Strangeworld

As summer goes on I feel like the only things that occur to me to write about have been my frustrations. There has been a lot on my plate recently between work, love life, general commitments, etc.. Recently I've been dealing with a level of stress that I'm not exactly comfortable with, but they say that responsible people can handle more and more stress as time goes on. At least that's what my mom says. I take it with a grain of salt. A lot of things that I would've written about a year ago have become routine to the point where it's not notable, which is fine and normal, except I feel I don't have new experiences to fill the void. Not good ones, anyways. I think August will definitely change things up a bit for me and give me some good topics for writing.

I don't really want to talk about that stuff though. It's just useless conjecture.

Yesterday I had a day off of work (I've been working my ass off- that's another story) and I went to the lake. It was just like the first time I swam there, with mayflies everywhere on the surface and turtles poking their heads out of the water. It wasn't as magical as the first time, obviously, but the water was just as warm and welcoming. It is a little piece of comfort I give to myself when I am so overwhelmed. I stayed there for awhile yesterday, swimming to the lakebed and then relaxing on the shore for awhile, watching an E-2D from Dover make its rounds above Galloway. For me it doesn't really get any better than swimming in nature whilst gazing at remarkable aircraft. That's like two of my favorite things. I still wish I could share it with someone, but I guess being alone is nice, too. I've been spending much more time in the presence of other people lately so it feels nice to just have some time for myself.

My job, at least, to some extent is helping me satisfy my need for constant human interactions. Delivery is difficult, but I meet a lot of people in a very short amount of time. (And a lot of pets, too.) Unlike with other strangers, delivery is fast paced which allows me to gush positivity at people without looking weird or not knowing how to end the interactions. I have the safety net of having to get back to work. I also have a lot of time during the slower hours to get to know the workers at the restaurants. My favorite place to deliver for right now is this sub shop in Northfield which is family-owned. There is a girl there named Alaina who is so sweet and easy to talk to. She's usually there with her step mom, Noelle, who is snarky and a bit hard to read. Sometimes when Alaina isn't there, their family friend Abbi is and she's all sarcastic and sort of intimidating in my opinion (albeit hilarious). There's also Noelle's husband Joe who owns the place and he's funny too. They are always laughing and talking while they work and for the most part, have no problem talking to me and graciously giving me food on the house. I swear people at these restaurants will make you accept their charity at no relent. I always feel bad about that part, but it's funny. Last time I worked there I just waited until they weren't looking and put a tip in their tip jar. Another place I worked was this pizza joint while their usual driver was on vacation. I'm a bit sad I won't work there again because the owner always made sure I was well-fed. One time he made me a whole ass pizza during my shift and then gave me garlic knots for the road. His name is Guy and he said something pretty right-wing once so I feel better about taking food from him. He reminds me of my dad a bit, honestly. The food was great. Overall this job is the best I've ever had because of things like this. I also like the freedom it gives me, and the whole tip-based wage thing keeps it surprising. It might sound weird to someone else but it works for me.

One of the biggest differences in my attitude last summer compared to now is having more prominent feelings of dissatisfaction with the social, political, and physical state of my country. I haven't really liked America for awhile, but the more I learn the more it stings. I feel more accustomed to seeing bullshit in my every day life, and I feel frightened by this imaginary ticking time bomb... this, like, possibly irrational sense that America is completely beyond hope and rapidly failing. That's probably the only way I can really put it. It just weighs down on me constantly. I feel a strong sense of otherness here even though I have positive interactions with other people. No matter how friendly people are with me I know they don't think about things the way I do. Who knew it would be so lonely to be anti-American in America? I understand why other people don't see things the way I do, but God I wish I knew more people who did. I think, at this point, I will need to leave here to be happy. Not in a dramatic sort of "I need to renounce my citizenship" type of things. I just want people who see the Pledge of Allegiance as brain-numbingly ridiculous as I do. Here you can only find people like that at punk shows and Trader Joe's.

Welp, I have no idea how to end this one. I guess, maybe I'll mention that I've fallen back into my inescapable interest in aviation. Today I spent like 40% of my shift thinking about planes which is sort of a lot. Last night Corey and I were watching those plane crash video essays and we put Kevin MacLeod music behind them to fuck with the serious tone. You'd have to try it to understand. I haven't laughed that hard in ages.

In regards to what has happened in Uvalde…

The shock of this shooting went over almost immediately it feels like. Maybe that’s because a shooting happens every other month in this country. This one is special, though, because in the post-Trump America people actually have the nerve to defend the horrible police response to no end. It’s pathetic, really.

One of the worst arguments I’ve heard is that “it’s not the function of the police to risk their lives in this scenario.” That’s actually a valid justification because they are right, it isn’t. Cops in America aren’t trained to “protect and serve” like they boast on the sides of their cruisers. An article I read the other day put it in simple terms; the police aren’t there to protect, they are there to criminalize. They are there to meet quotas and persecute minorities, not save children from active shooters. A cop is not willing to put his life on the line because his job isn’t even dangerous and noble like it’s made out to be. People who think police are heroes are misinformed and victims of law enforcement propaganda. Thank God they arrested that homeless guy! They really are keeping our neighborhoods safe from teenagers with spray cans. Their response to fender benders? Truly remarkable and praiseworthy. You’d assume a town like Uvalde, which spends 40% of their tax money on a SWAT team, would be able to prepare and respond to an event like this, but they didn’t. And they never will, because that SWAT team is just proof of how law enforcement is fetishized in this country. An accessory at best, that fails when it is actually needed. Remarkably, people defending the Uvalde police right now seem totally okay with the fact that it isn’t there job to take down a shooter. Then what is their job, Susan? Tell me, Kenneth, who is supposed to deal with that? The kids themselves? Tough shit for those elementary schoolers, I guess. If something being “technically legal” is enough for right-wingers to rationalize the deaths of 19 children, that’s not good enough. The function of the police needs to be challenged but the right would rather die than admit that their precious SWAT team is a corrupt waste of fucking money. Because America!

Another argument I saw the other day… “the cops could’ve gotten hurt!” So true sister, the poor cops could’ve gotten hurt. We shouldn’t expect them to deal with crime! It’s dangerous! How terrible. Let’s let all these kids die instead. NEXT.

It goes without saying that Uvalde failed in every sense with their police response, procedures, and press follow ups. They are still doubling down and refusing to own up to this as a catastrophic failure of their department. But to me, it’s not even that. It’s completely consistent with how law enforcement responds to shit like this. As tragic as this whole thing is, I’m not shocked. I doubt anyone my age is. You didn’t get a proper American high school experience if you didn’t hide in a classroom and text your parents you love them at least once.

Now we get to prepare for the plethora of liberal campaigns that will come in the wake of this, just like with Parkland. Walkouts, protests, shallow speeches from every American politician ever, corporate charity work, the whole shebang. “This was a tragedy. We want to ensure this never happens again.” But it will, and nothing will change. Just another day in God’s favorite country.

I guess I was due to get Covid at some point. I came down with something a couple days ago and took a rapid test, sure enough, it was positive. The last 72 hours or so have been... uncomfortable to say the least. Especially since it's exam week. But I have the time to write, and since things are winding down with school and all I thought I'd do a larger life update.

I'm nearly done with my first year of college, and that feels insane considering I thought I'd drop out. I think of all that I've done and all that has changed about me since the beginning of the academic year and honestly, I feel like a completely different person. I really mean it. I must be completely unrecognizable.

As I wrote back in September:

"I'm excited to make new friends and memories. One thing I love about myself is that I'm always changing and I'm looking forward to seeing what college does to me. As long as I can keep up with my classes, I think I'll be alright. Everything else is just a cakewalk to me."

University has helped me learn a lot about myself, and has also given me an opportunity to take charge of not just my education but myself in general. I came out of high school with a pretty grim perspective on my future since I barely scraped by. Thinking back to what I was learning in high school, it's strange because I distinctly remember being disinterested and totally unengaged in subjects that I now learn about in my free time, just because. Old me didn't want to learn about much. Now I have tapped into all these different subjects and hobbies and I feel better than ever. It's a bit sad I guess because I wonder what the current me would've been like in that setting. I think about all the teachers I disappointed and while that isn't something that really weighs on me until I think about it, I would like to go back to MCST before the year ends and update some of my teachers who definitely knew I was tweaking in class. I have overcome a lot since that, and grown as a person. Nine months ago, I was pretty nervous about all of this. Since then, everything has gone up. I watched five seasons of Glee, adopted a cat, met someone that I love, gone to so many places, met so many people, saw so many shows... it was everything I needed.

