The first time I wrote a short story, I was in my eighth grade computers class utilizing my spare time to indulge in my fantasies to flesh out an entire fictional universe. I wrote about an post-apocalyptic world, our main hero being modeled after a classmate sitting next to me. Paul and I weren’t ever friends per se, but we did get along well enough in this class to want to associate with each other for 55 minutes. So well that I made a fool of him through a character that I made up, in a world that I made up, fighting zombies that I made up. At 12 years old, my idea of making a fool of Paul is to write this character in as a total hero, something that leads a team and saves the damsel in distress. It was visibly noticeable to me that he was uncomfortable that me, someone he’s no where close to be good friends with, was writing basically fan fiction about him in a fucking junior high school.
Today I look back and question why I actually got so much joy out of this entire situation to the point where I wrote like 25-30 pages. I recall only a few things I used to be excited about in school, apart from the time I spent writing a short, worn out genre of fiction(2011 definitely already felt like the back end of the whole zombie trend). It makes me feel a little sad to know I didn’t really have any close friends in junior high, I didn’t have anyone to regularly hang out with after school, I can’t even remember where I sat at lunch or with who. All I know is I moved around a lot, talking to whoever felt right and probably overstaying my welcome in any group I did find myself in. What keeps me from completely throwing myself into an abyss of reminiscent-causing depression is that at the time I didn’t feel alone, or rather I didn’t feel like it was sad or my fault that I was. There’s a smile to be had here through these tears, that I was still somewhat happy. And that year is the last time I think I was 100% that.
Let me do a quick aside after that comment. Obviously I wasn’t full devoid of any emotion contradictory of happiness at that time, and it should be apparent I meant that was essentially the time period in my life right before I started learning about words like depression & grief(like depression & grief). However, it makes me think about how humans develop these basic emotions, or more appropriately general moods. Generally, I imagine children learn happiness before they learn anger, sadness, or even fear. Just with that I’d have to concede that at one point in our lives, we really were 100% of just a singular mood, the first we figure out about.
Today at work, Damen told me David called out because his father died, and he’s obligated to go to Los Angeles to grieve his passing. The last I heard about David’s father was a couple months ago when he physically fought him to restrain him. David broke his finger in that altercation, and the relationship with his dad was presumably even more shattered. He told me how indifferent he felt about his fate, and how he has mentally given up on offering any sort of support. No doubt that this is a miserable reality that actually exists, but a part of me feels like David himself saw this ending coming. Like he was somewhat already prepared for this to happen. The next time I see him(in seven days) I will extremely attentive to his energy and mannerisms. I will also not change my behavior whatsoever because honestly I think my stupid young boy charm is working on most of my younger adult coworkers.
Approximately 45 minutes ago I received a text from an icloud email. The email appeared to belong to an premium snapchat entrepreneur, “cakegirllay.” She seemed to be looking for her dad, her name was Alexa and I told her I believed in her. She pleaded to me to leave her alone and delete her from my phone but I was trying to be funny and kept sending her words-to be fair she kept replying. Now that that interaction is over and done for, I do feel like I made a mistake. Today I’m under the impression that I feel a little bit more guilt than usual, self-sympathy as well as sympathetic guilt. I’ve listened to Clairo’s new song, Closer To You, 57 times the past few days. It makes me feel like a sad grown woman, a psyche I’m realizing is one of favorites to assume.
I Hate The Real Me 