I hate it because I have to waste more time in order to go to sleep.

Wasting time has come to be something I’m terrified of. I can’t do anything in my day-to-day existence without simultaneously being conscious of all of the other things I could be doing to better serve my time. Most people would say, “Well, then, stop fucking complaining about it and get off your ass and do those things.” Well, see, the thing is, is that usually, there’s a good reason I’m not doing one thing or another. Typically, these are complex reasons that other people don’t want to listen to because it goes against their logic, their way of living, or, most commonly, their patience, which is interesting because I identify as someone with a lot of patience, but if I have so much patience, then why the fuck am I always feeling anxious and worrisome about all of the things I could be doing.

It’s a shitty cycle.

Lately, this anxiousness seems to have manifested itself physically, and it fucking sucks. For the past four days or so, I’ve been experience the world in a strobe-effect, in a series of jerky movements; my vision feels as though it fluctuates before me in strobe-like intervals and my body experiences all senses in intensive, strobe-like intervals as I go throughout my day. It feels fucking terrible, and it’s getting to the point that it’s been going on for so long that I’m getting really scared by it. Today, I even thought it might be a dietary thing, so I ate a salad for dinner. Nope, still no change. As I sit here, I hope you are reading this and understanding that this, all that you are reading, is a result of this feeling, this unbearable anxiousness, this weird, strobe experience. Even my being awake right now at 10:42, even though I’m fucking exhausted, is overruled by this dreadful feeling and I can’t fucking get rid of it. It’s become a physical symptom, and I’m terrified.

I can’t spend a long amount of time on one thing in particular; I go crazy. It’s almost reminiscent of the anxiety I experienced in my senior year, but not quite as physical. In theory, my emotional reactions are the same, my level of patience is the same, and both are very thin and very severe. Even pain feels weird under the influence of this awful feeling. I pinch at acne persistently and dissociate myself from the pain. As a result, I only feel it if I focus on it, and I do in these intensive intervals.

Although I am under the influence of no drugs, I wonder if this is similar at all to what PCP feels like. Hot water drips onto my leg and I barely feel a thing, so long as I don’t think about it.

This anxiety has become worse with political awareness. This weekend, I attended the New England Marxism Conference, which was a fantastic experience, but now I feel ultra-sensitive to everything as a result; not just physically, but politically, economically, and it’s funny, because it reiterates the age-old theme that the real world is fucking terrifying and that the truth is hard and scary. Everything is a nightmare and we are all a part of it.

I want to go to sleep. I want the melatonin to work its way into my brain and knock me out for once. But it won’t come, so I have to wait for my tea to stop brewing, my “sleepytime tea.” Waiting for something else, more waiting, more patience, more restlessness, more anxiety.

Fuck it. Fuck it all.

I never thought that I would be impatient someday. Never. But this has gone too far.


She told me to look for the volcano and the dinosaurs past 23rd street. Or maybe we said we’d meet there, because I’m pretty sure we didn’t meet up until 30 something-th street.
The lanes of traffic were so busy. I saw her walk up to the pedestrian walk on the other side of the street, across at least 6 lanes of traffic. She waved enthusiastically, as if she’d never been happier to see me. I waved back and laughed. We made faces while I waited for the walk sign.
As I crossed the six lanes of traffic, I saw the volcano scene with the dinosaurs emerge on my right; it was a golf course, of course. This is where we met.
Even as I think through what happened this day, I feel sick. My heart sinks into my gut and I remember. I remember the details less accurately than I did when I told them the hour-or-so-long story of every little detail for weeks and months afterward. No, now, it’s different, it’s fuzzy, and it’s obscured, opaque, in a totally new way. A way in which it’s never been more difficult to delve back. A way in which I feel unsafe reflecting upon my own past for perhaps the first time in my life. My well-being feels threatened, so my body reacts. Whenever something is threatened, there is always a reaction.

It all just keeps piling up, and I just need to let it out somehow.

Okay, here’s the problem. I wasted all of June and it’s already into the second half of July, and I have a shitload of school homework to do that involves some pretty hefty thinking. I have to start (hopefully get halfway through) a massive 3,000-4,000 word essay on something regarding the philosophy of the book Wicked and a very condensed history paper on something to do with Elizabethan England that’s probably about half the size of the other essay. Tomorrow, I plan on finishing my French homework, which involves reading Le Petit Prince and doing a pretty hefty packet to go along with it, and then write a 5 paragraph paper on it.