So I can't really be that mad about being in bed with Covid right now, even though I wouldn't stop bitching about it yesterday. I'm quite happy, actually. Once my exams are totally over (May 3rd is the last day of the semester) I'll surely celebrate. Maybe jointly with Corey since that's his birthday. And then, life will be a dream this summer, with so many new adventures to be had and avenues of life to embrace. Once I get over this case of the sniffles, I'll be getting right to it.

I was thinking the other night before bed about how I've been acting at school and in public. Sometimes I get freaked out for this oddly specific reason... this self-loathing idea that I say a lot of dumb, tactless shit to people without realizing it. But every time I get to thinking about that, it all comes back to me feeling like I need someone else's approval and judgement when it comes to my behavior. This "someone else" being my mom. As much as I resent her still, I feel like I have no way to crosscheck my every action, and so I just assume that since she's not here I am constantly making mistakes with no correction.

And it's true that I did used to be quite loudmouthed and insensitive. It was never on purpose when I was younger, and now it just happens when I get socially awkward. On occasion I will say something on purpose, but usually I just feel like and idiot. I remember distinctly being at family parties, Girl Scout meetings, wherever, and saying something only to be met with a glare or sharp comment from my mom. It was a horrible feeling. The worst part was always getting in the car to go home and anticipating another lecture about something I said or did. When it didn't happen, I felt relieved because I became conditioned to a cycle of searching for approval and being punished verbally for whatever dumb thing came out of my mouth. It makes me a bit insecure when I'm by myself now, since I still have such a poor grasp on social interaction. In some ways I feel that I have been supported for the person I am by my peers in college, but in high school I remember that treatment was purely because I was some sort of novelty or joke. If I'm not the class clown, and I'm not living for my mom's constant approval, then I have no idea what I am and I have no idea how to be myself. All I can do is just hope that I don't piss off everyone around me. I'm 90% sure I don't, but how can I be sure? It's not like they would tell me.

At the same time, I am not met with the sarcastic and condescending inflections of some people like I was in high school. If I were, I think I'd stand up for myself. There was a handful of girls who used to do that to me... Sofia, Sierra, Megan, and some bitch whose name I forget but I remember she didn't believe in global warming. Should I really care about people like that? No, obviously. But when I feel I've said something stupid, or I feel that I have messed up in any way that will affect other people's opinion of me, I torture myself with it forever. Or at least a few years. My need for perfection around others is so heavy and I don't know how to undo that.

My mom told me back in December while we were fighting... "Therapists always blame the mom. It's always the mom's fault." She was so upset about what I had expressed to her, it almost made me doubt myself. But no, my therapist was always right on the money. It was usually my mom's fault. And I think this is. Even if we are on good terms, I won't let myself forget why she's a shitty parent.

I've been thinking about death again recently. Not in a bad way, just in a mindful way. Things have been going well in life recently and I think I'm the happiest I've been since I was a young child. I don't think that the consistency of my mood and lifestyle have made me complacent. Rather, I have the clearance to confront sensitive ideas in a healthy way, death being one of them.

Most people of faith (or even just in general) believe that the soul is separate to the body. That spirits and souls are separate from a physical existence, and they will be preserved or "recycled" after death. I don't care much for popular beliefs about reincarnation or things of that nature, nor do I believe in Heaven or miracles or manifestation. But I do believe that humans are great storytellers who can find meaning in everything, especially if it helps them cope with something scary. And what, to a human, is scarier than death? Spirituality is rooted in both the wonder and fear of human beings, to offer an explanation where there isn't one, and to rationalize life's most critical and powerful moments. It is human nature.

This is not a justification of spirituality, and it does not reflect my general thoughts on the subject. Even if it "works", I believe that religion and superstition have historically done more harm than good. But they are examples of this human need, this unrelenting desire to find meaning and to make peace with the unknown. I feel that there are healthy ways to accept the unknown. Not clear explanations maybe, but mindsets rooted in truth. When it comes to death, I personally find comfort in the idea of energy cycles. Maybe it requires a dash of embellishment, since it's a pretty straightforward explanation of the relationships between organisms and their environments. The world is one big terrarium, a huge and complex bubble where life flourishes and festers. Energy is a shared thing, a commonality of all life, and in the wake of death it nourishes and creates new life. As I exist now, I contribute in something I find quite beautiful. I am merely an allocation of energy that will someday cease to exist, but what matters is the time that I have now. So much time to share and experience this existence with all the other life on this planet. And one day, when I die, my body and my thoughts and all my energy will return to the world to create new life. I have no real hopes for what happens to my body after death, as I have already found consolation in having my energy feeding back into that cycle.

I think about all I've done in life and all I still want to do, and weigh that in with the overarching purpose I have decided to be mine on this rock, and I feel satisfied. I don't want to die soon, but I've come to terms with how the world works. I've been able, very recently, to sit back and wonder when my time will be, and that doesn't plague me. I feel that even at this age, I have been able to create and feel enough love for my life to have paid off. I guess what I'm saying is that if I died suddenly at a young age, I would want the people in my life to know that I lived a good one. My energy will become something else, and I want that to be celebrated, not mourned. I won't be there to see it anyways. If my final moments are painful, they are painful. If it happens swiftly, so be it. I'm okay with it. Death, really, is a part of life. And it is a necessity to life. It isn't something worth being scared of anymore.

Although, I guess if I had the choice, I would want my body laid out or buried up in those beautiful fields on Mt. Rainier. Then, I'd become a bunch of wildflowers, and that would be pretty cool.

I had a dream last night that reminded me of a book I used to read in my childhood. It was a graphic novel called Laika that told the story of a famous dog of the same name that was sent into space by the Soviet Union. It is in many capacities an extrapolation of real people and events in order to make the story interesting, but it's also pretty grim. When I read it for the first time in elementary school, it stood out to me since most of the stories I consumed at that age had happy endings. I just purchased a hardcover copy of the book recently and after reading it again I noticed there are many ideas in it that I definitely couldn't have understood when I first read it. It's a fantastic read for adults, honestly, and the illustration is wonderful. In the darkest moments of the story, the art comes to life in these "magic realism" segments, where the cold tones suddenly become slow, colorful, and dream-like. The part that stood out to me the most when I first read it is the ending, where Laika dreams about flying over the USSR and all of the people she met in her life, just before her death. It's bleak about its themes, and when I was younger it put me in a solemn state. I liked that about it then and I do now.

But anyways, that specific dream sequence was what I was reminded of in my sleep last night. It's too difficult and hazy for me to describe but it happened, and I wasn't dying like the dog in the book so I'm happy about that. I love having dreams like that, where I'm flying at night. This one was rather timely I think.

Yesterday I went job hunting. I have been dying to travel ever since I got my passport, and for that I need money. So I walked into a pet store yesterday, told them I'm good with aquariums and lizards, and they looked relieved. It seems they really need someone to help out with the fish tanks. I'll likely get a call back this week, and if not then onto the next store I go. I'm going to save my money and there's one place I want to go the most: the English countryside. Mostly because that's where Corey is and I'm pretty sure we'd have the time of our lives, but also because it just seems so alluring. I desperately want to experience something alien to me. I love everything that my British friends have told me, and of course it's insane to think of that being someone's "normal" (the same way mine is insane to them). Being so far away from people that I love and their entire worlds used to be painful to think about when I was younger, but now I'm old enough to make these things happen. I made a promise that I would make this happen, and I am really counting on myself to succeed. It will be the largest goal I ever work towards alone.

There's a lot on my plate now. Or at least it feels like it. It hit me yesterday that I might want to start taking better care of myself. I haven't been smoking as much weed recently which has helped with my energy. I need to eat better during the day and clean my horribly neglected room. I should probably anticipate the workload picking up soon, but I'm not sure if that will happen. In addition to my classes, I'm volunteering with the radio station now and doing training. That's been interesting by the way, and I'll probably make a designated post for that once my training is over. As of right now, five days of my week are mostly off- Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I don't know what my new schedule will look like but it will probably be vastly different. Some things are going to have to go on the backburner for now, but as long as my mental health and grades don't slip I'll be fine. I'm now, unfortunately, a functioning adult after all.

