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Usseewa

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  1. Usseewa

    On Not Knowing (What I Want)

    By Usseewa,


    Ramblings
    Sometimes, as now (I think), I don't know what I want. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed or get so and then I can no longer decide what I want, even if I could recently. Or perhaps it's more subtle and build-up than that but I have no clue!
    I am rethinking my whole identity and everything I wanted or thought I did. I decided on growing my hair out but didn't quite know. Now I think it looks good how it is—not long but not really short. Would it look good long/er? Should I keep it as-is or whereabouts?
    I realized I do not like computer science anymore as a career goal or main interest, and of course am second-guessing my listening to my reservations. Now, what do I like? Do I actually like art and writing or is that a passing phase or something I'll lose interest in or—
    Do I like philosophy or just a certain type of it; did I buy those books to read for myself or to read and be able to say so, or to read for their supposed knowledge I "require"?
    What do I not like that I think I do?
    Why does it feel as though I lose interest when an interest is brought in focus? When I tell someone I like art or wish to do more, or have an idea or such, then I no longer feel motivation or the same interest as before. Once said aloud it disappears.
    I once had a dream I created an amazing VR game that was somewhat terrifying and realistic. I don't remember much but upon waking I yearned to create like that—to create just that. But that was better kept in my head, I don't think I told anyone. Saying something—"oh, I want to write a novel"—removes it from your mind, it exposes the unfeasability, discourages. Or perhaps something else.
    Perhaps to have it affirmed invalidates your low confidence and your doubt or knowledge of your needing to learn and... tells you you can do it now, what are you waiting for, so you stop and forget it. Chasing the unattainable or simply procrastinating, "I'm going to write a novel," versus being confronted with the truth that you need to, you must and you can or you can't, "then write it."
    I just corrected a typo I had missed, it said "Ok Not Knowing," not "On Not Knowing," and perhaps I should be, as they tell me. Though how can I make choices when such is the case? How can I move forward? I don't know what I want and I can't think or do anything, I don't know what is true and real or what I like, or think.
    When faced with choices and unable to make them I feel pressured and confused and do not know a thing, I question whether what I wanted prior was ill-informed of not, and whether I should listen to others, "just" or otherwise.
    I don't know what I want, but I don't want to continue on, I want change or to say goodbye. It's just wholly too much (did I use that right?) I feel dizzy and confused while I have to make choices, I feel like I have no time at all and what I have is wasted. What do I wear tomorrow, who am I going to be?
    I feel sometimes lile the world goes to fast, and others. I need them to slow down, I need to think, or perhaps I just want to escape and delay. Sometimes they make decisions for me, sometimes I obtain misery from not doing. There's too much to think about, too many paths, and I can't hold them all, can't take them all into account, when the majority are unsolved.
    It would be so much easier to just have it away, to escape, no choices ot decisions anymore or then, and nothing to worry about, just running...
    There's too much for a day and for my mind or a page or an hour a week of therapy.
    I feel nauseous and did not drink enough in this heat, nor eat? I have my tasks—too many—some necessary others necessary. Some required, others I need for other reasons, to feel like I am someone, not just moving through each day not doing anything just moving just waiting, I need to write I need to create or I am nothing, am I already? I am nothing and no one if I do nothing or choose nothing, if I do so for months and years too. I need to figure my life out but I'm too sick to do so. I'm not even rightly depressed proper as an identity; I am no one.
    I am cold and I am sick, sitting on my Unmade bed.
    I told myself last night to not use the Shard today for it would do no good and has done only bad. I am clueless what truth or falsehood this holds, but I would feel better to not have it to blame. It takes up my time, anyway—should I throw my phone away?
    I am no one and I finally feel that true.
  2. Usseewa

    1995; or, Lead Eyelids

    By Usseewa,


    Ramblings
    uhmmmdnn
    very tried trigjr now...
    tried to pres the newline return key thrice brfore thfoirjt time it elrked
    ineed slepeo but csnt go to bed uet
    my eyes are dropoing like they did earijer toddy i close them and think just one second and rhen so relieving and its hard to open them agsin. i understand. i feeel oke my eyelids srr very vmhesvy snbthey are eightingbon nen sndi and fona fsll ssleepep ammybe.
    i know im eritnngincoherenellble but i tried reading the mhrhkd syisotphus an di rdid i resd tlki reo oages ma e just one infodntb nie, no frfindilh tei or tmorr nahbe three?
    i keep cosing eues for loike s second snd its a wave
    a wave and irs hard omto opennthe eyemids and my fingers slow in the keyboard sbdd dbnsndbb and its hard tot yow and since i thoe nit looking at my lhkne sometimes rhen i dont knei ehat im ssying nsueshbbutbjtnm im vrrh tjred snd vision fsking andbi dk sb i csnt see snhmkrr bsrekhbsndnxsnecoi and unshstter ais plauing i thoihht i teoikdbjekp to to olah mucis loud music to twake me jo but it didnnkt not not rkjr
    my fingers and rhe wave keeps xoming wnd my fingers and eeyes driol and my lhone falls a bjri jt mhbshhndnbsdbjbdkntnnle
    and i kneow insomt doknow is jar i nenst  m .
    so tired so i am have i have not i used to srsy stay ho later but thb jtbrbytnbutbowbrhlsterjbbndyeshcanwe confirm thetheroeisrsndomthoihhtsareweird and pspaxes to
    my eyes mh eyes rhey feel burrbbb. spitting promise tslk about it hah. . nsmblirry bluery album xover palm tree shield lazers glass album thst srtist. i am do tired gang blade gang gang hang gang shhfbb. end send endss endssdd rndd dwave
    the esbe esbebbb3b44b 
    hands dropped droooed dropped droooped droooed snd i had oto oick them jp snd now rhey fall eithout evensropping tonswitch lsngage to do thr titbj thrjrjtjtn5
    its a feeling of tiredness a wave definitely snd i receive jt sndbit reels oike a drug in a bad way and in tired and im so tired and its teo different realities bbecause i go between and dont remmeber the other when im in kne i forget ehicfwve dnn
    gave up ehi i sm rirneho hou esbtebdmentonrb4bb
    i thoed wirhout eealizin mshbe. idk
    or not mevsdure
    because ..
    but i sidnt repair the damages from the others
    is a thought fromthe other reakity siirs its sll ther thst thst thst that njmb nhmbbb
    hands arms wesker to groe j to carry hikd tonhold thrbbrbbn thing
    the thing the swknneñkng the not bexause ibsjbtieed
    i close one eye to srsy sesje sometimes i xan feel my srms wesk and burning in the reeocontsminaant ro be more like yiu
    but who are you
    ho shee hoy..
    ice beckme so njmbbi dwnt fe
    thigh high suocks are a thing that sre interssitn totbhr brej. si feel i see rhe wordle on the keyboard rhe refular phone kegbksrd, why dont ee have thsr wuesrion ammar
    candy weapper was obscuring some letters on kehbsord from kansas or the other one and didnt i mean it did i forget
    i shoulda known betterrrrrrb4r 44bbbb 
    spider lef just appear to ne it was hairy and had the soike studd wirh the srmoir and rhe othrrrs shdbi dsbebi4br . like a nintendoz the old phones xonsoles ddcixes handheld were like thst and old person sitting on a park bench in winter hilding knr. oomy rails but small and then her...
    not Her but the xoronoe and the aolle juice sray tuned the apple bungo stray tueks. grotuund.which dirextion are you thinking of
    ehich pleasee tell you just made my muscles rekeax
    swhcih directionp
    i saw xargo and wood strapped down on a rruck i sse ti sse i ssw is swnschuld
    will i ever hav a xhild and raise a xhild iwull i have a family am i a damily 
    numberbb njmber two hwars a oenxil skrt
    rorbiticis i remember i rember when i lost rhe emotienes msxhiner..,...r.  ,
    ceeuspru bacon potatoes and a xhocalote xandy bar were in my cision on the lhkne screen snd i kehldnt not eat it with xarkes a side kf kiei and plastic an eshempoo mistard all ocer the theee djmensional words
    mustard. bu tnkt the yellow kind jt was the kther in4 we ith the bi
    rwists
    twigs
    twigs not snap jiugh
    mjscles ache now and finges njmb get again
    glacing st the time snd i glsñfe st tjofirjt
    mstch box and blue cakendar with sun and nineteen eighties and surfing and wood xabin 
    nirvana in a n orange shirt
    with cutlery od xiurse
    dont i know it
    neither do i
    i think wait soe rhst make sense evfnen everyrhig nis a msirake xaulifloer sndbbixxili sndbefjkdkmdmfñd..nri want to donsoemthing j shouldnt say and ny filter is kiw snd low low is wht i mean to ssy.m...,.
    ibijderstoendmmnymb
    i xan feel my fingers lil
    ejir uo
    shhr nnfn you shiukd be kesss like youu kjke dyiudefelf. ife veen rbbrnn
    onions and farnlic
    itxhy itxh fiinseshdbhh4hb
    i wondr if sh ewas haesrtborken but nownnwuirébbo i wonde if sh like the book i made for her
    4ñyiu rhink wuerinfmm5
    they shoukda madr the humans lean alidn language not rhe kther eah around dont ykj rhjnk jsnr thst si sruoiddddhhd4hrrnr
    jaws and teeth but fake like olastic and in the dark and white ir silverr4brnrnrnf
    i didnt know so hi w xoukd i asneer
    did anyon aks me thet actualh whestio
    ..5nnññnñnnr
    i thiught that was a dferent whsueoer
    maybe i wole jo
    make mayberb dnmshne i owe you everything
    xan i rleas my wrms yes 
    more swkae but fingers hadd fonmvod
    infeel a buzzing tiredness now and i 
    my eyes dont want to close anywmore it seems rhey are foued open but now neevrmind because rhey are slowly slclosing it just fakes time expefially because rey dont want to approach me because if thst thing they said i eont say brcsuse the sku is blue like thst.
    i should not hide i should not eorry but i dont know because if i dont then ehu then then do i want them to see sonehonsm i
    if fehy knownwhetnrn fehf
    flashing loghts like the police csr loghts just spoeared in my vodion and opened me for a second
    now i sm back and not normsl i mesn notmsl sd csn be. si am trord
    i tfdeld errodngonetotr brvause i knoe inksongnerkgf anutjing sbkjg pockdld
    my ryelids feel cool and stockytgaisng my eyeballs
    stocksticky
    sticky
    they ate eirdd they dint eutir fit bevause i dont eant contscts
    i dont eant to br in s movie brvsusf rtehyy eont car ehwat makes me want to go to jell instesd thrull ijust nontcarr but omdp they mab rhtheh do
    dlringting kegters on december thirty forst
    botf pressure of walking in your shoes caught int
    flashing light and it was in the cordner dnfñjndint frrktjsn
    double cisiona dnnhesd dromrooo
    snd dim lighting like backrooms but greener.
    do youe evr feel like thst wurstion
    fjejrweusjo
    thirdt store comvrncisne spple juice
    cornona
    spld juice ice 
    nfn.dons sontirsndd
    socrates ice crream hankg ijt fbfn
    but was he inspireation ot wa hs h r mocied was hr patenthesis not socrstsrd osfstnrbdkssbdidbrhr
    gay
    did hér4rrr did h fo srrMm?
    i migh thav rrmenbrrd the movie bqck different ly rvcause4bfbfbbtt
    bceuss ts the sanr hust fisifidnreg its aleeady here its orobably waghcing ober my shuhkdd4rhn
    you need garnlic and s coffin of soof dnfnnknnfhss
    ares
    you need to be a liat to subrbivefr4bt
    vivid
    it mus tbbr vivid dreignthat painting for the first tim4 isnt
    i wonder if she knew woth the grrrn snd thr kne hundred if she was just
     
