Taper

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.

Buff

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.

Broken

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.

Massive

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Translate

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

 

Instinct

via Daily Prompt: Instinct

My instinct is to run. To run far away. I started to literally feel those metaphors and similes. When responsibility hit me, my shoulders felt weighed down. I had never understood the metaphor of having a weight on your shoulders when you have a lot to do, but in that moment I understood it perfectly. I thought I was actually going to crumple to the floor and burst out in tears in front of all of these people who are supposed to look up to me as one of their leaders. It just felt like too much.

Eventually, I got used to that weight and was able to continue moving forward. I have to stop occasionally to roll out my shoulder blades, but in the end I’ll survive. Stuff is getting done, and I feel a sense of pride. Even when you think you understand how much work goes on behind the scenes to get something done, you never really do until you’re standing there doing it yourself. I hope the girl who had my position before me knows just how much I appreciate everything she did last year. I don’t know if I ever thanked her. I know that when I went in for an interview to go on a national trip and was asked who my role model was I said her name, but she has no way of ever knowing that unless I straight up tell her, which seems a little awkward. The only person who will ever know is the girl who interviewed me, who had my role model as the only other candidate who ran against her for her current position.

I want both of those girls to like me. I guess technically they’re women now, because they’re both over 18, but that has always seemed like such an awkward word to me. I can tell there’s a lot of subliminal conditioning that’s happened to me in my life because whenever I think of the word “woman,” all I can think of is someone who is married and just had a baby, while when I think of the word “girl,” I think of any female who isn’t married and doesn’t have kids. It’s such a ridiculous concept and it bothers me everyday. It’s one of those things that just dehumanizes people in an animalistic way. You refer to a female bovine that has not yet given birth as a heifer and one that has as a cow, and those same concepts should never be associated with a word that’s supposed to mean whether you’re an adult or a child. Adulthood is something that should be based around either age or mental maturity and responsibility, not having sex and giving birth.

I found something when studying mental health and nurture vs. nature concepts last year that really struck me as interesting, though I have no clue where I found it to be able to sight the source. It stated that whatever your first thought as a reaction to something is is what you have been conditioned by your family, religion, and/or the rest of society to believe, while your second thought is what you truly believe and what you see as right. I have to remind myself of this every time I start to have these conflicting thoughts because I know that the first thought is always the aforementioned connotation, while the second is that the difference lies in age and/or mental maturity and responsibility.

This whole thing also reminds me of when I was reading about when women joined the work force and began to work in sweat shops. They were always referred to as girls, no matter how old they were, and it was seen as incredibly condescending for these exact reasons. The men in charge of the factories saw them as girls because they weren’t at home with their children as a “woman” would be, but that had nothing to do with what they were. They were over 18, mentally mature, and responsible; the last two of which had to be evident based on the fact that they were getting themselves to the factory to work because they knew they needed the money to live. The subconscious effect that the people who we surround ourselves with has on our lives is absolutely terrifying.

Anyways, back to the two women whose approval I seek. Last year, I was a member of the group, and they were both on the executive board. I wasn’t sure what they thought of me, but was pretty sure the one who I saw as a role model thought that I was immature. The year I was born in was the latest year you had to be born in to be able to be in the group. To make matters more difficult, the age requirement was a year younger than it had been the previous year. I took on as much as possible, and some of it went well, while others kind of flopped. I never stopped persevering though, and decided to run for an executive position for the following year (this year). I was the only person who took the time to meet all of the requirements, and now I have that position.

I was leading a discussion at the last meeting to pick a public issue for the year, and all was going really well. Then I looked to my right, where the two of them were sitting, and realized they hadn’t said a word to contribute anything the entire time. They were talking amongst themselves, while occasionally glancing at the board to follow along. Towards the end of the discussion, when we were compiling stuff into categories and getting rid of some ideas that everyone had already decided against before beginning formal voting, one of the women raised her hand. She got lost at some point and couldn’t figure out where we were. I quickly went over each of the points and she said “That one’s a dangerous topic.” The topic I had just gone over was mental health; the one I was the most passionate about.

She said she didn’t feel comfortable talking about it and said that it was more of a private issue. My best friend, who also suffers from anxiety, jumped up and practically shouted “THAT’S THE PROBLEM!!!” She apologized for speaking before being acknowledged, and  I said “It’s fine, it’s a topic I’m very passionate about to, so I completely understand. Please continue.” She went on to say “People are scared to talk about it, and so they increase the stigma and make the problem even worse. We need to be the one’s to break that barrier and start talking about it. We can directly help people through talking to them and teach them about resources to cope with mental illnesses that are out there. We have the ability to save lives with this topic.”

