humans are monsters, too (monster part 2)

The monster grew before her eyes, unbeknownst to her. She hoped to the stars on her ceilings that it was a farce, but she made a mistake. This whole time she assumed the monster would be otherworldly, a no neck creature outlined by the darkness of shadows. She thought monsters could only be aliens, or demon-possessed dolls, or ghosts.

But demons possess humans, too.

And this monster was very human.

Related to her, half-way.

4 years older than her.

He came over to her house a lot, to hang out with his dad and his two young half-sisters.

There were fun times.

The monster made her laugh endlessly.

And after a while, the monster wanted her innocence in return.

He showed her videos. Weird 2D characters doing things she’s never seen before. And he would explain what’s happening, so that she’s not confused. And just like any teacher, he wanted to test her on what she’s learned.

He would invite her to his room to play video games. But that was only code words. Soon he would stick his hand in his pants. And she would look nervously, but because she loved him as any half-sister would, she thought it couldn’t be too wrong. He wouldn’t do anything to intentionally hurt her. Half-brothers don’t do that stuff.

It continued for years. His room, In the backseat of the car, the bathroom. And afterwards, she would wipe the taste out of her mouth, and he would look smugly and say she’s done a good job. And not to tell anyone. She was good at keeping secrets.

Until one day, the secret was too much to bear. The nightmares became realer than his threats. She started saying no.

She would see his pleading eyes from across the room, and stoically swing her head from side to side. He’d look disappointed, but she didn’t care. He wasn’t going to take her peace anymore.

He started being upfront with her. Just one more time, he said. It won’t take long. She said no, and in response, he wouldn’t make her laugh anymore. She was sad. She loved him like any half-sister would, but I guess he didn’t love her in the same way.

When she refused to please him, he would threaten that there’s a monster under her bed. And she believed him.

But the only thing worse than a monster under her bed was a monster who looked like her dad.

Her dad helped procreate that monster. It’s his fault.

And she wants to blame dad. And his son. But somehow, she ends up blaming herself.

I should have known better, she says to nobody at all. How could I not know it was inappropriate.

She told her parents. Mom believed her right away (it’s not her son anyway). Dad was more hesitant. She told the monster’s mom too, and she was livid. His mom convinced dad that his son was a monster, and his anger rose. It felt good to let it out.

The monster was banned from coming to her house.

She was free.

She thought.

But now she’s scared of boys. And their intentions.

All boys want is one thing, her mom told her.

And now that she has experience, she knows for a fact that all boys are monsters.

She takes solace in this.

But only during the day.

Monsters don’t like sunlight, so they can’t attack her.

But as soon as the sun goes to sleep, she can’t follow suit.

Bedtime was a scary time.

Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw the monster in his true form.

Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw his parts.

She longs to close her eyes and for once, just once, not see anything at all.

When she closes her eyes, all she wants to see is black.

She convinced herself that it would be best to see black forever.

Bruce

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the grass was fresh, and my neighborhood was empty. After walking my five dogs around the neighborhood a few times, we made it back home.

“C’mon boys,” I say as I open the door, leading them inside.

One by one they waddle their cute little legs.

Max…then Bandit…then Ace…then Charlie…but where’s…

“Hey Bruce!”

My last dog isn’t coming in. He’s facing the opposite direction looking out, ears alert.

I snap in front of his face.

“Helooooo. C’mon, Bruce. Good boy, c’mon!”

Good boy doesn’t budge.

Instead, he looks out in the distance as if he’s expecting something. Hearing something I don’t hear. I look out too, confused.

“What are you looking at, Brucey?”

I stoop down to his level to try and see. Looks like clear blue skies to me. But his ears are high and tail alert, forward.

Probably just some squirrels or something.

“Alright boy, that’s enough.”

I try to push him toward the door, but he’s not moving. Gosh this dog is heavy!

Before I’m able to conjure up the strength to push him again, he jets off down the street, opposite of where he was looking.

“Hey! Bruce!”

I chase after him, trying desperately to keep up, but a dog’s speed is just too much to compete with. I stop short and hunch over out of breath, my lungs feeling like their shriveling with every breath.

Maybe I should work out more.

