How to Ride a Bike—And Other Things my Father Taught Me

1) Fearing someone is a necessary part of loving them. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you will find someone who will tolerate loving you.

2) Never rely on anyone for comfort. The person who wipes away your tears can just as easily be the person who causes them.

3) Food is a weapon.

4) Hands are weapons.

5) Your own vulnerability will be used against you as a weapon.

6) These weapons will be used to harm you until you don’t know the meaning of the word “weapon” anymore. They will be used to harm you, repeatedly, even after an apology. Apologies can not be trusted. As such, weapons should be avoided at all costs.

7) Pain is sometimes a necessary punishment for bad behavior. If there’s no one around to hurt you for what you’ve done, then you must hurt yourself.

8) How to ride a bike.

9) How to recognize the constellations.

10) How to build whole worlds with just your words.

11) The person who taught you these things deserves all of your trust.

12) The person who deserves all of your trust will violate it again and again. And you will give it to them again and again anyways.


Sophomore Year, Here I Come (Hopefully)

In the mornings before school, I have orchestra every other day. Student council is every Tuesday. Model United Nations is every Wednesday. Amnesty International is every Thursday. Student Newspaper is every Friday.

And that’s just in the morning. I also have Speech and Debate practice most days after school, and starting sometime soon I’ll have tournaments every Saturday. I also have violin lessons every Thursday night for an hour, and I’m auditioning this year for the all-state orchestra with sincere hopes of getting in.

All of this will have to be done while maintaining some semblance of a social life, my hygiene and appearance to a halfway decent level, and my (much-loved) 4.0 GPA. In addition to all that, I am dedicated to this blog and also need some time to write, read, or watch TV purely for the sake of unwinding.

I’ve got my work cut out for me this year.


Things I Know About Self Harm That the School Counselor Somehow Doesn’t

It’s been almost six months since one of my best friends, who won’t be given a name for the sake of her privacy, attempted suicide. I haven’t mentioned it pretty much at all on this blog, although I’ve wanted to, because I felt talking about the details of something so personal would be crossing a line.

A Beautiful Quote for the Night

“Everyone who terrifies you is sixty-five percent water. And everyone you love is made of stardust, and I know sometimes you cannot even breathe deeply, and the night sky is no home, and you have cried yourself to sleep enough times that you are down to your last two percent, but nothing is infinite, not even loss. You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day you are going to find yourself again.”
-Finn Butler

I’m seeing my dad tomorrow for the first time in a month. My friends will be there; he wouldn’t dare do anything to cause me pain in front of them but I’m still worried. So many other things around me are so wrecked and sometimes it feels like I can’t fix them. Sometimes I wonder if they’re even worth fixing in the first place. I saw this in tumblr and just thought I’d share it. Made me feel a bit better about the things that’ve been going on for me recently.

While I’m Still Awake, Episode #2

The first post in this saga of bullshit can be found here.

So, today has been a weird day.

I started out the day so tired I was physically unable to move. My mom had to come in and tell me to get out of bed about five times.

I cried twice in about twenty minutes (and I don’t usually cry very much beyond choking up a little bit, so this was a big deal to me). Once because I banged my elbow on the kitchen counter and once because I spilled about a quarter of a glass of water trying to water a plant.

I had plans to go to the mall with Cassie today but I wasn’t feeling it. I wanted to just stay home and watch TV and maybe sleep. I wasn’t hungry at all. But my mom has been very aware of the fact that I haven’t been acting quite normal lately, so she made me eat breakfast and go hiking with her and my stepdad. I felt really good after the hike, and went to the mall with Cassie and had a great time.

Then I got home and immediately started feeling bad again. My body was achey and my head felt fuzzy. I laid down and watched youtube videos for at least four hours, half-sleeping. I didn’t eat dinner.

When people ask me to do things I find myself saying no more and more often. My friends are getting pissed off at me for being so apathetic. I pretty much never say no to hanging out with someone, so when I do people lose their shit. It only serves to make me feel worse.

When it was finally time to go to bed (at 10 because I’m a loser) my brain felt completely wired but my body was still exhausted. I just laid there for a long time, worrying. Imagining all the things that could go wrong in the next day or week or year. Thinking of all the things I might do wrong and all the people I might lose. And that was when I realized.

It’s happening again.

In sixth grade, I was depressed or anxious or some combination of both. I was never officially diagnosed, so maybe it was nothing and I was just being crazy. But I would lay there awake at night (it happened more often when I was at my dad’s, surprise surprise) and have these vivid nightmares—except I was wide awake so maybe they were daymares?—about my family or friends dying in horrible ways, with me being powerless to stop it, with me having caused it, or with me dying right along with them. And it’s happening again.

I imagine funerals. Eulogies I would give. Eulogies people would give me. I imagine people who aren’t even my friends dragging blades over their skin or killing themselves because of careless bitchy little comments I’ve made. I imagine the people I love pushed too far by something I said and sent careening over the edge. Vivid images of me or my family dying in a huge car crash flash behind my eyelids.