I've been sort of unstable today. The excitement of being home has dwindled as I remember that I wasn't actually doing too hot down at Stockton despite the crazy improvement in academic performance.

Therapy has been going alright. I had an appointment today and I felt it was a good balance between talk therapy and cognitive behavioral therapy so I'm able to make the most of it. Today we talked about things that have been dragging me down recently and my therapist suggested I begin exposure therapy for my OCD and social anxiety. She asked me where to put a specific issue I had this week on a scale out of 10, which let me gauge whether I should confront it or not. I was able to, but I didn't get the outcome I had hoped for and I feel like it will be difficult for me to untangle the mess of social fears I possess. I am also starting exposure therapy for my hypochondria which I am, unsurprisingly, very hesitant to approach. I have faith that I can improve but I am unsettled by the challenges I will have to face. I have already made some progress with the specific OCD disorder I'm attending therapy for in the first place, and while I am proud of my achievements there in the past two weeks, the inability to conduct this behavior has caused me to feel constantly on edge and agitated. It has not bode well for me or the few people who talk to me.

I deliberately refused to foresee this when I was on break, but being back at college has put me back in a very lonely position. It is starting to frighten me that I don't have the support network I need to stay healthy, and that writing has been filling in frequently. What is most upsetting is that I have also to some degree acclimated to it, and while I think it's important to enjoy one's own company, I feel increasingly dissatisfied with the lack of socialization. What happened last semester will undoubtedly happen again, and in terms of meeting people I have found myself trapped. It's hard to talk to people I'm interested in here and when I do I always manage to fuck it up somehow. It's gradually getting more hopeless. In addition to that, with everything happening at home, I am feeling a bit more lost and cold. At the very least, I knew home would always be there for me but now there's anywhere I'd rather be. I desperately crave other people in my life and yet I can't manage to keep it together with the people I have now. At least Gibraltar is there at the end of the day to curl up by my feet and give me something to care for.

In retrospect of writing this, I feel I've lost touch again with things I find important. I feel out of shape mentally. I keep trying to commit to myself and be better and keep falling below where I'm aiming. I hope a breeze comes under my wings and makes things a little easier.

My dad is a person who I truly love. It's honestly a shame I haven't talked about him more here. I've noticed since I've gone to college that he really makes an effort to spend time with me and I'm glad that it has been something we prioritize when I'm around. For all of my life, I can't really think of a time where things were tumultuous between us, although we've had our fair share of parent-child arguments. Even in those memories, the thing about my dad and I is that we know how to apologize and make it up to each other. We can go back to having a stable relationship in no time.

I'd describe my dad as a pretty classic conservative middle-aged man, which I guess is sort of ironic considering my... unconventional beliefs. A few years ago he told me that I should always fight for what I think is right even if he doesn't agree with it, so that's more than enough for me. He likes knives and guns and leatherworking and would probably do anything for this family even though he's pretty edgy about it. Everything he owns is in some way "tactical" and August and I like to joke about that with him. He takes himself seriously sometimes about it but we have him figured out to a T- all you have to do is say "boobs" to him and he'll start cracking up. Despite being traditionally ignorant, he has always supported his kids and our identities. However, unlike August, I have the advantage of sharing some interests with him, like music and knife collecting. Those things have made us much closer and we get along really well. He's generous, too, and he gives solid hugs. He's an admirable father and I have always looked up to him. When I was younger I wanted to be just like him, and at this age I still appreciate him deeply for everything he has done for me.

One of my most distinct memories with my father was when I was eight. We were on vacation in Ocean City, and we were driving home after crabbing in the afternoon. I was buckled up in the back of his 1998 Jeep Cherokee and "My Hero" by Foo Fighters was playing on the radio. He was singing it sort of quietly the way he does while driving, and from that point on, I always associated that song with him. It's one of those songs with a clear-cut memory attached to it that I hold close. My eight-year-old brain thought "Hey, my dad is sort of my hero. This song was basically written about him." I never revoked that title.

My dad is human, though. He has a few weaknesses, albeit they are nothing compared to his wife. My dad is not exactly confrontational unless he really has to be, and has gone down some weird constitutionalist pipeline which was so annoying during the Trump presidency. He can be hot-headed and say hurtful things he regrets, and sometimes he yells instead of actually arguing. It holds more weight coming from him so it's easier for him to make me upset. He also takes my mother's side in his ignorance and can even come off as strict, but that was never really a problem growing up and isn't a problem now since I'm in college. It's hard to approach him about emotional stuff or some of my interests, but I can't tell if that's me or him. Sometimes I just have no idea what to talk about and our car conversations are a bit contrived. I'd take that over the proleptic arguments that seem to happen when I talk to my mom. I guess the difference between him and Mom is that he has the rationality and conviction to identify when he's wrong instead of feeding into his ego or exercising a ridiculous level of control. It's hard to describe his downsides when we are ultimately an amicable duo, though. I like to be around him and he likes to be around me. He shows me affection and protects me. He is able to say and prove that he loves me.

On Thursday he asked if I wanted to go to the thrift store with him. On the way there I asked him what he needed and he said "nothing, just thought it would be something to do". We got lunch after and I was able to get his perspective on the ordeal with Mom. Even though I might not agree completely with where he stands on it, I can tell he's just doing what he thinks is best and his best isn't unagreeable enough for me to deem it unacceptable. In the end he assured me, holding back tears, that all he wants is for August and I to be happy, healthy, and safe.

And with that, I segue back to the state of this family. I've gotten everyone's point of view on it. That's some quality journalism right there, huh? August sent me a long text from the heart the other day, clarifying that they recognize Mom's behavior as abuse. They like to run from their problems though, and with the pressure they've had on them over the years I can't blame them. My mom asked me the other day if I knew if August was trying to cut them off, and the answer is pretty much yes. Yet, I didn't tell her and said it wasn't my place to confirm that if I knew. Dad says Mom is afraid of losing us and I can tell he is, too. I'm not losing Dad ever, but everything about my mom makes me want to run the way August did. Dad is worried. Mom is worried. August is stressed. Obviously I am, too. I know all of this, but I can't be the one to patch this family back together. Unless Mom sees a therapist I doubt anything will change at all. August said they want to bring that up with her, so we will see how it goes. Right now I am just thankful for what I have been able to establish with my father and sibling amidst all of this. Admittedly, I am afraid that if I distance myself from Mom, Dad will be a part of that. I would hate for us to drift apart or have awkwardness because of it. At the very least, August and I are pretty much on the same page. My connections with these people are important. I will do my best to preserve and strengthen them. I'm really not keen on losing my dad in all of this, but somehow I think that would be difficult. He's my hero, after all.

Today was not good.

It hurts to watch an animal in it's last moments. Such a destructive feeling. I experienced an almost unfathomable deal of grief and distress today over Lazlow, my poor fish, who is hanging on by a thread amidst illness that has caused him to take a turn for the worst. If things weren't worse, my work schedule means I just can't be there for him in his final days. Today, I gave him some medications to make his death as painless as possible. I felt sick myself when I saw him laying on his side, gasping and lethargic, and hardly able to move.

With it comes a flood of overwhelming guilt that is objectively unreasonable for such a small animal. The way I see it, aquariums are spaces that are completely controlled by the caretaker. The condition of the animals inside is the owner's complete responsibility. I know fish are sort of feeble, fickle animals to keep but I can't help but think that I have failed Lazlow despite my best efforts. He was one of the best fish I've ever kept, too. He was active and clever and I drained my bank account this last month trying to save him, but I just couldn't. I feel dreadful about it. I know it's unhealthy to think this way, but all I can tell myself is that I should've done better and that I failed. Lazlow brought me so much joy. I wish Will were here because he understands what it's like.

I just hope my fish is able to pass away peacefully.