The woman still wasn’t on board with it. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about it, and if those of us who don’t suffer from any mental illnesses say one thing wrong, we’ve made the problem worse and can be accused of perpetuating stereotypes. It’s a dangerous and politically charged topic, and it’s not one we should do if we care about our reputation.”

I was devastated. I felt like the discussion was going so well, and then I heard those words from her towards the topic that I had put all of my support behind. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her again after that other than when we had our emergency executive board meeting to figure out exactly what the topic we had chosen would entail and how to fix the chaos that was going on from miscommunications  in committee meetings. She seemed really drained from just the first half of the retreat, and just wanted the facts and to be able to make it through the last committee session in one piece. She and the other woman left that evening to head back to college for classes the next day.

The next day, I received one of two spirit awards given out for my leadership skills, particularly in leading the public issues discussion, and for my energetic disposition throughout the whole weekend. I was so happy I didn’t even know what to say. I just wish they could have been there to see it; that they hadn’t left for college already. Maybe they did know. Since they’re on the executive committee as well as the executive board (the rest of us are in charge of a specific committee so we’re not part of the general executive committee) maybe they had a role in me getting the award. I’ll probably never know for sure, but it still gave me some hope that I am on the right track, so I’m still happy.

Responsibility can be exhausting sometimes. When placed in a stressful situation, our gut instinct can often be to run as far away from the situation as possible. However, if you listen to the second thought in your head that challenges you to stick it out and comes up with new solutions to overcome obstacles, you will never regret it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Record

via Daily Prompt: Record

This has got to be a record for me. I haven’t written in so long, yet it’s not because everything is going so fantastic that I didn’t need this therapy. I just didn’t want to. Writing stream of consciousness is difficult at times. It relieves you of your troubles, but in order to do so, it forces you to recognize them by writing them down. Something Just Like This by the Chainsmokers and Coldplay is painful. I love the song, and it’s adorable, but I hate being single and it just punches me right in the feels whenever I hear it.

She didn’t get into the local land grant university. I looked up to her, and she didn’t make it in. I want to go to one of the colleges there that’s even harder to get into, and she didn’t make it in. What does this mean for me? I had my whole life planned out, and I might not even make it in. I can’t go anywhere else. My heart is set on that school, but she didn’t make it in and I probably won’t either. Or I will and she’ll secretly despise me because she’ll think she should have gone farther than the dweeb who was three years younger and just followed her around everywhere. She may already despise me because I’m more successful. I don’t mean to be, I wish she was here with me. She could be on the executive boards too. I hope we’ll be on royalty together. She can be the queen and I’ll be her first princess. But where would that leave my other female dairy bowl teammate? There are so few guys that apply, maybe two of us could be queens and the guys could realize that they need to step up their game if they want the title and more importantly the scholarship that comes with it. They’re too conservative for that though. I wonder if I wouldn’t get chosen if they found out I’m bi. Of course, they wouldn’t make it obvious that that was why. They would come up with some other reason why, and I’d be awful to accuse them of such a terrible crime.

She was so cute and so much like me. I met her at a friend’s birthday party and she was just like me, except in one aspect; she’s a witch. He whom I swore I would never speak to again says she’s probably a demon since that’s the only explanation for why she would have the same mind as me. I think he’s just jealous of any competition. His interactions with other men or anyone else who one of his female friends might be romantically attracted to are like watching roosters fight and it’s disgusting. The other party usually just tries to avoid him because they’re civilized people who don’t want to fight or don’t even know him, yet still he’ll insult them when he talks to you and you mention them in the slightest. It’s scary.

I wish the boy from camp and homecoming would ask me to prom or on any date or just ask me to hang out or even respond to my texts. I asked him if he wanted to come to a homeschool dance, but he was busy. I responded with “Okay :(“.  I was at a competition and also had to meet with some people to plan a major project that could be used for two years of college credits, so I couldn’t say much more. The next day, I typed him and said “I really hope there’s some time we can hang out before prom. I miss you.” Eight days later and he still hasn’t responded.

I need some help. If you’re reading this, please leave a comment with some advice. If I can get just one comment on this post, that will set a record too.