via Daily Prompt: Trance

It’s over. The fair is over, and the trance is fading. When it comes to county fair, we’re all in a trance. It has nothing to do with the hypnotist shows every night, though we all go to those and laugh our heads off, and everything to do with the characters we create for ourselves.

I’m not okay.

But they don’t need to know that.

I am a character I have created. They will never know that. As far as they are concerned, I am bubbly, extroverted, and am going to fix the chaos of this world. In truth, I don’t know what I’m doing. I watch this character from a distance. I created her when the old me stopped functioning. This new character has confidence I never had. She is unstoppable. That is, until the trance fades and I start glitching back in. It’s called a panic attack. My limbs start twitching, tensing up, then going numb, and she doesn’t know what’s happening. She breaks down and cries, but I don’t want to help her back up. This feeling is me. She is struggling for help, to reclaim her dignity and move on, but I just watch. Sometimes her ego gets too big and she needs to be reminded that we’re the same and she’s broken.


That’s a word that she hates. It makes her stop in her tracks. Tears well up in her eyes when she hears it.

Broken. Defected. Mistake. Sad. Wrong. But broken is the one that hurts the most.

Hypnotized people can snap in and out of a trance at the mention of a single word. I wonder who hypnotized us, because I need to tell them they didn’t do a very thorough job. There is no one word to bring that character back. It takes complements and thank yous, acknowledgements from others for her to slowly slip back into my skin. I wish we could co-exist, but that word scares her away, and it’s all I am.

When we think of the word broken, a strange situation occurs. She stops, but she doesn’t turn to run. She looks at me, with the tears just behind the surface. A question hides in those eyes:


I know that it hurts her, and I have no reason to. She’s the one who can do anything, who has world changing ideas, who’s in a relationship with the guy I love. But for some reason, my subconscious just wants to hurt her. I want to be her friend, but I can’t.

“We accept the love we think we deserve”

-The Perks of Being a Wallflower

I have grown up hating myself. People have told me there was something wrong with me since I was young, and I echoed the words in my head and out loud. No one cared. They let my original self fade away. Finally, I was gone. A new character came in to help. I’m pretty sure she’s piloted by my guardian angel. Where I see nothing, she sees something. I think I’m nothing, and nothing deserves nothing, so I push her away. She sees something, so she stays


When I tell her I’m broken, she can’t take it. She works day and night on her projects, and is the most motivated person I know. Failure is not an option. I am her main project, so when she hears that I’m broken, defective, a mistake, sad, and wrong, she falls apart. We all just want to succeed, and if either one of us is going to, I need to stop ripping myself out of the trance. I am not broken, we are not separate. I am confident, determined, and deserving of success. I am not okay, because I am better than okay. I am amazing.




via Daily Prompt: Toothbrush

Looking in the mirror and brushing my teeth is my two minutes of forced silence. The loud hum of the electric toothbrush drowns out the rest of the world, and I’m unable to speak with it in my mouth. I look in the mirror and see what I’ve become. My acne has cleared up, and I like my hairstyle more, but those dark circles under my eyes weren’t there before and I was never this skinny. The abrasions in my mouth from where I chewed the inside of my mouth until it bled are gone. I can’t tell whether this is because I’m winning against my anxiety or because I just don’t have time anymore.

Life is moving so fast that I barely have time for these two minutes. I was at a camp for three weeks where I didn’t have time to go to the bathroom to brush my teeth before curfew. I would hope that my water bottles were filled as I sat through the curfew meeting, then would return to my room, stick my toothbrush in whichever one had the least amount of water, put some toothpaste on it, brush my teeth, and finally spit out the toothpaste and saliva solution into an empty bottle of anxiety medications. It was a sad state to live in. I needed to slow down sooner in the day, but I could never move past the mental barrier that an 11:00 curfew meant to keep moving until 11:00.

I wondered if this would be what college would be like; running myself so thin that two minutes to brush my teeth in a mirror would be a luxury I couldn’t afford. I need to slow down but I don’t know how. The list of things to do is far too long and I don’t want to let anyone down. I can’t keep up. The circles under my eyes are only getting darker and I’m getting thinner. I’m forgetting to eat because I’m too busy. I can’t sleep because there are too many things to do. I’m analytical with an overactive imagination and I live in another world where every single thing that I do is a life or death matter. Scenarios that never happened, some from the past and some from the future, swim through my head, and they only get more vivid the less sleep I get. I wonder if these are hallucinations or daydreams. Is there a difference anymore?

I should brush my teeth. I should brush my teeth now. Maybe I should brush my teeth later. I have at least a dozen more things I need to do before I can go to bed. Brushing my teeth means that I’m surrendering to sleep. I only let myself go into the bathroom once before bed because I know if I go more than once my mom is guaranteed to hear it and call me out for being up past my bedtime. What time is it now? It’s only 10:17 PM. I’m exhausted. I shouldn’t be this tired. I was forced to stay up until at least 11:00 PM every single night for three weeks to go to a fifteen minute curfew meeting before bed. I’ve stayed up until 2:00 AM before with no problems just for the sake of productivity. Why am I so tired now?

