I have 7 papers coming up and I'll be done with my major exams😆
I don’t have any close friends at all, I don’t really have that big of a desire to make any either though. I have two people I talk to outside of school every other day or so about school not personal stuff but apart from that I talk to hardly anyone else and I don’t really feel any desire to. I don’t really like any of the people I would call friends or acquaintances but we talk at school so I don’t have to look like strange sat on my own, I can make conversation as well as your average person but I just don’t seem to make any good friends. I wonder what it’s like though to have good friends that you feel you can talk about anything and that you want to see outside of school.
Take it off my chest: I'm getting too stressed out with my Biology exam. Honestly, it's already the make up test and I still feel like not studying it. I love science very much it's my passion but I don't actually understand why the spark just died with me. I lost interest in it. I honestly don't know if its my depression that makes me feel like this or its because I've been isolated at home. I'm soo distracted with everything I can't focus. I'm loosing my shit. I don't know if I have another underlying other mental situation happening to me. Whether I also have anxiety disorder or PTSD. I'm going crazy I just want to run but these legs, I cannot run. I could've just wished I have legs that actually run that can walk. I wish I have them so that I can cope with stress of my studies. Or at least I could've wished I have no depression. I coudl've wished I'm gifted to be strong so that I focus and move on. I can study and I can be happy. I want to put my shit together but it's soo hard. I'm soo distracted. I'm scared of the future when I'm not sure what it will be. I can't let go of my past and every memory I have. I swear it's hard to forget. I can't do this anymore... I actually don't know what's happening to me. I just wan to die. So that I don't have to think about these things anymore. My disability, my mental illness, my stress and the difficulty to catch with my passion and be that person I'll be. I might not be that person and I can be anything but ti's too much for me. I want to escape but I cannot. I really cannot run. What I mean it both metaphorically and literally. People care or do they? I want answers to my problems. I don't know why I can't find them. I don't know I can't solve them. I don't know anything about my life. why is this heavy? Why is this weird? People said it gets better. NO it gets harder. WHile I'm still the same. I can't stand up. My heart it literally heavy. I feel alone not just these studies in my Biology. It's other things more why I can't focus on this. Fuck this I don't know.... a;udfh asdoifhasdoifasfoiadsu'oasidujgads;oigujadsogijadsoia gadsoi'jf asd'oijf apsiudf adsijf ads'ijf asidjf aseiodjfasdiojf adsiofj asdiojf asdifj asdifij asdi'jf adisjf adsoijf asoiejf dsaoijf ads'ifj aweirf ew'pfua werifuaw r9ieu ae9foi aeifj aweiuwef 'ou''''''''''''''''''''''''''ofiaesf;kj adifj adddddddd
I’m just messing around, you said when we were at your house and you wouldn’t let me use the bathroom so I ended up peeing my pants. I’m just messing around, you said, and I believed you because I didn’t know any better. You drowned me. At the pool, you held me under the surface so long I started inhaling the water. I was just playing games, you said. You tied my hands behind my back and started taking off my clothes one by one until I broke into a puddle of tears. I’m just having a little fun, you said. In the boy’s locker room, you yelled at me to stop trying to grab your butt when I was only putting on my shirt and everyone stared at me with looks of disgust. It was a joke, you said. After that, I started avoiding you. I stopped sitting with you during lunch. I took different routes throughout the school just so I wouldn’t have to see you. You noticed this. Then, in math class, when I asked to go to the restroom, you said you needed to go, too. So the teacher told us to go at the same time. I didn’t look at you or speak to you during the walk down the hall. When we went inside the restroom, you immediately grabbed me and slammed me against the concrete wall and started beating me up. You were always bigger, stronger. I fell to the ground and suddenly your hand was around my throat. You told me that if I kept ignoring you, you would kill me. You asked me if I understood. I nodded. And then the hand that was around my throat started moving down my body. You put your hand on my dick and gave it a firm squeeze. Then you left. I cried there on the bathroom floor. After that, I started to hang out with you again because, well, did I really even have a choice? I would go to your house whenever you told me to, because if I didn’t you’d beat me up at school. There was that one time we