Also, my dad wasn't able to come check on my animals with me today, unfortunately. But to make things worse, when I got home tonight my parents and I got into a screaming match which sucked because when people yell at me I just start crying. I always storm out because I get scared. I wish I could just be strong all the time, and stand up and defend myself, but I always end up with my tail between my legs. My parents were upset at me because of all these trivial little things and I just don't understand what I'm doing wrong anymore. It's my mom who always initiates these arguments but my dad will butt in if he's in the room and make things 100x worse by raising his voice at me. It makes me feel like I can't trust him either when he automatically takes Mom's side. Living here is just an absolute nightmare, far worse than it has ever been, and I'm becoming agitated. Impatient. I want to go home. If I had it my way, I would have stayed at the apartment for the holidays with my animals. It feels pathetic that cold-blooded animals with few emotions bring me more comfort and warmth than most people in my life.

“Colonization of the mind” refers to the ingrained preference towards whiteness and white culture in western society. This includes all aspects of white culture such as values, food, physical appearance, gender, gestures, and language to name a few. Ideas about what is normal and desirable are perpetuated mainly through the environment that a person lives in. Media is the main vehicle for continuing white supremacy because it is unavoidable and has been established for multiple generations. A person, in every aspect of their life, is raised with a sense of normality that revolves around whiteness because the people in their life are influenced by the same media and values. Media’s role in “colonization of the mind” is exposing massive amounts of people to similar advertising and themes. For instance, an entire industry exists for women’s shaving products that doesn’t exist in many other cultures. If a person is raised in the US, they are subject to believe that body hair on a woman is unattractive due to advertising for these products and the subsequent social adoption of that norm.

However, emphasis needs to be put on how values such as that one come to be. The origin of western beliefs about women’s body hair was created and established by Gillette to sell shaving products for women. This speaks to the type of power industry has over common societal beliefs. Media rhetoric is the key to influencing and affecting culture, and as it exists now in the US, it is controlled by industry and caters to a predominantly white country. Essentially, a "white value" can be created out of corporate greed alone.

Many people will look at the example I provided and argue that it is too trivial to be proof of white supremacy. That's because the general public's ideas about white dominance are controlled by people who are influenced by or control the same media that establishes it. White dominance exists covertly in American society through trained incapacities and desensitization, where an individual can observe what might be a clear example of white supremacy but not think much about it or beyond what they already know. Recently, this behavior can be seen through the general indifference or shallow understanding that most Americans have about police brutality towards people of color. Even an issue of this scale can continue to exist and become more severe through the ingrained ideals of American people. Many Americans feel intimidated when offered the idea that white dominance may exist primarily through subtleties and not just in clear points of contention like they are used to. It is uncomfortable to fathom that a person's entire sense of normality is founded on systemic oppression and a well-established cycle of media influence. Moreover, the way terms like "white supremacy" and "oppression" are treated in American media make them seem much more radical and intense than how they are actually observed.

Being able to understand and remain critical of all forms of media and advertising is the only way to identify and resist white dominance, among other things. However, I would go as far as saying that being a victim of white dominance is the only way to truly understand it. In order to think differently about society and media, a person must first become disillusioned with it. If a person has something that marginalizes them, they are predisposed to critical beliefs about white supremacy in America, even if they don't identify it as such. In the end it is important to recognize that white supremacy in America exists under free market capitalism, and everything that exists under that system works together to establish all that is "America" or "American". Disenchantment is the only way to think critically and accurately about capitalism, which in some cases requires an individual to go against everything they are raised with and estrange themself from it emotionally. A vast majority of people don't have either of two things: an empirical reason to think critically or the ability to think critically right out of the gate. And that's why we are ten generations deep in American capitalism with no projectable chance of that changing anywhere in the near future.

Disclaimer: I'm just a stupid kid according to older adults so keep that in mind. These observations I have made just now are clearly nothing more than a product of hormones and rage and have no intellectual value at all. I'll grow out of it, yeah, just like Mom keeps telling me. So take it with a grain of salt, guys. (Joking.)

I shaved my head today. This is the second time I've done this for reasons I can't explain. I will preface that it's not something I wanted to do, but it had to be done.

I am not very confident in how I look. I'm genuinely ashamed of that because I know that the universe is too big and life is too short for me to be worrying about it. But I also don't think it's wrong for me to want to feel good about myself, so it's sort of conflicting.

I still have a long way to go with being confident of myself physically. I have faith in myself emotionally and intellectually, I know I'm worth something. That outweighs anything, but I feel limited by how I feel about my body. Really the only one who can change that is me, and although I don't feel particularly good about my appearance after shaving my head, it feels so good to touch my own hair and not feel horrible about it. Maybe that's a start for me, to feel empowered by that. Many people know that I don't like having my hair touched by others. Not many know that I don't even like having it touched by me.

I really want to talk about this somewhere. I've been working myself up to talk about it. I don't think I've met anyone in a similar situation, honestly, it's so bizarre. Most people take something like hair on their head for granted. I think if anyone who can relate to me reads this, they know exactly what I'm dealing with despite the vagueness. They know that shame, and that lack of confidence. It's isolating. To be able to hurt your own body in this way and to endure the societal consequences is hands down the most difficult thing I have ever dealt with in my life, mostly because it has been 11 years and I have not made any progress. In spite of years of therapy, medications, scolding, everything, nothing has been able to fix it. My whole life I felt I could never be pretty. I was told growing up that I would never be pretty. I don't feel pretty, I can pretend it. But I also know that feeling pretty isn't everything. When I do something like this for myself (shaving my head) I feel strong, and it took me years to realize that that's more important in the end.

I'm proud of myself for today even though it was really difficult to convince myself to go through with it. I know this entry is probably confusing from an outside perspective, but this is also a step forward. Even if I can't shake this whole thing, I can at least put myself in a position where I don't have to feel so much shame.

Maybe.

We'll see.

I’m starting to experience symptoms of seasonal depression despite my best efforts.

My family is riddled with mental illness. It has been something I’ve dealt with from a young age. I can’t really remember a time when I wasn’t an anxious person despite having a good upbringing, which I know seems bad but I don’t really think too much about it, honestly. I only really remind myself of it when I experience periods of anxiety or depression.

Recently I can’t shake the feeling that I am unworthy of attention from others. I think I fell out of shape socially when I went to college, which has obviously been very lonely for me. I was excited to go back north for Thanksgiving to see my friends and family, but I think it is starting to stress me out. My friends and I miss each other, but I feel guilty being around them, like I don’t deserve their company. I especially feel this way about my parents who have done so much for me that I feel I can never repay them. On one hand there is this compulsive need to sustain and reciprocate twofold the kindness of my friends, and on the other is the insecurity I have about not being able to reciprocate all that my parents have given me. In both cases, I feel deeply guilty about being cared for by others and anxious because I know how I feel isn’t normal.

These thought patterns are a familiar sign to me. I know how seasonal depression works and I’m just dreading all the moments ahead where I think irrationally or become upset. It’s sort of tiring. At times like this I wish I was still seeing my therapist, who is paid to listen to me so it doesn’t feel like I am too imposing. That has become a fear of mine again. I feel pretty guilty about things that I do frequently, like talking. Or accidentally side stepping people at the grocery store. Maybe just existing in general.

I really don’t like writing about stuff like this. It feels sort of self-absorbed and needy even if this blog only has three readers. I don’t want advice really. I want to be left alone. Even though I will be seeing people all week, the hollowing feeling that follows the fun almost makes it not worth it. It gets me down so bad. I really hope I will return to college thinking this week was worth it.

I told myself I'd step away from writing to gather myself, but God knows that would never work. I like to write. It's all I want to do sometimes even if I can't.

Anyways,

"Sometimes a way of seeing is a way of not seeing."

I've been stuck in my little loop. I'm still lonely, and I'm learning to be okay with that. The last few weeks I had all sorts of junk planned, and I've been learning so much about myself that it actually makes me uncomfortable. It feels like I've figured myself out and narrowed my point of view. I hate that. The last thing I want to figure out is myself. Anyone who reads this blog knows how I feel about identity, although I guess that's only me now since I became paranoid and made all my entries private. But that's beside the point. I'm shallow now. One way of thinking, one way of seeing. There's so much I don't get to see because of that.

And there's so much I haven't written about, too. Things that were once new to me are now redundant to write about, but I still want to talk about them. And that's the point of this entry, so I'll make haste.