I sit on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for Bruce to hopefully come back. He’s always been a weird dog. Never playing with the other dogs, and whenever I take them out in the backyard to pee, he always stays out longer just to sit and gaze toward the sunset. I’ve always wondered what goes through his mind. It must be a lot since he’s deciding to run away from home now!

Suddenly, I hear rumbling footsteps, sort of like a stampede.

I look back and I am flabbergasted.

I get up quickly despite my equilibrium still being off from chasing Bruce. I get ready to run again because this can’t be real right now.

A horde of monkeys start stampeding towards me at an inhumanely fast rate. But these aren’t regular monkeys; they’re like giant baboons. It looks like a scientific experiment gone extremely awry.

I jump into the bushes before I get trampled on, ignoring the thorns pricking my flesh. I look up from behind the scratchy leaves and see these monkeys are way bigger than I thought. They’re like monsters, screeching as they race past like angry warriors. I know they didn’t come from no type of zoo.

As I watch their bodies get smaller and smaller as they run down the street, I realize that they’re running in the same direction that Bruce ran off in. They’re not…running after my dog, are they?

Oh no.

Before my panic attack could come in full force, I hear a deafening growl and even louder footsteps trampling from the same direction. As the footsteps sound closer, the sky begins to darken momentarily. All I see from a distance is a shadow of a large animal. As it gets closer I realize it’s a…giraffe? What’s up with these zoo animals going haywire??? I didn’t even know giraffe’s made noises.

It breezes past me, but not without staring deeply into my eyes as it goes past.

I’m dreaming, right?

I blink profusely.

Nope, still here.

I pinch my forearm.

“Ouch!”

Yep, this is real.

I walk timidly toward where the animals were going, which probably isn’t a good idea. I could very well die. But so could my dog though. What if those animals try to kill him? What if Bruce gets scared and gets even more lost and then never comes back home? I have to see what’s going on.

I walk through my seemingly normal neighborhood, looking up at the bright blue sky and the cookie-cutter houses. I’m surprised none of my neighbors have gone out today to see what’s going on. I can’t be the only one witnessing this.

A putrid smell starts wafting through the air and flows through my nostrils and wraps around my throat.

That’s a little dramatic, but the point is, it stinks. I almost gag.

All of a sudden, I hear screaming.

“Get em off of me!”

“It’s in my shirt! It’s in my shirt!”

People are screaming their heads off, running in the direction I was coming from. It looks like they’re coming from the opposite direction from those mutant animals.

These people look weird too, having electric blue veins all over their body. I stop in my tracks, really examining these people.

Am I sure I’m not dreaming?

I overhear someone say it’s the ‘virus.’

Virus? Seriously?

So, we have people with viruses that make their veins electric blue and makes them smell absolutely horrid, and abnormally big animals running around.

I don’t do drugs, but I’m pretty sure this is what an acid trip would be like.

I hear high pitched barking and look away from the crazy blue people toward our neighborhood park.

“Bruce!” I exclaim.

I’m so relieved.

I run to him but quickly stop in my tracks when I see what’s happening.

And if I was on drugs, my high just got blown.

Bruce is on top of some sort of mutated leopard, spitting rocks at the monkeys, while the monkeys are hurling dead branches.

I pinch myself again just to be sure.

“WE WILL DESTROY YOU!”

Who said that?

“HA! YOU WISH!”

There are absolutely no people in this area, except for me. Who is yelling like that?

“HOW ABOUT THIS!”

Suddenly, the monkey starts breathing fire at the leopard my dog is on.

I almost faint.

A fire-breathing monkey. But more alarmingly…did that fire-breathing monkey just talk?!

“YOU’RE GONNA REGRET THAT!”

The leopard shouts as it climbs up a tree and starts hurling branches at the monkeys.

I can’t believe my eyes.

“FLANA!”

I hear my name called. Unable to move, I fix my eyes toward the sound of my name. I see my dog, Bruce, looking right at me. I see his mouth move but don’t hear anything. I refuse to believe this. I must be hallucinating.

“Huh,” I say, bewildered.

“I said what are you doing here?” Bruce says.

Before I can even fathom that my dog speaks human english, let alone understand what he said, I’m out like a light.

…

I wake up in my room. I don’t know how I got here, but here I am. I look beside me and there’s Bruce sleeping so soundly.