It’s happening again and I don’t know how to stop it. I can’t remember how I made it stop last time; my memory is horrible. Everything up until somewhere around April of seventh grade is a blur. I can remember all of eighth pretty well. But when it comes to this past school year, I can remember the first couple of months and the most recent couple of months. Except for a few outstanding moments, everything else is just a weird blur.

Now, I’m sitting here with my body AND my brain all jacked up. I’ve started doing the leg jiggling thing again recently, and they’re almost constantly sore. Not only am I doing the leg jiggling thing at this very moment, I’m also randomly and erratically bobbing my head up and down. In the dark of my bedroom, my fingers are flying across my phone’s keyboard as I write this post. I’m playing my “sleep” playlist, which is supposed to calm me down and usually does, but at this point it’s not helping at all.

It’s not like I’m like this on a constant basis. The majority of the time I feel decently happy (or if not happy at least content). Sometimes if things feel like they’re going really well I get these flashes, which only last a second, of downright euphoria. But then I’ll also get these random moments of feeling really detached or fatigued or anxious or afraid, or some stitched-together, monstrous Frankenstein combination of those feelings (did that metaphor make sense? Probably not).

I’ve barely written anything in the past couple weeks except for two blog posts (one of which is this one right here, and this shitty writing barely even qualifies as a post) and a few of those stupid ten-word poems, which I’m not even particularly good at writing. Actually, come to think of it, I’ve had a noticeable lack of inspiration since my dad’s outburst on the way home from my recital. It could be purely a coincidence (I’ll go for a decent chunk of time without writing much and think nothing of it) but I feel like there’s gotta be a connection. Writing is a huge emotional outlet for me and the fact that it’s not there for me right now might have something to do with the way I’m feeling.

I’ve also somehow developed an intense pathological fear of bugs. I saw a beetle in the house the other day and could move from fear. There was an tiny (and I mean TINY) little winged creature, I don’t even know what the hell it was, on my leg this morning and my throat closed up. Last week when I had Chloe and Anne over to hang out, there were roughly ten of those microscopic little sugar ants on the counter. I had to leave the room while my friends cleaned them up because I couldn’t deal with them. I constantly feel things crawling on my skin or fluttering near me but when I look there is, without fail, no creature in sight. I’ve never particularly liked bugs, but I’ve never had issues like this before.

About twenty minutes ago, I was googling whether leg jiggling is always a sign of anxiety or if maybe I just somehow drank a red bull and forgot about it. I didn’t get anywhere with my answers but I did come across one of those idiotic online mental health test things. I tried to be honest with my answers. These were my scores:


I’m wondering if this “test” has any bearing on reality at all, since below the results was “REDUCE YOUR ANXIETY LEVELS TO JUST A FRACTION OF WHAT THEY WERE WITH MY QUICK AND EASY SELF-HELP METHOD.” and an accompanying video. Most likely the results weren’t accurate (I’m a lot of things but agoraphobic is not and has never been one of them) but who knows. Maybe in an at a 63% anxiety level.

As if that was something that could actually be so acutely quantified. Fuck this bullshit.

Well. This has been only slightly theraputic. I guess I am jiggling my leg a bit less than I was when I started. So that’s something. This also took me roughly half an hour to write, so it is officially two hours past the time I wanted to be asleep. My eyes are starting to feel just a little bit heavy; maybe I’ll have peace tonight at last.

If you’ve still read this far and not gotten incredibly bored, then have a good night (or good morning, if you live in China). Hope yours is going better than mine.


p.s. I can’t be bothered right now to read through the post and check for mistakes, so if there’s any errors with spelling or grammar (or a sentence or two that just don’t make sense at all) do kindly let me know.

Thank god, thank god

Cassie and I have clicked ever since we were babies. As she puts it, we’ve been best friends since age zero. We grew up together, have shared everything right from the start. We’ve laughed with each other and cried with each other and danced and sang and played with each other. She has been there for me through literally everything–there hasn’t been a week where we haven’t seen each other or at least texted.

I never in my worst nightmares thought I would be faced with the fear of losing her.


Flowers in a Jar

When I was little, two of my favorite shows were Dragon Tales and Maggie and the Ferocious Beast. Dragon Tales was this show about these two little kids who wish upon a dragon scale and get whisked away to dragon land and go on adventures, and in the process learn values like patience (or something). Maggie and the Ferocious beast was about a little girl who befriends a “beast” (very cleverly named Beast) who kind of looked like a yellow triceratops with big red spots. I’m pretty sure that show taught about discrimination but I really can’t remember. Needless to say, these shows weren’t much more than fluff, probably torture for whatever adult had to watch them with me. They were full of bright colors and fun music and exciting shapes, and watching TV as a toddler is probably about as close to high as I’ve ever gotten.

As you can see, I didn’t really carry much from those TV shows with me. I only remember a very select few episodes. But one of them has stuck with me to this very day and I still reference it as one of the reasons that I am the way I am. And I can not, for the life of me, remember which show it’s from.