Honestly, I’m not worried about that, it’s easy. I’ve already finished my math homework. What I’m more worried about are those two aforementioned essays which require reading a lot of sources in-depth and a lot of just straight up effort and skill, and writing isn’t really my best asset. On top of that, I’m also worried about the outline I have to make for a 9-12 minute oral presentation on the significance of a conversation about social reformers/important society figures in the 70 page play “Master Harold…and the boys.” Out of all of those, that’s probably the least of my worries, but that has to be finished by August 1st, and it needs to be very detailed.

It doesn’t help that I have band camp for 12 hours every weekday of the first two weeks of August, and I’m also trying to get in all of my driving hours so I can get my provisional before band camp, which will only happen if I’m lucky enough. My second in car isn’t until Friday, and I have to call tomorrow to schedule my third, ASAP, so that I can schedule a provisional test at Hagerstown REALLY fast, and pray that I pass it, BEFORE band camp. Frederick’s MVA has too long a wait.

Also, my dad reminded me of the issue of paying for insurance, which is something I will probably not be able to do next year. How will I even pay for gas money though? I can’t handle a job. Not only am I a picky hesitant spoiled little bitch about even trying to consider places to apply to, but it’s hard enough to find one, and I highly doubt I’ll even have the time for one. Between my SENIOR year, which is already chock-full of IB madness, AND two promisingly busy seasons of colorguard (marching band and indoor), I don’t know where he expects me to get a job.  Oh wait, yes I do; anywhere. But how can I even balance all that? I can’t do it. I can’t, but I feel like shit for not even making an effort to look.  I am so tired of thinking my parents think I don’t have a conscience, because I really do, I feel guilty as fuck all the time, I just don’t know how to show it, because I’ve been conditioned to be terrified of annoying them, or anyone for that matter. I can’t do this, I just can’t. I don’t know what to do.

I also have the fucking PBB, which is the band budget for participating in band, not to mention all the other expenses I’ll have for random things throughout the year…I can’t even get birthday presents anymore. The band budget is between 500 and 600 dollars. Gas? Again? How will I even pay for that? Or insurance? 1,000 dollars a year is not going to happen! It just isn’t! I can’t do it!

I know I sound like every other ungrateful teenager out there, but I’m not complaining for the sake of complaining, I just really feel awful about it, and I don’t know how to express it, because it’s all my fault, but every time I try to catch up with everything, I feel like I need to do it my own way, alone, figure it out myself. And it doesn’t help that when it’s the first thing on my mind, any mention of something I need to do or something I need to worry about makes me go crazy, because I’m terrified!

I can’t find the upsides in these panic attack nights. I just can’t. I can barely sleep anymore. I can’t sleep when I want to. I can’t concentrate when I want to. It just sucks, and I’m fucking tired of it!

It’s called “Just So You Know.” It’s my result of an argument I had today with my mom’s boyfriend. I kind of had an epiphany. Sad thing is, I really like him, but this is just a trait in people I’m sick of seeing, and I thought I should learn from it. This isn’t arrogance, this isn’t disrespect, this is my truth. Please take it as it is;


I really resent our argument earlier. You say I’m blinded? You’re an idiot. You judge everyone based off of what you think their biases might be, and you think that those biases are the reason behind all of their opinions, feelings, and actions; their behavior, in general. You think you’re so intelligent with your skepticism? You can’t correctly judge me using your methods of classifying people, because I actually do consider both sides, something you assume people don’t do out of a habit, or, as you say, your almost 50 years of “experience.” You cannot assume anything. You can’t try to deflate my argument because you resent a personality trait in me that doesn’t even exist. That trait? The inability to examine both sides of something due to typical, personal, selfish, “human” interest, and typical “human” behavior. If you knew anything about me, if you’re so intelligent, if you’re so observant, then maybe you would’ve realized that what seems to be my teenage laziness and angst is actually just me brooding and trying to make decisions, trying to take a firm stance, which means that I actually put thought into the second side of every story. My lack of action is not laziness or complacency; it’s what I guess you could call the Hamlet syndrome. It’s a big part of who I am, and you’ve failed to recognize it.

