I often compare emotional strength to physical strength; Some adversity is good.

To build an immune system, you need to get sick, so your body learns to fight it.

To build muscle, you need to damage it, and then allow it to grow back stronger.

When you handle rough material, like wood or rope, your skin thickens and builds callouses.

Same with emotion. You need to feel that pain and cry for a while, before you get stronger.

But, this only works to a certain degree.

When sickness overwhelms the body, toughing it out can be disastrous.

Exercise too hard, and you can do permanent damage.

And no callous can stand up to blades or shards of glass.

Learn not to cry over spilled milk, and you’re stronger. But hold it in when real shit happens, then you’re doing damage.

So In Algebra we were doing IXL.

This one dude was so close to 90 but got the question wrong.

He PUNCHED this chromebook and the screen SHATTERED.

And then on my way to History the classroom (next to the one I was going to) door's window was also PUNCHED and SHATTERED (I have no idea who punched it though). Glass was all over the floor and the hallway was super croweded, more than usual, and everyone was kinda pushing eachother trying to get through.

I just thought I'd share this weirdness.

do y’all ever just think of dates or numbers or people that you’ve never met and your brain just decides “YES, THAT ONE. IMPORTANT NO IDEA WHY BUT. THAT”

it happens to me a lot

the other thing is a super developed space in your mind where you could say your mind’s version of you “lives”

kinda like lucid dreaming while you’re awake/extremely powerful meditation

speaking of dreams, are consistet recurring dreams from around the age of 8 normal? like, how would i remember a dream from then? or something i havent had in at least 5-7 years that i suddenly have again, but only really pay attention to it being a recurring dream once i’m awake again. my recurring dreams are apparent to me because i remember them more than my normal dreams, and, of course, i feel like i’ve been there before. Especially that one dream. It’s a nightmare but you get my point. I was like, 8 when i first had that dream. And i still remember it perfectly, and only recently has it stopped being one of the dreams I have a lot.

does this happen?

is this just psychic game struggles or what,,?

Most of the times, I keep to myself.

You see.. That resulted in me being an island.. I find solace in ink and paper, in words and rhythms.

I fell in love with a song and then with the band. The song is 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' and the band is.. Green Day.

Everytime I listen to the song, I get lost in it, in the tune..

Everytime I let the lyrics wash over me, I get crazy and soothed at the same time.

It is not just a song, it is an anthem.. To me.

Standing there at the counter, with my brother, laughing. You see me walk in and stop, smiling stupidly because you remember me, though I don't know how you'd forget since it was only three years ago when everything passed. My short infatuation for you, my friendship with your (now ex-) girlfriend ending over a misunderstanding, you accidentally telling me you liked me too then recanting since my name is close to the girl you're fucking now. My brother sees me and says he'll be back, leaving us alone together in a room full of people.

"What are you up to?" is obviously the first question, awkwardly spilled out.

I could be nice, but I'm not. To be fair, I don't get this opportunity a lot so I just shrug. Letting you pry a little never hurt anyone. My mind is racing with all the mean things I want to say to you. That I'm going to graduate from college soon. That I have money now (well had but you don't get to know that). That I just went to Europe, that I have been published, that I have accomplished things on my bucket list while you stand behind a counter serving ice-cream. But, I have to wait to unleash on you.

"I'm sorry about what happened," you say, sounding sincere.

All of the inflated, gloaty things I have to say fly out the window. You'd be happy for me if I spew my accomplishments. We'd become friends if I say any of that. I shrug again.

"Don't worry. I realized that I was settling."

I don't wait for your reaction. My brother busts out of the back door, loudly yelling goodbye to people, and we both get in my mom's car and go home.

I wish I could love this song. Unfortunately, almost every person in my family that has died has done so from cancer. My sister is the biggest My Chemical Romance fan I knew, and growing up we shared a room. Naturally, I hated their music just because she loved them. I would listen to The Black Parade over and over for years never taking it in. Just after my uncle died, my sister got the words “Bury me in all my favorite colors” tattooed on her arm. She told my parents it was from the My Chemical Romance song, “Cancer” and it was for our Uncle Kevin. He died from cancer. And years before he had took my sister to her first MCR concert and said that he liked this song the best. Again, this did not mean much to me. I never bothered listening to the song.