were at your house playing a board game; out of nowhere, you flipped the board off the table and started punching me and kicking me real hard. Then you yanked me to your face by the collar of my shirt and started kissing me. Sort of. It was more like you were slobbering your lips all over mine. I wanted so, so badly for you to stop but I was too afraid to say or do anything. You told me to leave after that, so I left. I didn’t understand why you had kissed me like that. I didn’t care if you were gay or whatever but I couldn’t stand you doing that stuff to me. I hated it. I HATED IT! You started doing weird stuff like that to me all the time. You also started beating me up more often, sometimes for no reason at all. And you started spreading rumors about me. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I started to avoid you again. Then a few days later you followed me into the bathroom again. I started crying as soon as you came in. Like, really ugly pathetic sobbing because I knew you were just going to beat me up and threaten me again and I just couldn’t take any more of it. But you grabbed my shoulders and asked me why I was crying, and I told you that I was crying because I fucking hated you. I was crying because since the day I first hung out with you my life had been nothing but hell. I was crying because I just didn’t understand any of this. I didn’t understand why you beat me up and threatened me and then did things to me that only people who are in love with each other are supposed to do. After I said that, you leaned in and tried to kiss me and I pushed you away and screamed at you not to fucking do that. You told me to calm down but I couldn’t. I was absolutely hysterical. You grabbed me again and confessed that you were gay and that you’ve had feelings for me since the time we first started hanging out. You said you didn’t want to be gay, so you treated me like shit to try to convince yourself that you didn't have feelings for me. And you said you were sorry for everything you did. I said that I already suspected you were gay and that I didn’t care about that. I said all I wanted was for you to leave me alone. I said that if you didn’t leave me alone I would tell everyone you were gay, including your parents, because it was the one and only thing I could use against you. After that, you stopped bothering me. You stopped beating me up, stopped spreading rumors about me, stopped talking to me altogether. You don’t even look at me in halls anymore. And I sometimes wonder if I’m a bad person for using your sexual orientation against you, but you left me with no other choice. And despite everything you did to me, I still sincerely hope you’re doing okay.
Hi, How are you? It's been a long time since we had some fun time together. I just came back home a couple weeks ago. Congratulation for new your girlfriend. I hope you're happy with her. I'm sorry I cant be a girl you want to be. I cant even be by your side. I'm not beauty, rich and perfectly perfect. I'm sorry to beg you too much. I realize that I'm not even your typical. Wherever you are now, I hope you're fine. I hope we meet again in next year in the same place. I'm planning to take same major as yours next year. See you in the next year! :)
This is my #MeToo story. I was sexually assaulted, but not nearly as bad as most people, so I feel bad sharing and have never really told anyone, not in detail. When I was in high school, I had a friend who was going through a bad breakup. He asked if I would kiss him just to get his mind off of her. He thought it might help him stop thinking of her. So I, wanting to help him, agreed to kiss him once. But a few days later he kissed me again, even though I told him I only wanted to do it the one time. He kissed me again a week or two after the second time, and he started using his tongue and groping my breasts. I wanted to hit him, to scream, to do anything to stop him, but I just couldn't. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. It was like I was frozen. And he took my silence to mean that it was okay. He even stuck his hand down my shirt to further fondle my breasts. He grabbed my hand and placed it on his pants so I could feel his erection. But he didn't go any farther because we were in my driveway, in his car, and my dad came outside to smoke. I went in my house acting like nothing happened because I felt ashamed and I blamed myself for not saying no. To this day, only my closest friends know it even happened, and no one knows the details. But I'm sharing it here. I feel the need to tell someone even though it's too late to do anything, even though it's not as bad as some stories. I want people to know that silence does not mean yes. SILENCE DOES NOT MEAN YES. Not saying no does not make something okay, and people need to hear that message. If someone does not consent and say yes/it's okay, THE ANSWER IS NO.
