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Tanvi Bird Dec 2014
Progress

4:26 am. Got out of bed.

Feeling really low again. Envy at my sister's good fortune and new friends. She is getting ahead, she is in a good place- but we are not and I am definitely not. Everything in her life presently makes her happy except me. She never trusted me because I dated G. Now I don't trust her either. I don't want anything from her. I finished the story. She didn't edit. She hasn't offered me anything from her end. "Jotted down some notes" is all she said. She did that in college with all her professors, and got As. It isn't fair. See, she does things whenever she feels like it and IF. And she doesn't trust me? I stopped asking her to do anything. If she wants to she can. I did my part.

I don't know where my life is taking me. I am working ******* little ropes that come at my direction-- but I am not even sure if they are worthwhile endeavors and if they will turn into anything. I just know I have nothing else.

I consider contacting my ex, F. Why him? He's the only one messed up like me. L is married with a beautiful baby and that woman he left me for, G is probably already married by now to that other stunning girl. But F will always be alone.

He doesn't want me. Why should I contact him? I had told myself I won't contact him until I at least got a full time job. He's an Ivy League P.H.D scientist at Penn researching the brain, traveling, making intelligent beautiful friends, and doing triathlons successfully (of course the smart ones are successful at many things). However, he still has trouble finding the "one". He's ******* 37. No one is ever good enough for him. I wasn't good enough for him. *******. He's broken like me. No, he ignored me. I won't contact him. ******* can contact me if he wants to.

I realized I have no friends. None at all. I used to think I had so many friends. Mostly men that just follow me around for a while and then leave me when they realize they aint getting this *****.

There's K, but he's J's ex's friend- so our friendship is limited. There's my sis S, who I meet once every other month, but she doesn't always respond to messages (and I rarely text her anyway). There's Je- she and I meet twice a year and we don't really connect anyway. She has other best friends and I am not really in that circle.

Cas- she is academically successful(valedictorian) and has a job, but frankly she is a bit slow. Can't explain it. Plus she bailed at me about the apartment thing and strangely she doesn't like me to meet her other friends in intimate settings, she just likes meeting people one by one. Like she's met my friends and got some of their numbers, but for some reason has never provided me an opportunity to meet hers. Maybe she feels awkward introducing me since she and I met online? Since she's not philosophical or an intellectual, I don't understand the point of meeting more than once a month if it's just me and her. I like her, but she always seems high without actually being high. I feel like I have to go out of the to meet her, but she doesn't have any energy at all.

Ro- the verbally abusive drunk? Let's face it. It's a mutually beneficial- two lonely people who have no friendship compatibility uplift each other relationship- but he's actually of the the more interesting to talk to people . Then there is Chr who just flirts all the time and fights. I swear his ex wife drilled some holes into his brain. He's just rude. He acts nice, but he's ******* nuts inside. Then there are those occasional people that text you Happy New Year. When I was in a relationship, I was so consumed by it that not having friends didn't matter. I have no friends. I am completely alone. Always have been. In law school, in elementary school, in middle school- I was always the only one who sat alone.

I like sad music. I just listened to the Hollywood version of Les Miserables- one of my favorite all time literary pieces and the beautiful Selena Gomez' new single Heart Wants What it Wants. I love to hear singing melodically, softly, simply of their pain. Every single singer in that musical has a painful story. The innkeepers in their desperation, Javert, of course Fantine, Jean Valjean, and the most relatable Eponine. And the sound of the violin. And the harp.

5:13 am. Let's talk progress.

Today I finally had the trial tutoring session. It was Algebra 2. The girl who is my tutee, she is sweet and extremely hard working. As and Bs in Algebra 2 weren't enough for her. I prepared extensively. My own Algebra 2 teacher was terrible in high school. He flirted with the pretty girls and bragged about himself. I got As for nothing. We spent most of the semesters on the same one or two chapters. I've always wanted to good at everything, to redo and master everything. Maybe this is my chance to become good at everything I **** at.

I am teaching myself before I teach her. I am supposed to be proficient. I had to begin on a surface level pace today. She and her mother both seemed happy. I touched on all her first semester topics. Next week is the second trial session. I will learn more and teach her in depth. If all goes well, she will end up being my client and I will be assigned more tutees. If only I could make a full time job out of this- I totally would. Each session pays well. Of course, the first two sessions I give are complimentary. After that.

This is a gamble. If I don't get enough clients- I will still have to manage the ones I have, invest a lot of time into studying for assignments, and then still make enough money to qualify as full time- then I will be scrambling. I can't imagine possibly getting between 6-8 hours of tutoring every day, since most people get out of work after 5pm and I have to travel around for sessions. I hope it's possible. I would work very hard.

My plan is to ace this Algebra 2 tutee preparation. I have a week to make myself more of an expert.

I have to go to more networking events. Sign up for Asian Film Festival & World Affairs. Meet people. Get connected. Make friends.

Keep reading current events, legal issues, technological advancements, and foreign news.

Re-reading my previously written Step 1- Embodying Positively helped me by reminding me to trudge forward and remain strong and positive, for both my own sake and the sake of the people in the world.

6:02 am.

I am going to do a second 5k this December. My first one ever was last month. Second one in December will be progress. I've got to start practicing again.

I gave up sugar instead of meat for Advent. I felt it was much harder, but more rewarding. Today is my third day of the no sweets diet. I did have sweet iced tea and a pretzel with sweet cream cheese, but I will stop those too. I might allow myself to have just one iced tea a week- moderation is more effective than going cold turkey and messing up. This is a huge accomplishment as I am a sugar addict. I look pretty fit, except a little tummy that goes up and down and only noticed by closest family members and friends.

I need to be fit for my health, to be the best I can be, to be fit, for a future potential job in the FBI or PO.  I only get up once a night to *** now. Some nights I used to *** 6 times a day. Is that an indicator of future diabetes or what? Consuming a lot of sugar can lead to a lot of internal diseases including infertility and cancer. If I can give up sugar for one month, I may try to keep doing it. Wow.

6:27 am. Go to sleep, T. Good night moon. Good night stars. Good night Mercury. Good night everyone.

.........

12/16/2014

Went to an Asian Law Society event last week. Made a couple friends, excited to be a member and get involved. Also met a guy, hope he's Catholic so my parents will accept the relationship if I decide to go out with him. He's emotional, Korean American, and verbal- a Gemini. Interesting but probably just as crazy as me. I am looking forward to getting to know him.

Just finished my weekly career discussion group, this is my second week in attendance. I was about to give up on the group, but John one of the members, who is a runner (and I think out of work firefighter), reached out to help me by emailing my resume around to different people he knows. He's the reason I decided to keep coming until I find a job. We shall see what happens. I have a tendency to jump around to things and not see them to fruition, but I am working on developing strong skills.

Today, I am feeling grateful. I live in a generation in which globalization is both a positive and negative thing. However, today I feel positive despite all the problems. There are so many opportunities, and I just have to figure out to unlock the how.
i was short the cash needed
for next semesters tuition

i was outta options
so i swallowed my pride
and called my father

i had’nt seen him
for a least eight years
i was busy nursing
sweet regrets
extending a prolonged
illness of resent

Halloween 1977
i borrowed my
girlfriends VW
and drove down
to Union to reunite
with Dad

his secretary
ushered me
into his C Level
office and I was
struck by
the angelic
portrait of
my half sister
adorning the
space above
his head

we shook hands
and i sat on a
chair in front of
his desk. it was
an awkward
moment of
small talk, relieved
by the passing
of a $400 check
into my just
stewardship

my father suggested
we head to lunch
where we would break
bread together for
the first time in years

it would also present
opportunities to
swallow the misgiven
years with draughts
of gin and tonics

by this time my
father was a
professional drinking
champion, quaffing
down the ***** to
drown his own
considerable
misgivings

as a young
virile turk
meeting with
his father for
the first time
in years, i was
determined
to match his skill
mano a mano

it was a foolhardy
endeavor but my
intrepidness was
unfazed as i matched
round for round
proclaiming my
arrival into
manhood

leaving the restaurant
my father suggested
we resume our drinking
at a local dive

there the velocity
of rounds accelerated
the drinking spinning
faster than the
emotions swimming
around my head

but I was determined
to prove my manhood
standing toe to toe
with my lost father
proving i was his
equal in the
endeavors
of men

don’t remember how many
rounds we downed but
it was a considerable
amount of ***** consumed

next we headed
to his friends
pizza parlor
where he could
present his long
lost son

we spoke of
my wonderful
girlfriend, and
my father suggested
i go get her so we
could all meet

he flipped me the keys
to his company car
a brand new
Ford LTD Wagon

man I was riding high
styling, livin life large
rolling up the GSP
headin to Montvale
to fetch my princess
in a royal carriage

when i got to
her house my
girlfriend and her
mother expressed
concerns about
my condition

i suavely made
the case that i was ok
to make the 40
mile trek to meet
back up with
my father

it was after all a
special occasion
an opportunity
to present my girl
to my newly
found dad

so off we went
back to Union
the drive was going
well best as i can
remember; though my
girlfriend was uneasy
as i swerved down
the parkway

in East Orange
the traffic got heavy
we were in the flow
following a station
wagon filled with
kids

my eyelids were
getting heavy
and I clipped
the railroad tie
median barrier
with the cars rear end

the wagon went into a
wobbling swerve
i fought to control
but could not

i remember my
last words
in my head
“Jesus save us”
and fell onto
the lap of my girl

the crash, the spin
the resounding din
thundered into
my last bit of
consciousness
like a tragic
Stravinsky lullaby
screaming me
to sleep

my aching head
blinked awake in
a dim lit hospital
in the wee hours of
All Saints Day

unsure where
I was but realizing
why i was there
I ardently questioned
a dismissive nurse
if any children
were hurt
and where my
girlfriend had gone

she adamantly
refused to answer
my urgent fear filled
questions; stating I had
been asking these
same questions all night

thinking about
the children
playing in the back
of the car
and my missing
girlfriend filled
me with a
shocking
dread, a
trembling
terror of what
my drinking
hath wrought

Halloween 1977
was a night filled
with frightening
realizations of
unresolved
unanswered
questions

it would be
another three
decades before
i commenced
a search to
answer these
frightening
questions
in earnest

Happy Halloween

Pat Metheny Group:
Are You Going With Me?