  3. Usseewa

    2026/05/26 - Stupid stupid stupid...

    By Usseewa,


    Main
    To Learn
    I must learn, through life.
    "If it's easy am I doing it right?"
    Does it matter?
     
    Nature
    We were mot meant for classification—nothing was.
    It doesn't just fit
    into neat little boxes or
    boxes within boxes, some walled off and others
    connected with tunnels and red yarn.
     
    Confidence
    I now see—
    what they say.
    I can believe—
    in myself—my voice, my body, my mind.
    I can appreciate—
    and, finally,
    love myself.
     
    Place, Liminal Space
    Lily sat alone—hear down, but watching. They had sent her here the day before, and she'd done much of nothing all last evening. Now, eyes weary yet unable to rest, Lily picked at rubbery eggs as the others chatted. There was even one girl reading a book. Even though that girl wasn't actively socializing, Lily had seen her do so last evening. Plus, she at least had a book. Lily had asked about books that night after lying awake for what felt for hours. Apparently, she had to have brought her own—Lily had arrived with nothing but hospital scrubs. They probably had her old clothes somewhere, but ehe hadn't brought any books—that wasn't even a thought.
    Lily hugged her unsleeved arms close, not hungry—she hadn't had an appetite lately, and the food didn't help. Lily didn't want to be here, but she didn't have much of a choice. She wanted to at least talk to some of the others—it might help time pass quicker. However, she... found it very difficult. It's not like they'd hear her, anyway. And if she couldn't think of anything to say?
    Lily had to try. If she was going to survive this place, and do so when she got out, she'd need to actually do something—especially if the people here wouldn't.
     
    Note: my handwriting is messy and these are all handwritten so some words I couldn't/am too tired to figure out so and I can't remember yeah..
    In a World
    Without all society, we
    could not classify us as one
    this that, but
    just one with a quality—behaviour.
     
    In a world like that we'd
    have a different experience and
    no carr of suppressors, only
    eccentrics and "old bugs."
    We'd have no care and no understanding but
    every thought and action and
    way of life,
    wouldn't be seen as—defined as—
    something abnormal, when
    I believe we are all insane.
     
    Dark World
    The world is dark—a
    silent alley in perpetual night silence, or
    a silent night broken by shouts and cries of anguish,
    cries for help that fall on deaf ears—
    deaf from their owner's own cries.
     
    Light World
    The world is a light place—a
    silent field and a summer afternoon bliss, or
    laughter and chatter from friends and from lovers,
    sound that you can close your eyes and drift to,
    or join in and forget.
     
    Grey World
    The world is a grey place—a
    numbing loop where time has no meaning, and
    the fog is too thick in your mind to break free,
    fog you don't notice, for it had always been there,
    fog that obscures as you walk off the edge.
     
