends, and just as often they are strangers and enemies.

I want to think with my head but what if my heart gets broken?

I want to follow my heart but what if I lose my head?

When I speak my mind I seem heartless.

When I do what my heart wants I seem thoughtless.

My head merely wants me to exist, but my heart wants me to live.

My head takes over and doubt runs rampant through my brain.

My heart takes over and my emotions run high.

Can they never work in tandem?

Both parts of me are still trying to kill the girl I strive to be.