unbelong.

Belonging and not feeling like you belong is a very weird feeling if you think about it.

Here you are in this environment… and you either feel like you fit in or you don’t.

Whether it be because of the people, the weather, the feelings associated with it, the thoughts, or everything combined.

Not belonging is a disheartening feeling,

and you start to wonder whether the universe has some karma against you or just simply wants to kick your ass

or maybe you chose the wrong path or it’s the wrong timing…

whatever it is, it just doesn’t feel right and all of a sudden you want to go to your little safe haven,

back to your warm bed under the covers where you don’t have to interact, see people, and you can just be without getting the nagging feeling that you don’t belong.

and it’s not like anything can change because things already feel written,

it feels like your character has already been finalized.

it feels like you’re stuck being this person, this persona, this character and there’s nothing you can do or say to change it.

maybe not belonging is just working your way through the loneliness and trying to learn to be with yourself for a while.

maybe it’s a feeling that leads to something greater, like this is just the beginning of the story.

but at the same time, you don’t want to look back at this moment and just remember it as a bad time… as a time of unbelonging

it would be like a tainted memory.

you want to remember something greater and beautiful… but it isn’t… it won’t be

you’ll look back and think, “Man, I hated that time of my life”

and you will be so scared to the point where you’ll try to repress those memories every time your mind goes back, and explores that era

trying to immediately hit control + alt + delete until it’s gone, erased for a little while

hoping for it to be erased from your mainframe forever

pleading

praying

wishing

that you don’t remember the bucket of tears you shed in the bathroom stall, hoping no one that walked in saw how long you stayed in the stall or that they paid any mind

that you don’t recall eating along with your phone, watching tv shows to give you a sense of unloneliness as you pass tables full of people and conversations and belonging

that you can bury the looks, the glances, the words, the feelings, the thoughts, of all the anxiety, the world, the people around you will bring when you unbelong

and so maybe you can try your very hardest to write it out of your story,

but it’s a piece of you and it’s such a loud part that it’s hard to forget

and here and there you’re afraid that if you ever leave that feeling,

it’s your worst nightmare,

that one day it’ll come back to haunt you and live within you again.

and it will make you wonder if you deserved the unbelonging. if you deserve it.

or worse,

you’re afraid you’ll never get out of unbelonging

of not fitting in or conforming or not having a group of people having your back…

and maybe you never really, truly will.

maybe you’ll never get over eating lonely meals with a mask hiding your unsaid words as an imaginary clock ticks its nonexistent seconds away

never get over the feeling that the people around you are not the people you should surround yourself with and do not have your best interests at heart and you’re just playing a part so you won’t be alone

never get over the burden of being unwanted, unneeded, un-anything.

or maybe

you will.

houses with the lights on.

As I walk around the neighborhood with my dad and my uncle as the sun begins to set,

I notice all the houses with their blinds left open and their living room lights flooding into the street.

Now if this was my dad and this was our house, he would have yelled at us.

My dad doesn’t like our blinds being open during the daytime because people can very obviously see inside your house.

I grew up with that mindset as well and don’t like the feeling of people being able to look inside.

I never really noticed the people who leave their blinds open or don’t, why would I?

But quarantine got me thinking about the houses that leave their lights on.

And I started to wonder.

This spring, my dad cut the trees in the backyard.

This gave us the perfect view of our neighbors who live behind us, and vice versa.

These neighbors are different.

They keep their blinds open with the lights on through the night

Now, I am mindblown cause this is a whole different world for me.

I have the perfect view of their kitchen/dining room.

And I find myself looking and wondering sometimes,

of course, non-creepily,

what their world is like.

I find it interesting that I’m so warped into this house, my home, I know its inner workings, I know every inch and space, I know the thoughts that this house hold.

But here’s a house not even 15 feet away from me, and I know nothing about it.

It’s just a building to me.

But that light in their window that I can see from my bedroom,

I can wonder.

I can wonder do they have a big dining room table where they sit for meals?

Do they have a big fridge covered in magnets and pictures or calendars?

Is their house a home? Or just a space where people live and breathe together?

And as I’m walking through the neighborhood as the sun sets,

I see all these houses with their lights on,

and I wonder as I pass all of them by.

I look, I wonder, and I look to the next one.

It’s as if the soft light that radiates from their window is a blanket of comfort to anyone who walks by.

It piques my already innate curiosity,

to look into a world I know nothing about.

This place is someone’s life encased into four walls.