First of all, I went to a real punk gig in Philly a couple weeks ago. I was unbelievably excited about it, too. It was the type of small show where you have to ask the organizers where the address is, and you can imagine my excitement when I found out this thing was going to be held at a place called "Walmart Beach". Walmart fucking Beach. It's exactly what you think it is, too. Walmart Beach is an abandoned pier behind a Walmart that looks out over the Delaware river. Beautiful view. Hilariously on brand for a punk show. And my god was the show amazing. It was only 30 or so people including me and Vic (who I dragged along for the ride). I'm still new to going to shows and this was a really important event for me. Magical, even. The bands were amazing, the night was perfect, and I didn't feel uncomfortable at all. In fact, although I had deemed it wishful thinking, strangers actually talked to me there. I made three friends and it didn't feel contrived like I thought it would. They were really my type of people, and I want to meet more people like that. Unfortunately, they were from Philadelphia so it's not like I'll be seeing them regularly or something, but I'll never forget how they made me feel that night. Those people absolutely made my night. Especially that one guy, Jagger, who had a flip phone with an app that generates dad jokes. We stood around for 20 minutes laughing about it, all of us inebriated in one way or another. They all hugged me when I left. It was great. I'm forever grateful for Walmart Beach and that awesome night.

I made some plans for Halloween for myself since I knew I'd be alone. I was honestly okay with that. It's been a few years since I've had a memorable Halloween, so I made a day out of it on the 30th. First, the Cape May Zoo had a Halloween event so I went in costume (I was a Malachite butterfly) and walked around the zoo for a couple hours. Animals make me so happy. And little kids who shout "Butterfly!" when they see me also make me happy. I saw some animals I was really looking forward to seeing, like the scarlet ibises and red pandas. Being alone, I could just stare for as long as I wanted at any given exhibit, too, so that was cool. I don't even know how long I spent in the aviary. Overall it was a pretty wholesome event...

...too wholesome for Halloween. Which is why I also got a ticket for The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Atlantic City, something I know to be a Halloween classic but wanted to experience blindly. Now, generally I don't like these types of things. Stage productions were never my jam, and even overdone Broadway shows were never that interesting to me. But when I tell you I had the time of my life at this picture show, I mean it. For starters, a bunch of the audience members were dressed up as characters from the movie and some of them were almost naked which confused me. But I knew from the moment the cast came on stage and encouraged everyone to get drunk that I was in for something strange. I knew that this movie had a weird cult following, but I didn't anticipate something like this. At certain points in the movie, people shout obscenities at the characters, which I didn't know about. I also didn't know about the part where everyone throws stuff at the stage and makes a huge mess of the theater. My favorite part was when there was a joke about cards in the movie and suddenly a billion playing cards went flying everywhere. It was wonderful to me, and totally exceeded the expectations I had for some tame Halloween performance. No, this was raunchy and ironic and totally up my alley. The actors were fantastic, and hearing them talk about the movie was cool, too. I walked out of the theater so ecstatic that I called my mom to tell her about it. Maybe I'll make this a tradition.

I also took a card from the floor home with me. It's hanging on my wall now.

As for actual Halloween night, Corey and I were on call for 10 hours tripping out. That was fun, I forget most of it though. A great bonding experience nevertheless. I felt really close to him after that and I'm really grateful to have him as a friend. I didn't really realize this before but despite being painfully different in many ways, we are actually very similar people. Tripping together was cool even though I had another bad comedown and freaked out the morning after. I'm getting rid of my tabs, it's just for the better.

Overall, I'd say things are going pretty well. My social life is about as good as it can be at the moment, and I'm generally happy. I've gotten used to being happy doing things alone and creating good experiences for myself without friends by my side. Actually, things are little too stable for my liking. Maybe I'll have a nice, refreshing crisis soon to rid me of this complacency. But that's not something I can force. I might as well enjoy myself in the meantime. October has been an awesome month.

I am very sleep deprived.

Today I went to Hoboken and visited Amanda. Nothing about this was very notable. I met some of her friends and I noticed for the first time since college began that I am definitely not like these other college kids. I stand out in a crowd, not because of how I look but because of how I act. At times it can be a very isolating feeling. Amanda is doing well with her new friend group though, and they are good people. I'm happy for her. I just wish I could say the same about myself.

After I got done catching up, around 10:00, I felt melancholy. I walked to an area on her campus that overlooked the Hudson and took a seat on a bench. It's a difficult view to get. The entire New York skyline sat before me in it's usual lively way, with distant wails of sirens and wind off the river. On the other side the world was breathing. I pictured the girls in stilettos walking out of clubs, the men in the pubs watching the game, the millionaires in their penthouses looking over the city in a similar, lonely way. I know it all happens away from here, far from me, yet so close. And that’s the observation that really got me thinking. I've played the hand I've been dealt pretty damn well, but I want more from this life and I want more now. As in, my desire to experience new things has become so potent that I can’t snuff it anymore. I wish the world would just swallow me up and spit me out in 10 or so years, like send me on some wicked journey that challenges everything about myself or something. Drop me into that city and see what happens. It really would be perfect to just disconnect from this identity and suddenly assume another for awhile. I want to be something new, something intangible. I want to experience a higher love, and for this I am greedy. I have everything I ever wanted in college at my fingertips; wonderful friends, near perfect grades, any substance I could ever ask for a phone call away, and still I feel something is missing. Something that everyone seems to possess except me. But there are some things I just can’t have, and whatever that thing is, it is one of them.

Across the river, the city weeps with temptation. I want nothing more than to be a part of it.

Things are not as lovely as they were for the first two weeks of college. I still have a lot to learn about regulating my emotions and managing my mental health in general. As it gets colder I can feel the joy being sucked out of me like it always does and the loathing is driving me up the wall. I haven't been myself at all. It feels awful.

To start, I haven't had a proper meal in four days and just a couple days ago I realized I went two days straight without eating. When I look in the mirror I can see my ribs and when I noticed that yesterday I started crying. I don't have a scale here to weigh myself so I can't keep track of my weight and that has almost definitely contributed to my poor eating habits, but if I were to get a scale I would probably enter that obsessive neurotic state I had at home. I am trying to do better but I'm just not hungry, or I'm too anxious to eat.

Additionally, to no one's surprise, I am so lonely that it is actually debilitating. But this is a perpetual problem in my life. No matter what I do, no matter where I go and who I talk to I always feel lonely in the end. 8,000 people attend my school, you'd think at least one would be able to keep up with me. That's always the hardest part. I just need one person who can meet my ridiculously high standards for a mutual friendship, although I don't know how ridiculous they are anymore. I just want someone who isn't afraid to say they've got my back. I can't think of anyone who has been able to prove that to me. Also, is it too much to ask for someone to initiate something for once? I'm so used to not having that happen that when it does it makes me unreasonably happy. It hardly ever happens. Of course I still love my current friends, without a doubt, but sometimes I feel like I'm settling, and texting doesn't always cut it for me. I don't know. I feel guilty for being lonely, even if it is how I truly feel.

The days are getting shorter and the air is getting colder. Every other day something reminds me that this wonderful summer is ending. If I'm to anticipate seasonal depression, I need to be prepared for it. I need a good support system, socially and personally. I think I've been doing alright lately aside from the poor eating habits, so that will get my immediate attention. Aside from that I've still been staying active and getting out of the house, I'm still kicking. I don't really know what to do about the loneliness though. This isn't a new problem, and I've been running in circles for ages now. I guess I need to find new solutions.

My Principles of Journalism course is insufferable. I am seriously astonished by the idiocy of my professor and classmates. I'm not usually one to put myself above others in academic settings but I am just blown away by the shallow contributions of the people in this specific course.

Just now, my class was asked about their vision for the future of journalism (as in what they want to see, not what they can easily predict). All of the people who answered wanted to see news media prevail on social apps like Instagram, Twitter, Tiktok, etc.. And as I type they are battling about which social app is the best for news.