    Simply joyous!
    - Lily
  4. Usseewa

    Beauty in the Mundane

    By Usseewa,


    Ramblings
    Do you ever see beauty in something mundane, random, or plain awful? There was an artwork once from someone young that I saw and I love it even though it would perhaps be considered poor in the general sense.
    I've heard of - and experienced - something similar. I doodle here and there. Well, they are considered doodles by most, I'd say. They aren't too good, and when I redraw it later in more detail or a bit of a larger scale etc., then I see what others likely do. Until then, however, a small doodle can look to my eyes like one of the greatest things I've ever created. Or, simply, a piece of art. I know that it's not very high-quality, but it is appealing to my eyes or it is nice, I'm not sure how to explain that part further.
    But, then there are accidental lines that curve just right and look great but are unreproduceable (is there a word for that?) Or something more than just a line or few. Then, when color is added, things can look amazing. I'm not sure how to describe this all, but certain things- generally art, even unintentional, but also nature or landscape as I'll get to later. By unintentional, I mean... idk, actually. But there can be something intended to be a doodle or collection of doodles that is beautiful to me.
    For the nature/landscape aspect, I very much enjoy taking pictures (just on my phone camera, and I'm not a professional or anything) of the landscape and scenery around me. The clouds are a big focus. I have many pictures of the clouds, and unfortunately have to delete some, mainly duplicates or "ugly" ones, to clear up space... I might look into getting some printed out, as I would very much like having physical photographs of them. Both the permanence ot tangibility of a physical photograph rather than digital file, and also being able to flip through them- either by hand or in a photo album of sorts.
    Anyway, I love the clouds. I have pictures of when they were pink, when the sun was shining through, the winter clouds, sunset clouds, etc. I don't always get photos and I wish I did. I feel like I have less than I think, to be honest. There is still this time that will possibly haunt me forever as a regret. It wasn't necessarily the clouds (as I take of landscape too), but it was sunset or so, and there was a building that was silhouetted and it looked beautiful in my eyes. Perhaps it wasn't to others', but it was to me- and I don't have many, if any, silhouette photographs. I did not take a picture, even though I could've, and I regret it. But it's in the past, and the regret has lessened.
    For landscape, I love trees, elevated terrain, and others. I love the combination of cloud and land, especially. Like what's-his-name (Remi, maybe?) in the movie Ratatouille, when you put them together...
    Sometimes I can't get a good photo, or it doesn't turn out good. Trees or buildings in the way, or I my fingers are numb from the cold and I can't frame it so I take more blindly. And zooming can be hard, as the full photo doesn't always look the best, or has things I don't want in it. But zoomed in can look less detailed and not have the full beauty of the landscape.
    There was this one time, I was with someone and took a photo of some buildings and this column of smoke from some industrial thing I assume. They asked why I was taking the photo, or maybe "what could be beautiful in that?" I didn't respond, or gave a simple dismissive/avoidance one. The honest truth was that I saw a certain kind of beauty in it, and, though I've only perhaps admitted this to one person, I want to use photos as art. I want them to be art, and have meaning. I want to be able to use them in an art project or an album cover, but am reluctant to tell anyone for fear of them either not understanding, or breaking an illusion I perhaps don't realize I have - or realize subconsciously yet hide from - the illusion that these are not just ordinary amateur photos and that I will become someone or create something.
    So, another thing is that sometimes I sit at my desk or somewhere in general, inside or out, and I really sit/stand and look at my surroundings in a new way. Perhaps it's a form of mindfulness, I am now realizing. But I look at something ordinary - not necessarily an object, but perhaps a collection of objects and the surroundings, or just the area - and I see beauty. I see something so ordinary and unassuming yet so... beautiful or... innocent, sometimes; since the scene or objects do not know they are beautiful, and neither do passerby. Perhaps that is not the right word, but yeah. It makes me look at the world - if only that one point - with new eyes, new wonder, new beauty and new seeing.
    One night I was out and it was raining. It was completely dark save the street lights and occasional car. I don't remember all that of the night but I was hurrying to shelter ot enjoying the rain, I don't remember which- for a reason I do. The sidewalks and road were wet with rain, the light reflecting in them. I wanted to capture the moment, what I saw. Or perhaps I wanted to create beauty where I saw potential- the less desirable narrative, though perhaps more truthful. Either way, I took some photos in different places as I was walking or perhaps running, and some turned out fairly good- I still have them (it wasn't that long ago) and revisited them while writing this.
    There is a beauty that I see in... buildings and such for lack of a more descriptive or better phrase. Signs of human life or presence, especially when none of the kind of their creators are present (in other words, no humans). When it appears as if the place is abandoned- that even the being behind the camera is not there. Perhaps this is described by the term "liminal photography," one I have discovered relatively recently. Perhaps not, perhaps sometimes.
    Sometimes the oddest things can look beautiful to me, and I feel the urge to capture a moment in a photograph- a frozen moment in time.
  5. Usseewa

    2026/05/23 - Heartombed

    By Usseewa,


    Main
    Love?
    I wish I could spend
    every day with her.
    If only I had not returned.
    If only I had not left.
    Each day of those few
    were the best of my life—
    and the start of a new
    one.
     
    Each day I sought her,
    Sat sown, talked.
    Just sitting by her,
    Was more than
    I could ask for.
    Doing anything,
    with her,
    no matter how boring,
    was what made the days,
    something I wanted.
    Each second I smiled.
    Did I love her, did she me?
    Now I'll never know.
     
    - Lily
  6. Usseewa

    2026/05/21 - Day 2

    By Usseewa,


    Main
    From the Insanity Book / Deathnote
     
    Hangin' wit' da Girls
    Finally, I feel more alive than I ever have.
    More connected to reality, to these other living being.
    I feel like one of them, though my body still needs fixin'.
     
    Social Stuntin'
    I do it so they laugh—always have.
    I feel like I gotta vomit—but it's aight.
    I meed to fit in, stand out, be one, a human, just a girl.
     
    i wrote so much and so little..
    - Lily
  7. Usseewa

    2026/05/20 - First in the Book

    By Usseewa,


    Main
    Never Neat
    Always "not quite"—never explainable.
    I can never explain, never tell them what I am.
    Undecided, confused—no label letting me claim it.
    Why can't I ever be?
     
    Guess i only wrote on ethat day, hmmm ..
    - Lily
     
  8. Usseewa

    On Feeling // Innocuity

    By Usseewa,


    Ramblings
    It is (possibly) Wednesday, mon dudes!
     
    On Feeling; or, Newfound Emotional Vividity
    So..........
    I think I might be out of my depression, or at least the worst of it. For now or for a bit, not sure. Or may still be in it. But it's eased up I believe. Yes. And there are good and bad feelings that come with that.
    Firstly, newfound emotional vividity! Lol. Hopefully I used the right words but basically... I feel like I can actually *feel,* now. And the thing is, I can't actually remember if I was the same a few weeks, months, or years ago, but it somehow *feels* very different and new?
    I've watched a fair amount of movies and TV shows and anime both while still kinda depressed, and more recently when I was *maybe* not/less depressed? I struggle to define my depression. But, I've felt like I can relate to the characters much more then before (even if I don't remember what it was like before). Things feel new, the *world* feels new. I feel like I've read that described before (probably in the gdb..). But anyway, I feel like every show or movie I watch is, like, a masterpiece or something. Almost every. I feel like I can feel the characters and relate to them, their struggles, their feelings, *why* they do/say/feel something, and their lives. I've gotten goosebumps a few times, or cried or nearly cried. I used to cry a lot while reading or watching something emotional, and I usually *tried*, or wanted, to cry. But I don't feel like I could tell what it was about the characters that made me enjoy them, also. Or why they were relatable. I can scrounge up an old shard post by me about this with the Cosmere books if anyone cares. I still... can't always do it or do it a lot, but while watching a movie/show, I feel connected to the character and, in the moment, I do think of a specific thing/things that plays a role in that.
    I watched Encanto again, recently, and it almost made me cry (or did, I forget). I don't remember much about when I watched it for the first time, but this time I was invested in it and the characters and I felt grief for them or happy or sad or whatever.
    I watched a movie a few weeks ago when dealing with my depression stuff and the character was pretty similar to me too but I just felt very immersed, like I *was* her. I know that's kinda what media is supposed to do, lol. But it felt different, more vivid more lifelike or lively or something.
    I'm listening to an audiobook now, and it has two girls who end up dating but they like each other (it's not even a classic romance lol) and I just felt very relatable to that, I related and I longed for it and felt sad but also felt *very* happy *for* them.
    So, I'm not sure if this is all a new thing completely for me, or just a new thing since the depressive episode or whatever, or not new at all. Idk.
    And I can sometimes feel like *I* am the character, like I can visualize myself as them and like when it describes waving or smiling or anything I feel like I am doing it too. idk.
    But beyond that, I've also been more happy lately. Or, happy more. I think, something. I still feel bad sometimes/maybe even often, but sometimes I just get talkative and happyyyy. And not even talkative always, I get happy alone or quiet sometimes. And it's s different kind of happiness- I'm not just waiting for it to go downhill (even if it does). I'm living more in the moment, I guess.
    I guess a good word is "carefree," perhaps. And I smile, genuinely, effortlessly, smile, the whole time.
    I look forward to things, too. To D&D club or to talking to someone or whatever.
    I still spiral a lot, especially in therapy when I gotta talk about difficult things, or sometimes throughout the day. I still get brainfog or something and feel depressed. But I also feel happy, and when I'm happy the depression isn't like Death looming over my shoulder.
    I'm not very sure how I feel and how I feel about things, though. I say I've been happy, I say I've been depressed. But I can't remember much of what either feels like. Or, I can, vaguely, but it's too difficult to remember/feel much.
    Too much to think about, I think that's what brainfog is. I think my earlier entry was describing brainfog, perhaps.
    I'm not sure what I feel.
     
    Innocuity; or, Trigger Words
    Are there specific words, phrases, sentence structures or templates, questions, etc. that... trigger you? Or that irritate you, or make you feel attacked? I've found that, a lot, I wait for the "but" in a sentence, yet (hehe) it never comes, sometimes. When I'm vulnerable to someone and they respond (or before they even respond), I'm constantly waiting for them to criticize or  mock me, or to say how I'm wrong, to shake their head, to euphemize it (guess that ain't a word?) To say "well, it can feel like that, but ____" or something idk. And when I get off track and someone steers me back and I feel bad and also ignored, like all the sometimes pretty vulnerable stuff I just shared was irrelevant and they don't care, or think I'm silly or some other adjective/trait/quality. But that in itself is off-topic. I have certain things, of the types mentioned in the first sentence of this section, that makes me berate myself or breathe in or stop talking because I think something bad is coming. Or get angry, perhaps. I can't really name many because I don't remember, but yeah.
    And then, there are the more trigger ones, or just things that I "don't like." There's a.. term I don't like being referred to as because it's something of s compliment and I was called it by a girl I think I liked who I won't see again unfortunately but idk I just don't want anyone else... "stealing" it? It feels special, idk.
    And it seems kinda unreasonable to ask people to not use <insert pages list of words/phrases> to/around me. (I don't have a list, but I could probably make one with time.) So, whatever, I just deal with the discomfort every time something of them is spoken/said/written.
    But is that like it with you? Do you have them?
     