A family I’ve never met,

but a house that does enough introduction.

I see the layout of their kitchen,

I look at the comfortable chairs or couches.

If that bookshelf is their favorite part,

or if the collage on the wall took a long time to make.

What made them want chairs out on the porch,

or lights decorating the walkway?

If the balcony was already there,

or a home decor daydream come true.

If they wanted a traditional house number on the mailbox

or a fake rock with the numbers carved on it.

What made this house theirs?

I see a house

and wonder if it’s a home.

If there’s love and happiness,

if its appearance on the outside compares to what’s on the inside.

If they leave the blinds open because they’re not afraid of what others see on the inside,

or they don’t care less,

or they want to show off their new decor and neat couch to tv layout,

or maybe they want to offer light into the world.

Maybe they want others to walk by and see a home,

to offer the dream of having that one day.

To have the couch where you watch family movies,

and a long table with comfortable chairs that are reserved for family dinners,

or the chandelier you saw at Ikea that just “fit right” when you saw it and you couldn’t explain it in words.

To dream one day to not just have a house,

but a home.

With a family.

To hope one day that it’ll look like this.

Maybe the houses with the lights on illuminate the future we want to have,

want to share

with the rest of the world.

detached.

it’s weird.

writing used to be my whole life.

i used to write songs after certain things happened, the moment or night that they happened.

i used to be so eager to write a poem once I got an idea in my head.

i used to be so consistent with writing a blog post about my day.

but over the summer, I got no writing done.

why?

because of my future.

I’m getting older and I’m realizing that soon writing isn’t going to be at the forefront for me…

it’s going to be college, studying, getting a job, keeping on track with that job, etc etc

I lost a piece of myself because I believe that it’ll prove no use to me in the future.

is that sad… or ridiculous?

sometimes I just feel so pressured to make something perfect and beautiful in one shot or it’s useless.

and I haven’t said anything to anyone, this is actually my first time saying it out loud.

i wasn’t really affected by not writing over the summer, because I was going out on walks and seeing some friends, doing other things.

but now that school’s started back, the writer in me wants to come out because I have so many feelings and thoughts inside that are definitely not good being kept inside.

life isn’t great for me at the moment,

I have that old whole world is weighing on my shoulder type of feeling because it really feels that way.

and I can’t remember the last time I was 100% honest like this to anything or anyone, and all I wrote were a couple of measly sentences.

I’m so used to not leaving too much of myself out there to anyone, even to my really good friends. in the fear that it’ll make them leave.

and the fact that there is a list in my head of the people who’ve left doesn’t help me.

because even though I thought I had it all figured out why people leave,

it still hurts every fucking time, no matter how much time passes.

and with every time it happens, more and more fear gets sucked into me… and I can’t even be honest with people I shouldn’t be scared of losing… but I guess that fear never goes away no matter who it is.

so here I am at the spiral and I feel so distant from one of the things I love the most, from the one thing that always got me through it all no matter what: writing.

at this point in my life, I thought I would’ve done something more with the things I love to do,

but sadly that’s not true and that’s why I can’t even consider writing

I guess because I feel ashamed in a sense?

I know I’m not 100% me and it’s haunting me and writing about it ultimately won’t make me feel better.

writing about it will just let it be out there, wandering in the space but there would still be no solution.

and writing out all your emotions, your sadness, your anger, your fear, everything… it’s so exhaustive once it’s over and done with and I feel like after that wave washes over for me, it just starts back over for me

but then I look at this blog…

and I see the lonely, scared, anxious, heartbreaking girl I used to be (and sometimes still am) and see how far she came.

and a lot of that has to do with God first of all and also this blog.

this blog was there for me when nobody else was, it was there when I needed it to be and it was there to just give me peace.

writing my thoughts out helped me not lose my frecking mind because there were a lot of stories I wrote about on this blog where had I not, I would’ve been a steaming ball of anger literally shooting out her RBF everywhere she went (as if I don’t already do that but TRUST ME it would’ve been way worse in person).

this blog got me through high school, you know how big of a deal that is? high school.

the demon spawn of this life and I got through it and actually had a pretty nice time in the last year.

because instead of keeping my emotions and feelings in, I wrote them out.