Did I dream everything? I roll up my sleeves and see indentations in my skin, showing where I pinched myself. So I wasn’t dreaming.

But how did I end up back here?

Did those giant animals actually exist?

Can my dog actually talk???

I look over at my other dogs sleeping on the other side of my room, cuddling. As they should. And here’s Bruce sleeping on my bed with me, almost looking like a normal dog.

Could have fooled me.

I contemplate waking Bruce up demanding for answers, but I hesitate, thinking how ridiculous it is for me to wake up my dog, ask him a question, and expect for him to actually talk to me.

But then I realize, at the rate things are going, I have nothing to lose. Besides, he has some explaining to do.

“Bruce. Wake up boy.”

Bruce opens his eyes lazily. He yawns while he stretches his body. As I watch my cute boy wake up, I question myself again.

Am I really gonna ask him a question?

More importantly, is he really gonna respond?

“Hey Bruce,” I say hesitantly. “How are you doing buddy?”

He stares at me blankly, licking his lips.

He’s hungry. And not speaking.

Okay, maybe it was a dream.

“Alright buddy, let’s get you something to eat.”

I roll out of bed and my other four dogs hear me rustle. One by one they slowly awake and follow me downstairs to the kitchen. I set up all five of their food bowls while I turn on the TV. On the news, I see the commotion about the damage that has been done since yesterday. I glance at Bruce involuntarily. I wonder if those news reporters will find out that my dog is somewhat part of the problem.

The news only shows the aftermath, but not the actual animals. The neighborhood park is destroyed, the branches are singed, there are holes all over the ground. I’ve always loved that park, and now it’s destroyed.

I think I would have preferred for this to be a dream.

Before I could wallow in my thoughts any longer, I heard a loud knock on the door. I walk over there quickly, turning the TV down. I look through the peephole and see a woman about my age, brown curly hair and bronze skin. She looks friendly, too. She’ll be the first person I’ve seen since the craziness that happened yesterday (which is most certainly not a dream, I’ve convinced myself). I can smell her from here though.

I open the door and she greets me with such a bright smile. Her smile is almost as bright as her veins.

Oh brother.

My smile fades. I don’t want one of those virus-ridden freaks around me.

“Hi! My name is Christine. I just moved in here early this morning and wanted to introduce myself to my new neighbor.”

She stretches her hand towards me.

“Sorry, I don’t like physical touch.” No way am I letting her touch me.

She pulls her hand away quickly.

“Anyway, it’s nice to meet you Christine. I’m Flana.” I cross my arms and look at her up and down, gingerly. “Um, so what’s up with your…skin?”

She looks down at herself, as if she didn’t wake up this morning aware that she glows in the dark.

“Oh, this is…nothing. Nothing serious anyway. I mean, the news says it’s a virus, but my theory is they’re just trying to scare us. The cure is right under our nose, I’m sure of it.”

I stare blankly at her. Doesn’t sound very convincing.

“…Okay. Um, where are you from-”

“Well anyway,” Christine cuts me off. “I just wanted to say hi. Maybe we could talk later-”

She looks over my shoulder and all of a sudden her eyes get serious, face beginning to pale (if a black person’s face is even able to get pale). I look back, confused, and see in the midst of my dogs eating their breakfast, Bruce is staring right back at her with the same level of intensity.

I look back at Christine, bewildered.

“Hey,” I say, waving in her face. “Are you okay?”

She looks at me again as if nothing weird just happened.

“Oh. Yea, I’m fine. I’ll see you around.” She smiles again, but not as bright as when she first came to my door. “Maybe I can come over for dinner, yeah?”

“Um, I don’t think-”

“Great! I’ll come by later. See you on the flip!!”

Christine goes on her way but not before she looks back at Bruce with a sort of knowing glance, then continues down the street to her house.

I quickly shut the door and lock it, stalk back to the living room and turn the news back on. My eyes glaze over the TV as my mind races with all kinds of thoughts.

Why do all these people have the virus except for me?

Why did this weird lady come to my door? It can’t just be because she’s my new neighbor, why?

And why was she having a staring contest with my dog, as if he has anything to do with this virus?

Wait.

I look back at Bruce again. He’s finished his food at this point, and now he’s laying down on the floor, gazing at the TV with me.

I turn back around slowly.