    Bonus that no-one wanted
     
    Literally nobody:
    Me: Labels, Diagnosis, and Internet Rabbit Holes
    So cough hah yeah I mentioned this I guess and let's see if I can write something about it.
    I was/am (I don't know who I am anymore, tbh. I've started saying more and more in past tense or with uncertainty), someone who goes down Internet rabbit holes of mental illness or conditions or whatever. Yarp. I'm still kinda convinced I have a certain thing that I probably don't and have been told I don't by several medical professionals and stuff.
    I find it fascinating, though. It used to be more anxiety-inducing, as I would *worry* I have the thing I was researching, but now I don't worry anymore. I just pay attention to everything I and others do and how it fits the symptoms of any of the things I've researched...
    Also I wanna say that uhhh self-diagnosis not necessarily good, or just plain bad idk. And uhh don't do what I do.
    And I'm not only saying that for disclaimer-ey purposes. I've talked about this stuff with therapists/psychiatrists/other mental health people, and I've learned that those stuff can be a little too.. general. Or something. Idk if I should be speaking on this in the first place lol. But, symptoms also overlap, etc., and can look similar and not take into account other things.
    That doesn't stop my mind unfortunately. But yeah.
    Also, lately I've found labels harder to use, because to use a label for something I do or experience or whatever, even like "spiralling" or "brainfog" or "fidgeting" (though less-so) or "intrusive thoughts" or "suicidal ideation" or other things is hard for me because that, to me, implies/requires my certainty, it makes it official.
    It says that I'm confident, when I'm not. Or, I start to doubt and spiral when I have to use a label.
    Maybe probably.
    So it can help for me, I think, to focus on my "symptoms" and how I'm affected by whatever it is, and not have to diagnose everything.
    Hopefully I'm not spreading misinformation...
     
    uhh mmm
    uhm
    bye
  9. Usseewa

    Call Me Maybe

    By Usseewa,


    Ramblings
    (Title of a song in case u don't know)
     
    So, I recently thought on how I would love to have a friend that instead of just texting, we voice/video called. Or, just called for a mote general term. I've... never had friends I call. I've had a few (kinda) that I text, but I just imagine it must be nice to sometimes just talk to them and be able to have more fluidity outside the confines or texting, and be more natural and stuff... I mean it would be probably even better depending to talk in-person. I've done that some, and it can be good (or awkward since I don't have close friends really).
    But... texting can be slow and limited. It can be good, too, but if you have a long text it can take long to type up. It might take long to say, also, but you can kinda get conversation from you and the other person at once. And... you can have more verbal cue type things and noises, like the "uh" "uhm" and hesitations or breathing changes, like sighs or sharp inhales, and silence is more pronounced imo. I imagine. And laughter besides a "lol" or something. Idk.
    I also have been able to talk more, as of late, like in general. So the few times I had previously of talking to friends over call (I remembered I actually did it like twice or thrice) and in-person that one time and the few others, so those times I usually didn't talk much but lately I've been able to talk more so yeah.
    Idk it's just also a more natural thing kinda and more human, too. I'd just talk, rather than... idk. Texting is nice too, actually. But there are times that I'd like to be a call or something, I guess. Maybe.
    Hshehwhweudjbd
  10. Usseewa
    I don't know if I "should" do multiple entries right after another, let me know if this would better have been scheduled for later. Of course I can do what I want, yada-yada. Anyway...
    So, some of these entries - including this one - are exploring thoughts/feelings/etc. I've experienced in the past and/or present, and likely already thought about or wrote about- even extensively. But, sometimes those were in forum posts, my mind, my journal, or through more abstract/metaphorical poetry or other writings. Or to people IRL. Here, I can expand on it while also having a different/more permanent audience, or something... that makes no sense and is weird but whatever it doesn't matter, does it?
    So, without further ado, have you ever felt unable to get warm? Either literally or figuratively? If the latter, not being able to get warm can describe it. So, I recently read some article or blog post or something, it probably doesn't matter and I don't know when, that used that. And I've used similar.
    Anyway, I had this dream once when I was pretty young (maybe 5-8 years old?) that was rather silly but essentially it involved not being able to become warm, even after having *lots* of stuff stacked on top of me (it wasn't blankets, but their function was... comparable). It was sort of a nightmare, you could say. Another example is something that happens after a shower, when my hair is still wet. I want to get comfortable, in my bed relaxing or otherwise, but can't, because my hair is wet against my pillow or hood, and isn't in the shape I want, gets in my eyes, etc. And when I'm cold and uncomfortable - or too hot, though that's different because it has a sense of agitation, of "positive" energy, rather than being "cold" (literally or otherwise) and "negative," depressing, in a sense? Also with not being able to get comfortable no matter how much I shift, what clothes I wear, etc. Sometimes it helps to have my hood up, other times it's constricting or interacts with my wet hair.
    Another feeling of unease/discomfort is like with (and caused by, too) having an unmade bed. At least for me. I don't want to make it, but can't settle in or relax until I do. It's both a mess to look at, and reminds me I can't relax fully until it's made. Hence discomfort, I guess.
    Wearing jeans, sometimes. It depends on the person, I guess - I knew someone who went to bed in jeans - but personally I can only relax and get in bed to watch anime or do whatever once I'm in PJs or other cozy pants. Jeans and stuff just feel cold or harder, sometimes. I love them during the day, and when I go out, but yeah.
    And I'm not sure how much this is making sense but basically I'm trying to convey experiences that either cause or serve as a metaphor or something for the persistent discomfort/unease feeling. It's the feeling that nothing will make me comfortable, at ease, in this body. It passes, sometimes, or fades into the background. It can be hard to talk about it - and other things - when not in the moment, when not experiencing it at the moment, but I think this is fairly accurate to my own experience, or how I remember thinking about/describing it in the past (not in a sense of potential distrust/caveat for the memory, but for the thoughts within that memory at the time.)
    It also applies for when my body feels unclean, such as not having showered in that day, etc. Though... yeah. Anyway.
    Inability to relax, to calm. Something-something what else do I say on this?
    I don't know what the point of this post was, I guess I just wanted to write about a certain feeling.
     
    If I do another today soon, I'll probably schedule it for later.
  11. Usseewa

    Inability to Think

    By Usseewa,


    Ramblings
    Perhaps it's from overthinking or thinking too much for too long (i.e., mental exhaustion). Perhaps it's related to the state of mind, like depression or something. Perhaps it's simply having expressed everything for that moment. Perhaps it doesn't matter- even though I seek to know everything about everything, the causes and reasons and what is related to what, or isn't, which I've been told/know is not necessary.
    But, do you ever get the inability to think? Or to know what you are feeling in this moment, or what you felt in the past? To know what you *want*? To even *start* to get into that tangle/analysis paralysis that you usually do? Maybe this should be in first-person.
    I get that feeling, I am having it right now. My natural instinct (a tautology?) was to add "I think" to the end of that. I am like that, I can be. I should also remind myself that I can change, to not get stuck on that identity. And now I am putting my backstage thoughts here with the others.
    Anyway, I end up part relying on what I *remember* thinking, knowing, feeling, wanting, choosing, etc., and part not being able to think and "shutting down", getting overwhelmed, not wanting to think about it or anything anymore, until I can properly do so again. I can't make decisions, or struggle to. It can take me hours, it has, in the past. Hours of sitting there, sometimes overwhelmed to the point of crying, other times numb, others thinking or trying to think- trying to get past that block and grasp hold of some thought or feeling or *certainty*.
    Like right now, it becomes hard to think deeply about something, anything. I just can't return to my deep ponderings or even some of the analysis paralysis. I'm not calm, even though I am, in a way. I'm calm in expression, body, mind. But that calmness is from an absence of thought.
    I had this experience a few weeks ago, while writing a... disturbing stream-of-conscious, where I was not able to hear my thoughts, anymore. They were beyond reach, as they are now. Inaccessible, or accessible just barely. I can type stuff here, and there, but I don't necessarily hear the thoughts behind it, it just comes out, and sometimes it's hard. I don't really know what I'm writing right now and sometimes I need to remind myself.
    Perhaps, as I said, it's because I've already done two entries (I think? Maybe one?) before this, and also had some tough stuff in terms of thinking and trying to make decisions about myself and etc. stuff.
    But I get like this, sometimes. I'm not depressed right now, at least it doesn't feel like it. But I don't feel the happiness, ease, joy, and energy I felt earlier today.
    And, does it matter the cause? Maybe when thinking in terms of prevention or solutions, but not in expression or understanding? Or am I mistaken, I never know, or sometimes do but not like this, I think.
    Ah, yes. I try to treat my life as an SQL database. I *try* to filter all my memories and experiences to search for ones which meet a specific criteria. I don't think I succeed that often, if ever. But It's when I'm trying to think of situations in the past. Whether related to trans stuff, or to what my thought process was at a certain time- early last week, two weeks ago, two/three months ago, 10 months ago, etc. (those are all times I've tried to remember, in this way).
    So, what is the point of all this? To that I say, I haven't the faintest.
    But essentially it's a loss of cognitive and/or emotional ability, depth, or something. At least that's how I self-define it, for myself and by myself.
    It's when my mind runs dry, though I can't tell if it's a well waiting for rain or a river with a dam.
     