A few years later, Kevin’s mother--my grandmother--was dying of cancer. In a twist of fate, Cancer by MCR came on my playlist. The piano chords struck me immeidately and I was stunned into listening. I heard “bury me in all my favorite colors” and cried in the middle of the library. I texted my sister about this moment, and I can now listen to the song but only with overwhelming thoughts of family, those here and those not.

Although a lot of this is my sister’s story, I believe it was important to share, because it affects me too, and it is just another invisible thread that keeps us together.

The word, the right word, the perfect word, because it could only be one word, couldn’t it be others, no there is a perfect word, word, world, word, world, word world experience, think of the past, think of the present, what am I thinking, what words are in my thoughts, look at it, what does it look like, like an animal, like a human being, like a friend, like a, like a, well what does it say, it isn’t talking, so make it talk, make it listen, make them listen, there is a perfect word, how many is that now, eighty-seven, eighty-eight, make it more, make it talk, I think it likes the silence, silence in my brain, no thoughts so no words, can’t find the right one, it’s on the tip of my tongue, the tip of my brain, it’s crawling down the stem and touching the nerve endings in my fingertips, tap-tap-tap, like an egg cracking, out comes a thought, it might be this word, insert it, insert the right word, but no, that’s not it, think harder, think faster, there hardly is time at all, pressure, pressure, some pressure and another word, it could be this one too, but that’s hardly it at all, what is it, what is it saying, is it talking now, is he talking now, what should I say, the word, the perfect word, he isn’t talking, staring and staring and I’m staring, and I’m thinking of the perfect word, construct it, make it last and make it show, and what does it say, what does it say about me, I am thinking, I am staring, I am per- fecting, I should say something, the word, the perfect word, but more, the perfect sentence, something with every perfect word, something that is real and true to the moment, so what’s happening, is he looking, is she listening, what’s in their minds, cracking, like a thought, they want silence but I want words, three quarters done now, but there is more, isn’t there, always more, I can make it better, make it sound nice, nicer, nicest, and what is it about, what does it look like, like an animal, like a human being, like a friend, like a, like a, what should I say, what should you say, there is a perfect word, cat-scratching patty cake and there is more, hi my name is and there is more, oh I wish I was a, wish I was a little bar of soap and there’s more, and there is definitely more, so keep going, he’s talking now, and she’s listening, isn’t she, she is, so keep talking now, keep thinking, you’ll get it, won’t you, won’t you.Won’t I?

Sometimes I think it's sad. Sad how I've grown up to not be able to cry as much. When I was small, all I'd do was cry. There was never a very good reason for it. And that was the thing I hated most about myself.

But now it's different.

I've realised that it's never stupid to cry.

Firstly, it doesn't matter how trivial a problem seems. If you're so distressed that you're crying over it, it's never nothing.

Secondly, I miss crying. Depression has taken it away from me.

I used to cry about things like someone calling me a bad name in the playground. Or if I got low marks on a test. One memorable waterworks episode was over a book in the school library.

Sometimes I look back and laugh at my younger self. I would never, ever cry about those things now.

And I think, god I am so much stronger than I was back then.

But am I?

Instead, I cry about all of the sh*t I've been through. About the times when I screamed for hours on end because I just needed to stop existing. I cry about all the people I love but will never see again. I cry about the uncertainty I constantly face in my day to day life.

And then I realise, the only reason I don't cry about dumb things like library books, is because I have encountered much worse things to be sad and angry about.

And I think, god I am so damaged.

But at the end of the day, I'm not damaged. How could I be? How could anyone be? The circumstances one finds themselves in never makes them flawed.

In fact, the things that appeared to break me have made me stronger.

So maybe it's both. Maybe the fact I don't cry over trivial things does make me strong. But maybe the fact I am stronger...is because I am damaged.