The Grand Escape Plan

I’ve done everything I can to make life in Boone work for me. I’ve done all that I can without running away from anything. I’ve tried to make the most of everything even when things didn’t turn out to be the magical fairy tale that I had envisioned. I’ve tried to keep it going even when I’ve ever wanted to do was to just lay down in bed and cry my eyes out.

I thought I was being strong. I thought I was being brave. I thought I was doing everything I can to be normal and not some neurotic mess who can’t deal with reality.

I’ve kept so many things bottled up inside of me and now it’s all surging inside of me. Including all my anger and hatred, two things I never wanted to experience again. I’m losing my calm. I don’t feel so composed. And I can’t hold anything in anymore. I can feel it all rising to the surface for an explosive release. It’s an inevitability. It feels like a force of nature is inside of me. It’s something I can’t fight against. So, it’s something I feel like I should embrace. And the best part about it is that I know, for a fact, it’s not one of my usual Nightmares.

My time here at Appalachian State hasn’t been the most glamorous. Nothing has been what I envisioned before my transfer. But I endured it. I’ve become stronger. I’ve changed, and it came at a great cost.

I hate it here. I hate Appalachian State. I hate Boone. I hate every single person I’ve ever met in this bumfuck piece of shit town. I hate Mike for just fading away from my life, for not fighting to keep me around. I hate what’s become of me during my time here. I hate being away from my friends and family in Charlotte. I hate that the world moved on without me after I left home.
I hate putting off what I want to do for the things that I have to do. I hate being a career student. I hate my friends who’ve never kept in touch with me. I hate having to pursue a degree that requires me to be “realistic” so I can have a “practical” career. I hate having to learn things when all I’ve ever wanted to do is to be a novelist. I hate, I hate, and I hate even more.

I still want to be a novelist. I want to do what the stereotypical writer does. I want to spend my days in cafĂ©’s filling out pages without a care in the world. I want to be spend my time with my imaginary friends and go on imaginary adventures, claiming victories in the imaginary battles I have within. I want to live by my namesake, Pen, and rewrite my fate into one where there are no Nightmares or compromising myself.

I want to be around people who aren’t a bunch of whiny, sniveling, snowflake bitches that need to be hooked on drugs or opposed to everything just to pass of as interesting. I want to be visible. I want to be heard. I want to matter to someone besides my family. I want to be true to myself. I want a reality where I don’t have to run away from everything. I want to take revenge against the reality that has tried endlessly to destroy me, along with everyone who has ever opposed me. I want to get the hell out of Boone.

I’m tackling on the graduation issue head-on. I have more than enough credits for a walk-in ceremony. I’m going to go through with it. Afterwards I’m putting this place behind me completely. I thought the Cottages was supposed to be my Vietnam. But no, it’s this entire town and the University here. Yeah, there’s stuff that happened that has nothing do with either but being in this town is not good for me anymore. To hell with that “survival over success” bullshit I wrote about before.

I will take survival and I will embrace whatever consequences come from that choice as well as being true to myself. Leaving Boone won’t bring a permanent end to my Nightmare Syndrome. But it will be a step in the right direction for me. If the whole point of going through all this is to make me stronger or to give me something to write about later, mission accomplished then.

To all people affiliated with Appalachian State University, student and faculty, FUCKING big “thank you” for making me feel like a freak, for feeding my monsters, and for making me into this melancholy warrior.

I no longer care what comes my way or what I have to put myself through mentally anymore. One way or another I am getting out of this town and I’m going to unleash the full might of my imagination. Until I purge myself of every unused idea and character and new ones that may develop I absolutely refuse to allow my thoughts to die with me.

I have battle plans and now an escape plan. I feel a revival in my spirit. Now is the time to strike.


Hey you, Likebots!

Okay no more than two seconds later after my last post someone already hit the like button. Bitch, are you even human?!

What? Do you just stay glued to the computer and WordPress like this…


And just wait for me to post something? No one reads that fast!!!

And if you do exactly that I gotta say that’s not very healthy. That’s about healthy as actually mixing red bull and coffee together….

There, rant over.

Good day.

Death and Rebirth.

So, the last post ended rather abruptly. I’ll try to pick up where I last left off. I feel like I’ve been in constant survival mode for I don’t know how many years now. Graduation draws closer and closer. And I’m stuck with this feeling of perpetual dread. Never mind the fact that I will no longer be able to put off living in reality and all the responsibilities that come with it, but the way my mind has been operating I’m constantly afraid of what’s going to make me snap or when I go further off the deep end.