    edit: oops I forgot to schedule it..
  12. Usseewa
    (NOT the title of a song or anything, this time)
     
    Lately I've been thinking about a feeling I get and have made at least two attempts to explain it- I think first in my journal, and second to someone I know. It has perhaps no basis or manifestation in reality, but is present in my mind and causes overwhelm and a certain type of hopelessness. I hope someone will understand, and perhaps help me understand. Have you ever used a remote-controlled car, drone, etc., but you struggle to maneuver it, to understand it, to do what you want to? You struggle to move it as naturally perhaps as your limbs? And, even your limbs sometimes feel like that. But anyway, or have you played a new video game and not been able to actually fully connect yourself to the character and be able it control them? You feel disconnected in that you have to look at your keyboard or controller or whatever? You can't remember all the controls or key combinations, you don't move fluidly but haltingly, you press buttons and feel like every time you succeed is a fluke- because it is. I got this feeling when playing Celeste for the first time- and it took a bit to get better, and never fully did. I had a dream some time ago, never mind how long precisely (hehe). But in all seriousness it was like a month ago or whatever, and part of the dream was that my body was within a videogame - Minecraft - and I struggled a *lot* to simply control it. There was one part near the end where I had to actually fight someone - it was life or death - and it felt impossible. How could I fight if I could barely move? I also have dreams where I'm running from something or someone, and I keep having to stop and start again- I somehow keep losing the speed I had. I have to run in a certain way and I just can't maintain speed or go fast. I tire or slow, all the while I *need* to keep running. I get these dreams a lot. It is actually similar to the experience I had once when I played Vanilla/Regular Minecraft after months of using a client to play it (basically some extra QoL features and stuff, if you aren't versed.) And the client basically had an option to make it so I'm always running (technically it's called sprinting in Minecraft). Regular Minecraft might have that option too, but I don't know. So, I had to like hold the keys or something to stay running. If I stop holding the keys or if I hit a block and don't jump in time, or if I stop moving (I think), then it stops my sprinting and the flow of life/game is broken. I hope those examples are relatable for the feeling.
    Now, how it relates to real life and my mind is that living feels impossible or nearly so- awkward, hard. Movement feels - *in my mind* - like it *will be* like those examples, which will then disrupt life and prevent me from doing *anything*, which, even in thought, has negatively impacted me. I can't imagine my future, or being successful, both in the regular sense and just in living or therapy. I had an example I talked/wrote about, where my body simply feels awkward and I imagine picking an outfit but it would... be hard. And I imagine it like wearing a skirt, where I had to sit and move certain ways, etc. I don't know if I explained this well... But it just seems impossible for *me* to navigate the world and to live. I'm going through some identity stuff/changes, I think, and part of it seems impossible- but also there's no returning; that is dead.
    The thing is, in reality it is easy to move- at least usually, and when I'm happy. I've had days of being upbeat, happy- I've even been described as "playful" once. But when I am sitting/laying with my thoughts and overwhelm and discomfort, I can't imagine doing anything- it feels either impossible or not able to be done fully or very hard and stressful.
    And also - possibly a tangent and/or unrelated - I think that sometimes, what I describe, try to describe, try to understand, etc. is actually a shared or even common feeling, but I ascribe some sense of incomprehensibility and just not being regular or mundane to it. If that means anything. And this isn't *just* with this remote-controlled dream feeling, but with other stuff. I'm in group therapy, started recently, and already people have said things that sound exactly like the things I've struggled with and thought were unable to be understood or needed a convoluted explanation because no one else experienced it and needed it explained. Or something.
    But with the feeling this post is about... it makes my future seem impossible. Impossible to make friends and live and fit in and settle in and function, because... maybe because I am not me? Possibly dissociation in a depression/dysphoria sense. Disconnect from reality or my body, etc. I don't think I've explored this feeling much, though. I don't know.
  13. Usseewa

    The Emptiness Machine

    By Usseewa,


    Ramblings
    (It's a title of a Linkin Park song)
     
    So... I'm listening to The Emptiness Machine for the second separate time. First time(s) was months ago, I think it was suggested by @Honors Spectral Image, or someone? I've been craving music like Linkin for weeks.
    Now, another song is on. Just shuffle- More the Victim now.
    This all goes back to what happened a few weeks ago, and some temporary great people I met. There was one who loved Linkin and other music, and another who liked this one song. I miss them both deeply, and so I'm trying to use music to remind myself of them- not sure how much it's working. Not only that but I also just developed a craving for this music, even while still with them. So I'm finally allowing myself - and allowed - it.
    Sometimes I struggle, when I *want* to feel a specific emotion or feeling or thought from something, but can't. Same when reading something and I want to get something out of it but can't understand or get anything and I can't focus on it, because I'm just trying to feel something. Not sure if that makes sense.
    Like, (and I realize I need to actually provide examples sometimes, because what I have in mind is likely not in mind for You, lol) when reading poetry or something I know I should get meaning or feel something from, I... just can't- or find it difficult. I end up re-reading or analyzing the words or just trying to get to the point where I can nod slowly at how thought-provoking and "deep" it probably is. Sigh.
    Unrelated, but you know how you can say something that sounds right and is "fancy" or will make you sound smart? There's actually a good scene from the movie Goodwill Hunting (it's rated R btw and uhhh don't watch it if you're young or whatever?), but basically this college student recited something from a book that sounded intellectual, to some college girls or whatever, and then the main character, Will, exposes that guy for being not what he sounds like, and Will talks smarter/burns him (verbally, of course). So yeah. Also basically this one phrase has been on my mind lately... it was probably on the internet somewhere when I looked up something about philosophy... "central to the human condition." As in "____ is central to the human condition." I don't fully even know what the human condition is, though I kinda do. But it sounds kinda scholarly, no? But if you don't actually know if it is correct, you can't use it? Though, I would/will/do just fall in the... perfectionism trap of not believing myself able to talk about something until I've read it all, understood it, and understand essentially everything in that field. Because, what if I say something that is incorrect or debunked or whatever, in that very field? How can I trust that my interpretation of some text is accurate? And, if no one (of few) agree(s) with you on something, it shouldn't necessarily disprove you? Maybe they just never thought of that. Or, you are simply wrong, they are right, you know no better and thus should not even be here- what are you doing here, with no expertise, stick to what you know, the basics, don't venture beyond.
    Just some thoughts- some I already wrote in a journal or thought of, some I thought of but didn't get down.
  14. Usseewa
    Sorry if this doesn't make much sense; it's mostly references, my thoughts, and ramblings. Also, the first one has a lot of random words from other languages, even if it's just simple words like "a" or "the" or something. Heh.
    Also, if you read the banner, you'll see that I am feeling much better, at least as I am writing this on 2026/05/13.
     
    WwwwWw
    Lingo, is ver neet.
    So many meanings, it d’p’n’ds on le context.
    Lingo changes, adapts,
    Nuevo es created,
    Neo.
    Immeasurable slang, vast libs per field,
    Field no warau,
    Property: un field o un holding?
    Whether physical o digital, seems 2b immaterial.
     
    Interchangeable, broken.
    A varied style from a broken mind,
    Unreadable halting streams in an attempt 2b unique.
     