I have to stay awake. I can’t brush my teeth yet. It’s too early and I can sleep in as late as I want tomorrow. Even if I fall asleep now, I still won’t wake up until at least 10 AM tomorrow. I need to use these hours of productivity. I need to get work done. Is it too late to text committee members? It probably is. Maybe it’s early enough that I can brush my teeth now without hearing the dreaded question of “So how late did you end up staying awake last night?” from my mom. I’m going to brush my teeth.


via Daily Prompt: Taper

My focus is tapering. It’s narrowing down, more every minute, because I don’t have time. I don’t have time for extra crap. I barely have time for things I love. My mom needs to back off. If she says the word math one more time I am going to scream. I felt invincible a few hours ago. Then she started harping. Now I’m breaking. I have no time. No time to write this. No time for math. Get me out of this house. I can accomplish more on my phone in the car than I ever could here. I need to be away from her. Away from this awful computer. Words are all I have. She wants tangible. Tangible doesn’t matter. Tangible is a finished math lesson handed to her, but it is also the knife slitting my skin. Words are all of the prep work that I do, hours of dedication to plan, conversations to console, and conversations to be consoled. Words have more meaning than anything physical. Words can be reasoned with. You can argue a thought until you reverse it, but once something tangible has been done, there’s no denying it happened. You can’t delete scars.

I was in the kitchen when she started up her tangent about how she’ll stop taking me to things. Right by the knives. The shiny, new blades that I’ve accidentally touched my skin with while cutting fruits that made blood start to trickle. I was in there to get food because I was starving. After she left, my stomach was churning. I still want to puke, but I can’t. If I puke, I’ll be done for two weeks. I won’t go anywhere and I’ll be forced to do math. My skin is crawling. I think that’s why people cut. Your skin just itches and you can scratch for hours but you just find yourself more tense. One slice would make all of your attention turn to it and then the rest of you would feel calm.

Someone just texted me. I found myself pulled back to reality. My breath is steady again, and I can think enough to form full sentences.  I’m breaking. I’m covered in cracks and about to shatter. My ambitions are a stick, being tapered thinner and thinner every moment in the time I have left. Soon, they will be so thin, what’s left will snap, and I’ll be left as a shell of what I once was.


via Daily Prompt: Buff

I’m buffing my life. All of the ends have finally come together, and now they’re being polished. Everything was in the air, so I braced for the attack, but they all landed perfectly. I’m in a relationship. I have a job. I got in to everything I applied for, and I’m happy. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, but then it fades away. I talked to a childhood friend today who I thought hated me for the first time in years. Those were the best three hours at work I’ve had so far.

I don’t know how life got to this point, but everything makes me smile. At work last week, I was sweeping, and the head of the broom fell off. I just started laughing. My co-worker started flipping out. He’s new too and a lot more stressed about it. I picked up the broom head and screwed it back onto the stick. This co-worker isn’t the smartest. He freaks out over the mistakes that everyone makes, but launches fruit at customers, swears in front of small children, and eats food in front of customers (which the employee handbook specifically forbids), yet he freaked out over a broom head falling off.

My childhood friend gave me some advice today. She said “Never talk to boys.” I responded with “It’s a little late for that.” She started smiling and demanded to know his name. My older sister was back. She had left me for three years, but in that moment she was back. I was on cloud nine. We played cards and talked the entire time, as there were no customers this evening. When I was on my way home this evening, I started to question what had happened. I started to believe she was just being nice because she had to and that it would be gone the second I left work. Then my phone buzzed.

Today was fun! See you this weekend

That single text banished all of my demons. Life had come full circle. My sister was back, and here to stay. These things all may seem so insignificant to you as you read this, but it’s the little things that really matter. Everything can fall perfectly into place and still be so rough around the edges that you’re scared to touch it. When your life is being buffed, all the little things round out those rough edges. Everything becomes manageable, and you find yourself excited for the future. I don’t know what will happen, but I trust that it will be great.