Oakland
10/31/13
jbm
Merrill Zündell May 2015
I never had many friends
I was always late to school
Ate lunch alone
Maintained grades pretty well
Graduated

Lived at the same place
Moved schools to a 3 year middle time
Became captain on a basketball team
Maintained grades pretty well
Heart Broken

They took my dreams
They threw them down
Past my knees and below my feet
No school no school no school
Good grades and school dreams shot down

From there even after some injuries
I went downhill
Like I did when I gained a concussion
I fell and smacked the floor
Point blank like a gun at a shooting range

High school in black and white
No friends and only anxiety attacks
No more sports teams or good grades
Skipping class my attendance was doomed
Moving along as if hurdles were in my way

Hospitalized twice and almost once before
Scarred waist and black decay
Tear stains throughout the night
When I could only lay awake
Words trapped inside, my mouth a cage

Summer smoking gone by now in 10th grade
Two attempts
Sleeping day and night
No attendance period throughout the day
Grades and mind slain

Semesters slipping away like life
Passed one regents of which previously I failed
Grades go in I start trying again
I attend full fledged new meds
Passing grades like a miracle

Slowly falling behind
Broken thoughts along the night
Slipping away like the shadows in the light
Stopped going to school again
But why? I feel no pain

No grades nor attendance
No improvement no getting out of bed
The meds aren't helping
I only feel, there are no thoughts in my head
Ruining my future must repeat 10th grade

Getting worse no emotions
Going back to the way I was before
No friends no trust
Regret fills my veins people are going away
They must know that I'm not immune to all pain
Kathryn Rule Dec 2011
The last word has been written.
My pencil, dotting the I.
Excitement is fitting,
but I end with a sigh.

I've let my self down,
my potential; a waste.
It ends with a frown
and a tear on my face.
JeanlBouwer Oct 2010
When is the final round?
         Conception Semesters Birth
         Sit Crawl First step
         Crèche Primary Secondary
         Bachelors Honours Masters
         Junior Senior Manager
         Lust Love Family
         Unemployed Gainful Pension
         Plan Experience Memory  
                         ∞
When is the final round?
         Field Farm Fort
         Tack Gravel Tar road
         Rural Remote Urban
         Wood Rock Concrete jungle
         Developing Established Revitalization
         White Multi racial Black
         Conservative Liberal Decadent
         Pretoria Tshwane Tshwane Metro
                        ∞
When is the final round?
         Bushmen Dutch British
         Colony Union Republic
         Native Settlers Previously disadvantaged
         Undiscovered Developed Commercial
         Subsistence Commercial Corporation
         Oppressed Equal Masters
         Apartheid Democracy Socialistic rule
         Logical Confused Insane
We decide when the fianl round begins.
Love Dec 2016
To 2016:
I'd love to say that I hated you, but to be honest, you made me grow.
You gave me direction. You pulled me out of a 4 month long rock bottom depression, showed me what I wanted to do in my life and sent me on my way.
You gave me two semesters of college, and a decision.
You gave me my first teaching experience, and you taught me the true value of patience.
You brought some new friends into my life and reunited me with old ones. You also got rid of a few, but I trust that's for the best.
You explained to me how easily I can be used.
You showed me that relationships don't define me, and that even if I think I am in love, life goes on and that I am an independent woman.
You blessed me with a baby, and then you took it away. But within that you gave me hope.
You sent me through hookups, drunken texts, hospital trips, gallons of tears and two D&Cs.;
You helped me on my wavering journey in my walk with God. You led me to being Baptized and you gave me the one chance in my life to feel that I was my family's priority.  
You taught me that it's okay to not always have the answer to everything, including the question of "who are you?".
You taught me to accept the word queer and make it my own. Like a beautiful pair of glasses, this is how I see the world.
You taught me the value of family after my dads accident, and then again after the baby.
And even after all the drama, fights, murders, and injustices, 2016, you taught me that a bad year isn't always a bad as we make it seem, and that even on our darkest days, there is a lesson to be learned.
And to 2016: Thank you.
Lecture twenty-three of first period of the last semester:
Today’s topic – “What went wrong with Wall Street”

The professor’s trying to connect with the class. He’s trying to have us look past
Sagan-like hair, black pants poorly paired with brown shoes, sleeves stained with chalk, an undeniable excitement in his voice when he says the word “canonical”.

He’s trying to get us to see a forty-four year old father who watches The Daily Show before bed, someone that’s hip with the times. He says something about Twitter and that singer in the meat dress. He references Charlie Sheen.

He draws a graph on the board with three lines
red: Normal
blue: Poisson
green: Cauchy-Lorentz

And we’re all thinking it- What the **** is that green line.

He begins.

Cauchy-Lorentz:
fully defined by two parameters;
x-nought and
gamma
mean;
undefined
variance;
undefined
meaning
­graphs drawn in green have fat tails
meaning
a summation of green graphs with fat tails- a summation of par bonds will default with some non-zero probability
meaning
Lehman Brothers should have taken statistical physics

That is his joke for the day. Only students paying attention and students who bother with current events and students with a sense of humor laugh. It’s a small subset.

The kids in the sixth row aren’t listening, the ones in the Greek lettered shirts with their pledge names on the back and their laptops open. Sixth row is just close enough to look like they give a **** but far enough in the back so the TA’s can’t tell they’re checking their fantasy football teams. The TA’s sit in rows one through four.

The joke is for the kids in the sixth row. Anyone in the first through fourth, the ones considering graduate school in higher dimensional theory or quantum chromodynamics, doesn’t know what Lehman Brothers is, least of all a par bond. A joke about spherical cows? Laughter from rows one through four would interfere constructively off the chalkboards, but that is not who Sagan-wannabe is talking to, and the kids in row six aren’t listening.

They are watching Sunday night highlights, ignoring green lines and fat tails because, let’s be honest, they’re only here to get the answer to the question on the homework that they couldn’t find online.

The sixth row has taken what they learned in the lectures before this, the semesters before this one, the first days of classical mechanics, where they learned the universe is governed by predictable and definable laws, and given a set of initial conditions one can determine an outcome.

Salary|physics degree:
fully defined by one parameter;
sophomore-year internship
time;
ten years
mean;
one million

The sixth row Facebook’ed their way through the undeterminableness of quantum, the green lines on the board now. Their laptop screens hide the fat tails describing the bundles of par bonds they will be selling upon the completion of this semester.
Veronica Smith Dec 2013
This town is too small for secrets
The sidewalks are adorned with names and dates
Of couples whose love dissolved twenty years ago
While moss oozes out of the letters.

This town is too small for secrets
Through windows at night
The citizens play out their dollhouse lives
And dysfunction is locked away in grandmother’s armoire.

This town is too small for secrets
Where bars close at seven in the morning and open an hour later
And the tenders are purveyors of free psychiatry
Who put advice in bowls between stale peanuts
And place them on the counter.

This town is too small for secrets
Every hour the two churches compete for the loudest bells
But the protestant one always wins
And the Catholics having mass ignore its pleading voice
But whisper politely in each other’s ears
About the scandalous protestors out on Main.

This town is too small for secrets
With its coffee shops littered with youth
Who deny their wealth through coffee steam
And discuss the state of countries they can’t place on a map
And slowly leach out in to the frigid rain
Back to new cars and million-dollar homes
Where daddy pays the bills.

This town is too small for secrets
The college students drink their scholarships in red plastic cups
And scuttle towards their shared flats
Collapse in to bed too tired to sleep
Stare at the ceiling and wonder why they didn’t transfer
Three semesters ago.

This town is too small for secrets
With its gated communities of retirees
Where the homes are manufactured
And the walls papered with the smiling faces of clean-cut grandchildren
And the rebellious ones packed away
From the neighborhood gossip’s prying eyes.
haley Jul 2018
at eight
i stood at open closed caskets and planted plastic flowers
upon silent graves;
in the backseat on the way to my grandfather's wake
mom and dad played a song about angels over the stereo. they
had to turn it off when i burst into tears.
i did not understand the twenty one gun salute
but i left a piece of myself in the folding of the flag,
left it with forty nine stars in the wrinkled hands of the widow.
vulnerable, kissing the loss of the dewy cemetery, the fresh dirt and

at thirteen
she was stolen at the hands of another,
just after her forty-second trip around the sun;
i cradled my always strong father as he cursed god on the kitchen floor.
the night my sister cried into my shoulder i read ten different articles,
each one with a headline reading "manslaughter", while
the soles of my feet knew it meant "******".
the pool of blood flashed to my vision and
i've spent seven years trying to bleach the stain out
from behind my eyelids -
lighting a memorial candle at my future wedding, graduation, childbirth
my mother did not deserve generic music at her remembrance.

at sixteen
i squeezed into a pew as
the church sanctuary was too small for her service.
widely loved and widely known, she
had been sick for fourteen years with no rest; fought
collapsed lungs and bared organs and
her eyes were as soft as the words she would leave you with.
her breath marooned the thirteenth of february and
on valentine's day, my best friend received a rose at her doorstep
with a note that read, "i love you more than chocolate.
love, mom".

at nineteen
we did not have class for one week. his daughter was five years old
and he was two semesters away from
getting his bachelor's degree in a helping profession;
he sat two rows ahead of me, one seat over
next to a boy named aaron and an empty chair.
the pastor spoke of a freedom from pain,
joy joy, hallelujah, a man who loved god;
they did not disclose the cause of death the morning the dean
entered our classroom,
spoke three words and
the silence fell -
sometimes, sometimes, we will never know why.
i was thinking about funeral songs the other morning. i realized that, at my mother's funeral, they only played songs she probably would have hated; and then i got angry at how unfair that is. here's a poem.
Seán Mac Falls Mar 2015
Things I Can Say About MFA Writing Programs Now That I No Longer Teach in One


"You’re going to need to spend a lot of time alone." - James Yamasaki


I recently left a teaching position in a master of fine arts creative-writing program. I had a handful of students whose work changed my life. The vast majority of my students were hardworking, thoughtful people devoted to improving their craft despite having nothing interesting to express and no interesting way to express it. My hope for them was that they would become better readers. And then there were students whose work was so awful that it literally put me to sleep. Here are some things I learned from these experiences.