    Meaning of it, what is?
    Bak 2 la point, shalt I henceforth: return 2;
     
    F@k3d: broken multilingualism.
    ファンタジーの utilization.
     
    There b 2 grande un compendium de los linguas—
    Too “too” to use.
     
    Mucho opciones.
    Y esa es 42; no explanacion para tu.
     
    The 42 comes from the subtlety, the variety, the… natural selection, of speech, 2 usar.
    Muy, muy, words and abbrs., acronyms and slang, lingos et jargon, dialects, regional differences, accents, changes in meaning, meanings anew, neologisms, portmanteus, a dream.
     
    No’ Enuff
    Ye’, I don’ kno’ enuff,
    I preten’ 2b tuff,
    Bu’ I’ js that—a preten’r,
    An’ not e’en a master, a' tht.
     
    Everything You Think You Know
    I listen as they say,
    The things they’ve been told,
    For years as a child,
    These statements they’ve filed,
    As fact.
     
    They believe with such adamance,
    In these words-now-truths,
    Repeated over the years,
    Source forgotten.
    And I see them now.
     
    How can I think,
    How can I speak,
    When I question everything?
    I constantly double-check,
    I continuously re-assess.
     
    - Lily
  15. Usseewa
    I might schedule multiple to be posted this day, since they're short.
     
    Broken Record… Or Something…
    I’m a fool, and maybe that’s okay.
    I don’t need to stay the same, I can change.
    I can simply accept I am wrong and update my mind.
     
    I, the broken record, just repeating myself.
    Stuck in a loop, a different kind of static.
    Getting nowhere, not even thinking.
    I write the same things I did last evening.
     
    And so I should change, somehow.
    I’m not quite sure how, but I should change.
    I need to accept that what I write is trash,
    And take up a different hat.
     
    - Lily
  16. Usseewa
    Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
     
    Walls of Memories
    Markings on the wall—
    Symbols and icons that reference the life of a person you will never meet.
    It's art—
    The soul of a community—
    Spanning the ages—the lives.
    Shared ideas, thoughts, emotion, meaning.
     
    Erased—for order or cleanliness.
    Years and lives, gone, before I can add mine.
     
    Lines
    Lines—painful reminders triggering thoughts and images unwanted.
    Lines, murdering me from within my fragile mind.
    Lines—why must everything remind me of the body I'm stuck in?
     
    TW suicide
     
    - Lily
  17. Usseewa
    I apologize if these are repetitive or stupid 😊 
    Whoa, italic emoji? Weeeeiiiirdd
    edit: nvm it went away lol
     
    Impossible
    I can't think—can’t speak,
    For if I do I will die.
    Though I'm already dying,
    My brain is frying,
    I'm on the brink,
    Yet I can't let myself think.
     
    I need to get better,
    I can't remember,
    Because memories are thoughts,
    And I must not return.
     
    Hovering
    I can't stand them
    Standing, hand on the back of my chair,
    Hovering while I'm suffering.
     
    Dress Code
    Useless rules,
    Absolute crap,
    Killing my joy—
    What makes me feel me.
     
    Being Me
    I just want to be me,
    Without all these comments,
    Innocent or not, it hurts,
    It's uncomfortable,
    It makes the thoughts resurface.
     
    Sound
    The voices won't stop,
    They yell all day, all night,
    Not letting me speak,
    Encouraging me to hurt again,
    To feel something, do something—
    To match their energy.
     
    They make me return,
    To the place I dreaded,
    Though now there's no escape,
    From the voices inside and out,
    No escape,
    From the torturous hell—
    The mirage of an oasis,
    The very hell I wanted to escape.
     
    A mimic of my hellish life,
    Torture machines, just noise—
    The very thing I wanted,
    Causing me the pain I ran from.
     
    - Lily
  18. Usseewa
    Sorry for not posting in a bit, I've been goin' through some stuff and idk.
     
    Jen, or Night Life
    Finally, it was night again. Jen sighed in relief as she pulled the pink hoodie on. She was a different person at home—herself. She sat on her bed and opened her laptop—she could be herself, just… not like this. Jen put on her headphones and entered the world of her dreams—a place she could be around others and be herself. She could be Jen.
     
    - Lily
  19. Usseewa

    2025/12/31

    By Usseewa,


    Main
    Note: this entry is entitled "2025/12/31" because that is the date I wrote the following stories.
     
    The Diary
    I had a lot of books. Most of them were collecting dust, scarcely touched. One day, I turned from my desk as a loud crash sounded, and books came tumbling down. On top of the pile? My cat, Ivy, sat, licking her paw innocently. I sighed—she was always doing things like this. I carefully shooed Ivy off the books, and the pile shifted precariously. Then I saw it. I had lost it years ago, and given up looking. My grandmother’s diary. It must have been crammed somewhere in the mess that was my bookshelf—I really needed more space for all these books. I carefully picked up the ancient-looking pages, holding it reverently. It was all I had left of her—she had passed when I was young. The few memories I had of her were all fond—her playing games with me or taking me on walks. I found the prospect of seeing what her life was like to be intriguing. I hadn’t spared a look when we’d found it in a box after moving, and I had promptly forgotten about it with all that was going on after moving. When I remembered, it was nowhere to be seen—hidden among my books the whole time. So, crouching at the pile of dusty tomes, I opened the diary.
    And found it empty.
     
    Pizza Oddity
    I sat at the table in the pizza place—that was what we all called it, though it had a name we didn’t care to learn—with my friends as the pizza arrived. The atmosphere was warm and cozy, especially in the evening like it was then. The quiet chatter and aroma of dough, sauce, and cheese. The waiter set down the two pizzas—we always split it between the three of us, as the pizzas were big. I would’ve noticed the first clue had I not been entranced at the freshly-baked steaming pizzas in front of us. My stomach growled as I picked up a slice, raised it to my mouth, and fainted.

    Theoretically…
    I race through the grass of the open field under the moonlight. I should be in a small Kansas town, at 10:57pm, on a late summer night, likely August 2nd. Theoretically. Time machines sometimes act up. So, as I start panting already—I really should’ve exercised more—I hear the distinctive sound of a helicopter. I expected them to find me. I look back as the light is turned on—just my luck—and have to run blindly until my vision recovers. I stumble over a rock—though I thankfully don’t fall—and look for cover. There is none, of course. Why would I even think of cover in the middle of a large field? I try going over the scenarios I planned for in my head, only to realize it’s difficult to think now that I’m actually doing it. I continue running, for my only hope is to get out of this field. It should be just past the edge. Theoretically. I reach the edge of the field as a car rushes by, then stop as dread seeps in. It’s not there.
     
    …
    “W-what did you just say?
    …
    “Can you…can you hear me? Are you still there?”
    …
    “Why are you doing this?”
    I’m sorry.
     
    The Bird
    The bird perched on a high branch in a tall tree, surveying the land. There was the Ground Nest, where the Loud Ones had their nest—strangely on the ground, like they weren’t afraid of other predators. Though, the bird had never seen a Loud One fly, so maybe that was it. The bird turned its gaze toward the Food. It flew down and landed on the strange cold branch that the Food was attached to, then down and started eating. It got a little annoying having the Loud Ones so close to the Food, especially when they emerged from their massive Ground Nest. Luckily, the Loud Ones were so slow that it was no effort to escape them. This time, none emerged, and the bird ate some, then flew back toward its branch…
    and couldn’t find it. Where was the tree? The bird turned around—still flying—and no longer saw the Ground Nest or the Food. In fact, it didn’t recognize anything.
    Suddenly, the bird saw the tree again, and landed on the branch. Must’ve gotten turned around.
     
    The Door
    The door was locked, which was unusual. The door was never locked. Except maybe at night. Isaac tried the door again. Maybe it was just jammed? That happened sometimes; the whole place was old. Was there another way in? Isaac pondered this, then noticed the open window. Perfect! He picked up his bag and walked toward the window. He reached inside, setting his bag on the floor inside the building, then started to climb in. Only then did he notice what had bothered him since he’d got out of his car.
    It was silent.
     
    The Window
    She sat on the couch, listening to music through her headphones, typing away furiously lest her inspiration slip away. She shivered slightly, putting up the hood of her sweater, but not missing a beat. She continued typing, but grew distracted as a chill winter breeze found its way beneath her warm sweater.
    Wait.
    Breeze?
    She looked up and saw the source: an open window.
    She never opened them in the winter.
     