I have a crush on my professor and I actually like him. But he's also my research mentor and I love to keep the professionalism between us. He doesn't know I like him and I love to keep it that way. But its really hard for me to focus. I like to work with him because I do learn so much about research and his interest is the same as the field I have (plus he's the only professor that focuses on a particular field I have) but its hard for me to focus. I feel like changing my mentor but I can't anymore because its finalized. I also can't drop out of his class because its already the middle of the semester and its too late. I guess I just have to bear with it. It honestly feels weird that I have to keep the adult in me stronger and less likely to express back when I was a teenager (I did have a crush on my teachers but its nothing like this one).Its like in adulthood, you have to settle your emotions and be more rational.
I would like a life where stress didn't wake me up at 4 in the morning, where I don't feel bad for giving myself 3 free hours to go to the movies on a friday, where the norm is for me to sleep more than 5 hours without feeling "blessed", where my head isn't killing me for doing the work that I love.
I really don't get how middle schoolers are getting pregnant. How is having sex almost common in kids that age? Boys barely have a penis at that age cause they haven't hit puberty. How are they knocking girls up? How are girls turned on by prepubescent boys??? I genuinely don't understand.
My dad forced me out of bed at three in the morning by a handful of my hair and beat me with a metal hanger. My parents had been fighting again, because of me, apparently. So I assume I deserved the beating, but I still resisted it. I was on the floor, and I brought my hands up to protect the back of my head, choking on my own tears and snot. He struck me with the hanger on my back, arms, and legs over and over and over again, until I thought I would either black out or vomit from the pain. And then, when the beating was over, he knocked down my bookshelf, breaking it and the items on it in half. The next morning, I wore a long sleeved shirt and pants to hide the colorful bruises on my body. During soccer, my coach shouted at me for my lack of focus and, he was so angry and loud that I was reminded of my father. I had an urge to bring my hands up to protect myself, anticipating a strike from his hand or his boot, but I suppressed it. In English, we played scrabble, and the guys were laughing, shouting, slamming their fists down on the desk out of frustration or excitement, hollering, yelling. Just loud, loud, loud. It was too much for me. I got up and left without permission and sat down outside the classroom door, trying to breathe, trying to slow my racing heart, to calm my trembling hands. The teacher came outside and sat down next to me. She smelled like fresh laundry detergent. She asked me questions: what was the matter, did I need to go to the nurse, was there anything she could do to help me, did I want her to leave or to stay, was there something I needed to talk about. I opened my mouth to speak, to tell her I just needed a break from the noise and that she didn't need to worry, but instead I began to cry because I didn’t want to go back home ever again, because of the beatings I had to endure, because of the lingering pain from last night, because I can’t even wear short sleeves or shorts until my body heals itself, because of the sheer terror that sprouts in my stomach from being in my own home with my own parents, because all the items on my bookshelf are now destroyed, because I don’t even have the slightest idea of what I did to deserve all of that but I know there must be a reason, because there’s always a reason, because I hate everything about my life. But I couldn't say any of this to her, of course, so I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my shirt and thought of a lie I could tell, but before I did, she helped me to my feet and hugged me for a long while. It felt so good I almost collapsed. She took me to the library, sat me down on one of the big sofas, handed me an ipad to read on and told me to come back to class whenever I was ready. She said she wasn't going to make me talk but she would always listen to me if I ever decided to. I held on to that. I held on to her generosity. After school, my parents were fighting again, things were being thrown, my dad called me names from across the house, charged into my room, let me know that I was a rotten pile of shit, a sorry excuse of a son. But I didn't care, because all I could think about was my English teacher, and her laundry detergent scent, and her soft quiet voice, and her hug, and wondered what it would possibly be like to be raised by such a kind woman.