Posts Tagged ‘personal narrative’

I see you, who comes to me and says:

“Why are you here? You are so pretty






Why are you here, so far away?”

And I will give a smile, give you a bold-faced lie, say

“Oh, I am not feeling so well.

I am but an introvert.”

Or something else that glibs my mind.

And when you are away, I will frown, and I will remember

The monster in the corner of my eye.


My dearest friend, the one who has lived with me longer than I have

Who has seen me through my trials with but a smile on its face

The one who I hid away.


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This video is one of my favorites. I believe that most people fall in love more than once in their lifetime. Some are just the “ideas” of what being in love really is… we yearn to feel accepted and crave that feeling of Love by different people.  (more…)

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Today, at school, I cried in the bathroom. I walked out of class because I was embarrassed over the most ridiculous thing. I cried because “no one understands me” and “today was a shit day”. I also cried because I was angry. Angry at people, angry at myself for taking things personally, and furious because I was sitting on the bathroom floor sobbing. As I sat on the floor between a locked stall door and toilet, I kept asking myself, “Is it okay to cry? I’m a spoiled, privileged, young person. I have a great life! Why am I crying? Why? Am I overreacting? Why can’t I stop? Why should I not be able to cry when I want to? Why do I keep crying? I need to toughen up!” This continued for an hour and thirty minutes. Time I will never get back.


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From my high school 365 Project.

From my high school 365 Project.

My friend and I had been talking about assault. I was talking about how if anybody ever approached me violently, I would use my entire body against them. I would kick them in whatever sensitive areas I could perceive, rake my nails into their skin, and use my teeth like a sabertooth tiger gripping the haunch of a primordial deer. I would make them regret ever thinking I was somebody weak. I would make them regret ever thinking I wasn’t prepared. I was excited for that aggression. That excuse for the energy I can exert, the dominance I can show, the unbridled aggression that can finally be released. And that concerns me. Why do I want to rip off some poor fucker’s ear? Sure, if they assaulted me, a defensive maneuver or two is probably warranted, but why would I want them to bleed. Why am I so excited by this visceral urge? Why is my being able to service my aggression so enthralling? That’s what I really want to talk about. The embodiment of aggression.


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I’m not going to class today.

I can’t say that it’s because I have a fever, or because I had a dentist appointment, or because anybody died.

I’m not going because of the sensations I feel when we talk about fatness. The sickness and the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy (that has always been pushed in to my mentality from various points in my life) always crop up as we talk about our fat, or not so fat bodies. It’s inevitable, this distinct sucking feeling, as if my gut has become a vacuum, and I can zip myself away like a fancy reusable grocery bag.

We talk critically about the hegemonic institutions that create these body ideals. We complain together, air our grievances, we nod and shake our heads together. We are a good class, a good group of people who can empathize and understand each other’s problems, but that’s not enough to save me from wanting to shrink into my backpack and cry in a bathroom stall.


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