I am a nineteen year old psychology student and it is very interesting , the amount of things you hear is highly intense. The information you learn makes you uncomfortable but yet intrigued. Now there are certain things in a psychology class that will always happen. Trauma will always be brought up, it will never not happen. Although trauma will be brough up it is still important to respect the fact that people will have triggers with certain topics. It is also important to respect peoples writing and trauma. The reason for me writing this is because something has been on my mind about the last day or my last program. As some background information, I was in a program about psychology ,sociology and creative writing. We would right about something that would relate to what we learned. On the last day of class every person went around and read something they wrote at any point in their life. My boyfriend read a very emotional and powerful writing he did ( I never cry while reading anything however, this made me cry). He did trigger and content warnings like we were told to do by the professor. We let 30 seconds past for people to get up and leave the room if needed. Almost the whole class left the room, maybe 10 people stayed including me. My other boyfriend left the room ( I am poly) and what he told me when we were done with class made me livid. He told me someone was talking about how the " trigger warnings were too much" and " I didn't put any triggers in my story so no one would have to leave". He talked shit about my boyfriends writing while he did not want anyone to talk shit about him. HE wanted respect from the class while HE did not respect anyone. We never confronted him for this because my boyfriend asked me not too. My main thing is that if people want respect while reading something personal or just want respect in general then they should respect others as well. Its like the kindergarten saying " Treat people the way you want to be treated".

TW: Animal death ( she was asleep, there was no pain, she is in peace)

Its been days... Days of crying... Days of feeling empty inside. The words replaying in my head over and over again. Every time I close my eyes I can see her. I can see the room. The shitty couch and the two chairs in the vets office. My main focus was her, I am surprised that I can remember what the room looks like, probably because I have been there so many times. I will never forget the love I had for her. She was my best friend and that will never change. I will miss her for the rest of my life. Harley, you were the best thing to ever happen in my life and that will never change. I will see you again soon my love.

The timeline of my life and all the shit that has gone wrong and caused me trauma

2003- Was Born ( did not want to be, but had no choice).

2011- Was diagnosed with Bipolar 2 at the age of 8.

2011 to 2018- Was on so many different medications with many different side effects that affected my school and home life.

2018- Grandpa Dies ( mental health got worse).

2019- Started dating a boy in freshman year, I should have known he would ruin my life but I was young (15) and did not know what to expect.

2020- Covid began and I was stuck in a relationship that was going downhill fucking fast. During quarantine, the relationship got abusive in every way possible. He put his friends above me and was not there when I needed him the most ( I should have not needed him but he was my boyfriend what was I supposed to think). Forced me to leave my best friend for 10 months and manipulated me into staying with him.

2021- Went back to school in person and was forced to see him every day. In December of 2021, I lost all love but was abused and forced to stay with him ( got worse because I had no freedom). Beginning of January found out I was pregnant and was pressured and forced to get an abortion, I know people would say I had a choice but in that relationship, I could not do anything for myself.

Today- Found out my dog has bone cancer and will need to be put down in two days...

People will have their own life paths and people will say I have a choice. Yes, I do now in my life. I did not then. Of course there were other things that happened in my life that was fucking shitty but these were the main ones.

i wanna go somewhere where people don't think less of me for being me.

i want to go somewhere where i am not ridiculed for existing.

i do not know if that place exists. because i do it too. so i would have to exist in a place where i had never thought of ridiculing myself, likely because it doesn't happen in that world.

i wish i didn't have to cheapen my interests or my life or what i like. i wish i lived in a society that didn't accept that. i wish i could say "i am studying english" and people would at move on, instead of saying shit like "so you've got it easy" or "what are you going to do with that?".

i wanna go somewhere where people don't think less of me for being a writer, for being a girl, for being asian, for liking who i like.

why is that so hard.

gender and sex

are different

and learning that

should have been

relieving.

now i had the words

to distinguish

myself.

but it was no relief.