How about none of them? Isn't that the obvious answer? Look, I can't completely discredit the unique media ecosystems of social media platforms, but anyone with a fleck of intelligence knows that the we live in an age of misinformation and commercial content. Many of the grudges I hold with liberalism and the trivial, self-gratifying beliefs of my generation are perpetuated and spread on these platforms. Social media has bred a generation of people who fail to challenge the validity of content they are consuming and adopt the most homogenized doctrines with an illusion of individual importance. They all want to die on Liberal Hill. Liberal Mount Olympus. There is a giant Tiktok orgy happening up there full of black squares and change.org petitions.

The future of journalism is obviously digital and the scape of news media is always becoming worse and worse. It’s a congealed sludge. Corruption, uniformity, commercialism, exploitation. Nothing can be trusted. Social media, on a political level, has stripped us of our ability to think critically, and it's so obvious and yet no one seems brave enough to dip their toes in the water and challenge what they know to be real or right. I am not one of them anymore, and university is making that painfully clear.

Why am I here? Why did I choose this major?

Today I did something stupid and took my ADHD medication for the first time since my prescription ran out back in 2019. In all honesty, I picked up a bottle of pills a couple months after my withdrawal ended and just never took them because I didn't have to anymore. My parents weren't aware of the scale of my abusive habits back then (and still aren't) so the prescriptions kept rolling in. All of which I happily declined, except one. It has been sitting in my desk along with my Lexapro for ages.

50mg Vyvanse, taken at 10:37 this morning.

I ate around 10:00 so I had something in my stomach to hold me over. After taking the pill, I settled in and watched The Shawshank Redemption so I could focus on something other than the medication. Once it was in full swing, I went about my day as usual, and now I am awaiting the comedown at 7:00 or 8:00. That will be the hardest part, but right now I'm taking a literal trip down memory lane.

The most noticeable side effect of lisdexamfetamine, for me, is the sharpness. Which I assume is the intended effect considering it's ADHD medication. However, that clarity is merely an illusion as I've learned, since I make plenty of stupid decisions while "under the influence" so to speak. The actual attentiveness is negligible when you consider the emotional toll that this medication takes. For instance, I have been crying on and off all day for imaginary reasons, both good and bad. My feelings about life, change, and other people have been artificially changed. It's like some "big picture" has been placed in front of me and it is driving me to tears to look at it. Grounding can be difficult in this state because the physical reactions to feelings like frustration and anxiety can't be mitigated with self-awareness alone. I can recognize why I am experiencing a certain emotion, but there is virtually nothing I can do about it. So all the drug-induced elation and discomfort must remain until it wears off. Even at the moment, it is making it extremely difficult to write. There is too much uncertainty in my mind to confidently speak about it, but I doubt I'd be able to do any better even after it wears off.

Socially, Vyvanse is a nightmare. The psychological effects of amphetamines cause me to talk about things I wouldn't normally discuss with certain people. For instance, I was suddenly very keen on talking with my mom this morning for no good reason at all, and that really sucks in retrospect. This was an anticipated effect, and also the one I hate the most. I don't like spilling my guts to people without cause or intention, but all four medications I've been on have done that to me. Being emotional and open with my parents is something I avoid completely otherwise, so the conversations I had today are a bit regrettable even if they aren't harmful. I'm cautious about my interactions with my friends at the moment for similar reasons.

As for physical effects, it's mostly just sweating and dry mouth right now. When I'm up and walking around, I'm either sluggish or absolutely wired, or both at the same time. I feel the need to pull my body inward and be held as tightly as possible. Don't really know what that one's about. I know when the comedown hits, I'll be shaking uncontrollably and these physical reactions will become stronger. Fortunately, a little bit of weed should help me through that, but I'm thinking I'll try to tough it out and get a grip on it.

The best way to describe how ADHD medication affects me is that it's like feeling everything at once, but not in a cool or magical way. It's not good. But in that sense, it's exactly how I remember it. It's weird, being teleported back to the exact mental state that I lived in throughout high school. It goes beyond being familiar. I might as well have picked up from where I last left off on the day I took my last pill in 2019. I feel like that person again, just in terms of how I'm thinking and feeling. I'm largely indifferent to this though since I know how these drugs work. I don't feel threatened by it at all. Getting through withdrawal, as I've always described it, was like waking from a long dream. It takes a lot to even be dependent on ADHD medication and taking one pill won't launch me back into drug dependency. It's just interesting to experience it again after so long, even if Vyvanse is a horrible, traumatizing, unethical drug.

In conclusion, I can't believe they give this shit to children. Can't wait for the comedown!

Octopus was a very arrogant, self-absorbed, and poorly written entry.

I have gone back and read it multiple times since I wrote it. I do not think it is good, but I told myself I wouldn't delete it. Instead, I will elaborate now on the revelations I've had regarding that whole "immersion" thing.

I understand much better now that I am actively curious about how other people see this world, but I think my pretentious behaviors (and I'll call them that because that is what they are) are more respective to how I treat identity than any subconscious desire to "fit in" or "understand". I also don't think these behaviors are specific to me in any sense. I have only identified them, and that's why they hold weight in my life. Regardless, any comprehension I gain as a result of said (and I gloat) "strategies" is merely a byproduct of a basic human trait. Kinda funny how I put it on a pedestal. I am not special.

I just like to feel like I am a lot of people. My identity isn't as clear-cut as I had thought when I wrote that entry. Identity, on a conventional level, is something that I no longer care for. I believe most (if not all) human beings are too complex to be accurately and wholly defined, and that we are a horribly inconsistent species. I am no exception to that. If anything, I'm so fickle that it has become somewhat of a game. Becoming something new is like earning a Girl Scout patch. It takes time and effort. It enriches and excites me. I'm not suggesting that I'm quick to change paths, though. Rather, I am going down paths that change me and these tend to be my more long term pursuits. There is a rough "end goal" where I am heading, especially in terms of my ethics, personality, and art. This being said, to me, identity is more of an encompassing personal concept than an observable "persona" of sorts.

How this ties in socially is where the difference in my thinking compared to my previous entry becomes noticeable. I talk to many people. Obviously, I don't act the same around all of them. For the sake of organization I've applied descriptions to my relationships with these people although I often wander outside of them. For instance, I've labelled Corinne as my "party friend" and Corey as my "punk friend" but I've talked about both things with both people. It's merely the tendencies of my relationships that form these different categories. I'm sure both Corinne and Corey have very different impressions of me, but they are not oblivious to the other things I dabble in. In terms of other social settings, I'll immerse myself if I believe I will gain something from it. It is now a completely voluntary action. It's more like I am entering a passive, observant state than actually becoming a different person. I totally embellished it before.

Anyone can be a lot of things. I like to work specifically with that idea. I no longer think there is anything special about that. My understanding of other individuals is as vague as anyone else's understanding of me. I'm seriously chastising my previous way of thinking when it comes to this, but I'm proud of the progress I've made as well. There are so many things I want to experience and people I want to be. Some funny labels that I guess apply to me currently include aspiring punk, fairy enthusiast, psychonaut, drug mule, and internet troll. 

As for Nikki S. Lee, her quote sticks with me now more than ever. It's comforting. It's like a mantra to me.

“I am free. I can become anyone. Don’t ask me who I am.”

She is an inspiring person and I've really come to understand the sentiment of her work.

Nikki S. Lee - The Ohio Project

It is August 3rd. In less than a month I will be in college. I woke up today and that fact hit me like a damn brick. Maybe I've been sheltering myself from that reality for awhile. I know that change can be scary and I know how I handle new situations, and I wouldn't be surprised if I subconsciously prevented myself from counting the days to my departure. So much needs to be done and so much is already happening. I don't like feeling intimidated by it, but I can't lie. I'm nervous.

I think the problem is that I feel like I'm leaving things behind. My friends, pets, and coworkers are what come to mind. I can already see the presaging of specific people and it kills me to think about leaving them. Adam, for example, gave me a much longer hug than usual when he saw me at work the other day. I didn't know why until someone told me he thought I'd left already. And I'm not lying when I say it left me a little distraught. I never thought anyone else would have trouble with my leaving besides me. When I'm gone, will people miss me? Is this the part where everything slips away and life becomes "Cats in the Cradle"? A heap of obligations that casts a shadow over the experiences and people of my childhood? I ask that like I don't know the answer. I am wise enough to know that it needs to happen. If I want to do extraordinary things in my life, I can't stay here. But I also can't see what's next, so I'll have to do what I do best and go with the flow.