I got ugly with my Mom during the break. I was in some automatic bad mood when I went down to the kitchen to give her something she had been bugging me about for the past week when she was going through this lame application about graduation stuff. Caps, gowns, diploma frames, all that dumb shit.

Even when it seems like things are going to turn out all right my mood wasn’t going up and that’s when Mom keeps going,

“You should be happy!”
“You should show more interest in things!”
“You should care about your graduation!”

Should became an angry trigger word. And the way she kept saying it as if she was so irritated with me just added fuel to that anger. At this point I felt my moods shift. I feel the negativity swell up around me and my insides almost become distorted.

I told her, “Mom. You need to be careful of what you say to me.”

I didn’t say it in a way like I was trying to start a war. I just needed her to back off and she kept repeating this stuff nonstop. Her heart’s in the right place, but her way of handling things seemed questionable. She knows about my anxieties, she wants to help me, she wants to understand, but I don’t think she gets the entire picture. I don’t think any one of my friends can understand the entire picture. I can’t put them into my shoes and make them perceive things the way that I do.

One morning I told her that graduating didn’t feel like I succeeded in anything. This thought kept swimming in my mind that morning. I honestly feel like I haven’t truly succeeded in anything. It’s more like I’ve just barely survived.

Maybe this is just me lamenting on everything that hasn’t gone my way since I arrived in Boone. But I can’t ignore it. I’ve had this feeling for the longest time. Now is just the first time I’m really acknowledging it.

I actually thought that ASU was supposed to be my clean slate where I could forget all about the depression and struggles I endured to get to this point. I thought I’d be making lasting memories with my good friend while having the opportunity to make new ones. I thought I’d be kicking ass at everything. I even though that I’d meet my dream guy here.

What happens instead? Do I really need to recap? Things didn’t go as planned. And there’s still hurt inside of me that makes for a volatile combination with my usual neurosis.

Maybe this is all lamentation that’s warped my mind. I know I wasn’t always this way. I feel this other part of me. The side of me that existed before App State, before therapy, before things started going dark, before I got so lost. It’s the dreamer in me that carries all of my innocence and my greatest good. It’s the part of me that agrees with my Mom. I should be happy. I should have more interest in these things that matter.

What I should be doing is digging down deep inside of myself and release that other person inside of me. I feel like this sad, tired, battle-weary version of myself that has been lied to, betrayed, manipulated, that is sad and angry with the world cannot do anything anymore.

Maybe this is the part of myself that wants to die.

Whenever something has gone horribly wrong a particular quote always comes to mind. “In the face of disaster lies opportunity for renewal”.

This next part might sound a bit nuts, but bare with me here.

Everything that revolves around the Nightmare Syndrome seems like learned behavior. Thoughts, emotions, patterns in behavior that continue to repeat themselves….all of it becomes an endless loop that people can find themselves trapped in. I’m only now realizing this for myself.

Maybe I’m supposed to undo all of it. Maybe I should undo all of it. Undo all of it by doing the opposite of this behavior that fuels the negativity that leads to my Nightmares to become stronger.

If I somehow find a way to do this then…maybe I’m killing the miserable part of myself and making way for a new self that’s been wanting to emerge. Then I’m putting the battle weary depressed self to rest.

Sounds like a theory. Makes sense in my mind.

Does that mean my problems are solved? That I don’t need counseling or medication? Pfft, bitch please. Like anything is that simple.

It doesn’t solve my problems right away. But it gives me an idea of what I need to work on and that tells me exactly what I need to do. This might fall under the category of my creative self-treatment, but it’s an idea that might point me in the right direction out of this loop that I’m trapped in.

Okay I’ve done enough babbling! I’ve got a plan that I need to brainstorm and then execute!

Survival Mode

The title of this post sums up my mental state and the last few years of my life while contending with the Nightmare Syndrome and reality itself.

I’m supposed to be graduating. That’s something that’s meant to make a person feel good. It entails at feeling successful. So I should be feeling the same way right? But I don’t.

I feel like all I’ve been doing is barely surviving everything that’s come my way. That by itself should feel like a success. But instead I feel like a battle wearied, neurotic, messy piece of shit. I know in my head that it’s the depression doing the thinking and feeling for me. I’m trying to change my way of thinking about things. I’m trying to be more positive.

But my head is a mess. Right now it feels like my thoughts are in a whirlwind and all my insides are in quicksand. I’m trying to make sense out of all the chaos in my mind. It feels like I’m reaching into some primordial ooze to dig out beautiful memories, positive feelings, things that resonate with my inner strength.

And you want to know what triggered it? Searching for information regarding my goddamn graduation. How many credit hours do I have? Where’s my GPA at? What’s the time and date for the ceremony? Everyone in my family wants this stupid information.