I whipped out my laptop, or my guitar, or my voice and just let whatever wanted to be let out, be let out

whether it was joy, sadness, anger, etc.

and I did it because it made me happy and it felt like me.

sometimes I wanna go back to those days when I first started to blog not to redo the experiences I went through, oh gosh please no. but to have that first feeling of uploading a blog and having a piece of yourself out there but not having to worry about anyone you know seeing it. and instead, strangers saw it, but it was somehow better because instead of judging you, they saw you and understood you. because they were going through it too. they were sad when you were sad and happy when you were happy and vice versa. and you made connections and relationships.

sadly, I don’t have as much time for this blog as high school me did.

but I think taking the time out of my day to do that will give me a piece of myself back.

I want to write again and not care if it’s written (pun unintended but highly appreciated) in my future that this becomes my future.

because frankly, I don’t care.

I just want to write… to write.

to feel like me again in a world that I feel is constantly trying to change me and break me down to something I’m not.

this life is trying to take something out of me and most of the time, I let it… because I’m tired and exhausted and everything in between.

but I want to keep going and to do that, I need my words back. i need me back.

and I intend to get it back, no matter how long it takes.

jealousy.

If you feel conflicted over the success of someone you love here’s what you do.

First

Validate your emotions.

It’s okay to fell like this, you’re only human.

Second

Realize that it’s better having this person in your life then closing them out due to spite.

Third

Your life might feel like it’s headed in the wrong direction right now but that doesn’t mean you have to drag them down with them. You love them.

Finally

Accept that it’s their moment right now. Not yours. Yours will come soon so be patient. I know life might be shitty right not but it would be even worse being envious of someone else’s life, especially if you love them.

Share in each other’s happy moments.

Be each other’s biggest fans.

And don’t give up or give in to the doubt, keep working harder every day.

Also, don’t be too hard on yourself if you feel this way.

Everyone tells you either to do this or that and if you don’t do it their way… you feel guilty.

If you don’t “feel” the proper way about something, you feel like a bad person.

Even though jealousy is a regular human emotion that you can’t really control, like any other emotion.

This is your first life, don’t be so hard on yourself.

And as you’ll soon see, just as you should be there for them,

they will equally be there for you too.

Pretty Bird #2

Sing your ballad,

sing your song.

Let the whole world march to your drum.

Don’t be scared,

don’t shy away.

Pretty bird show your wings.

Pretty bird tell them things.

Soar across the sky like a silhouette.

Be unsurpassable.

Extraordinary.

Let them wonder and stand agape,

at the beauty that you withhold inside.

Soar with ease and grace.

Don’t be struck down,

don’t let anyone tear you apart.

If something strikes, strike back.

Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t.

Prove that you can.

Use your wings to fly higher.

Higher than this earth allows.

Until you reach the cloud that holds your dreams.

That’s when you know,

you’ve made it.

«Music Friday»

• Hurts like Hell by Fleurie
  

Mental Health Rant: Do They Care?

So a while ago, my Modern World Class got to be able to take this survey questionnaire thing. Our teacher told us that it was about health risks and mental behaviors.

And I thought, “Wow, they actually care?”

The test was formatted just like the PSAT’s where you had to bubble in letters on a scantron. I thought I was finally going to be able to freely state what my mental health was actually like without being afraid.

I mean the questionnaire would be anonymous. But, I thought that even though it’s anonymous I would be comfortable enough to tell the truth and not lie. I mean it would be so easy to lie being anonymous, but wanting to not lie is a really big step for me.

So, the test had 80 questions. It was targeted towards high school students and it was focused around things that we personally do. Most of the questions involved alcohol and drugs, and if we’ve ever taken or are taking them.

You know how many questions were about mental health, mental illnesses, mental disorders, mental anything…?

2 questions.

2.

Out of 80.

I mean yes, I get that alcohol and drugs are a huge problem for teenagers today but are those things more important than mental health? Is mental health not as important?

Now, a few weeks prior to taking this questionnaire I went to the doctor for a physical. I actually talked about this on my blog (anxiety rant: checking checkmarks). The doctor gave me a paper and on it were mental health questions, and I actually answered them honestly because I wanted help but I was/am too scared to ask for it verbally. I was so proud of myself for finally being able to want to seek help.

A month later, and nothing. No call home, no email. Nothing.

This is why I’m too scared to speak about my anxiety.

Does anyone even care? Does it matter as much as other things?

I mean 2 years ago (in that same doctor’s office again at a physical) as soon as I failed my eye exam it was an immediate call home… and now? Nothing.

I once read one of my favorite Bollywood actors, suffering from depression, say in an interview…

“When we are suffering from stomach or kidney problems, we are so cool and casual about it. Why (is it that) when we have a problem with (the) brain, which is also an organ, we get scared and feel as if it is our fault, and we need to hide it from people?”