Still, I can't help but think I am cumbersome to myself in my sensitivity. Leaving home is emotional for many people my age, but I seriously have no idea how I'll handle it. The "what if" questions actually need consideration. What if my mental health deteriorates in college? What if I can't find healthy coping mechanisms? The last few months have been some of the happiest of my life because I've learned how to manage my conditions. It would be a slap in the face if all that progress slipped away. I will try not to let it be in vain, and I will remain mutable to the world around me. If there's anything I've learned since February it's that joy is always within my reach. I don't need a horoscope to tell me to keep an open mind to it.

I think I've explained most of my concerns, but there is something else. An unconstructed, vague resentment I harbor in my heart. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but it has to do with my evolving politics. I hate my country and its conventional middle class values, but here I am going to university. I have no other choice now but to appease a system I hate. I will not weaken to this system, that I can say definitely. But I don't want to work within it, either. I never mentioned it here but I am majoring in communications and journalism. I am afraid of ending up in a position that helps spread misinformation and lies. I swear to God I'd rather die than cater to the mainstream media.

On a different note, the convenience of internet friends has surely proven itself now. I always knew that when I went to college, I wouldn't be leaving everything behind which provides some comfort. I have three people who I talk to now on a regular basis and since our friendships are purely digital, there are no bittersweet goodbyes to be had. Instead, I'm excited to watch our paths unravel like they always have. It's a small drop of normality in an ocean of uncertainty I possess for my future, but it encourages me.

In the wake of these unfortunate events I am gracious for this journal. Having an outlet to reflect is helpful, even if I only have myself for reference. I remember during early high school I kept a physical journal as well, a crude and beat up book inscribed with various grim details that have still never left my mouth. It has since been buried away in my closet, and I visit it on occasion as a way of comparison when it comes to this type of "habitual" writing. There is more permanency in preserving a physical object, but I prefer the obsessive refinement of my entries.

Like back then, I am finding solace in myself. Last night I stubbornly settled down with the idea that I may have been stuck in my hubris a little too long. The entries of yesterday, in which I seethed with rage for my circumstance, lack any and all wisdom or insight. I think it is necessary that I know my place; I understand very little in the scheme of things. I'm not as intelligent as I think I am and I should definitely be a little more humble. There are people who are 10000x smarter than me- the self-sustaining academic types who become easily and infinitely immersed in their own research. I am not like that, and I will never be. I wish it were easier for me to just be content with that, but I have it dangled in front of me all the time. I don't want to be taunted by my shortcomings anymore. And I want someone in my life who is okay with that.

I think now to the tribulations of my friends that have (with no fault of their own) made me this way. I feel a hollowing disenchantment about Jatin, who has not cut me off but tarnished my trust with the devastating idea of it. That's one way to make me feel worthless I guess. I am stuck in the shock of almost losing him that it has actually become debilitating. I also feel inertly stupid talking to him right now. I can feel his frustration towards me and I fear I might fail if I ask anything of him. So there's that, and then there's the argument I am having with Amanda, who is demanding I open up to her about my mental state. She does not understand that she *cannot* understand most of what she wants to hear, and that if I disclose anything to her it would be a wasted confession. I told her I wouldn't tell her because I am not comfortable with it. Still, she is disdainfully pouting about my personal business as if she has a right to know, and as much as I can sympathize with her concern, her behavior is obnoxious. I think I'm actually in the right for this one, but it's stressful to think that we are on weird terms because of this. I can't just choose to respond neutrally to these situations. Both my heart and mind are telling me that I should be upset, and so I am. But there is tweaking to be done in my approach. Should I be more direct? More demanding? More patient? I don't really know, and so now there is growing to be done. Growth that leeches off the distress I feel and the distress that may be yet to come if things go poorly.

Desire be, desire go. I'm no longer manic to the extent of having my mind turned to Jello, thankfully. I can be a little wiser about everything now I think. Writing about it is a great grounding technique, even if the emotional toll doesn't necessarily subside. This place brings me comfort. After all, the one person I know who will never abandon me is myself. I'm okay being my own best friend if I have to.

I am defeated. As much as I pride myself on my relationships with other people, it can be a sort of torture as well. Things have not been going well in my social spheres and I fear that I can't really trust the people in my life right now. I have been let down too many times, but having it all fall apart at once is indescribably scary. The last 24 hours have been spent in a pulsing neurotic state in which I've either been crying or punishing myself. In the case of the latter, my body is just starting to feel the consequences. I had violent dreams all night in which my body was mutilated and splattered over various settings, tormenting me until I woke this morning and saw opportunity to write.

I don't know why I feel the need to put so much effort into friendships that are less than reciprocal. I think it's because I have trouble finding people who can relate to that level of intensity. Friendship is the highest form of emotional connection I am able to feel, and I often become frustrated or bored when my relationships are understimulating. I also have trouble relating to other people's apathy. And yes, I know I jack myself off about appreciating the unique circumstances of all people, but it's true that I am relentlessly annoyed by predictability. I'm not trying to act all high and mighty about it, but the interpersonal simplicity of most people drives me insane. I hate shallow conversation and pettiness, I can't see to it. Alternatively, I sometimes bite off more than I can chew and deal with complicated people who are either abusive or inadvertently bring me constant emotional distress. I feel too much to carry other people's weight, even if they aren't directly putting it on me. Both of these dynamics are similar in that they are (too a certain extent) predictable. This is not to say they aren't challenging, just tedious. I am becoming increasingly dissatisfied with it all. I know that I should work hard in order to establish healthy connections with all types of people, but I'm tired. I'm not even that complex of a person. I'm not demanding. Friendship is the one exception. I can't just turn it down a notch. Honestly, I've failed.

It's so childish to complain about this, but it had to happen here at some point. Here is not the place to exercise humility. I don't feel valued by my friends. I don't feel like I can trust people. Right now I am experiencing an onset of loneliness. The suddenness reminds me of times in my life when I was truly alone and miserable. I really don't want to go through it again. Right now, all I can really say is that I'm sad. I'm sad, and I just want to wallow in it.

When I was younger, probably around middle school, I was not yet capable of critical thinking at my current level. I guess I didn't understand it back then, but I have always had the desire to befriend people who don't like me or people I don't like. My inability to rationalize that properly at the time resulted in a primitive analogy that I've now dubbed "The White Box". The idea goes like this: When I see someone who I don't understand or who wouldn't normally give me the time of day, I ask myself what would happen if we were stuck in a seamless white room with nothing in it for a week. The only option would be to talk, and with that much time to waste, we'd be forced to get to know each other, right? When I was young I was certain (and still am) that any two people stuck in the White Box would leave with a deep and mutual understanding of each other. Now I see this crude mindset for what it really is- a test of my patience and ability to empathize. Even back then, I was looking to comprehend the mentalities of all types of people through serious one-on-one conversations, something I now fully understand and search for in my everyday life. The White Box analogy has evolved into me creating opportunities for deep discussion with people who don't demand that type of attention. Once I picked up on this connection, I see that I've unintentionally created white boxes everywhere. My world is filled with white boxes. To elaborate, I will list them here:

A List of White Boxes:

- The three rocks at NJ Botanical Gardens
- My fishing spot
- Adam's White Lexus
- The tube at the Holy Spirit Catholic School playground
- The Trader Joe's Breakroom
- Any private chatlog basically
- Gardener's Cottage in Bar Harbor, Maine

This analogy is not only applicable virtually everywhere, but an easy way to introduce a deep conversation with someone. By discussing the white box, you inadvertently create one. I'm a big fan of this concept. I even explained it to Adam and we joke at work now about wanting to "white box" people. Eighth grade me was really onto something there.

(Essay for a composition class. I can't write like this in my freetime.)

Metaphor is a powerful tool for writers to give dimension to writing that goes far beyond their literal assets, and is especially helpful for conveying messages that may be considered off-putting, intangible, or taboo. Thematically, a lot can be done by projecting distress and misery onto characters, an idea that Gothic and science fiction wholeheartedly embraced in the early 20th century. Some of the best short stories of the time period work exclusively within the mental parameters of characters, for example, Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis and H. P. Lovecaft’s The Outsider. By using eccentric symbols and grotesque imagery, these pieces explore the themes of trauma, mental illness, and alienation in disturbing yet distinctive manners.

