October 9th 2016

feeling short of breath.

sharp pain shoots in my heart

head is heavy

my thoughts are all muddled.

struggle to keep coherent thoughts

i’m anticipating another bout of worry,

where my vision gets blurry

my soul gets lost

i feel scared

death. darkness. become forgotten.

who am i? where am i? i don’t know what “i” am.

irrational is terrifying

i turned on my fan

even though the melancholy autumn winds send shivers down my spine

because if i feel frozen

i am feeling something

throat feels tightly shut

attempting to sip water

my placebo of choice

i’d much rather water than a pill

there are horror stories about those tiny little capsules

i’m afraid to take one.

i’m afraid to be depressed again.

it took so long to climb out

my 6th year of schooling

i ask my mother what a soul was

i ask my mother not to die someday

i pray to a god i worried didn’t exist to give me a sign he does

because i wanted to believe in a soul

i wanted to be with my family forever.

my 6th year of schooling

my mother forced me to eat tomatoes

and even though i hated them, i ate them all

because she said they’d make me happy

my second placebo of choice.

i don’t want people to think i’m crazy

anything but a lunatic

i don’t want to be shipped away

to an all white room that isn’t my bedroom

i’m worried that one day when i’m all grown up

i won’t find love

because when the bouts of anxious irrational thoughts plague my body

and shake my soul

they won’t understand what’s going on

they’d think i’m looney

and they’d leave me for someone more stable

but i am stable, i promise

i’m okay.

 

 

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September 28th 2016

Ich bin sehr gestresst.

I tell my German teacher.

How easy it was to balance school, work, and band in theory. In practice? I have not been as successful.

Everything is a commitment, although some present themselves as a higher priority than others.

In an ideal world, I would be content with ridding myself of an extra curricular. In an ideal world, my education would not be as soul sucking as I find it to be this year. In an ideal world, customers aren’t pompous assholes and my employers and co-workers would cease to ostracize me and display cruel favoritism after I’ve had a long day.

I joke to Frau that I might lose my hair with all this stress.

Truthfully, I’m more concerned about my state of mind. I’m sitting in a silent white bedroom and when I close my eyes and try to focus my thoughts, I hear static. I envision those grey swirly thought bubbles cartoonists use when a character is frustrated because that’s what I am:

F R U S T R A T E D.

I attempt to remind myself,

‘Just one more month, then it’ll all be over. You’ll be relieved. It’ll all be worth it.’

I cannot wait for Nationals. Graduation is going to be heaven. The day that I leave my job will bring bliss into my life.

I have to promise myself it won’t always be like this.

Life is Good.

September 21st 2016

I gave some advice to someone. I told her to compile a list of reasons to live. It’s easier to dwell on the negatives as opposed to the positives.
This morning, I’m going to take my own advice. My top 17 reasons to live:

  1. Zebree the Zebra
  2. Rose Taupes & Mauves
  3. Quaint Cafés
  4. Snow
  5. Poppies
  6. Crème Brûlée
  7. the Smell of Rain
  8. Pearls & Gold
  9. my Guitar
  10. Curly Hair Days
  11. Pumpkin Spice Candles
  12. Chocolate Covered Strawberries
  13. Nostalgia 
  14. Romance
  15. Ernie
  16. Howl’s Moving Castle
  17. Christopher

I think that last reason is still susceptible to some change, but for now he does make me very happy. Like the best friend I’ve never had.

September 2nd 2016

Jealousy is an ugly thing.

I’m big enough to admit I am jealous. I do feel ugly.

A few months ago, I felt I was successful and that I had potential. However, not in comparison to my peers.

I didn’t plan out my life to a T and my parents (while strict to a certain extent) didn’t force my to. All of my peers are in Honors, AP, have received scholarships and joined elite ensembles. Even in high school, my only leadership position I found wasn’t intended for actual leadership. I’m a figure head of the program.

My classes are average. My life is average. If I’m being honest, my being is quite average. I’m not a prodigy, although I wish I was.

It’s probably the stress of going back to Lenape. Because when I started this blog, I was confident and sure about who I was and where I wanted to go.

I have to keep reminding myself that I won’t always feel this way, that I have to endure.

Give it a week or two. Eventually, I’ll come to a realization.

I’ll feel less “ugly”.

June 21st 2016

Pain is Beauty.

I’m taught at the age of 6 if I do not wear figure hugging, shoulder showing blouses, or shorts that have my ass hanging out: I am not “cool”.

At 12, I discover my first item of makeup – a tiny, hot pink bottle of cotton candy lip gloss.

But that’s not where it ends.

The seventh grade locker rooms were brutal. All the pretty girls made fun of my furry legs, all the teasing pushed me to break a promise I made to my mother. I gave in to the pressure: I shaved.

My collection of cosmetics and beauty rituals have since evolved from applying excessive amounts of gloss with the aid of my 6th grade locker mirror and the rusty, raggedy pink razor.

I have discovered primer, activated charcoal, detox waters, and deep shades of mauve and plum. I cannot count how many times I’ve had to tweeze, wax, or shave every hair off my body to feel beautiful.

I’m content with how I express myself as far as makeup or clothing go. My wardrobe consists of beautiful shades of taupe, plum, ivory/cream, and chambray. I’ve discovered how to feel confident and highlight my figure in modest ways, and frankly it’s comfy.

I apply makeup, not to look “beautiful”, but because the art of it is. It’s a spectrum of paint for the canvas of my face. I could express myself with a platform that isn’t sound or paper.

I suppose, what I’m trying to convey is that the journey to self love and recognizing your beauty is a tediously long one. It’s easy to submit to the belief you aren’t enough, when you’re more than enough. For me, my beauty was about confidence. The cosmetic aspects were fuel to my esteem.

Be your own beautiful. Disregard society’s standard.

June 14th 2016


Who am I?

I think I have a fair idea. Everyone describes me as beautiful, musical, intelligent, passionate, or maybe even funny. Others would retort bitch, slut, conniving, useless, or my favorite: “ugly”.

I think recently I’ve been suffering an identity crisis. Years of being told who I am or should be has left me pondering, who am I?

My charisma may not be my own.

Could it be, that my psyche has fallen victim to the influence of television or the bible? If I were the last person on earth, or in a dire situation, how would I act?

Would I save that man from a burning building? Would I be good company to myself?

I can say with certainty what I wish I’ll be.

  • Compassionate like my mother
  • Wise like my father
  • Intelligent like my brother, Alex
  • Comedic like my brother, Aristotle
  • Pretty like a flower
  • Steadfast like Titanium
  • Beautiful like Moon

All of us have a right to pursue who we want to be.