I don’t know what’s going on around here, but if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the insanity is far from over.

monster

“There’s a monster under your bed,” Solomon says.

“No there’s not,” I say back. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

“No I’m not. I’m serious.”

My half-brother lies in the hallway outside my sister and I’s room. I left the door open. Not because I was scared or anything. Just in case, you know.

I had my nightlight on. Hopefully the fluorescent blue stars will distract me.

My sister was already asleep. She isn’t fazed by these things. I’m not either, I just have the night light on just in case.

“He’s gonna kill you,” Solomon keeps talking.

I wish he would go back to his mom’s house already. He doesn’t even live here. He’s always trying to scare me late at night. Find a better hobby, dude.

“You’re lying,” I say in what I think is an unbothered tone but probably failing miserably. “Go away.”

I turn my body away from him toward my window and pretend to sleep, hoping he could see that I’m brave. I don’t care that there might be a monster under my bed. I’m asleep.

“He’s gonna get you,” his voice is lower, as if he’s whispering.

I wish Solomon would stop talking.

Eventually, I hear the shuffle of footsteps get smaller and smaller.

Finally, peace and quiet.

But now it’s too quiet.

And in the quiet, I start hearing every little thing.

How the air conditioner loudly turns on every 20 minutes or so.

How the house creaks every now and then because it’s so old.

How the clock ticks every second.

These sounds make me even more aware that the monster could move underneath me at any moment. What if the monster is making the house creak? What if the monster is turning on the air conditioner every few minutes to keep me on my toes?

My eyes are wide open.

What if he isn’t lying?

What if Chucky is under my bed with his butcher knife?

What if The Grudge is under there waiting to snap my neck in half?

What if Jason is under my bed ready to saw my body in half?

I wish Solomon never showed me those scary movies.

I stare at the blue stars on my ceiling, praying they would speak and tell me everything’s okay. That there’s not a monster under my bed. That my half-brother is a liar.

They say nothing.

I stare and stare and stare. I stare until all I see is blue.

My whole ceiling is blue now.

I can’t unsee blue. I can’t even look away because everywhere I look, it’s blue. Even when I blink, I see blue. Are the stars saying something now? What are you trying to tell me, stars? That as long as I look up at you, as long as I keep my eyes on you, as long as I focus on the blue, I’ll be safe. Will I really be safe? Or will I just be distracted. And tired.

I don’t think I can ever look at blue the same way ever again.

As soon as I get used to seeing the blue, it starts to vanish. Another color starts to come in, like red or orange or something. For a second, I feel like I’m going blind. Then I feel the warmth of the sun on my cheeks. It’s morning time. At first I’m startled. I’ve seen blue for so long I began to think that was all there is. But now there’s sun. And I can see now. Everything isn’t blue anymore. I can really see now.

The sun kisses my face and reminds me that I made it to another day. The monster never got me.

I sit up and look around. My sister is still asleep. I turn to my nightstand between my sister and I’s beds and see the alarm clock.

6:00 am.

Wow. I am exhausted.

I look under the bed, (you know just in case) and I see half-eaten sugar packets and dirty clothes.

Gross, but not a monster.

So Solomon was lying. I knew it!

I stretch myself out of bed, sort of dazed. I walk into the hallway and see Solomon is gone. I knock on the guest room door and there’s no answer. I open the door and see the room is empty. He must have gone back to his mom’s house. He usually leaves Sunday mornings.

I saunter back into my room and bury myself underneath my comforter.

At least now I can sleep peacefully without him talking about a stupid monster.

Maybe he was the monster.

you don’t belong here

9 years old

“C’mon Breezy, go out and play on the playground,” my mother encourages me.

“I don’t want to,” I reply. “It’s dangerous.”

She scoffs.

“What’s so dangerous about playing with other kids on the playground.

“I don’t know why it would be dangerous, but I feel like something could go wrong.”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

I look up at my mother, her big brown eyes staring concerningly into my soul.

Oh, mother. Little do you know, everything could go wrong.

“What if they don’t like me? I’m a really awkward person. I don’t want top be judged, and I know for sure they’re gonna judge me. I just want to belong, but they won’t accept me. Why would they accept me anyway?”

My mom looks at me incredulously.

“Why wouldn’t they accept you? You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re extremely funny. Who said you wouldn’t belong?”

