“None Will Close. One Is Screaming.”
Let me explain my mental state using the only language we all understand now:
Internet metaphors and barely managed madness.
My brain?
It’s a browser with 73 tabs open.
One is blasting music I didn’t ask for.
One is buffering a memory from third grade where someone called me “weird” and I never recovered.
One is a full-blown fantasy argument with my ex’s therapist.
And one? Is just a goat screaming on loop.
(It might be me. I’ve lost track.)
I try to close a tab.
Just one.
And my brain hits me with a pop-up:
“Are you sure you want to close this tab?
Feelings may be unsaved.”
Cool. Guess I’ll keep them all open like an emotional hoarder with Wi-Fi.
Worse?
Half those tabs were opened by other people.
- That teacher who said “stop being so sensitive.”
- The boy who said I was “a lot.”
- The friend who called my breakdown “a vibe.”
- That Facebook post from 2014 I still reread like it holds a clue to why I’m unlovable.
Autoplay is enabled.
One thought starts spinning and the next 12 join the dance.
Before I know it, I’m spiraling to an internal playlist of “What Did I Say Wrong?” and “Will This Ruin My Life?” while Enya whispers false promises in the background.
Sometimes I try to reboot.
I press Control + Alt + Delete on my entire personality.
All I get is a frozen mirror and a reminder to drink some damn water.
There’s no task manager.
No IT department.
No incognito mode for mental health.
This isn’t just “being distracted.”
It’s neuro-chaos in 8K surround sound.
If you’ve never cried in a Walgreens parking lot because your inner tabs all crashed at once while a motivational podcast played in the background like an unhelpful hostage negotiator…
Are you even alive in this economy?
And listen—
I’m not asking for a cure.
I’m asking for a f*cking sticky note that says:
“Hey. It’s okay. One tab at a time.”
“You’re not broken. Just running legacy software on a system not designed for this bullsh*t.”
So yeah.
There’s 73 tabs open.
None of them will close.
One is always screaming.
But one?
One is labeled HOPE.
It’s tiny. Faded. Hidden behind the trauma pop-ups and old grocery lists.
But it’s there.
And that’s enough to keep refreshing.
My Brain’s a Browser With 73 Tabs Open
There’s music, trauma, unpaid bills,
A spreadsheet tab for coping skills.
One window’s joy, the rest? Who knows—
My thoughts are pop-ups in repose.
No “X” will close this neural maze,
But somehow I still write and blaze.
So if I lag or glitch your screen—
Just wait. I’ll meme what I mean.
—The Funny Phoenix, running on caffeine and chaos