I don’t know what happened but I broke. It all was going fine, then I fell deep into my mind. I can’t come back out. I’m scared. There’s nothing to be scared of. Life is great. I’m going to die. They’re going to manipulate something I say and use it to kill me. they want me dead. Emotionally dead. Socially dead. Still breathing…barely. I don’t know what I did. I wanted help. i thought I had a friend. Both were lies. I’m scared. I can’t trust anyone. I’m weird. I don’t fit in. I’m okay until I’m not. Right now I’m not and I need to be. I need my phone. I need to text someone, to be reminded that the world isn’t ending. No one is here. I lost my phone because the demons were worse last night. I don’t know why. I’m scared. I can’t do this. Tomorrow I’ll collapse. In the middle of the AP test. They’ll know, but they’ll pretend they don’t. They’ll call the hospital. I’ll be gone. Physically gone. Gone forever. It will end tomorrow. My sanity will leave. Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe as you type. I wasn’t breathing. Why did I eat? I feel like I’m going to puke. I’m too sick to eat right now. Chocolate and lemons don’t mix. Tomorrow my life ends. Do I even bother with reading the books to prepare? They’re going to kill me. I should have requested accommodations. That requires therapy. Therapy tries to kill me. They only care about making a profit. They all are out to get me. it only works if God doesn’t exist and the only thing you have to worry about is making yourself happy. I dress revealingly because I don’t want to hide scars. If I shatter and I cut, I have to face the world and the questions they ask. I condemn myself. That keeps the knife tucked away. I can’t lie to people. No matter what they say, I’m not a liar. I’ll tell you the truth and make you cry before I lie. I feel a bit better. The glue is starting to kick in. Just don’t take me to the hospital.


via Daily Prompt: Massive

The list of all the things I have to get done is massive. The amount of trouble I’ll be in if my mom finds out I’m blogging right now instead of getting schoolwork done is massive. The amount of pressure to get things done is fading away, even though it should be pressing harder. Exams are less than two months away. I just started studying for one a week ago. I stopped studying another one because I’m too busy, even though I need to. I got a C on my last test. I haven’t studied for literature at all. My mom doesn’t think I need to, and I care about my ego too much to correct her. I’m probably going to fail everything, but I can barely even think about it.

My committee feels real. We’re going to make real change. I got to write a letter to a massive corporation today asking for donations to help our cause. They’re supporting the same cause, and I want us to work together. There are so many possibilities, and it really feels good to be a part of something larger than yourself; in fact as large as an entire state and in some ways an entire country. I’m making change happen, and people are reporting to me with how their work in my project is going. That feels amazing.

When I’m stressed, my mom reminds me of the future, as if that will make things any better. She reminds me that without four years of successful high school math, all of my work in my committees won’t mean anything because I’ll never get in to the land grant college, or any other college for that matter. I want to go into the communications field. What on earth do I care about algebra II? The math required for economic calculations makes sense to have to know, but anything further is pointless. I’ll have to keep moving forward every year, and it feels like death. When I complain about it, she suggests taking college math courses instead of high school. Let me get this straight. My issue is that high school math is unnecessarily complex for what I want to do in life and it’s going to screw up my GPA because I’m drowning, and she thinks the solution is ruining my freshmen status in college by taking college classes that will be even harder?!

I think that life is finally working out, and then math comes into the picture and she starts yelling at me, and suddenly I’m back to debating suicide, all over what? Some numbers on paper so that numbers and letters can go on another piece of paper that determines my entire future. It disgusts me, and yet there’s nothing I can do about it but hold on and pray for the best. I never even officially finished geometry because I got so overwhelmed; I just moved right on to algebra II and decided I would go back to re-learn it if necessary on anything. So far, I haven’t looked back once.

I feel so overwhelmed I’m subconsciously choosing to ignore it to lull me into a false sense of security and it’s working so well that the monster of stuff is a teddy bear that I wave hi to as I go somewhere to sign up for something else, while everyone screams to turn around because a massive bear with claws and fangs dripping with blood is about to eat me alive. I know he’s there, and I know I’ll be dead in just a few minutes if I can’t think of something quick, but my senses still deceive me and all I can see is the teddy bear, now moving closer with its arms held up for a hug.











via Daily Prompt: Translate

I need an English translator. Not from Spanish, French, Chinese, or any other language to English, but from English to English. From thoughts to English. People are difficult to talk to sometimes. I can’t tell if they still want to talk to me or are getting bored with the subject. I can’t tell if I’m being annoying or energetic. Non-verbal ques are even worse. My roommate left. I don’t know if she’s coming back. Big Hero 6 was still on when she left. Now I’m a half hour into Finding Nemo.

These were the startings of a blog entry written when my roommate left the room to get some stuff printed for the following day’s activities with her committee. I was completely paranoid that she had left to tell her mom how annoying I was and that that was why she wasn’t coming back, that she would never come back and I would be alone. Considering the majority of her stuff was still there, there was no way this ever would have actually been the case, but I couldn’t see that. I only knew that I had felt abandoned. She came into the room just as I finished typing the word Nemo, so I quickly switched to word and pretended I was looking over notes for leading the discussion the next day. I turned off my computer a few minutes later, and quickly forgot about the post I was working on. After all, I would never want her to read that and think I was some sort of insecure freak (even if I am) and I need to keep my anonymous identity anonymous.

-A character in some of life’s stories