I did.

I heard the voice loud and clear. Where did that come from?

“What was that,” I accidentally shout.

“Um, I said why wouldn’t you belong?” my mom says questioningly.

“No, not you mom. Someone else said something.”

“Who are you talking about?”

I stop and think for a moment.

Who am I talking about?

You’re talking about me.

“There it is again!” I exclaim. I look around and once again, there is no one.

“Honey are you okay?” My mom is really worried for me now.

Disappointed that I can’t find this voice, I turn to my mom slowly and, unsure, I say, “yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay. Do you still want to go on the playground?”

I think for a second. Maybe my mom’s right. What’s the worst that could happen?

Everything.

I hesitate and my mom notices.

“What’s wrong, Breeze?

“Um, nothing. I’ll just go.”

I briskly walked onto the playground, but not before I hear.

You don’t belong here.

14 years old

I’m having a hard time sleeping. I can’t stop thinking about those girls on the volleyball team. I was so nervous around them, I couldn’t even socialize. I wish I wasn’t so standoffish. I knew I didn’t belong on the team. Ugh, I hate my life.

Suddenly, I heard a rustling pass through my curtain.

“W-who’s there?” I stutter.

It’s just me.

That sounds familiar. Is that the same voice I heard years ago?

“Who are you?!”

Right before my eyes, this very voice I’ve been hearing started to grow limbs and teeth.

Hi, I’m Ango.

18 years old

I make my way to school and meet up with my best friend. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. I don’t really remember how I met her, but I feel so close to her. Almost as if she’s always been with me, I just never knew it.

I remember the helpful advice she would give. Like one time, I was going down the hallway with her, and she mentioned that we should walk the other way so we can avoid see someone we know. I’m glad she suggested that, because that would have been awkward. I think. Maybe. Yeah, it definitely would have been awkward. I am an awkward person after all, and everything I do is awkward. She let me know that too, which is good. I guess

Or that other time I did a presentation and it went horribly wrong. I got so nervous and doubted myself, and she told me that was gonna happen. I should have listened to her and skipped class. Then, I wouldn’t have been embarrassed at all.

She always knows what’s best. Well, maybe skipping class isn’t the best idea, but it’s the thought that counts. She always knows what to say. Whether I’m happy or sad, she always says something. I”m not sure if it’s good or bad. I’m just used to her at this point. And she’s always been around, so I assume she cares about me somewhat.

There are times when we don’t see each other for a little bit, but it still feels like she’s so close. Even when I don’t physically see her, I can still feel her presence. It’s pretty special.

I walk up to her locker and say hello.

“Oh hey Breezy,” she replies. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going alright,” I respond. “How about you?”

“”Eh, it’s not going to well.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I have a presentation in a little bit, and I already know I’m gonna bomb it. Gosh, I suck at those types of things.”

“Dang man,” I reply. “Presentations are the worst. What class is that in.”

“Philosophy.”

Philosophy? I have a presentation too! Wait, was she always in my class?

“Oh, I forgot I have the same presentation. You’re in my class right?”
“Yeah, but I’m most likely gonna skip. Might as well save myself the embarrassment, you know?”

“Um, I guess,” I say unsure.

“Well, I’ll see you later!” Ango slams her locker shut and leaves quickly down the hallway.

Well, that was weird.

I walk into my Philosophy class, absolutely dreading what’s about to come.

Presentation after presentation go by, and my confidence sinks lower and lower.

You’re totally gonna mess up. Everyone’s presentations looks so much better than yours.

There goes that voice again. I’ve been hearing it for so many years that at this point, I’m pretty much used to it.

Dang, I wish Ango was here. At least I wouldn’t have to feel anxious by myself.

“Alright, Breezy, you’re up next,” my teacher says.

I drag my feet up in front of the room, scared to look at the class.

They’re bored already, I can tell. Maybe it’s because of you.

Well, that hurts. Oh well. Let’s just get this over with.

I start my presentation and as I’m speaking, I hear my voice quiver.

Stop doing that! People are gonna think you’re weird.

I stop speaking to catch my breath. Maybe I just need to slow down.

I start again, slower this time, and look at some of my classmates faces.

They are so intimidating. Judging you’re every move. They know you’re not doing well. Heck, YOU know you’re not doing well.