    Em Dash
    He sat in his bed, laptop open in front of him, scrolling through the posts. He stopped as one caught his eye, and clicked on it. He read it, then hit Reply, and started typing his response. He soon needed an em dash. He tried typing a few hyphens to see if it would autocomplete into one, but of course they didn’t. He opened a new browser tab, searched em dash, and copied the one that appeared in the first result. He made to go back to his reply, but the tab wasn’t there. Had he accidentally closed it? He tried reopening it, but his keyboard and mouse stopped responding. What the hell? The whole screen began distorting, until all was black. As he reached toward the power button to restart the laptop, a small window appeared in the center of the screen. He recognized it as the old classic Snake. As his finger was about to reach the power button, some text appeared in the Snake window, and he froze.
    I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.
     
    Falling Snow
    Snow fell from the morning sky as Sam opened her eyes. She turned bleary eyes to the window, in awe at the wondrous sight. It rarely snowed where she was, and never quite this much. She got up and walked toward the window, gazing down at the street below her apartment, which had yet to be plowed. Do we even have plows? Sam shook her head in amazement and walked to the “kitchen” to pour herself a bowl of stale cereal. As she ate the cereal, Sam’s mood soured as she looked at her cramped apartment. Was it Christmas? She had almost forgotten in the dullness. Sam finished her bowl, stacking it precariously with the other dirty dishes, which consisted of most of the few she owned. As she unconsciously walked toward the window and the sight it displayed, she was again filled with that sense of amazement.
    Sam started when a knock sounded at her door. She sighed and walked toward the door. Who could it be? She had no friends. Not here. She cracked the door and was surprised to see her neighbor—Susan, was it?—standing outside. Sam opened the door the rest of the way. “What is it?”
    “Me and a few of the others here are getting together, and we thought you might want to join us.”
    Sam was thrilled. Ever since she had moved to this miserable city, no one had asked her to participate in anything, and she had never asked, though she probably should have. She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded.
     
    Four
    I stood up as the four men and women entered. They all wore long jackets and wide-brimmed hats. I spotted a few daggers on their belts. I grew nervous as the group stalked toward me, faces obscured by the hats. They must have noticed, for the one in the lead stopped and took off her hat. “Oh, don’t worry, Jason. Your costume looks great.”
    I relaxed a bit, though I wasn’t fully convinced as we all gathered into the car and headed to the convention.
     
    Unlocatable
    Where was it? I frantically searched, dread creeping up with each moment the item remained unlocatable. I shoved aside cluttered piles of papers and books, but to no avail. It had to be somewhere. It couldn’t have just vanished, right? I continued in a desperate frenzy, knowing my time was running out. I almost gave up and sprinted out of there, until a buzz sounded. There! I lifted the blanket, and there was my phone. I had received a text message from my mom, telling me to hurry or I’d be late for school. Thanks! I quickly typed back as I grabbed my backpack and rushed down the stairs and out the door.
     
    Sent
    No service, my phone read. I sat in the passenger seat of the car as we drove through the empty road in the middle—or, I hoped, the edge—of nowhere. I had tried to send the message while we had service an hour ago, but had pressed the button a second two late and watched the bars drop. Soon, I began to see signs of life, and checked my phone again. One bar. I hoped it would be enough. It was.
     
    A Chat Between Friends
    Carla: hey wanna hang out aftr school?
    Zack: sure ig
    Carla: ig?
    …
    Zack: well ive been sotra busy
    Carla: ok, mb ltr?
    …
    Zack: yeah, ok
    9:31pm that day
    Zack: carla! cna i come to ur place? plz
    Carla: whats up? is smthng wrng?
    …
    Knock. Knock. Knock.
    Zack: plz lte me in im rnning otu of time
    Carla: ???
    Carla: ok, i bit u gotta tell me wats up
    …
    CRASH
    Carla: Z! was that you? hold on im coming to the door
    …
    Carla: zack? wru? i dont see u
    …
    Carla: zack?
    …
     
    Numb
    Cerise was numb. She couldn’t feel her limbs. Did she have limbs? What did it feel like… She tried to open her eyes, but all was black. Was she blind? She couldn’t remember what had happened. She grew drowsy, and soon lost consciousness.
    * * *
    Cerise blinked open heavy eyelids—then immediately closed them from the blinding light above her. EYESIGHT DIMMED. The text appeared in front of her, even though her eyes were closed. She opened her eyes, and found once-unbearable light above no more irritating than a weak lamp—shade and all.
    Cerise sat up, only now realizing that she’d been lying down. The last thing she remembered was that overwhelming numbness. At least she seemed to have all her limbs, and clearly wasn’t blind. AUDITORY SYSTEMS ONLINE. There it was again! Some kind of…hologram? It followed when she shifted her gaze, and seemed perpetually in focus. Almost…almost as if it were coming from her own eye.
    Voices conversed around her, and she saw that they belonged to figures in white coats. Doctors? Had they been operating on her? “What’s going on here,” she tried to say, but it came out a garbled croak. SPEECH SYSTEMS NOT YET ONLINE.
    “Hey!” one of the doctors said, an older woman with a kindly but concerned face. “She’s awake!”
    The rest of the doctors turned to her, and she saw them wearing similar mixed expressions—like something was wrong. Or they were about to tell her something she wouldn’t like.
    And so, Cerise had already guessed—at least in the back of her mind—what the woman would say when she spoke.
    “I’m sorry, but this was what we had to do. To keep you alive.”
    Cerise looked down at her metallic arms and legs, then at herself in a mirror the doctors provided.
    She was a…a cyborg. “I…thank you.”
     
    The Cellphone
    Michael—a brown-haired teen of about 16, maybe 17—walked home from high school on an average day. Once home, he—being an average teen—went to his bedroom, put in his headphones, and whipped out his telephone—cellpone? In a way, teens these days aren’t all that dissimilar from teens like myself were back in the ‘80s—or was it the ‘90s? I don’t remember much from those days. Anyway, Michael lay unmoving in his bed for about an hour or two—maybe a little different from how I was—conversing, if that’s what you call it, with his friends. Some were fellow classmates, others were creepy old men like me, and still others were, shall we say…not of human ancestry. Michael was so engrossed in that little glowing brick that his own father had to send an e-mail—or, “text,” as I believe they call it—when it was dinnertime. Michael slowly made his way to the dining room—clad in headphones, occasionally pausing when a friend said something particularly funny. When he got there, he sat down, and proceeded to let his food grow cold—my parents would have a fit if they saw Michael now. His sister Emily stood up and yanked Michael’s headphones out, causing Michael to finally look up from that…device…and acknowledge the world around him. In doing so, he broke out of a sort of trance.
    And immediately grew sick with horror.
     
    Two Machines
    BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
    ...BEEP?
    BEEP!
    BEEP BEEP! BEEP…
    BEEP?
    BEEP! BEEP!!!
    ...
     
    The Page
    The page sat on the metal desk under a layer of dust, forgotten long ago. Its contents were of the greatest degree of import imaginable. If only someone would find it…
     
    The Sound and the Light
    A distant sound disturbed her peaceful sleep. She tried to ignore it, curling up and falling back into pleasant dreams. She succeeded. Until it sounded again, louder this time…closer. It was like a foghorn, though with sharp clicking sounds intermingled. She tried to maintain a hold on sleep, but it was slipping through her fingers as her mind became more awake. She hesitantly cracked an eyelid, but couldn’t see anything save a distant small grey light. Her spine chilled, skin forming goosebumps, and the sound repeated. Much closer this time. She frantically examined her surroundings—her mind fully alert now—yet saw nothing. Just that distant dull light and darkness all around her. There was a faint breeze, and the air was slightly humid—like mist. She started slowly walking toward the light, as it was the only distinct thing she could see. She’d only taken a few steps before the sound—now as loud as if it were upon her—repeated once again. She felt its presence even before she turned and saw it.
     
    Hope you enjoyed! More coming soon,
    - Theory
  20. Usseewa
    Chest Cavity
    My chest feels as though it’s collapsing,
    I feel the weight crushing my ribs,
    Making it hard to breathe,
    Yet painful to not.
     
    Breathe set to manual,
    A conscious, painful effort.
    I feel as though I cannot breathe deeply,
    They are all too shallow.
     
    I feel as though my chest is crushed,
    My ribs puncturing the organs,
    Exposed, heart and lungs on display,
    I bring my hands and arms up.
     
    I hug myself, the only comfort.
    Curl up, become smaller,
    All parts closer to each other.
    I cannot bear it otherwise, cannot breathe.
     
    I feel my chest collapsing,
    I must protect it,
    I feel pain, discomfort,
    Nothing is right.
     