And then the other day I was looking for a paragraph for my English class and I stumbled upon this: https://www.creativenonfiction.org/excerpt/scars/gutkind

In that article it states the same idea:

“…when her teenaged daughter came home from cancer treatment the family received casseroles and friendly visits and offers of support from neighbors and members of her church—but when that same daughter returned six months later from residential treatment for a mental illness, no one knocked on their door.”

Why? Why is there such a stigma around mental illness? Like it’s a disease? Like we’re an alien species? Why does society cut us out from being “normal?” Why can’t they understand that we DON’T WANT TO FEEL THIS WAY?

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve seen and heard the experience of the stigma around mental illness. It’s been in my life since then.

My mom has schizophrenia, depression, and is bipolar. I’ve seen EVERYONE blame her for what goes on in her mind. Even I used to before I grew up and understood it. I mean I never knew why my mom was happy one moment then shouting the next. Who was she shouting at? It was as if she was shouting at someone, but no one was there next to her. And how come some days she never got out of bed?

This was when I was a little girl. I’m 17 years old now and I happily know more than  I knew back then.

I used to see commercials for anti-depressants wondering why people needed pills to be happy, but I finally understand. I went from completely missing the point to being so adamant about it.

If I, a regular girl, could understand the depth of mental illness, why can’t everyone else do it too? Or at least try to?

And it definitely did not take me having my own mental illness to be aware of the true perception of mental illnesses.

I didn’t realize I had a mental illness until last March maybe (sophomore year). I started learning about my mom’s schizophrenia in 8th grade because… I just wanted to understand. From that moment, I learned and felt and understood. I changed my perspective.

And then I figured out that I had my own mental illness. Anxiety. I mean it doesn’t take a doctor or therapist to tell me what I have.

People were asking me “What’s wrong with you?” whenever I didn’t want to participate in social situations. Some people call themselves anti-social but they don’t even know the half of it when you’re stuck in a room full of strangers and they tell you to converse and find new people and you just physically, emotionally, and mentally cannot. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. This was just the way I am, the way I always was. Did I need a label for it? Apparently. I was overthinking things. I could barely breathe when my teacher told me to speak up in class. I worried about things constantly. I couldn’t get my heart to stop palpitating during an anxious situation. I was just drowning.

I remember being in the car with my mom, driving home from school. I just searched up the phrase “Anxiety disorder.”

And I thought, no this isn’t me.

But it was.

I just didn’t want to accept it, because then it would be real.

I would have a disorder, I would suffer from something mentally. This was the start of where I finally understood myself, but people wouldn’t, they wouldn’t even try.

I didn’t want to accept it because people have such a negative attitude to mental disorders. I mean people actually think that my mom is the way she is just to get on everyone’s bad side.

I wanted to fight people because of that. Yes, me, Rebecca, fight people. Because it was so annoying how people used to actually have the AUDACITY to complain to me about my mother, but I was too young to understand why my mother was the way that she is.

People have such a low opinion to those with mental disorders like we’re abnormal or something? Like we shouldn’t be given regular opportunities that “normal” people get.

But, that’s why I didn’t want to accept the fact that I had a mental disorder, but I did, I do. Because people wouldn’t understand me; the people that are inclined to love me wouldn’t understand, just like with my mom. But I had to stop lying to myself that I was suffering and drowning and falling and sinking.

I never thought that I would accept it. But I did, I have. And now? I need help.

I never thought that I would actually want help. Because at the beginning stage, the biggest worry about my anxiety (ironic?) was just accepting it. Once, I accepted it things would be better. Once I accepted it I could get to know my boundaries, I could get to know more about myself and the person I’m becoming. And I did learn those things. But, I never fathomed the fact that I couldn’t handle this by myself.

I never thought that help was something I needed to find a sense of sanity. I thought I could handle it. And I guess I convinced myself that I could for the first few months, but I can’t.

I had mental breakdowns and anxiety attacks before I even knew what mental breakdowns and anxiety attacks actually were. In the beginning stages I had one of the worst mental breakdowns I can ever recall: I was in a bathroom stall for a full hour crying and trying to breathe just because I couldn’t find anyone to sit with at church and I didn’t want to ask anyone if I could sit with them and that just gave me so much anxiety. I thought that my actions were unjustified. I thought that I was being a wimp and loser. I tore myself down. Because of that stupid stigma. I knew that if I even tried to explain this to my dad or my brother they wouldn’t even understand. They would just say, you should’ve just found someone to sit with, but I couldn’t. I can’t.