Yeah, I know.

You should just give up. These kids are too smart for you. You don’t belong there.

I start sniffling. That’s right. I don’t belong here.

I rush out of the classroom, ignoring the strange stares. I run down the hall, my heart feeling like it’s going to pump out of my chest. I ran into the bathroom and slam myself into a stall, bawling my eyes out. How could I be so stupid? I knew I couldn’t do it. I’ll never be able to overcome this. I just suck, it’s a known fact.

“Breezy, is that you?” I hear a voice say.

I know that voice from anywhere.

“Ango?” I say.

I crack open the stall and see Ango staring at me.

“Hey, what did I tell you about that presentation, huh?” she questions softly. “I knew it would go bad. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Usually her words are somewhat comforting, but this has a bad tone to it.

“Yeah, Ango, I know,” I say, suddenly angry. “How about instead of making me feel so bad, you uplift me, you know? That’s what friends are for, right?”

She stares at me carefully. “Yea, but friends are also here to tell the truth,” she continues. “It’s not gonna get any better, so you might as well give up now. You don’t belong here.”

That sounds very similar…

Flashback

You should just give up. These kids are too smart for you. You don’t belong there.

I start sniffling. That’s right. I don’t belong here.

Present

I gasp, tears welling up in my eyes again. It can’t be a coincidence that my so-called bestfriend is telling me the same thing this stupid inner-voice is telling me.

“Why would you say that?” I cry out.

She looks at me blankly, and for some reason, it seems like I can see right through her. As if she’s invisible. I can barely see what she even looks like now. But her voice seems to be getting louder and louder and…

Wait.

No, she wouldn’t. Would she?

Maybe.

It can’t be…

“Ango,” I sniffle. “Are you the voice I’ve been hearing this whole time?”

She continues to look at me with a blank stare, as if she doesn’t care. Suddenly, I get flashbacks to the playground, when that voice told me I didn’t belong. Or when I was on the volleyball team, and that voice told me I was too awkward, I’m not good enough. It all makes sense now. She was there the whole time, I just didn’t see her.

“How could you?!” I shout in rage.

At first, she’s silent. But then, she starts to chuckle, which turns into full blown laughter. At this point, I can’t even see her anymore. I’m looking around, trying to see where she went.

“Ok, you caught me,” she says in a booming voice. “But here’s the thing Breezy. You can’t get rid of me. I’ll always be around. As long as you listen to me, I’ll always have control over you.”

She laughs menacingly, her voice seemingly bouncing off of the bathroom walls. I cover my ears in distress, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Her mocking is getting the best of me.

No.

I can’t allow this to happen. If I’m going to stop this, I can’t stay silent and let her voice drown my thoughts.

I have to speak up.

“You know what Ango,” I start. “I trusted you. I believed you. I actually thought you knew what you were talking about all those years. I thought you meant well, but you’ve only ever had bad intentions. I will have you know that I am beautiful, smart, funny and an amazing person. And no one can tell me otherwise. You’re words can’t hurt me anymore. I won’t let them.”

Her voice gets quieter, losing its power.

“So what are you gonna do,” she says, her voice slowly gaining intensity. “You think you’re words will affect me?” she asks smugly.

Actually, yeah. I do.

“You don’t belong here,” I said with venom in my voice. “Not anymore.”

As soon as I said that, I no longer heard Ango’s voice. I checked the stalls to see where she was, but I guess she ran out of the bathroom. Did I scare her that bad?

Awesome!

Wow, I’m a lot more powerful than I thought.

I stepped out of the bathroom, right when the bell rings. I hurry back to my philosophy class to get my stuff. As everyone is rushing out of class, I think to myself.

Was she even in this class in the first place?

Well I mean, it doesn’t hurt to ask.

I walk up to my professor.

“Hey Breezy, are you okay,” he asks caringly. “I’m sorry you ran out earlier. You know you’ll have to make up that presentation right?”

A smile pulls at my lips. “Yeah, I know Professor. But don’t worry, I’m gonna totally rock this presentation next time.”

He smiles. “I like to hear that. Now what is it that you wanted.”

“Well, I was wondering if there was an Ango in this class?”

He looks at me startled. “Not that I know of,” he replies.

I step back, baffled. How could that be?