embracing my gender

is something i can do,

but embracing my sex

is not.

and i know i'll have to live

with the discrepancy between my legs

but that shouldn't mean

i have to live with it in my head.

surely

there is something i can do.

something to ascend beyond sex

and into that mythical gender

that i've heard so much about.

but gender isn't something people worship.

they place their faith in sex instead,

and maybe they're right.

gender can't deepen my voice

or broaden my shoulders.

gender can't change my name.

those are things i had to do

myself,

learning to puff my chest

at the world

instead of tucking it between

my arms

in shame.

gender isn't

the cure all i wanted it to be.

gender is desperation

and agony,

depression

and anxiety.

gender is a war

against the world you grew up in

and there will never be peace

because the world is ruled

by X and Y,

1 and 0,

and i am

the third variable

that they didn't account for

and can't figure out

how to calculate.

sex is a prison

and gender is the key

but deciding to unlock the door

is another matter

entirely.

and some days

i wish

i had never touched the key

and stayed in my prison

until it killed me.

because that's what gender is.

it's freedom,

but it comes with

a price.

In my impossible imagination

I fall in love with you,

Though my outer self

Says we'll never meet.

My inner self

Knows that isn't true.

For we are love.

If you didn't know, I am a part of a book collaboration. It's a lot of fun and a lot of work. This post is a call to all writers who are interested in helping, whether that be as a writer, editor, or just a reader. We would love your help and feedback. We have 12 chapters put together but we are currently working on reviewing and editing. It's not a rewrite but it is the next step and we need a new set of eyes. We meet every Saturday at 2:00 EST over zoom but you don't have to come on if you would rather be an editor and reader but regardless of what you are helping with, you are more than welcome to come on. If you are interested, just leave a comment or PM me for more information.

A bit of background for the book: it would most likely be categorized as mystery and drama. It's about a young girl's disappearance and death and how her family deal with the loss.

Note: We each are assigned a character to write and there is one character in need of a writer and two whose writers are unresponsive. If you would like to write and then one of them decide to come back on or we have more than enough writers, we will just have multiple people writing for a character but I'm not sure how many people are going to want to write so please don't hesitate if you are interested.

i.

i feel your hands

coming from my own,

even as they

touch my face (and linger there),

feel you like an

absence, like an

echo, like a

mem’ry, and

you’ve been gone and you’re gone and you’re

going.

you are going

so much.

ii.

—the kind of empty

that pulses through your chest,

aching,

echoing through all the

empty spaces—

iii.

and i miss you like

growing up

(growing out of people)

(things and music and loves)

(books and smiles and)

(people)

and i miss you like

growing old

(memories barely there, anymore)

(the love still strong, but like an)

(echo)

(i’m not quite all here)

iv.

how have you been doing? they ask.

i’ve been thirty-seven days with zero beads, i want to say.

i’ve been hungry and i haven’t eaten in hours, i want to say.

i’ve been feeling so empty and i can’t fill myself back up, i want to say.

i can’t stop seeing accidents in front of my eyes, i want to say.

i can’t stop envisioning death, i want to say.

i can’t stop i can’t stop i can’t stop, i want to say.

just a little tired, i say.

v.

i hope you all got some rest and recharged this weekend, my teacher says.

i grin across the room to the other students,

as if this secret we’re all in on

is a good one to keep—as if it’s

something to be proud of,

to have so many sleepless nights

and early mornings.

vi.

these voices in my head

trap themselves in the crevices of

my mind—they come out to play,

preying on the weaknesses,

until i cover my ears with my

hands and close my eyes, shout

as loud as i can, “SHUT UP,

SHUT UP, SHUT UP!”

and i hold off the tears,

fold my heart back into my chest,

and say, “IT’S FINE IT’S FINE IT’S FINE I’M OKAY, YOU KNOW?

CAN’T YOU SEE I’M FINE, I’M SO

FINE, I’M DOING SO WONDERFUL!”

(i forget not to yell)