Writers are born with talent.

Either you have a propensity for creative expression or you don't. Some people have more talent than others. That's not to say that someone with minimal talent can't work her *** off and maximize it and write something great, or that a writer born with great talent can't squander it. It's simply that writers are not all born equal. The MFA student who is the Real Deal is exceedingly rare, and nothing excites a faculty adviser more than discovering one. I can count my Real Deal students on one hand, with fingers to spare.

If you didn't decide to take writing seriously by the time you were a teenager, you're probably not going to make it.

There are notable exceptions to this rule, Haruki Murakami being one. But for most people, deciding to begin pursuing creative writing in one's 30s or 40s is probably too late. Being a writer means developing a lifelong intimacy with language. You have to be crazy about books as a kid to establish the neural architecture required to write one.

If you complain about not having time to write, please do us both a favor and drop out.

I went to a low-residency MFA program and, years later, taught at a low-residency MFA program. "Low-residency" basically means I met with my students two weeks out of the year and spent the rest of the semester critiquing their work by mail. My experience tells me this: Students who ask a lot of questions about time management, blow deadlines, and whine about how complicated their lives are should just give up and do something else. Their complaints are an insult to the writers who managed to produce great work under far more difficult conditions than the 21st-century MFA student. On a related note: Students who ask if they're "real writers," simply by asking that question, prove that they are not.

If you aren't a serious reader, don't expect anyone to read what you write.

Without exception, my best students were the ones who read the hardest books I could assign and asked for more. One student, having finished his assigned books early, asked me to assign him three big novels for the period between semesters. Infinite Jest, 2666, and Gravity's Rainbow, I told him, almost as a joke. He read all three and submitted an extra-credit essay, too. That guy was the Real Deal.

Conversely, I've had students ask if I could assign shorter books, or—without a trace of embarrassment—say they weren't into "the classics" as if "the classics" was some single, aesthetically consistent genre. Students who claimed to enjoy "all sorts" of books were invariably the ones with the most limited taste. One student, upon reading The Great Gatsby (for the first time! Yes, a graduate student!), told me she preferred to read books "that don't make me work so hard to understand the words." I almost quit my job on the spot.

No one cares about your problems if you're a ****** writer.

I worked with a number of students writing memoirs. One of my Real Deal students wrote a memoir that actually made me cry. He was a rare exception. For the most part, MFA students who choose to write memoirs are narcissists using the genre as therapy. They want someone to feel sorry for them, and they believe that the supposed candor of their reflective essay excuses its technical faults. Just because you were abused as a child does not make your inability to stick with the same verb tense for more than two sentences any more bearable. In fact, having to slog through 500 pages of your error-riddled student memoir makes me wish you had suffered more.

You don't need my help to get published.

When I was working on my MFA between 1997 and 1999, I understood that if I wanted any of the work I was doing to ever be published, I'd better listen to my faculty advisers. MFA programs of that era were useful from a professional development standpoint—I still think about a lecture the poet Jason Shinder gave at Bennington College that was full of tremendously helpful career advice I use to this day. But in today's Kindle/e-book/self-publishing environment, with New York publishing sliding into cultural irrelevance, I find questions about working with agents and editors increasingly old-fashioned. Anyone who claims to have useful information about the publishing industry is lying to you, because nobody knows what the hell is happening. My advice is for writers to reject the old models and take over the production of their own and each other's work as much as possible.

It's not important that people think you're smart.

After eight years of teaching at the graduate level, I grew increasingly intolerant of writing designed to make the writer look smart, clever, or edgy. I know this work when I see it; I've written a fair amount of it myself. But writing that's motivated by the desire to give the reader a pleasurable experience really is best. I told a few students over the years that their only job was to keep me entertained, and the ones who got it started to enjoy themselves, and the work got better. Those who didn't get it were stuck on the notion that their writing was a tool designed to procure my validation. The funny thing is, if you can put your ego on the back burner and focus on giving someone a wonderful reading experience, that's the cleverest writing.

It's important to woodshed.

Occasionally my students asked me about how I got published after I got my MFA, and the answer usually disappointed them. After I received my degree in 1999, I spent seven years writing work that no one has ever read—two novels and a book's worth of stories totaling about 1,500 final draft pages. These unread pages are my most important work because they're where I applied what I'd learned from my workshops and the books I read, one sentence at a time. Those seven years spent in obscurity, with no attempt to share my work with anyone, were my training, and they are what allowed me to eventually write books that got published.

We've been trained to turn to our phones to inform our followers of our somewhat witty observations. I think the instant validation of our apps is an enemy to producing the kind of writing that takes years to complete. That's why I advise anyone serious about writing books to spend at least a few years keeping it secret. If you're able to continue writing while embracing the assumption that no one will ever read your work, it will reward you in ways you never imagined. recommended

Ryan Boudinot is executive director of Seattle City of Literature.
Elizabeth Ann Apr 2013
10 Years of Discretion
9 Months of Persecution
8 Semesters of Imitation
7 Weeks of Affliction
6 Days of Temptation
5 Hours of drug Consumption
4 Minutes of thought Malfunction
3 Moments of Desperation
2 Seconds until Eradication
1 Life of Lacrimation
Damaré M Jun 2013
Lights! camera! action!
Pretending that events are accidents
Appointed laughter
Framed gatherings
Steady buffing
Drawing
Smearing
Lathering
Turn your face into a masterpiece
And your fashion into a catastrophe
Then your catastrophe into outcasting
Take away normalcy then preach you blasphemy
Then wonder "why are they after me"
X then dotted line just says "that you're mine"
It says "sign neatly" and "read briefly"
And now that he's gone...your the repeat
And if you leave...they gotta 3 peat
*** will get you a check
And if you thirsty for a disbursement... Burp out controversy
And swallow grade A *******
You'll get applauded for being a first class fool
Who didn't graduate
But there's still fans who gravitate
While your old class mates are still someone else's class mates
The former students now have degrees
The ones you call to design your foreign furnished mansion
The ones sold you that million dollar car
The ones you pay to fly your private jet
The ones you pay to manage your career
The ones who indict you for your drug possession
The ones who over the counter prescribing you your addiction
The ones who will do the incision to try and maintain your drunk liver
Miss and mister
They demand their respect
Surviving grueling semesters
The newly alumnus
Will retire after they make a difference
A difference for our children
And by the time that your contract has ended all you talked about is killing
Rims spinning
Money getting
Blunt twisting
Liquor sickening
Girls stripping
Discharge sipping
Jewelry glistening
Superstition
Stomach itching
Teeth missing
Thread stitching
Eye twitching
Thirst quenching
I don't get it
Albums full of insignificance
...
But your not trippin'
Because you won't fall as long as you don't walk when your boss tell you to crawl
If you rock shows
Wear clothes that you never chose
If you pose to live a life that's another man's role
You'll soon believe that you're not from this globe
And you'll soon speak how satan stole your soul
Everything you value is so extraneous
And for that you're famous?

So it's only one recipe
If you wanna be a celebrity you must lose your integrity
I don't hate people who are on television I just dislike a lot of things in which they deprive themselves of their decency and allow themselves to take a part of. I really dislike the fact that people who are televised has millions of people's attention and never consider themselves as teachers nor do they try to be a little philosophical and put some of their time up for use. Maybe I won't worry as much if I knew that our generation didn't  rely on celebrities to define us. Them people live a totally different life and not because I said so its because that's what they want and get. However, there's exceptions to my claims today some of them people mean well
david badgerow Dec 2015
tonight is an
old-enough-to-vote-scotch-in-a-coffee-mug
kind of night i'm in one of those moods
where it's hard to communicate anything specific
i'm delving deeper into the vast emotional cavern because
i haven't found someplace open yet to flourish
& i haven't reached my usual vibration so i'll just bolt
the door wash my hair with hand-soap
because i'm a ***** guy with a ***** shadow body
i'll sit down in the shower to relax the muscles in my legs
watch the tears streak down the clear shower curtain
& accept the same marvelous sensation of wetness
tumbling across the skin of my face pooling in my top lip dimple
& soaking the soft yellow flannel splayed open on my chest

when the ball drops & the piano coda to Layla kicks in
i'll melt under the sweaty first-last moon of the year
as it sneaks up behind me bathed in the creature light
of the television shining out from the silent second living room
of my sister's house the one with the chandelier
& it's no surprise i turned out this way