I march to the principal’s office without saying goodbye to Professor. She has to at least be a student here right? Her whole existence to me wasn’t just a farce, was it?

I knock on Principal Aletheia’s door.

“Come in,” she said.

I walk in and shut the door behind me.

“Good Afternoon,” I start. “I was just wondering if you could look up a student for me please?”

She looks at me skeptically. “Can I ask why?” she questions with a raised eyebrow.

Wow, I haven’t thought this far.

“Um, well, she’s a friend of mine who, uh, got sick and I wasn’t sure if she transferred schools or not?” It comes out as a question, even though it was meant to be a statement.

Principal Aletheia doesn’t look so convinced, but she looks in the system anyway.

It takes her a while to look up Ango, when finally she turns to me and says,

“Ango was never a student at this school.”

I stand there, mouth open, afraid to even blink. Was she all…in my head?

Ango: Latin word for anxiety, torment, distress

Aletheia: Greek word for truth, reality

Also, ignore grammatical errors. I wrote this on the fly 🙂

dear 7-year-old breezy (8-24-19)

I am more than a conqueror

Tell someone what’s going on. Please. Tell dad, tell mom, tell nana. Because if you don’t tell them soon, no one will believe you. And you’ll feel like it’s all your fault.

But don’t keep the pain. Let it go. It happened, and it’s over. He’s going to reap what he has sown. When you get to high school, you’ll find out he’s been robbed, shot, and deceived by his so-called friends. And when that happens, you’ll remember what goes around comes around.

You are so bright. The way you talk, the way you walk, your energy. Hold onto that. Don’t let what that monster did to you rip you from your joy. Because when you become a teenager, you will find your light dimming, being haunted by your childhood. But hold onto your precious light a little longer. You will be happier.

I know people make fun of you because of your acne. What kind of 7-year-old has bumps on her face, right? But they don’t understand your condition. When you get older, the bullying will get worse. You’ll start to feel ugly. But please remember that true beauty comes from within. Those little boys don’t know anything about that yet.

I know your family situation isn’t the best. But trust me, it will get better. Hold on to your faith. God will move mountains that seem impossible. But with Him, all things are possible. Remember that.

I love you. Hang in there for me, alright?

Love, 18-year-old Breezy

I HATE MYSELF

I hate myself.

No, like actually.

I hate myself, not necessarily because of some event, or some tragedy that happened to me. I hate myself because…I said so.

During my sophomore year of high school, I started hanging out with a new group of friends. Within that group, we did a lot of self-deprecating humor. You know, playfully saying that you want to jump off a cliff, or that you’re a mistake, or that you hate your life. it’s a lot of fun, isn’t it? They’re just meaningless words right, nothing too serious. It’s just a coping mechanism, right? However, what I didn’t realize until my senior year when I had two panic attacks in my mom’s car was that my words have a lot more power than I gave them credit for. Turns out, the more I say I hate myself, the more I actually start to hate myself.

By senior year, it became natural for me to tear myself down. I would be in the grocery store and I would drop, I don’t know, a pack of cookies or something, and on my way to pick it up, I would say “ohmygod I hate my life.” Without thinking. It just slips out. I’ll be scrolling through twitter and there would be so many self-deprecating tweets. “Hopefully I get hit by a bus so i can get college tuition.” “If this life thing could just hurry up and end already, that’d be great.” And I would like these tweets, not understanding what the negativity is doing to my subconscious.

Starting the second semester of my senior year, I made a goal to start changing my language. Whenever I would say something negative about myself, I would take that thought and flip it. “No, I love myself.” “This isn’t impossible. I can do this.” “I’m not trash. I’m an amazing human being.” I remember doing this around my friends and they would laugh because they are so used to me making negative jokes.

But it’s not a joke anymore.

Words. Have. Power.

“Life and death is in the power of the tongue.” You can speak life over yourself. Even if you don’t love yourself right now, if you say that you love yourself over, and over, and over, then you will believe it. Just like how I used to say that I hate myself over, and over, and over, and I actually ended up hating myself even more.

I want a future where my generation stops tearing themselves down for fun. Treat yourself as you would have others treat you. When you think about it, we treat strangers better than we treat ourselves. At the end of the day, you have to live with yourself. You may not see that stranger ever again but you have to live with yourself until you die. If what you say could hurt a stranger’s feelings, imagine what it’ll do to you. Be nice to yourself. Love yourself. Seriously. I know people say that jokingly. But you are all you’ve got.

