Car breaks

I hate the way I feel,
when I think of things,
I don't want to think. 

easy- don't think em.
Right?
but what if;
my thoughts only created things,
that I wanted to think about?
what if I became a massive fairytale story?
one where I wanted to live?
i don't believe I'd ever leave my mind.
i know I'd never have started writing,
reading,
hiking,
loving.
id never have felt pain,
or weakness,
cried and felt tears,
Or knew I was capable of screaming.

There's a beauty in being low,
a force inside one's body to distract,
to heal,
to know.
knowing what it means to be alone,
To be scared,
even angry.
Like a car speedometer,
my brain reads 150mph at its highest,
but I've never gone that fast.
it's only knowing that my car was built,
for the reassurance that it can stop,
because why would my car need to stop,
if I never moved,
if I never thought things I didn't want,
id need no reason to break,
but cars are meant to move.