last year i felt as cool as raindrops gathered together
in the shade of a wide tree & now i've never felt so alone
in my whole ******* life at least then i had roommates
to not give a **** about me because i'm nothing
i've come so far but sometimes
i'm still so scared i can't breathe
sweat trickles down my rib-cage as i re-inhabit myself
& next year i'll continue to dig myself out of this concrete hole
of low self-esteem this deep urban well of trembling
amateur sadness & feigned calamity maybe learn to not
blame them or make the tree feel guilty for blocking
the small bright sun from shining on my puddle because
i am no longer defenseless against my own racking fears
but right now it's too hard to see tomorrow's sunrise
from the wan of today so i'll just sleep out by the pool tonight under the stars to wait for it's richness & apprehend it's depth
if i get champagne drunk & can't
slide open the glass door i'll shiver my shoulders
& cry soul-struck blubbering in my sleeping bag as the
fireworks or flashlights cut
a Morse code dirge through the thick elm trees

the smell of spent powder or snuffed out candles
hangs like a noose around the throat
of the street with the fog in the morning as i brush
my sleepy-eyed teeth with my finger
i'm remembering the only summer you & i spent
together between college semesters
as you were getting over your ex-boyfriend i helped
by keeping pictures of you hidden in my room until spring
you said he took steroids & you liked a guy with muscles
so i did push-ups every morning before anyone else woke up
i did whatever you wanted in bed all night
but it didn't matter because you always left
as soon as you came

the weekend you got your wisdom teeth out
you made me promise to kiss you everywhere
except the bottom half of your face
starting with the swallowtail butterfly cocoon
of your collarbone or your belly-button at the bottom
of the neighbor's swimming pool
& you held your breath for me between
your swollen catch-me-if-you-can smile as
billows of your flaxen hair
floated into my open mouth
i was pretty sure i was the only guy
you hooked up with that desolate summer
but i was wrong
will19008 May 2019
Somehow people could grow and go

and move happily among inspiring college friends

Literature, professors, winter love, everyone’s camaraderie—

sometimes wondering to myself if I really belonged


Now I'm feeling like becoming

the same person I was on campus, being the same again

Would that be a fine change to close out my life?

Then would I have to think anymore?
Composed today, thinking of Jen and her halcyon days.
JMG Dec 2010
Before I knew it, He had a dead locked grip
But the monster is breathing his last dying breath

It's pitiful I had to feel it to hate it
I saw him ******* our empire
He had his grip on my family tree
While I was a fetus
It happened near the time I was born
At 20 he eased his grip on my father
And it took me so, so long to realize that it was simply so
He could tighten his grip on me
I thought my mortal soul
Could handle a Real Killer Demon
All by myself
Yeah ******* right
I have to admit, I kept him at bay for longer than most
I just rode around on his back for the first years
When she left, I didn't stop buying her share
I just did twice as ******* much
And I thought I was way past rock bottom
280 milligrams
Still not where I wanna be          
I still got a bag full, though                 [keep going man, you got this]
But i loosened my grip on him                   - th' demon whispers-
I played dead for a while
I just had to put it down
I have to admit
The scars were painful
His hand really sticks, and believe me....
The longer he's got you, the harder it sticks
You gotta grow a backbone
And a set of big *****
                            To force out of his grip
Everybody around me is just trading drugs for other drugs
Like really
There is a ******* drug
that helps you to get off drugs
That is truly *******
Did you hear what I just said?
People actually think drugs...
Are gonna help you....
Get off drugs....
Cold Turkey is tride and true
The only bona-fide method
I did it, and I promise you can too
Ten days or so is worth the rest of your life, I promise....
Good thing I kicked in-between semesters
I would have never made it through class Detoxing
And I surely wouldn't have the top spot
That means no student of the month
Only questionable job prospects...
**** that
I really am gonna be the best of the best
I just can't settle for "At-Least" Livin'
The Pharmaceutical monster lost his grip a long time ago
Oxycontin is dead
But there's one loose end
I really gotta clear the fog
Epic change is among us
It was a great ride
But I have to say goodbye to you Mrs. Mary Jane   :(
I really do love you
I do
And yes I can still be great if you come along for the ride
But I can only be the best if I leave you here for a while
Goodbye my dear
We have had much fun
We might surely cross path later
You never know what direction the world will go
We'll just have to see
I really never thought I would see this day
But I have decided
That it has to be tonight
You have it here on paper
Finally nippin' it in the bud....
I gotta let you go, too Mary
Peace
JG, December 2010
No more ******
****
Deyer Jan 2016
Pizza boxes sit at curb sides every thursday.
Bottles and cans fill most weekends, some
week days because why not?
We celebrate in ***** rooms, letting liquids leave all sorts of stains.
Semesters pass and we pass (sometimes),
with nothing left in our pockets but long-term debt, friendly conversations lost in the haze of moderate alcoholism, and memories that we feel will last forever.
Youth is wasted on the young, they say,
but what better way to spend a Tuesday than day-drinking in eternal ecstasy?
Matt Jursin Dec 2009
Everything that endlessly entangles my mind.
All things.
The soothing voice of victory divine.
These words of love, hate, and indifference...
Interfering.
Intertwined.
The twisted kind.
The only love i can find.
None.
Neither.
Either way, nothing matters.
All i do is make disasters.

Redefining refined.
Silent semesters of sarcasm.
Mental spasms.
Pure poetry flowing thru me.
Freely.
I'll never regret it...
The feeling...
When you're giving like there's nothing else to live for.
A lust for love and life...
A life of love and lust.

This place where love is born...
And hearts are never torn by human hands.
Only human minds.
ln Sep 2016
Depression and anxiety had completely taken over my life at the age of 19. At 19, I was completely done with life. I was ready to die. I was ready to leave all the friendships I had ever known and all the family I had ever learnt to love. I want to share my story with you, so you know that you do not have to do this alone.

My struggles started at the age of 15, when I had gone through somewhat a traumatic incident in high school. I went from being jovial, full of life, bright and brilliant to quiet, self-hating and isolated. At this point of time, I had heard of the term depression but didn't think it was what I was experiencing. I told myself that it was just PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder; and it would be gone in no time at all. The incident that had altered my personality never seemed to go away, but I drowned myself in books as I was about to sit for one of the two major exams I had to face in high school. I got through it with flying colors and my parents were extremely proud of me.

Time went on and things got better, I had forgotten about the ordeal; not completely - but definitely progressively. I was never again the old, happy me. My parents assumed it was me growing up - and so did I. Then, I lost my grandfather.

I spent the 3 month break I had before starting college staying with my grandmother. It was lovely, I spent my time lazing around and talking to her about her past and she enjoyed telling me stories of how she grew up. The loss of my grandfather still feels unreal. There are days I'd tell my cousins or my family that I can't believe it's been over a year that he's left us all. I think death leaves behind a void that time doesn't really heal - time doesn't heal all wounds, just the wounds you choose to nurse.

Then, I started college. Things were alright for the first couple of months and then, everything started going downhill. I was no longer interested in going for classes, and all I wanted to do was sleep, really. I wasn't eating -  I could go two days without a single sip of water and my sleep schedule was altered terribly. I spent my afternoons and evenings asleep and would be wide awake from 10 at night to 4 in the morning. The world that I had built was falling apart and I could not piece it back together. I was in so much of mental pain that I resorted to self-harming. I would sit in the shower and cry for hours sometimes, praying that my sadness would go away and everything would return to the way it was. I could no longer write poems, or read. I didn't want to go out and I wanted to do everything in my power to be dead.

Not long later, I started counting on alcohol and cigarettes to get me through my days. I would find comfort for nothing more than a night and then find myself back to square one - alone, hurting, upset, tired. I hadn't felt anything like that and thought that I was just being lazy, but my mind knew it was more than just that. My results deteriorated and I was forced to open up to the lecturer who was in charge of the Student Council. I joined the Student Council because I was terrible at making friends - I sat through two semesters in college and had held less than 10 conversations with my classmates. I remember having nightmares at night when my lecturer said that we had to pair up in groups of 4 for every lab session. I was terrified at the very idea of having to talk to 3 strangers for one whole hour - I didn't show up for any lab sessions that semester.

My lecturer suggested that I see the college psychologist. I met her once and she was pretty straightforward - what I was experiencing was depression and anxiety. She urged me to see a psychiatrist to undergo a psychiatric evaluation to understand fully the seriousness of my mental health. I was afraid and I could not do it. I didn't know how I was going to tell my parents that I was depressed - I wasn't able to get out of bed and I was crazy. I was crazy - or so I made myself believe. I was agitated - how could she tell me that? I was terribly devastated at the fact that once again - I had let my parents down.

I skipped therapy after that, only to find myself getting worse - day by day, week by week. I was terrified at the idea of depression and medication. At the age of 19, I had attempted suicide close to ten times. I would sit by the balcony of the apartment I was living in at weird hours of the morning and say my goodbyes in my head, and be too afraid to leap because my mum's face would flash in front of my eyes. I would take the blade and hold it to my wrists and say this is it, just a little deeper this time. The voices in my head grew louder and the rocks in my chest became heavier. I would think - maybe pesticide, maybe asphyxiation, maybe drowning. All these thoughts and yet, something was holding me back. Hope - perhaps?

There was literally no more order left in my life. I was in a terrible state when one of my friends had asked me to move in with her - fearing my safety. She made me breakfast, talked to me, made me take regular showers and planned dinner. I had the best friends in the world - to which I owe my life. They saved me; through God, through faith, through kindness, through understanding, through love, care and compassion. Then - it was rock bottom. I was on the edge of my life when I had no choice but to inform my parents.

They decided that I would return home. I will always remember that day. My best friends and I held hands on my bed - formed a prayer circle and prayed for my recovery. That very image still brings tears to my eyes. I came home and had no choice but to see a psychiatrist and this time, quitting wasn't an option. I was very quickly diagnosed and put on antidepressants. I go for psychotherapy once every two weeks. I wasn't able to leave my house for over a month but I have made some progress.  My shoulders feel lighter - I do not have to carry the weight of the world. I have given up smoking and drinking, recovery is my only goal.