But I want to stop lying to myself. I can’t help myself. I want professional help. I need it. Just the other day my English teacher said we might have a mini presentation and my heart sank so fast and my anxiety started creeping in before I could even comprehend. The last 40 minutes of class couldn’t seem to go fast enough. Well, the teacher only picked 2 groups to present which fortunately wasn’t me. But unfortunately, the anxiety of that moment scarred me. This is how I’ll continue to react for the rest of my life. I don’t want that. I don’t want my anxiety attacks to depict my feelings and shut me out from the world.

I don’t want to suffer anymore.

I overthink everything humanly possible and it breaks me down to a point where I just want to go to sleep because then everything in my mind would stop running.

Going back around to the questionnaire and the doctor physical and the main point that I’ve strayed from (but happily strayed from because I really needed to get things off my chest)… Do they care? Do they even care?

When you read a story about someone committing suicide it’s just another article for some people. “Oh, they couldn’t handle it.”When people realize someone has a mental illness and they start acting weird towards that person. When the phrases, “mental illness, mental disorder, and mental health” and words depicting them are all forsaken, as if saying them is like a plague.

I want this to stop. I want to feel safe enough to say what I’m suffering from. It’s so easy to tell my friends that I have asthma, but I can’t be able to tell them that I have anxiety.

Why is this perception haunting me? Who created such a disgusting depiction of mental illnesses and disorders?

I just want someone to care more.

I just thought of this, but when I went to the doctor to fill in that mental health paper I realized that all that stuff was on a piece of paper. But when it came to stuff like asking me when I last went to the dentist, eye doctor, and how my sleeping and eating habits were it was all a conversation I had with my physician. How come the stuff I actually cared about had to be squandered to a mere piece of paper instead of being talked about?

«Music Friday»

Dangerously by Charlie Puth

I Can Only by JoJo ft. Alessia Cara

Too Little Too Late by JoJo

Life Is Gonna Be Real… Whether You like It or Not

Have you ever ran away or chosen to ignore something that was real?

I have, I do.

Our minds can do this thing where it can make something that is 100% true into something “false.”

We choose not to believe in the REAL truth. Why? Because it’s hard to accept.

A week or two ago my uncle experienced an open heart surgery. I visited him the day before he was going to go to the doctor to get everything checked. He is my favorite uncle ever. He’s the funny uncle who’s always cracking jokes and even through the jokes he makes sure to ask simple questions like: “How’s school?” “Everything ok at home?” He’s just the best uncle and I love him so much. My dad didn’t tell me the details of his surgery, he just told it to me like I already knew. I don’t know why he did that. Maybe it’s because he knows it would be hard for me to accept, maybe it’s because I didn’t ask… because I was scared.

This past Saturday I saw him in the hospital. Which was also a surprise to me because I didn’t even know he was in the hospital. It was really comforting to see him, but it was different. He sat in a wheelchair, he couldn’t lift his arms too high, he looked sick. But he was still able to crack jokes. It was weird not being able to hug him or anything, but he seemed unfazed by the fact that he was in the hospital.

To this day, I never got any context as to why he needed the surgery. I guess I don’t really want to know why, I just want to know the outcome.

Maybe I didn’t want to know, or ask my dad about the details because I was scared. I didn’t want to accept the fact that real stuff like this happened.

My mind tends to ignore the real things, I guess that’s how I cope with all the bad things of this world. I just want to be safe, I want to still hold a little hope that everything will be ok.

But it doesn’t help me in the end. It just gives me a false perception of life. If I keep avoiding the truth how will I even be able to accept the future?

Life is gonna be real with you, whether you like it or not. I don’t particularly like it, but I don’t want to keep lying to myself. I don’t want to keep believing my false perceptions.

It doesn’t help, trust me. I didn’t think I could handle seeing my favorite uncle in a hospital, but I did face it, I could. It made me 100% happier seeing that he was ok. But, I was also happier because it was ok believing in the real.

Monday

M0nday.

The day we’re all accustomed to hate.

The day the week starts it’s turmoil of work.

No sleep.

Running on half breakfasts and dark eye circles.

Free time is just a dream.

A small nap isn’t an option.

The day that everything seems to reset.

The feeling of dread revives.

4 more days. Just 4 more days. But they seem so far away.