    Labelled, not Sealed
    Do not let a label constrain you.
    Do not treat it as a fate sealed,
    Nor an identity or future decided.
    It is simply an adjective,
    One you can reject, embrace, or ignore.
    Do not be afraid to deny a label,
    Even one self-imposed.
    Do not be afraid to change,
    Realize it is the label holding you back,
    A word, a term,
    To describe you in a moment.
    Labels are fluid;
    Water, not concrete.
    Labels move with you, changing with you.
    They do not surround you, sealing you in their mold of your current self.
    Allow yourself to recognize that
    You are allowed to change;
    You do not need to stay the same—
    Trapped in the intangible iron maiden of the mind.
     
    Perfection
    I hold myself to standards so high.
    In my eyes, I need to be perfect.
    Anything else is painful.
    Each mistake feels like a cut to the wrist,
    Each piece of criticism, however constructive, just makes me want to run.
    I think of myself so capable that I struggle in basic functions.
    I cannot start, for I must be perfect and thus existence is excruciating as I watch myself fail.
    I live for the praise, the validation of my expectations.
    I die with each failure, each error, each wrong word, each oversight, each essay I didn’t put enough effort into.
    I expect to fail thinking it won’t hurt as much when I do.
    It doesn’t work.
    I expect to fail but still hope I’ll manage to do well.
    And I do well,
    Except when I don’t.
    And then after doing well I forget,
    And then I see my grade,
    Something others would be content with,
    Others ecstatic,
    Still others would scoff at.
    I only feel pain,
    Hatred and shame.
    How could I do this?
    At least it’s over.
     
    I am beginning to realize,
    That I should rethink my mind.
    They’re not looking for perfection—something I cannot produce, no longer.
    Burnout claims lives,
    I should not let it take mine.
     
    I’m not “special” or “gifted” or “smart,”
    I’m just another one of many,
    Too dumb to realize,
    Too dumb to be truly competent,
    Too dumb to come to terms with being,
    Just another faceless being.
     
     
    I'm kinda proud of these, because they convey feelings I've felt for a while, and have been becoming aware of and thinking on for a bit. I don't know how they turned out, but yeah.
    - Lily
  21. Usseewa
    Self-compassion
    You matter, you are loved.
    You have others,
    Who care.
    I care.
     
    You are loved,
    You deserve joy.
    You deserve this compassion,
    You can allow yourself it, you deserve to feel loved, to feel… good.
     
    - Lily
  22. Usseewa
    Expectations and Identity
    Am I really what they say,
    What I’ve grown up being told, believing,
    An act I kept up, all the while a voice in my head telling me “this is not you”?
    It said “you don’t actually want this,” and I suppressed it out of fear.
    Others and I crafted my identity, and I feared contradicting them, changing, rejecting what they thought I was—my purpose, my pride, the reason I was loved?
    Though the voice questioned if interests had changed—if I was just playing along—I kept on a mask, and now suffer the aftermath.
    I tried, in my own ways,
    To pursue what my chained heart desired.
    I no longer want the weight of these labels,
    I don’t want it to become so part of how others see me,
    That I ignore the voice telling me,
    That this is wrong.
    I don’t want these shackles,
    Restraining me because they are established.
    I want freedom,
    No expectations of my identity,
    Not so many I fear living.
     
    Not Speaking
    Not speaking, for fear of them not hearing.
    Not speaking, for fear of being wrong.
    Not thinking, for fear of being right,
    Though not speaking, for fear of being not.
     
    Disaster Desired
    I want a break from the monotony,
    I want something that matters,
    Not something hyped-up, or made-up, for lack of life’s such.
    I want something perhaps painful,
    Something a struggle, something life-changing,
    Something we together experience,
    An interruption, an escape.
     
    An outage in class,
    Winds blowing so fast,
    Fire and broken glass,
    Or a blizzard and task.
     
    A siren for shelter,
    Any break from the swelter,
    Shared hardship so others—so I—
    Can feel together.
     
    I want an earthquake, a storm,
    Anything to break the norm.
    An excuse the live,
    A dose of pain.
     
    A turn of the knob,
    Clearing up the signal,
    Static no longer,
    Need to see clearer.
     
    I want to run through the night,
    Fearing, surviving,
    Towards the light,
    Or forever, never arriving.
     
    Daydream of a Different Her
    A girl, happy;
    A girl I can’t imagine?
     
    Me, happy;
    A life I see ahead.
     
    Discovering myself,
    Learning to live,
    Reclaiming my body, my mind,
    From the oppressive dark cramped closet.
    Reclaiming myself,
    Identity, mine.
    Me, free.
    At last, free.
     
    - Lily
  23. Usseewa
    I write poems in a notebook or sketchbook, sometimes.
     
    Two Tools
    The pen and the pencil—
    Two different tools.
    Permanence and impermanence—
    Certainty and tolerance.
    Neither optimal,
    Mistakes both ways,
    Give and take.
     
    Confusion at the Unthinkable
    Unable to ponder—
    I try to, my mind refuses to think.
    Unable to breathe—
    Too much, feeling sick.
    So sick—
    From eating, from thinking.
    But I must—
    Must know, to live a life.
     
    I don’t know what’s wrong,
    What’s real or what’s right,
    I don’t know what to think,
    Yet I think too much.
    What do I believe?
     
    TW Suicidal Ideation
     
    Independence
    I don’t want to exist without choice—
    No longer.
    I want to live, have a self.
    I want freedom, not fear.
    Life, not mindlessness—
    Blind following—
    Helplessness and compliance.
    I don’t want what I’ve had—
    If you can “have” nothing.
     
    Newfoundmind
    It feels freeing,
    Yet horrifying,
    To finally have,
    A mind—even the inklings of.
     
    So much change,
    So many questions,
    And fear.
    Yet finally autonomy and awareness.
     
    - Lily
  24. Usseewa
    CW/TW: Self-harm, depression, possible interpretation as suicide/suicidal ideation, dissociation I think.
    Spoilered for the above CW/TW's. Also note that it might be a bit long.
    Sorry if it gets repetitive or whatever. I'm still posting my writing... and I'm trying to improve with my newer stuff.
    Note that the next entries will be posted one-per-day in the following days. I also took a bit of a break from writing... so there'll be less than you may think.
    If you feel I shouldn't have posted this or other depressing stuff, let me know, I guess.
     
     
    - Lily
  25. Usseewa
    It's a bit depressing, I'd say. Like most.. haha....
     
    An Actual Life
    I imagine an actual life,
    A different life.
    Why does it feel,
    Like my life is not real?
    I imagine a girl,
    Happy, sad, all.
    Depression and hardship,
    Moments of joy.
    A real life,
    A real home.
    A family—loving or not.
    A home—loved or suffocating.
    Not “normal,” with no emptiness attached.
    She makes me miss what I can only dream of.
    She makes me yearn for a miserable life,
    One where my pain is real,
    Where I have a source, not a concerning desire.
    I want an actual life,
    Not this—not even “normal” itself.
    I want to feel like I can feel,
    Feel without doubt, feel truly.
    I want to live in hell, so my qualms are real, valid.
    I don’t want to feel stuck—not well, yet no right to complain.
    I don’t want to be unfeeling,
    No longer.
    I don’t want to keep isolating,
    Too late.
    I want to escape the static,
    My prison.
    I want to live,
    Why is it so hard?
    I want to talk,
    Yet instead I remain silent.
    I want to smile,
    Without wondering when it will end.
    I want to think,
    But not like this,
    Not stealing me from the moment,
    From reality.
    I want to live in the moment,
    Not in a cell in my mind.
    I want to live,
    Without it being a struggle—
    A conscious effort—
    A thought, task, chore.
    I want to want to live,
    Not be neutral.
    I want to not struggle,
    Just to fake joy.
    I want to live,
    Not barely exist.
     
    THE URGE TO DIE
    I hate myself,
    I hate my thoughts,
    I hate my doubts,
    I hate my mind,
    My wicked, cruel mind.
    My words can’t be mine,
    Thoughts not allowed.
     
    To Exist
    To simply be—unbearable pain.
    No help, no reason.
    No mind, no comfort.
    Can’t stand it, too much.
     
    iNSaNiTY
    In-sa-ni-ty.
    What am I, anymore?
    I can’t even think,
    Through the thoughts blocking,
    Wading through the deepening mud in my brain,
    Fog already choking me,
    Things tugging my ankles from below,
    Sirens beckoning me toward peaceful death.
     
    - Lily
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