At 19 years old, I was this close to death. At 19 years old, I survived the darkest days of my life. At 19 years old, I fought for my survival and made it out alive. I made it out alive. You may think a 19 year old has yet to see the world, and I may be too young to say anything at all. But always remember, you are never alone. Maybe you think your sadness will always be a part of you, maybe the voices will keep talking to you, maybe your nightmares will never stop. But you do not have to do this on your own.

Just today I returned from a vacation with my family - we really needed it. We went out to dinner and I saw probably the prettiest sunset in the world - it's on my Instagram account! Then, we decided to go shopping and I walked into a bookstore and flipped one of the self-help books and came across a quote that caught my attention - " it is better to light one candle, than to curse at the dark".

I'd like to think that that was life's way of telling me that better days are coming and that; was my new beginning.

That was my sunset, that was my new beginning.

**I am a fighter, and I am worthy of life.
These nights are what I hope these years would have been,
Laughing away until the early morn when I speak my way into your dreams,
The time we have here is but our only time upon this earth,
And every choice we make will be sealed in the fate that is called time,
For we cannot go backwards or forwards only one direction which is now,
Streaking campus, shoving food in to our mouth only to gag and make our friends laugh,
I know it sounds stupid to most of you,

But these memories are my years and months and days, these memories are the semesters of hard work and hours, of blood and sweat and toil which has driven me insane,

I am finally having the fun I was promised when I was given this gift called life, and you do not dare take that away from me.
Anais Vionet Aug 25
It was 64ºf and overcast this morning when Lisa and I started our 5-mile jog to the New Haven Harbor and back. We always start our semesters this way. We’re emotionally ready for fall weather and hopefully, a long and cruel winter.

Sunny, Lisa, Leong and I were starting the morning with breakfast together. We have summer catching up to do.

Of course, Sunny never does the expected. Over a bowl of heart-shaped Cheerios in the cafeteria, she announced that she’s “really going to try this year.”
“That's a choice,” Leong admitted dryly.
“You mean academically?” Lisa asked, for clarification purposes.
“Wait,” Leong updogged, “Did your parents ask for proof that you were here?”
Sunny rolled her eyes, she knew she’d get trolled with a newfangled declaration like that, but she meant it and she wasn’t tempted to elaborate.
“You’re a phoenix, rising from the ashes,” I said encouragingly.
“It’s a 4th in a lifetime opportunity,” Lisa noted.
Handling university academics is largely a structural task.
All it requires is artfully arranging information and slices of time.
“You’ve got this,” I affirmed.
“Let’s not get excited,” Sunny cautioned, “One reason I’m so hot is that I’m emotionally unavailable.”
“It’s your best quality.” Leong observed.

Tick tock, we’re all still unpacking but things are taking shape. Senior year starts in 3 days.
.
.
A song for this:
Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall
Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing by Stevie Wonder
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.23.24:
Newfangled: something new and difficult for some to understand

Our cast:
Sunny, (roommate) 21, is from Nebraska, she’s a cowgirl (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races it), she’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady whose life is an endless parade of ‘sleepovers.’ Sunny knows all the best gossip and she’s somehow befriended all the professors.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, A Manhattanite and reluctant ‘glamor girl.’ My bff. A fellow (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Leong, (roommate) 21, is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). She and Sunny are ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology majors.’ I speak Cantonese - I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) - maybe that’s why she was originally paired with us?
Me, Your writer is just a simple country girl from Athens Georgia.
Olivia Daniels Jun 2020
Enjoy it while you can
      they say
These next 4 years are going to fly by
      and they did

-Join a club
-Do an internship
-Make friends
-Write a resume, cover letter
-Fall in love
-Apply for jobs
-Do something crazy
-Build your professional portfolio
-Socialize for hours
-Find a grad school
       they say "it's the college experience"

Is it the college experience to feel
Underappreciated and Overworked?
Elated and Devastated?
Accomplished and Incompetent?

It never feels like it's enough
      no, I never feel like I'm enough
I've spent hours staring at a screen
Either in class or at home, it doesn't matter
I scrolled through so many blogposts and jobposts
Applied to countless positions and internships
All for nothing

"What's the best way to do college?"
      is the question I'm constantly asking myself
      and anyone who will listen that might have the answers
"What am I doing wrong?"
      how can so many people have accomplished so much
      before I've even made a name for myself

my 21 credit semester
my double major
my additional minor
my 6 semesters of straight A's
my 2-year executive board position
my part-time minimum wage job
Were they all not enough? What am I doing wrong?
Why can't I find even an unpaid internship?

Despite my exhaustive efforts,
      and I do mean exhaustive, full burn-out
I still see people
people who have done way less, tried way less
with full rides, wonderful internships and jobs right out of college.

None of it is fair.

And I have nothing to show for it.

So has this just been 4 wasted years?

What can I make of myself in the real world,
with nothing to show for my college career?
Tessa F Jan 2014
In between school semesters.
In between trainings.
In between jobs.
In between deployments.
In between miles.
In between phone calls.
In between letters.
In between waves.
In between breaths.
In between dreams.
Why are we always so far apart?
Baby I'll meet you in the in-betweens,
But I'll love you during it all.
At the most I'll be his sidekick for a few semesters,
crunching leaves as I walk back to his apartment, where I'll take a nap while he studies ancient philosophies, waiting for his reappearance. We'll get ****** and bicker over where to go for lunch, even though we know it'll end up being sushi (it always is).

At the least I'll be the girl he's talking about ten years from now, when explaining his firsthand experience with the deadly combination of a pretty face and a sad, sad soul. The reason he knows anyone can sink deep into that hole and he will never again judge a book by its cover, because of me.
Taylor Webb Aug 2015
I invited the wolves at the door in for tea.
We calmly discussed my circumstances:
No money to pay rent,
No fulfillment in waiting tables,
No way to silence the noise catapulting through my brain.
Their crash-and-burn solutions were inelegant,
but held a certain visceral appeal.

I could drop it all and drive through the dizzying heat
in my old, un-air conditioned Ford.
I could drop out of college--why not?
I've flunked three semesters in a row.
I could balance just enough caliber under the ceiling of my mouth,
and pull a trigger.
The *******-esque spatter of blood
would be my crowning artistic achievement.

"You're not getting any better," the wolves explained.
They were right.
The sinister beauty of depression is in its ups and downs,
the way it coaxes you into believing, just maybe,
you're finally getting better,
you've finally escaped the labyrinth,
but the wolves always come knocking again.

They always seem to know where to find me.
krista Oct 2013
they say that summer's when you hate yourself. you look down at the valleys between your thighs and the hills making their way across your stomach and let the beach towel drape across your chest instead of on the sand. they say that summer's where you find yourself, in the internships between semesters and the hours spent with your fingers wrapped in a telephone cord, your feet dangling off the edge of the desk. yet i think that summer's where i lose myself. in the time that seems both endless and ending, and the sunrises that i both greet and miss (usually the latter). the ocean is crisp and clear, yet the grass is just as inviting and so is a game football or even a game of "who can eat the most marshmallows" in between swallows of laughter and air. summer's the season of love, emanating from the records in my room to the hot air outside. it doesn't matter what tomorrow means, or when he'll come home (or if he ever will at all). **you are young. you are beautiful. you are the summer. and you've only just begun.
Natalie Dec 2017
maybe it's the fact i've been living in garbage, surrounded by rotting food and ***** laundry, because i can't find the energy to get out of bed, because i've been to depressed to anything but eat and feel sorry for myself and stew in not only my own sweat and dirt but my suicidal thoughts.

maybe it's the yellowing teeth because of the countless cigarettes i smoked to get the approval i craved of my boyfriend--sorry, EX boyfriend--who dumped me for seeking acceptance from his friends because it reeked of narcissism, because i was acting out of low self esteem and desire for validation.

maybe from the early signs of gum disease because of the substance abuse i was groomed to believe was the new vogue, or because blacking out every night is what freshman do and not a concerning coping mechanism i was using to hide a bigger issue.

maybe it's a result of the judgmental looks and comments on my worth from men and women alike because of my self medication in the form of intimacy and ****** attention--the ease at which i could be led to bed: through a lazy, slurred compliment and promises of a ride home in the morning (and not to mention means of keeping my mind off of my trauma.) or how after spending my last $10 at the bar i would consistently rely on my ability to give a peep show of the same body that was violated a year ago for a free shot of tequila that burned all the way down and a grimy slice of lime.

or maybe it's because despite it being over 365...366...367...too many ******* days since his filthy hands and body introduced itself to mine uninvited, despite not 1 but 2 police reports, despite 5...6...7...endless calls with victims advocates, despite 1...2...who knows how many failed semesters, despite 1 too many failed suicide attempts....

i was still *****.
trigger warning: ****** assault, substance abuse, depression, PTSD, panic disorder, suicide
In academic halls where knowledge gleams,
Dr. Jyotika, a star whose brilliance streams.
On day three's dawn, a serendipitous art,
EDM-106, where passions start.

A kindred spirit, warm and bright,
Dispelling shadows, guiding light.
With energy boundless, she does impart,
Igniting souls, with skillful art.

Her steps, a cadence, rhythmic and fleet,
A mentor's grace, supremely sweet.

Behind the lens, an entrepreneurial gleam,
A visionary, chasing a distant dream.
With every stride, a purpose clear,
Dispelling doubts, calming fear.

A mother's wisdom, sister's care,
Her guidance, a solace, beyond compare.
Though paths diverge, her influence stays,
A guiding star through my life's maze.

A commerce soul, drawn to her light,
A scientist's world, a pure delight.
Though semesters waned, her spirit grew,
A mentor's mould, a vision true.

