I had a nightmare last night but I can’t remember what it was now. All I know is that feeling of terror that might be more profound due to the uncertainty associated with it. The night before though, I dreamed that K kissed me and it felt so real that I had some trouble dissociating it from real life when I saw him in the evening. I wonder if other people feel these barely suppressible urges. For me sometimes it’s violence, or lust, or suicidal impulse, or just some completely irrational action. Yesterday, S was making this weird whistling sound just before she went to bed, to convince me to sleep too and I thought I was going to jump up and smash her head into the wall. It really scared me and I’m afraid that one day it’ll break free and then I’ll be left with my guilt and the awful consequences. 

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Tagged: K dream scribbles

This is a message from a few months ago that I wanted to send to a friend who I’d stopped talking to for the past few years. We weren’t super close but we started drifting apart completely after our junior year in high school. I found out that he was going through a really hard time and wanted to say something, but in the end it was just too hard to share. Things have changed for me since then and some of my feelings aren’t the same anymore, but it’s something I want to let go of now. 

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Tagged: scribbles

The Script concert was pretty fun, but not quite the transcendent experience B seemed to have, lol. She really loves their songs and picks up lyrics super quickly so she was singing/screaming along to probably every one of them. 

Eastern Market was amazing, as usual. I got to dance with Y again. He was my favorite leader since our first meeting at the festival this past spring. All of his leads are very dynamic and so much fun. There’s a new girl who joined the club this year and must say I don’t like her very much, though we haven’t really interacted. I guess that’s part of the reason. It seems like she’s avoiding talking to me, and she *cough* steals all the guys, asking them to dance when tradition says opposite. She is very young too, just having turned 17 but she picked up the steps very quickly. I guess she symbolizes what I wish I could be: more assertive and confident, and a better dancer than I was at her point. 

I went to a volunteering event with this new club I joined this year. It was a program for mentally disabled children and young adults, and we swam and played in the water with them. I was paired with a 24 yr old man with Down’s syndrome and knocked around beach balls with him for probably almost an hour. It was exhausting since I had to chase down the balls every time they went off course, but so rewarding. Just before we left, another boy with Down’s syndrome went around and hugged all the volunteers from my group. This year has been a really eye opening experience for my opinion on the disabled. I had previously been kind of repulsed by them, but today and my other volunteering event with mostly autistic young children, as well as reading a few posts floating around tumblr has helped me to gain an understanding on what goes on in their heads and how much more intelligent they are than they might seem. 

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Tagged: scribbles

I had a tearful conversation with my mom tonight about my feelings of inadequacy. I have a really serious problem with public speaking, even to a group of three or four people I don’t know well. Last month I ran for the Student Relations position of the tango club against my good friend B, and even though I was kind of friends with the the president of the club and she was really nice and encouraging during the whole thing, important points just started flying out of my mind as soon as I made eye contact with the other people in the exec board. I hadn’t participated in discussions in my honors seminar class at all unless it was absolutely required, amounting to a grand total of two, when the professor resorted to going around the whole class and having everyone say something, and the final presentation, for which I made a powerpoint just so I could turn out the lights and not have to look at anyone. I really am the most hopeless of cases with social interaction. My mom told me that both she and my dad had been incredibly shy as high school and college students too, but I don’t think she really understands just how utterly terrified I am of speaking in front of people, of speaking to authority figures, of speaking to anyone that I don’t know and trust completely. I can’t trust myself to seek what I want because I know I’ll blow it if I’m forced to open my mouth. 

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Tagged: purge social anxiety scribbles

I feel the quiet rush of your breath. Your poisonous whispers fill my lungs, making my bones heavy until there is only the darkness and you. 

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Tagged: spilled ink writing scribbles

There was this boy in my photography/graphics class in my senior year of high school. We sat in the very back row of the room with two younger girls. We were the two quiet ones. The other girls paired together when the teacher asked us to work in groups of two, so it was always me and him. He was unassuming, sort of clumsy, tall and gangly, and always talked in a tiny voice, even smaller than mine - which is saying something. I’m the one with social anxiety, although now that I think of it, he probably had some form of it too. When we did studio portraits his came out quite stunning. I’m a bit vain about my photography skills but even the girl who sat in front of me, a popular and talkative type who got to know everyone, didn’t recognize him. “Whose’s that?” “M.” “Really?" And she looked at him in a different light. So did I. 

Last night I had a dream about a war, except it moved almost like a video game. I could follow people on giant screens pasted above the entrances of stone tunnels in the underground, and strangely they transformed into other faces and bodies there. I was standing with him, R, and B - two other girls I met along my life - when I saw our bodies on the screen as children. It was quite bizarre, as dreams must be. They were dressed completely differently and some weren’t even the same race as their ‘real life’ counterpart. But the motions were the same. I saw M break away from the group in both points of view and enter one of the tunnels to meet another boy, and then both were shot. I couldn’t be sure if it had really happened for a moment. And then my memory jumps to another scene. The war must have been over. We were all moving from the strange tunnels to the surface, which was covered in limestone terraces and wide steps that stretched into the distance. The sun was setting blood red, and I cried and cried. 

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Tagged: scribbles dream