Monday is always glorified as a horrible day.

But, that doesn’t mean we have to see it that way.

 Maybe we should give Monday a chance?

I didn’t have the best Monday today, but that shouldn’t make it into this huge generalization that Mondays are horrible.

What about all the good things that happened on a Monday?

I was born on a Monday! When I realized that, I thought it was ridiculous… because I hated Mondays… hate.

But I’m really trying Monday.

It’s just that Monday is literally a bad wake up call.

After a weekend of blissful and interrupted sleep, bam, Monday.

But Monday should be happy day, we should be excited about a new week.

I’ve realized that I’ve been so focused counting my days til Friday, when in reality, I’m losing my days.

Life is precious, these days just come and go and I’m wasting them wishing it was another day, which shouldn’t be normal.

Monday shouldn’t be a “Hi, I’m Grumpy” it should be a “I’m ready to start a new week of experience.”

And believe me, I wouldn’t blame you if it’s not easy for you, it definitely will not be easy for me to follow my own advice, but I’ll take it week by week, Monday by Monday.

My Week: Fire Drills, Germs, and Reality… Oh My

Well, my week has definitely proved to be a very, very weird week… and it’s  only a Tuesday.

What has happened, you may ask.

I will respond with what hasn’t happened. …Seriously

Once you hear what’s happened to me in the past 2 days, yes, only 2 days (Sunday wasn’t that eventful), you’ll know why I said that.

Monday.

I’ve kind of forgotten the bad sides of Monday, because for the past two weeks my school has had Monday off for holidays.

Well, this Monday was something.

The first few hours were fine, then the day started to take a turn.

I was standing peacefully in the lunch line, so eager to get my lunch, because I was starving. My best friend and I were almost there and then there’s this commotion in the cafeteria. I just thought some people got into a fight, you can’t really see what’s going on when everyone’s taller than you.

Then this lunch lady starts screaming and I have no idea what’s happening.

The next second, everyone is clearing out of the lunch line. At this point, I still have no idea what’s going on.

Then, I see everyone clearing out of the building and I put the pieces together.

Fire drill.

Really? During lunch?

I don’t necessarily like fire drills.

1. Because it’s a huge school, with so many students, and the thought of having an actual fire in that building terrifies me.
2. So many people and I’m always scared I won’t find my class (but it was during lunch so I was with my best friend)
3. Fire drills always tend to get me sick. Examples? Freshman year, some immature kid pulled the fire alarm as a joke. And it was snowing. I got sick and I was a very pissed freshmen. Sophomore year, there was a fire drill when it was freezing cold outside and I didn’t have a jacket. I got sick, my fault but let’s not elaborate on that. The reason for that fire drill is because a kid, (I refer to people of my age as kids) some kid put aluminum in a microwave… yeah. And this year, this time…

So, back to talking about Monday… My best friend and I both left our backpacks on our lunch seats like we always do, because you know if we don’t we’ll have to stand eating, like we did during freshmen year… the dark times… lol.

So we had to run back to the table to get our backpacks, but of course the security guards were forcing all the kids out of the building with our backpacks, the backpack that had my sweater, with a hood, and my friend’s backpack that had her jacket…. and it was raining.

Not drizzling, raining. Full on raining.

Apparently, it wasn’t a fire drill, it was a real fire. When we were exiting the building, we saw actual smoke in the hallway and that’s when more stuff clicked.

I’ve always had fire drills, since Kindergarten. But I’ve never actually experienced a real fire.

For the first few seconds that I stood in the hallway (don’t worry there are doors directly next to the cafeteria) I could actually smell the smoke, and smell what people smell when they are stuck in a fire, and if I was in there a few more seconds I would probably feel what they were feeling.

We got outside and as I said before it was pouring. And I had a t-shirt on.

We tried to find shelter in the trees, it kind of helped. At least, I was with my best friend.

But we were both suffering.

Yep, I’m definitely going to get sick. It was raining, and kept raining, and never let up. We were out there for 20 minutes maybe and I was soaking wet. My hair was d.r.e.n.c.h.e.d. My clothes were sticking to me.

Once, we got inside I ran to my backpack and got my sweater and my unforgotten lunch.

So, a light bulb exploded and that was the cause.

So, this year this fire drill was the rain and the result was a cold. I wonder what’s going to happen next year.

Well, I got home feeling a sore throat, and my cold isn’t as bad as it could have been, so that’s a good thing. But I still hate getting sick, so this has definitely started out to be a great week (I hope you found the sarcasm)

Well, it gets worse, I left my calculator in Chemistry.