To emulate her, a fervent desire,
A professor's role, a lofty spire.
Her office door, a welcoming sight,
A haven of wisdom, pure and bright …
                                                               ­   BY :- KANISHK
I hv composed this poem for my esteemed college professor as a heartfelt expression of my profound respect and admiration for her.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
jesus!
a jarred pickle!
what do you think,
you think pickles
come in bathtubs?!
well, no,
but i didn't think
goosebumps had a
permanence on
cucumbers pickled.
it's called chinese stubble
you idiot;
five o'clock beautification?
yarn ball in the plateau wind
across semesters of
earth and hours dividing
begun with coordinates of Greenwich...
and so the cat yawned
becoming bored from man's
encouragement of play...
cat said: god giveth sleep,
god taketh sleep away -
live it, and seize the augmenting argument
of borrowed inspection of beliefs
as necessary, given you only ****** on
a taboo, and inspect no further.
rook Feb 2015
I've seen 6 semesters of you, and
I wonder who I hate the most.
I still remember 10th grade, glad you finally asked
a question
and now I'm throwing pencils at you.
Some things never change.
connor again. boys will be boys.
Anna Mar 2014
that was when my habits just got worse. i was so incredibly angry with everything. i was so confused by my feelings and wants and needs. i became so self destructive that even others who didn't know me could see the effects. one day, senior year, a blonde girl in my photography class grabbed ahold of my arm for closer observation. the gashes stung and they ripped open anew.

"why do you do this to yourself?" she asked. it was so blunt. this girl i didn't even know asked a question that my closest friends were too afraid to even mutter. i was so shocked, i did not know how to react but gather my belongings and leave.

i became someone other than myself. i no longer recognized the reflection in the mirror. the eyes hazed with indifference, body aching and weak from the constant loss of blood. for safety reasons i will not describe everything i did out of confusion. but it got to the point where sobriety was like an itching wooly  sweater, clinging to my neck.  

i was called to the office by three separate teachers over those two semesters, i was able to beg two of them not to call my parents. they were 'concerned' because i 'was not acting like myself.' i was such an angry, hateful person. angry that the man i loved didn't want to be alive, to stick around for me. angry that my parents never spoke up. that was all i needed. just for them to tell me to stop.

nothing particular sparked the suicide attempt. just a continuous dissatisfaction with the world, i suppose. so vertically i drew the razor blade, releasing me finally.
depression, personal, cutting, self harm
David Chin Sep 2019
Close your eyes...
Take a few deep breaths...
All I hear in my head is...
Failure.

No matter how hard
I try to get that outta
My head...
It echoes.

Failure...
What does that
Even mean?
Am I a...

Am I a failure?
Most will say
Yeah...
I am.

I lost count of
How many times
I’ve failed and
Wanted to give up.

College #1...
Too many classes...
And semesters...
Life?

Maybe...
Maybe I am a...
Failure?
Maybe not?

I looked back on
The things I’ve done
When I fell so far down
And I feel blessed.

Been an EMT for 10 years...
Worked in the ED for 5 years...
Saved hundreds of lives...
Birthed a few.

I cried...
I screamed...
I wanted to quit...
But I didn’t.

When I failed...
I learned so much
About myself
And my purpose.

I learned empathy,
To not hide my emotions,
That things happen
For a reason.

I learned that
It’s ok to fall
But just get back up.
We all fall down.

I learned that
So many people
Support me and
Love me.

I learned that
I’m not alone
And I’m never
Alone.

I learned that
The first few falls
Hurt the most
But it’ll be ok.

I’m never alone.
I’m never alone.
I’m...
I’m never alone.

Am I a failure?
When I close my eyes...
All that echoes is...
You got this!

Am I a failure?
Hell no!
The current day is May 1st, 2024. I believe I might have found Brianna. And she’s gone. . .

About eight years ago from this date, I would have my first encounter with this mysterious girl. With all of this having taken course over such a long amount of time, a lot of the details are blurry compared to how solidified they used to be to me. But, back to the first encounter, although encounter sounds more like a passive aggressive frightening experience, I’m not sure what other word I might use to describe it. Maybe it was a chance meeting or divine intervention, but encounter gets the meaning across a bit more fluently, as every time I would find this girl I would be in total shock, utter disarray, and my heart would beat so fast I’d feel as though a heart attack was right around the corner.

The first time I ever met her was through a dream. . .

I can’t remember what this particular dream was. I’m not exactly sure what happened in it, why I found it so profound, or how it even got me to begin thinking about this girl. All I know was that it got my attention and I began to pay attention to this idea, this one night miracle where I first met this mysterious woman.

The night I had that dream, I’m pretty sure I thought nothing of it. Who doesn’t have a dream every so often where they’ve met their true love, their other half, their once in a lifetime love of their life? I’ve always been a bit of a hopeless romantic and I’ve always known that this was one of my deeply ingrained character traits. From my first ever year in school in first grade, I had a very large crush on this girl, Ashley Amaya, and I remember wanting so badly to be her crush as well. I even remember a moment from school when I saw a spider crawling towards her and me while walking across a paved walkway to get to our next class, and I leapt towards it and crushed it, despite having a massive fear of the little demons at the time. But, I did it to impress her!

All that to say, the first dream wasn’t extraordinary, and instead it was just another more than usual somber morning when I woke up only to realize the beautiful woman I had just met was probably a mixture of something I ate and some tv show I’d probably seen the afternoon before. Time would go by, the memory of that first dream fading to the farthest recess of my mind with only a hint of any remote recognition still reminiscing in the deepest abyss of my head.

But, this is when what started out as a dream began to become a bit more substantial. This is when Brianna began to plague my mind.

Over the course of the next few weeks, I began to have recurring dreams of being in love with this mysterious woman. She began to become more familiar in a very inconvenient and unreliable way which was of course through the remembering of my dreams. In the beginning stages, I’d only ever catch glimpses of her face and the reset was usually a silhouette or a very rushed moment. The rushed moments were hard to describe but they were full of light, always this wonderful warm yellow light and though they were rushed, time also slowed down significantly in a perplexing way that I still can’t really understand to this day.

I’d see her dark brown hair flowing and filtering the light into these tiny and magnificent rays making a twinkling in what was usually a dark atmosphere. I’d catch the corner of her mouth turning ever so slightly into a warm beautiful smile as she looked away, something else in the vicinity stealing her attention for the moment. There were intense feelings of joy and tranquility and there was a warmth about the situation I could only hope to ever feel in the true cold and lightless world we all collectively call home. Something about her was so intensely special, and the fact that I even got to share a dream with her was the highest privilege I could’ve ever received.

As time would go on, I’d continue to have these dreams. She always stayed the same, with her long dark brownish red hair flowing ever so gracefully. It got to the point that when I would have these dreams, I would’ve preferred to not wake up, just so I could spend more time with her.

Over a year would go by. At this point in life I was still just in high school and still brand new to learning life in the real world compared to the sheltered view I used to have. I had just gotten a job at the local Home Depot as a cashier, literally a few weeks after I got my license since my parents were unwilling to pay for gas for me (as good parents should do!) I was still figuring out life with my friend groups and trying to balance the reality of starting to become more mature and take on more responsibilities while still trying to cling to my childhood of digging holes and bashing legos against the wall with my brothers! It was an odd time, which I guess many can easily familiarize themselves with the timeframe as we’ve all at one point been teenagers.

One of the biggest things in my life I remember being a bit troublesome though, was all my friends I had made and my groups of people I had become so entangled with. With going through these changes, I had some friends that were still absolute children at heart and some friends who were practically ready for college! I had loads of moments through those years where these friends I had grown up with would start to feel like strangers and I’d begin to not really feel as though I had a social place to call my own.

Work was a new outlet, and I actually used to love talking to people as a cashier, ringing up their items, and learning the social norm of small talk that would amount to nothing less than an afterthought. I made a lot of friends with people who were retired and with college kids who seemed to be the coolest bunch around, who knew how to live life and have fun doing it. It was such a variety of friends where I’d talk to Tina about her granddaughter or Jim about his retirement and stock options and then I’d go up to Isaiah and he’d tell me about all the dates he’d been on or all the party stories of him and his friends living life to the fullest. It was a pretty great time in my life though, because one thing especially it taught me was how to be social, though this process would still take years and years to fully develop until I was in my early 20’s to be fully confident in my ability to put it on and be charismatic if need be. The reason I mention so much about this job though, was there was still a deep  and unrecognized subconsciously aware desire in me to meet the one.

Home Depot of all places was the first time I saw her. In person. . .

I remember it was a day much like the rest of them. After having struck up some conversation with our customers and being a little groggy from waking up at the crack of dawn for the early shift, it was time for me to finally get some lunch. While taking my usually route from the front of the hardware store I stopped at my usual coworkers stations to say hi or make a passive joke as I strolled happily on my way.

I can’t exactly remember why, but I had the need to talk to one of my managers, and it was something I needed a response for by the end of the day, so I figured before I clocked out for lunch, I’d get that little task out of the way. But, on the way back to my manager’s office, which was this little 10 foot hallway with doors on either side, one leading to a bank of sorts, and the other side hosting two doorways to offices, I was stopped in my tracks. Right next to the old clock-in machine were two seats where you’d usually sit and wait if the manager’s doors were closed so you could catch them as they walked out. They were also the seats I had sat in when waiting to get an interview for this first job of mine, where I nervously and anxiously awaited the outcome so many years ago.

In one of those broken down, flat cushioned little seats was a girl so beautiful, I literally lost my breath at the sight of her. I knew immediately who she was. She was the girl from my dreams I had been having over the course of that past year or so. Recently through my dreams, I had learned a very crucial detail about her and that was that her name was Brianna, and there sitting right before me within a few steps walk was the girl.

I froze. I made eye contact. And I immediately turned around and walked away. How I wish beyond wishing I would’ve said hi now. . .