The manipulation of mental states in literature is a common theme in modern times, but was relatively new to writers in the early 1900s. This type of writing did not have an official genre, nor did it strive to live up to a previous example of its type. This makes Metamorphosis in particular an archetypal instance of what is now referred to as “psychological horror,” or literature that seeks to disturb readers by focusing on the psychology of characters. Since Metamorphosis was published in 1915, it predates most works of its kind. This, combined with its modern relevance and popularity in academic settings, allows Kafka’s story to hold up as a worthy example. However, this does not make Metamorphosis the poster child for the genre. In fact, Kafka’s approach is actually quite straightforward as he ascribes the mental state of the main character, Gregor, by literally transforming him into an insect. The result of this “transformation” can be seen both figuratively and literally as Gregor struggles physically with his new body. Many events of the novel have a clearly established metaphorical meaning meant to emphasize some type of mental illness, beginning in the first few pages. For instance, Gregor’s initial attempts to get out of bed are dragged out to become a difficult, laborious task in his new form. As the text states, “He would have needed arms and legs to lift himself up; instead he had only these numerous little legs that never stopped moving and over which he had no control at all” (Kafka 240). Although not explicit with its metaphor, this scene bears striking similarities to a common effect of depression- struggling to get out of bed. Gregor lacks the humanness to complete basic human tasks and whether that is due to lack of motivation or him actually turning into a huge beetle is left for the reader to decide. This is the first instance of the text alluding vaguely to depression, and scenes that highlight other symptoms of mental disorders are recurring throughout the piece, effectively building a story where the reader can not discern whether it should be taken literally or not. As Yeon-Soo Kim explains in his review of the story, “Kafka's narrative sensibilities are not built on the assumption that there is a shared frame of thought that enables the symbolism within the text, or a shared belief that this symbolism can be understood by all. For Kafka, the only shared element is language” (Kim 3). Basically, Kafka’s metaphor eludes the reader because it is not intended to be definitive. Regardless, Kafka’s Metamorphosis still provides a primitive example of psychological horror that seeks to repulse and traverses the reality of Gregor’s dejection in a disturbing and physically cognizant manner.

This being said, although Metamorphosis possesses many themes of psychological horror, its peculiar use of metaphor means it is a basket case in terms of genre. Clear examples of this genre have a more obvious focus on the emotional states of their characters, such as The Outsider by H.P. Lovecraft. Similarly to Kafka’s piece, The Outsider navigates the anguish of its character (who in this case is the narrator) both physically and psychologically. However, Lovecraft’s approach is distinctly self-aware and does not beat around the bush in terms of metaphor. As a matter of fact, the character’s trauma is addressed in the first sentence: “Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness” (Lovecraft 287). This line introduces the writing style that Lovecraft pursues for the rest of the piece, focusing mainly on the aloneness of the main character and how it ultimately brings him great psychological pain. Alienation from other people is a key theme in the story as the character lives in a completely isolated and nightmarish castle, void of sunlight and any human contact. This eerie setting is thoroughly elaborated on and acts as a projection of the narrator’s emotional state, but unlike Metamorphosis, seems to only accompany the psychological themes of the story and have the narrator confront his horrors by giving him an ambition- to see light. This idea is established when the narrator avers, “I neither knew nor cared whether my experience [in the castle] was insanity, dreaming, or magic; but I was determined to gaze on brilliance and gaiety at any cost” (290). The progression of the setting as the narrator searches for light works directly with his internal revelations, eventually leading to the peak of the story and a swift ending; the character realizes that he has become a hideous beast as a result of ruminating about his trauma in isolation. In this short story, there is merit in having the setting change with the mentality of the narrator. These types of representation were not uncommon for Lovecraft, who even stated, “Inconceivable events and conditions have a special handicap to overcome, and this can be accomplished only through the maintenance of a careful realism in every phase of the story except that touching on the one given marvel” (Kneale and Lovecraft 275). Lovecraft is aware of what he is trying to express in his writing, but explores it through a surreal lense that allows his work to be shallowly defined as science fiction. Moreover, his themes of psychological horror are not only illustrated through the internal dialogue of the character, but expressed through his elaborate imagery which balances the story rather well.

Though both pieces carry ideas of psychological horror, Kafka and Lovecraft’s stories (and writings in general) clash significantly to create two separate styles notable enough to warrant their own descriptive terms, “Kafkaesque” and “Lovecraftian.” Respectively, these terms refer to the distinct qualities of both authors’ writing: Kafka’s nightmarish and dreamlike illustrations versus Lovecraft’s use of setting to invite madness. Kafka’s work in particular receives a great deal of attention for its vague and unnerving symbolism, in which Christiane von Buelow’s review of his work explains, “the symbolic correspondences to which truth refers [in Kafka’s writing] have been lost” (Von Buelow 119). The symbolism in Kafka’s work is not obvious, which incites a profound sense of confusion and fright within the reader. In Metamorphosis, the vagueness of Gregor’s transformation is the catalyst of these feelings and would not succeed without it. Lovecraft on the other hand relies on the intertwinement of setting and character psychology to inflict a meticulous, disturbing set of emotions. For instance, as James Anderson elaborates in his review of Lovecraft’s work, “The connotative code schematizes the dominant connotations of the text's language in regard to character and setting. This code often develops characters in traditional stories, and, in Lovecraft's work contributes greatly to the overall mood of terror that the author tried to produce” (Anderson 11). Lovecraft seeks to bind the internal aspects of his writing with the external, fully fleshing out his horror elements in both areas. As observed in The Outsider, the emotional distress of the narrator is further emphasized by interactions within the setting. Where Kafka is not inspiring terror, Lovecraft is (and vice versa). Yet, despite these disparities in writing style, both Metamorphosis and The Outsider share a commonality beyond the position of their characters in that they rely primarily on surreal occurrences in places of realism to impart their vision of horror. This is an unusual tactic for works of Gothic fiction, but makes sense in the context of science fiction or psychological horror. As explained in The Gothic Origins of Science Fiction by Patrick Brantlinger, “Although some authors have produced stories in one genre or the other that are fully realistic in the second sense-works of great esthetic power and profound meaning- most stories in both genres necessarily fail to be realistic in either sense” (Brantlinger 31). Gothic fiction’s tendency to estrange itself from realism is exactly what makes these two stories unique- they navigate some sort of unphysical, psychologically-based plot using tangible settings and objects.

Both Kafka’s Metamorphosis and Lovecraft’s The Outsider are strange examples of Gothic fiction that go beyond their usual boundaries by way of a distinguished use of metaphor. Although the works share more differences than similarities, they are understandably alike in that they use the projection of horror onto their characters as a vehicle for their themes. These stories provide an understanding of mental disorders that cannot be captured otherwise, exceed the visions of thematically similar works, and ultimately make for two remarkable works of fiction that have rightfully earned their literary significance. For these reasons, they will undoubtedly remain iconic for as long as horror maintains its draw.


Works Cited
Anderson, James A. Out of the Shadows: A Structuralist Approach to Understanding the Fiction of H. P. Lovecraft. Open Access Dissertations , 1992, digitalcommons.uri.edu/oa_diss/696.
Brantlinger, Patrick. The Gothic Origins of Science Fiction, Duke University Press, 1980, www.jstor.org/stable/1345322.
“Index to The Lovecraft Annual 1–10.” Lovecraft Annual, no. 10, 2016, pp. 229–239. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/26868525. Accessed 27 Apr. 2021.
Kafka, Franz. “Metamorphosis.” Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka, 16 Aug. 2005, www.gutenberg.org/files/5200/5200-h/5200-h.htm.
Kim, Yeon-Soo. “Reading Reality into the Fantasy of Kafka's Metamorphosis.” Gale Academic Onefile, Feb. 2016, skynet.ccm.edu:2131/10.1353/trh.2016.0008.
Lovecraft, H.P. “The Outsider.” "The Outsider" by H. P. Lovecraft, 20 Aug. 2009, www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/fiction/o.aspx.
von Buelow, Christiane. Troping toward Truth: Recontextualizing the Metaphors of ... New German Critique, 1989, www.jstor.org/stable/488235.