You might not think that that’s much, but I have anxiety. And that calculator is one that I rented, from the school. And my Chemistry room is used by 4 teachers. And it’s only the fourth week of school, and I misplaced it.

That’ s great.

Anxiety has a seat in my awful day, I mean it’s always present, but now it’s on a throne.

So one bad day right?

Ummmm… nope.

Tuesday.

I had a dream with someone that I really don’t want in my dreams and that just dampened my mood and my mind kept repeatedly going back to “What does it mean.”

I tried to forget about my dream and just get ready for school.

Everything seemed okay, like I said before my cold wasn’t bad. (Knock on wood. I’m definitely not jinxing myself)

The first bad thing of the day! I see Phoenix (The guy I think I like) with his girlfriend outside of my first period class, which he is in.

I thought the world is just rewarding me today.

I wasn’t ready for that, I would never be ready for that.

I just went into the class focusing on my phone. I tried not to think about him.

Then I get a stomach ache in class.  At first, I thought I could sit in class and live through it. I couldn’t. I was in pain.

So I asked a teacher to go get some water. I got some water and washed my face and everything was ok, for now.

The day carried on.

I’m still worried about the calculator.

I go to my Chemistry class. And I’m trying to find the right opportunity to ask my teacher, but before I could… lights.

The fire drill signal is going of… the second day in a row.

Coincidence? Does that exist?

I’m not the 3rd floor today, which is again, very great.

But I wasn’t scared to be caught up in a crowd because my friend from Chemistry was with me.

At first we lost our class and then we found them.

She is such a nice person, genuinely nice. She went to her friends and she brought me along. She didn’t want to leave me. You know my anxiety was around and I kept wondering “Am I a burden?” But she literally remembered me and introduced me to her friends and she made sure i didn’t get lost in the crowd. So it wasn’t bad at all. Her friends were really nice.

Plus it was just sunshine, that I can handle.

We were out on the school’s practice field and there was this explosion type of sound, everyone got scared and I just kind of stood still. I kind of had this feeling that it wasn’t what my first instinct thought it was, or what everyone thought it was, so I just stood still. I just hope that if I was ever in that situation, I would hopefully use more sense lol. A lot of people ran away from the sound, but this one teacher was like “I don’t have time for these kids’ foolishness” and he explained it was probably just a car accident on the beltway.

People were literally running towards the building, the one where minutes ago there was just a presumed fire.

Then they moved everyone to the stadium and everyone just sat in the bleachers.

I had no idea what was the cause of this fire drill. It was definitely the most longest, we were out there for an hour.

Then my friend’s friends started talking about final wishes and dying.

And I thought, what’s going on? Do they really think they’re going to die. And then my friend asked me what my final wish would be and I had no idea. Because I haven’t lived my life. I didn’t think I was going to die, because it didn’t seem like that serious of a situation.

Then my dad texts me asking me if I’m okay, and I’m beyond confused. How does the administration have the time to send emails, but not tell the students what’s going on? Policemen came with search dogs, helicopters flew over, all this happened while we were outside.

An hour has passed and it’s 40 minutes til school ends, and the administration make an announcement with a megaphone that we’re going back inside, for our last class.

For what? I don’t know.

Apparently, some kid from our school called 911 and said that there was a bomb threat at our school. Which then prompted 911 to call our school and tell us, and the alarm was pulled.

There were no bombs.

Our school really can’t catch a break.

This week, I really shouldn’t call it a week because it’s only been two days. These two days have been weird. And yet I’ve felt the feeling of stuff I’ve only seen on Criminal Minds and heard on the news.

And it was weird.

I can never imagine myself to be in a situation as real as that, I still can’t imagine it.

It’s so raw to see people actually consider their final death wish.

How real it was to see people running, after the sound of that huge explosion was made, which just turned out to be a car accident, but could be heard to others as a gunshot.

Is this how the world reacts to tragedy, to reality?

It was kind of an eye-opener…

High school has taught me and readied me for the world these past few days.

Thank you for reading my long story, stay safe and tell the people you love that you love them.

Boy Rant: I Think I Might Be Falling Again… help

Is this what it was like?

To fall?

I’ve forgotten how it feels.

I mean, yeah I’ve liked Him since 8th grade, and I didn’t know how to stop.

I saw him maybe once or twice a month? We’ve never really talked in a long, long time. I still liked him… because I was too caught up in the past and those moments.