Seeing that my manager was currently in the process of onboarding her as a new employee, I decided to take up my little question with my manager a bit later and I went to lunch. While walking into our break room, I ran into one of my new co-workers who I had become pretty good friends with. His name was Brad Brad.

At this point in time, I had more of an idea and more of a recognition of the fact that these recurring dreams of mine were something special, though I hardly let anyone know because of how embarrassing and odd it was. I mean, who would go around blindly telling people about some chick that they’d been dreaming of that they were totally in love with?? (Definitely not me eight years late. . . ) But with Brad Brad, I trusted him and had told him about the story a few days prior to running into her.

Not knowing her name and only having seen her face, I walked up to my friend and asked him about the new possible employee. He immediately knew who I was referring to her as he had seen her just a bit ago and apparently gotten to know her slightly! I asked him if her name was Brianna, being almost definitively sure that that was her name, and just wanting to check to see if I was either certifiably insane, or possibly blessed with this odder than life knowledge.

Brad immediately confirmed her name was Brianna and asked if I had spoken with her, and this immediately had me out of breath, terrified of how the girl from my dreams was truly true and realer than life. I don’t remember exactly how the rest of the conversation went down, though I can safely assume I was blabbering like a lunatic and telling him every single detail of every single dream I had had of her before. I walked out to get lunch knowing that I’d finally become acquainted with Brianna over time in the work atmosphere which was a relief to me, knowing how social I was at work while in comparison to how introverted and quiet I was at school. Life was looking to good to be true.

Brianna, didn’t get the job.

A few days would go by and my excitement to go to work was through the roof. Never before had I had so eagerly gotten in my car, driven to work, and immediately clocked in in hopes of seeing this new girl around the work place. A week would go by and my thoughts of her were still as excited as ever, but I began to realize that there was still training, a full on hiring process, and that it would most likely take time for things to get in motion. A few weeks would go by and then a month and an unsettling worry began to haunt me as I started to wonder if she didn’t actually get the job.

I started going around asking all of my fellow co-workers if they knew her or if they had any ideas of if we were hiring anyone new. I became obsessed with what we called the, “war board,” which was a schedule of all cashiers’ schedules for the day, what departments they would work in and so forth so on. But, I never saw Brianna’s name pop up, and I began to realize that I might have missed my one and only chance of getting to talk to Brianna.

As time progressed I finally decided it was time to talk to Brad about this new girl since he had been the only one I had talked to about her, and this is when the strangest thing ever happened. Brad had absolutely no idea who I was talking about. He could tell I was obsessed with the idea though and he saw how persistent I was that I had had the conversation with him before, and he even sympathetically lied to me about knowing her just to appease my insanity by saying,

“Ohhhh yeahhhhhhhhh! I remember who you’re talking about!”

I was crushed that the only person who knew her didn’t remember her and at the time I’m unsure of why I didn’t ask my manager to see if they knew who I was talking about. Maybe it was embarrassment or the thought of not being able to see other potential employee’s information that scared me. Either way, I wish I had asked more and been more determined in finding information on what had happened to Brianna.

Months and months on end would go by and the fascination with work would disappear as I got older. I’d check the war board on a pretty consistent basis always hoping that by some miracle, Brianna would show up to work for the day! And even though we eventually would go on to hire an incredible Brianna that I’d become such dear friends with, she wasn’t the same one.

I remember how I used to day dream about Brianna walking into the store and how I would recognize her and how we’d instantly fall in love. Especially on those hot hot Summer days when I was stuck in the garden department with nothing but my thoughts and a dream. As life began to progress though, I realized I didn’t want to only dream about Brianna. . . but I wanted to find her! What good was all my wallowing around if I didn’t make any active attempts to find her!

Thus began, the searching for Brianna. What might just be an everlasting one. . .

I began to take a reality check on this recurring girl who haunted my every thought and when wondering on how I would find a girl from my literal dreams, I thought maybe the first best place to look would be there! Literally in my dreams. I took on an idea I had borrowed from the movie Inception where first thing in the morning, if you try to remember your dreams you’d have a better chance of seeing more details.

Doing more research into this line of thought, I read about dream journals and how some people keep entries of their nightly subconscious activities in order to become better at what’s called lucid dreaming, where basically, you have full and utter control of the dream and realize that you’re in it while still sleeping. My dream journal over time would start to slowly fill and fill with some pretty crazy stories and hilarious dreams. Actually, I wonder if I still have it. If I can find it, I’ll drought down one of my entries here for you to read. . . whoever “you” might be.

I won’t lie when I say I found it in about one minute. It was sitting on my desk right next to me. Oddly enough, my first journal entry is far further in this story than I thought as it was written on October 9th, 2022 (thank God I wrote down dates!) Here goes my first entry.

10-09-22 (#1)

My first dream, I remember being at Home Depot, working while pushing carts. I was very sick and delusional and the atmosphere was rainy and dark. All I could feel was gloom and sadness. There was no one to help me which added to the exhaustion. A customer managed to break 3 carts in half and I had to try and fix them, but I couldn’t. The feeling of wanting to go home was very strong.

10-09-22 (#2)

This time I was in a small class with two other men. It was our first day and our professor was already making us write books worth of homework. But, she soon assigned us Minecraft assignments and the rest of the class was devoted to playing Minecraft. A mixture of falling while playing the game repeatedly occurred and was frightening, yet exhilarating and fun.

Though my timeline of the dream journal and me beginning to write it might be skewed in this story I’ve been telling, as you can see from October 9th’s dreams of the year 2022, it was in fact something I started to do. There were quite a few pages from this journal missing and I can’t recall if they were pages of old homework from school and the notebook was one I self-recycled or not. But, I thought I had started writing these way earlier in my life. Maybe one day, I’ll write up all of these dreams into some sort of official funny document, but as of right now, they’ll all stay in that book. It might honestly be for the better!

Either way, it’s obviously apparent that I became obsessed with this idea of Brianna and I began to play my life events in my head over and over again, and this might have been harmful to me later on, but at the early stages of these occurrences, I was very much into reading. Being the introvert that I was in school, and having no access to a smart device, I used to read so so so many books all the time! My best friend in high school wasn’t any other student really but the faculty and staff, specifically our school librarian Mrs. Hogue.

Every time I’d walk into that library which was probably like twice a week, she’d see me and know it was time for me to become obsessed with a new story or spend the next however many months of my life engrossed in a series. I absolutely loved Mrs. Hogue and while she was very strict with all the other obnoxious kids, she loved me too. We used to talk about life and such and the day I graduated, she was one of the people I made sure of to talk to her and wish her a goodbye to.

Anyways, this obsession with writing and reading of mine was one that really flourished during high school due to these circumstances. It feels rather odd writing now when I haven’t gone about it aside from formal essays and school work since specifically 2018.

2018 was the year that I decided to run with a lot of these creative concepts my mind had created over Brianna and turn them into an actual book with full on character development, a family for Brianna, a place to live and friendships and occupations of all sorts! This is why I mentioned just earlier that this might’ve been more harmful to me, because, sometimes I can’t remember with Brianna what’s memories and what’s a figment of my imagination developed by a creative and passionate former younger writer of myself.

Either way, at this point in my life you could tell I was so devoted to the idea of Brianna being a real person, and this one specific idea plagued me like no other.

The idea was that Brianna was also dreaming of me and that we could only communicate through our collective dreams.

This idea for a young hopeless romantic was intensely alluring and from this idea became the now published and only book of mine, “The Fracture of Reality.” In this book, there’s two main characters named Ian and Brianna. Ian oddly enough matches almost identically all my physical and intellectual traits, some of the only differences being him having a place of his own, a pretty successful job and a bit more muscle, almost as though he were a version of myself I hope to one day be.

Brianna, well, she was and is the Brianna that I know.

The premise of this book was, well how should I put it? Better yet, I’ll just plug in the summary from the back of the book I wrote many years ago!

“Dreams and reality are relatively similar terms. Dreams describe and amplify events that occur in reality whereas reality can capture what little glimpses of the dreams remain. But, it never occurred to me that the two could blur together. Only when it was too late did I start to realize that reality was fracturing…”

Although this summary doesn’t really expound on what the book was about, only now do I find it so profound that I established this saying, this line of thought while I was still younger. I’ll write to you now that the basic premise of the story was a bit of a thriller! Ian begins to have these dreams where he meets and speaks to this mysterious tranquil and beautiful girl. He starts to fall in love with her as he slowly begins to realize that she is in fact real and having dreams of him also. But, with his dreams comes the slow beginning of his down fall where his dreams start to predict horrific events that will occur relatively soon. Along with the dreams comes the mental breaking down of his sanity with a deadly progression exponentially on it’s way to happen far too soon. Through the connecting of his dreams, he needs to find Brianna who he hopes when finding her, will stop the terrifying decline of his conscious nature.

In the end, and [insert spoiler warning here hehe], Ian finally meets up with Brianna only to have one of his dreams predict a horrible event of him and her being hunted by some men that Brianna had gotten in bad with during her youthfully naïve years. The story ends with Brianna and Ian in a cottage after Ian in real life has been shot. The story ends with Ian being unsure as to whether or not his dream reality is real life, or if his reality with the pain of the bullet in him is the truth. Brianna tells him that it doesn’t matter, and tries to convince him that the current peaceful reality that they’re currently in? That that moment and that present feeling is real, and that’s what really truly matters.

Look at me, doing a synopsis of my own books six years later! Writing this book and creating my dream journal and doing research was really the first phase of my obsession with Brianna. The older I’d get though, the more it’d become real to me. I’m unsure as to whether the past eight years of my life has made this idea so authentically real to me, but now I see this all as fact rather than speculation and a possible decline in my sanity that I used to be subconsciously aware of.