My anxieties were spiking up, but I powered through it. I have the information they wanted. Ideally they should be happy when I give it to them and not ask me 100 other questions about anything else.

I think telling my Mom everything that’s been going on in my head has made me even more vulnerable somehow. I’ve had to keep my guard raised for the longest time. I don’t know how to be anything else. It’s behavior that I have to unlearn. Just like I have to undo the idea of stigma that comes attached with mental illness, medication, or whatever misconceived notion of what things are supposed to be like.

Do I regret sharing anything with my Mom? Do I regret writing anything here on WordPress, knowing full well that my cousins were going to watch over me with eagle eyes? No. I don’t regret it.

I don’t regret it because it cements the simple idea that needs repeating. I am not alone. There are people in my reality that want to help me, that love me, and want me to keep going.

Years ago I could barely do anything for myself. I couldn’t cook, I didn’t know how to do laundry, I was too afraid to speak, I didn’t know what to do with myself except just sit and wait for something to happen, good or bad. Mostly bad.

I’ve come a long way since then. I should be proud of this, but there are these moments where I feel like I haven’t grown from that time at all. Again it’s just feelings. I know it’s not true. I know it’s all bullshit.

I just wish I knew exactly when did I turn back into this scared piece of shit that keeps perceiving everything as impossible to do and keeps having to fight for “survival”. If I had an answer to that maybe I would be less neurotic. Maybe I’d stop having mental meltdowns. Maybe I’d be more normal like other people who don’t need to go through with stuff like. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to attach this struggle with monsters and battles just to make sense of everything.

I don’t know where this is leading. I feel like I’m just rambling. I need to stop here.

When Pain Becomes Power

So it’s Thursday. I’m on Spring Break. I’ve been back since last Friday. I’ve spent the majority of my time at home, getting creative, testing out new things with Photoshop, trusting someone else to do all the cooking and handling my laundry. Oh yeah and playing with my new Xbox One. My gaming choice of poison being Killer Instinct.

Since I shared with my Mom about where my Nightmare Syndrome has been taking me I do feel some sense of relief. But does that mean that there’s no more depression or anxiety to worry about? Nope. Because let’s be real, that’d be too good to be true.

I hate these long breaks because everyone else either has plans or they’re too busy doing their own thing. Whatever the case may be I don’t fit into either scenario. But it’s not my fault that people have minds of their own and can think of better things to do than to hang with a boring old homebody like me. Have I hit anyone up for a hang out? No. But that’s the funny thing about communication. It’s a two way door. If someone wants to see me they can easily take the initiative. I shouldn’t always have to make the first move.

My Mom keeps asking me how I’m doing, what I’m doing, and when I’m going to meet up with my friends to do whatever. But this late into the break and not a word, of course she’s going to worry about me.

I’m not lonely. I’m annoyed more than anything else. Undoing the feeling of “disconnection” is a lot more easier said than done. I swear this dumb shit picked up months before I left for Appalachian State. Then when I made the move it perpetuated. Like how I imagine a cancer spreads throughout the body.

No new friends to make, no old friends to go to the mall or movies with, no lover to make me feel good in the best way lovers do. It’s just me and the people that live inside my head. People that I’m trusting to better deal with the demons that’ve been torturing me for God only knows how long.

Looks like I was right to embrace hermitry when I wrote that one post. It’s not my fault that the rest of the world is always moving on without me and I’m left to eat dust.

I remember my old self before all this. I remember my “past life”. I remember the people that were constants in my life. I remember the things I held sacred. I remember the magic that I believed in.

I want it back. I want it all back. But I know that’s asking for far too much. To have it all back would mean that I’d have to deal with certain people before they revealed their true colors.

It’s just one of those things that I don’t have any control over that leaves me with two choices. I can either lament on how I’m always left alone or I can use the time I have alone to do something. I’m already leaning toward the latter.

A day will come when my loneliness will end, where I’ll smile and laugh more than I’ve ever wanted to cry or felt like dying, when my battles against my inner demons will come to a permanent end. Sadly today is not that day. Tomorrow won’t be any different. Which is why I make another choice. I will turn my pain into power.

Every ugly thing that has ever been said to me, every disgusted look someone has given me, every hardship I’ve endured, every wound that was inflicted upon me, and every ounce of anguish that has filled me up like cancer…I will gather them together and turn them into new strength.

Whatever doesn’t kill you is supposed to make you stronger. Now is the time I claim that power. And whoever or whatever has tried to end me…now is a good time for them all to run and hide. Because I will show them the same mercy that they gave me and then some. And I will do it all in the best way I know how. Through the use of my writing and the natural power that comes from my imagination.