But I wasn’t falling.

It was just like I was sanding still, but unable to move on.

I never really found a reason, in the past year, to fall.

I haven’t fell in a year, and I’ve forgotten what it’s like.

Of course, I don’t mean fall on the floor. I mean fall, as in fall for a boy.

I think I might like another guy.

A Him #2. Maybe I should give him a pseudonym? I don’t know, but that would make everything less confusing for me. Phoenix? (It’s a star name, this is my first time creating a pseudonym urgh)

Ok, the name doesn’t matter that much, back to the story.

He’s a really, really sweet guy. Like not sweet as in “I want something from you” like genuinely sweet. Actually, truly genuine. He was nice even before I actually knew him. He’s the most genuine guy I know out there.

I think I’ve liked him since freshman year, but I’m not sure. I don’t really think I did, because I was just starting to get over Him.

He was in my English and tech class freshman year.

Sophomore year I saw him in this one hallway all the time.

Junior year: He’s in four of my classes. Four.

Yeah, that really helps.

I’ve been questioning my feelings since the first day of junior year, I never really wanted to talk about it because I didn’t want it to be true.

Do I only like Phoenix because I wanted to get over Him?

Do I only like Phoenix because I see him almost everyday?

Do I only like Phoenix because of the past?

I don’t think so. Last Friday, he talked to me, like really talked to me. I was overthinking and doubting whether he remembered me, and when he talked to me I knew that he actually did remember me.

We’re in the same Spanish class and we had a presentation and he asked me in Chemistry class if I was ready for it, and I asked him the same. Then, in Spanish when my name was called out, he turned to look back at me and he gave me a comforting smile.

But, of course something always has to interfere, because this is life.

He has a girlfriend.

And do I only like him because he’s unavailable?

Ever since the first day of school, when I saw that he was in my first class, I was fine. I was ok with the fact that he was in my first class. Then I saw him hold hands with his girlfriend and I thought “Ok that’s cute, I guess, they’re still going out.” I could handle that. But then he was in 2 of my classes, then 3. Then the next day he was in the first one of the day, that makes 4 classes.

I can’t handle that.

Ever since those first few days, I’ve been thinking of Phoenix.

It’s kind of like I’ve forgotten all about Him.

And I remember how it was like the first time I started thinking about Him a lot, and He consumed my thoughts so much that I thought that it would drive me crazy.

But this? This is pure madness.

Do I even really like Phoenix?

I don’t know.

The first week of school, I was lying to myself. To my heart.

I kept telling myself that I was jealous of what he had with his girlfriend, but that’s so far from the truth.

I talked to one of my best friends about it, and she helped me.

I told her I was having trouble with the two, Phoenix and Him.

I knew that I only liked one of them, but I wasn’t sure which one.

And she helped me make a pro and con list.

It really helped me.

For example, my friend asked me who I feel more comfortable talking to with.

I said both, but then I realized that my conversations with Him were so short, they were barely conversations. Whenever I was talking to him I knew it wouldn’t be a long talk. I’m not even sure if I was given the chance to have a conversation with him, I would know what to say. But with Phoenix, back in freshman year he used to talk to me for a whole class period. He actually wanted to keep talking to me. And I could see myself talking to him for a long time, and holding a conversation with him.

But can I really like a guy with a girlfriend?

Can I really do that to myself?

I don’t want to, because I know that I’ll only get hurt in the end, just like I was repeatedly hurt in the Him situation.

I’m so scared to fall again.

I don’t want to .

I don’t want to like anyone.

But I can’t ever remember a time I didn’t like someone.

When I was younger it was nothing, it was like a crush.

But I think a crush is different from liking someone.

Liking someone means you like them for their personality and by the way they are towards you. I don’t like liking anyone who’s personality I don’t like.

A crush is someone you like for their looks. You don’t really know them, you only know the perception of them, you only know them like everyone else knows them.

I only knew what it was like to like someone for their personality when I started liking Him.

That’s when the consuming thoughts came in.

The thoughts are pretty much the things that are haunting me the most. I try so hard not to think about Phoenix, and it’s just not possible.

I think of his smile and his personality and his kindness and I get this feeling.

I barely think of Him anymore, and when I do I just feel bland or I feel like throwing up.

But when I think of Phoenix, I don’t know, I feel like I can’t breathe, but in a good way? Is there a good way, especially for an asthmatic? I don’t know.

I’m doomed aren’t I?

Please, send help.