More years would progress in my life and would lead to the graduation of my high school and the starting up of college at my community college. There, I’d me one of my best friends which will most likely be my best friend for life KJ, but it was also a time of maturing and shying away from the ideas of Brianna as much. Rather than focusing on the idea of her, instead I got so busy with work at Home Depot, balancing friendships at community college, and still trying to socialize with my family that I hardly thought of her.

But, circumstances would change and even though I went a while without thinking about her, she was always there. When I began my first semester at Columbia State and accidentally sat next to this absolutely beautiful girl named, you guessed it, “Brianna,” I thought that she was her! Only to find out like literally two days into the semesters that she was married, whoops! But I still became friends with her and weird stuff like that would occur every so often, but at this point in time, life was changing so rapidly and my mind was always so distracted that Brianna began to fade.

I’d still have my occasional dreams and when those hit, it’d be more difficult than it used to be. The feeling of wanting to stay in those dreams was so strong and so hard to swallow when I woke up and realized it’d only been in my head.

With school starting though, my priorities changed a lot in life! My job was the least of my concerns at Home Depot and I’d more often than not skip all of my shifts as it always drained me of all my energy having to socialize with a bunch of people I didn’t care for or care about. All the small talk became irritating and whenever I was there, I guess I had come to associate that little hardware store with the idea of loss and gloom. I mean, if my dream journal didn’t speak enough for itself, I think it’s because I missed out on my one and only chance to actually talk to Brianna.

My new priorities were to make as many friends as possible and to turn this new page in life and that’s exactly what I did! I was incredibly social and went out of my way to introduce myself to total strangers just to try and escape the old Mike and pursue a new version of him.

It wouldn’t take long for Brianna to come back to me though.

Nobody that tells you how quickly life goes by can truly explain the depths of what that means and you sort of need to experience it yourself, and with the pandemic of Covid-19 happening around 2020, those two years at community school and the two years at MTSU would go by like a wisp of air. Like a breath, **** the time went by. Sure there was quite a bit of stuff that happened throughout that time, like me beginning to fall in love with creating content through YouTube about Minecraft, getting internships and freelance work for my degree as a Graphic Designer where I won competitions and published my art in many places and had the opportunities to be in a crazy high end internship.

But the amount of time, was just literally gone. I was too busy. Brianna became an afterthought.

That is, until fairly recently. To drop some dates for you, I created my first official youtube channel on September 18th, 2019 and published my first video four years ago a day after I made the channel. At first, my channel of Minecraft specific content was created both to prove to my brothers that I could create content as incredible as the youtubers we watched, but it was also just in hopes of turning it into an actual career since it was something I genuinely was okay at. Having had architecture for for years in high school Minecraft felt like a more creative and liberating way to express those abilities and live them out in an actual environment I had created. But also, Minecraft was an excuse for me to turn off my mind.

Covid and the pandemic was sort of the greatest thing to ever happen to me, because it gave me so much time to think and play this wonderful game. I know I mentioned above how I didn’t think about Brianna that much, and that part is true, but when I had those dry moments of playing Minecraft and grinding out some simple tasks of literally just breaking and placing blocks, my mind would wander to her. I used to choose the most essentially mind numbing tasks of mining for hours upon hours which only consisted of holding down a button and occasionally moving your character around to mine some more. But though the task was completely and utterly boring, my mind was active as ever thinking and wondering about Brianna.

Finding these quiet moments in life were far and few between, but I began to cherish them. All the moments from day dreaming while mowing the lawn and sweating to death in the 100 degree sun, to sitting in my car after a long first four hours at Home Depot while staring at a semi-vacant parking lot, to even just the long walks across my enormous campus at MTSU or the long walk from parking spots I chose purposefully to be super far away from my campus at Columbia State. These moments while rare, gave me a chance to keep Brianna at least in the back light of all the real life moments I was constantly distracted and thrown around with.

But, going back to Minecraft when I got into youtube, this changed everything.

I went from having at least some spare moments to having literally no moments at all. The only time I would rest was when I had experienced such bad burn out from trying to do everything everywhere all at once, and between that and the occasional sleep I would get, my mind had no time to think. I still can easily get into that workaholic mind set sometimes and it’s a dangerous one to be in, but I’ve gotten better as I’ve figured out why I believe I fell into that mindset in the first place.

The reason was to escape Brianna’s grasp.

As I went through school hanging out with friends and making new one’s internationally through the development of an ever expanding youtube channel, I had just about no time for anything. The only time I had to stop and think was my 10 minute drive to get food and even in those moments, I had no time to think, because I was too busy driving trying not to get killed by crazy drivers.

Three years of school went by before I finally said that enough was enough. With school being as difficult as it was, I decided to “retire” from my newfound love of youtube because in all honesty, it was driving me mad. My retirement video from Minecraft came out on December 5th, 2022. I stepped away from the never ending grind and set out to enjoy life and the little moments that life offered.

The only problem with this was that my mind began to ponder Brianna once again.

At this time in my life, after retiring I was actually working for a famous youtuber named PrestonPlayz. It was a random freelance job and for the past year or so I had been jumping from freelance to freelance work with little regards to cost and payments real life had always waiting around the corner for me.

This would make me end up ultimately getting a job back at Home Depot for a few months to pay off debts I had incurred from being financially stupid and buying stuff I didn’t really need. But, between all the financial problems and weird life situations I had so much more time to think about Brianna. The dreams of her still occurred every so often but the frequency at which they had started to occur was less and less. Maybe this was all due to me reaching a new level of maturity, but I’m still not entirely sure what caused it. Maybe it was the distraction of a busy workaholic life or the hopes to find someone, really anyone that was a girl that would love me that I could love back.

But, like I said my mind began to think about her more and more. I began to see her in my thoughts like I had years ago previously and it almost felt like I was back sliding into some weird territory I had just grown oblivious to with the amount of time that had passed. Either way, that was my life. A jumbled mess of thoughts and ideas all scattered in a brain far too busy to stop and breathe coming to the new age of silence and habit.

With my mind able to breathe, I thought of her again. . . and then I saw her again. . .

I can’t remember the exact day or time of year, but on one of these days of my “retirement” I was driving home after having just gotten some taco bell. (I was obsessed with the place back then) Driving up my street, I saw a girl with long dark curly hair and bright pink clothes, what might have even been pajama pants on her, walking up my street! I didn’t think much of it until I looked into my sider mirror and saw her face and saw that it was the one and only, Brianna.

Brianna was walking up my street right next to my house. In person. Alive and breathing.

I panicked and jumped out of my car with my taco bell nearly crashing to the ground as I roared into park in my driveway with my car. With bare feet, since I used to drive with no shoes when I went to fast food place, I dove onto an aggregate driveway and started running down it, knowing that there was no way on earth I was missing my chance to finally talk to her. I had nothing but time that day, and I was overly excited to finally introduce myself in person

But when I turned around, Brianna was gone. She’d simply vanished into thin air? I still don’t know how or why, but she was gone. . . possibly gone forever. . .

This experience drove my efforts to find her to another level of passion as I began to research through many google forums and sites and social media platforms praying to God that I’d be able to find her. It didn’t matter if I had to cross the entire ocean to get to her, I was going to find Brianna, no matter what.

I started to revisit old ground and went to the Home Depot I had worked at, asking the new manager there if he could search records and being able to find her that way. I found old coworkers I used to work with and asked around trying to find any trail or any lead and couldn’t find a single thing. I even managed to find Brad Brad’s Instagram and messaged him only for him to have literally no idea what I was talking about, go figure.

With nothing working and having literally no idea on what else I could do, I began to passionately work on a project called, “The Bri of My Dreams.” What this basically was was an ARG or alternate reality game which was a puzzle game I setup for my prior youtube community to solve and have fun with. But, it was more than that. It was the telling of the story of Brianna in a way that I could hopefully publicize and gain some popularity on so that maybe instead of me finding Brianna, she’d be able to rather find me! So, I started working on it behind the scenes unbeknownst to anyone in my community that I was going to use this new found passion project to hopefully find her, but also to bring me back to youtube content creation.

To this day, I’m still not sure why I wanted to go back to youtube. Well I know some underlying reasons, that being tied loosely to Brianna, but now many months later still being at it, I’m unsure as to the real reason why I still create stuff on there.

Either way, after creating an entire animated short film with a script and what I consider to be one of my greatest projects of all time, “The Bri of My Dreams” project was finalized and ready to publish. I put it out there hoping that it was only a matter of time before I finally heard from her.

Hardly anyone noticed I’d returned to youtube, let alone my project failing horribly as only close friends I knew even attempted the puzzles.

My final efforts produced literally no results, and well, this brings me to about right now, this moment that I’m actually writing this all down on May 1st 2024 at 4:21 p.m CDT. For the past few hours I’ve written down all of this while listening to The Caretaker album on youtube, a depressing soundtrack meant to represent the stages of alzheimer's.

This morning while sitting around doing nothing really, I looked up Brianna one last time, despite me telling myself I would be done with her after my ARG project. I found a girl, about the same age as me that matched the name and the description. Her father’s name was funnily enough the same as my own, Michael.

What I found about her and her father were obituary statements.

I’m unsure if it’s okay or morally right to even think that might’ve been her, but something I noticed when doing research about Brianna in my earlier days. . . For some odd reason there’s a lot of young beautiful Briannas who unfortunately die in their early 20’s. It’s an odd and horrifying fact I’ve come to know over the past few years through my odder than odd research.

But, this case I found today? Well the exact date this Brianna died on correlated almost exactly when my dreams stopped of her.

I don’t dream of Brianna anymore. I haven’t for years. . .

I think the reason I’m writing this, is my own way of finally saying goodbye. Wherever she is, I hope she’s okay. I hope she’s well. But as for me, life continues to go on and it’s finally time after these past eight years to finally say. . .

Goodbye Brianna. I’ll miss you. . .

— The End —