If I don’t consider both sides, then tell me; what am I thinking right now? Fuck off. You’re an adult cliche, something that everyone has turned out to be, and something I hope to never be. Learning to expect the unexpected and judge based off of that is what I choose to do. Everything is always different. You can’t have some kind of pursuit of truth for a few years, then give up on it by adopting a general mantra, and then be expected to have that considered “experience” that should be respected, to be knowledge, to be truth, because that becomes a bias in itself. You cannot pride yourself on such things and be considered intelligent because of it, because it means that you see what you want to see, and your so-called “experience?” Ha. I plan to have more of it than you. You’ve taught me something, reminded me that I never want to be like you, nor like any other adult I’ve ever met, that is so sickeningly at peace with their own personal mantras on the judgment of truth, of value, when truly, you just gave it a go and gave up for the sake of “mental health.” Your opinion has no weight, because you have a bias of your own towards life. You see things through a colored lens. You look for the truth in what you want to hear, what fits your mantra. You are the archetype of human intelligence; only willing to go so far. You are pathetic. Worst of all? You are the every day person, because everyone is like you. Everyone thinks that they can just give up.

I say, fuck you, fuck that, fuck all of it, because you are not better. This is not a reaction to insecurities, this is not an emotionally blinded response, and this is not a bias; this is me, giving up on general mantras and judgments, but not forgetting that the benefit of the doubt is not always the truth. This is you, reminding me why I need to stay within the bounds of healthy skepticism, of what I hate the most, why I wish for the happy-medium, and why I am the way I am; unmoving, too scared to make quick judgment, and stuck as desiring to be the perfect onlooker, which, might I add, will make me paralyzingly useless at everything else.

Oh hey, what do you know? Looks like I pretty much just proved it; you are wrong.

My dad asked me that, and I got so scared that I retaliated with a pretty nasty tone. Nothing really came of it, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t know, and I don’t think I ever will. I don’t know if that’s the summer atrophy talking, but I’m just so scared, as anyone would be.

I’m self-involved, and it’s the only thing I really care about. It’s terrible. I’m so involved with “over-analyzing” my own problems that I can’t do anything else. However, there’s a part of me that works completely in opposite with that, defending it in a way that I’ve been told is impressive, not trying to sound conceited. Despite the fact that I have to refine such explanations, I have a passion for them, but they’re not useful. They won’t help me make a living.

God, I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s just that, well, all I know how to do is defend myself pathetically, and it all just ties back to this “human condition” bullshit anyway. It doesn’t help that I always look like an embarrassing mess. God, what the hell is wrong with me? I’m always trying to fix myself or be confident and defend myself, but both of them are dead-end roads.

All of this makes so much sense in my head, but in my head, it’s just scaring me. It’s absolutely terrifying. I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know anything.

I think I’ve officially decided I don’t really have the ability to interact appropriately with people anymore. And by appropriately, I mean, well, at all.

I had a small party at my house today, and it was with people I feel pretty at home with, but I still didn’t have anything to say, no conversation to strike, nothing. I feel like the only person I can talk to anymore with any sense of fluidity is my best friend, but I even only have an average to lower average amount of communication with her. Nothing ever really too engaging, but always fluid.

I think that maybe I’m gradually closing up somehow. At some point, I thought I was getting better at this, but that only lasted until I didn’t like how I behaved when too open; more room for social faux pas. Yeah, I know, that sounds kind of shallow, but I’m being totally serious. I mean, that’s not really the main reason, but I didn’t like who I was “becoming,” even though I didn’t think that was really “me” at all.

Explanation? Well, I started seeing myself as too talkative, too socially clumsy, and even bitchy (even though I’m sure many of you would argue about whether or not I typically am bitchy or not). I just felt more superficial somehow, self-centered. I repeated the same stories to everyone, and they weren’t even remotely interesting. It started to get kind of embarrassing, so I’m trying to stop myself from being so gabby. I could see it getting annoying. All I did was complain (again, not like I don’t always do that anyway) about the same old shit all the time. However, I’m noticing that this way, I’m not really getting anything accomplished; I don’t feel better, about anything. I could go to a party and not talk to anyone. Oh wait, that’s already happened once this summer…check that off the list!

Maybe happy-mediums just aren’t my strong point. So much can be said about that.

As a sidenote, another reason I’m not feeling especially well is due to the fact that I found out something about my past has been misinterpreted, and it was not only embarrassing to bring it up, but almost enraging. Not entirely in my sole defense, but also because it wasn’t the truth.

Oh well. I’m one of the most judgmental people I know. Isn’t it only fair I get judged every now and then? And it’s only the pain of teenage-dom that makes me feel like I already have a constant, pushing weight of embarrassment on my shoulders, right?

You know what?

To be quite honest, I think I missed it. Tumblr just doesn’t cut it. Hopefully, this time, I’ll stay here.