Now, I kind of like myself. I slip up every now and then because old habits die hard. And there are days where I really hate myself. But even though I feel that way, I don’t have to reinforce those negative feelings.

I love myself.

I LOVE myself.

I. Love. My. Self.

freshman year sucked, but so did i

Oh Freshman Breezy.

You were so standoffish. You could have been good friends with the girls on your volleyball team, but you were too nervous. You would always sit and wait. Freshman Breezy, what were you waiting for? For them to walk up to you and introduce themselves? You know people aren’t that nice. Why didn’t you make an effort to make friends? You would probably still be on the volleyball team. You were such a great player too; the coaches saw it, even the varsity seniors saw it. But you quit. Because the pressure to make friends was just too much for you. You let your anxiety drive you away from something you loved to do. Did you have any idea how that would affect me? Huh? Did you have any idea how that would affect my capability to make friends now? You’re just selfish. You don’t care about the future and what your actions add up to later on. You’re just comfortable with drowning in self-doubt and fear. I could be like the kids in the hallways with their large group of friends in a circle during lunch, having fun. But no, I eat by myself most of the time unless my friend decides she wants to hang out with me again. I guess nothing’s changed since your first day of freshman year, right? God, why couldn’t you be like your sister? She is so confident, so popular, has so many friends and is so approachable. Where did you go wrong? You ruined it Breezy. Now, I’m graduating soon and I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get to college. My social skills have increased a little while my anxiety levels have jumped to the sky. You could have set me up for greatness, but you’ve only set a precedent of failure and wasted opportunities.

Look Freshman Breezy, I don’t want to blame you, but it seems like the best justification for how I am now. It’s not your fault. You got your horrible personality from your mom, and you can’t blame your mom, because she got it from her mom. You could have broken the generational curse. You could have stopped ostracizing yourself. You could have been more outgoing.

Or, maybe you couldn’t have.

Maybe you were meant to teach me something, and you’ve certainly taught me a lot. You’ve taught me that I shouldn’t let fear dictate my actions. You taught me that I should just talk to that girl, introduce myself to that boy. Who cares? You taught me how dangerous anxiety is; how it physically inhibits you from doing what you want. You wanted to talk to those volleyball girls, didn’t you? But you didn’t. Because your anxiety glued you to the bleacher, into the corner away from them all. Thank you for showing me what happens when fear takes over. I don’t want to go through that again. Yeah, you ruined your freshman year, but that doesn’t mean that my senior year has to go the same way. Maybe I judged you too harshly. Maybe, just maybe, you existed so that I could say that I changed for the better.

you may be annoying but i know you’re here to teach me something

You know who I can’t stand.

Aileen.

She doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. She will literally hover over me, her stomach on my back, while I’m working on something. She always asks people for food. Like, every day. I remember one time I asked her if she ever eats lunch, and she said in her high pitched voice, “of course. I have to eat something.” She always complains about being fat, but if you were to look at her, you would clearly see that she is normal sized. Do you know how irritating it is for normal-body people to whine about being overweight? She’s loud, she’s annoying, and she doesn’t take a hint when nobody wants to be around her. I’m the only person on the yearbook staff that she talks to because everyone else either shuns her or is outwardly mean to her. You know what that means; she latches onto me every…single…day.

Yea, I can’t stand her. But after a couple years of Aileen clinging to me, I had time to observe her and her antics. Then I realized something.

I kind of wish I was like her.

I wish I didn’t care about how people perceived me. I wish I wasn’t afraid to be myself. I wish I could speak to people without social anxiety being a factor. I wish I could talk as much as I wanted to without worrying if people think I’m annoying. Besides, who cares what people think? Aileen doesn’t, that’s for sure. She’s so busy doing what she wants to do and saying what she wants to say that she doesn’t have the time nor the energy to ponder the idea of people not liking her.

I admire her confidence. Even though she always complains about being fat, she walks with her back straight and head held high, as if that thought doesn’t bother her. She will openly admit her insecurities and still carry herself as if she has none. She’s not afraid to ask questions or to give her opinions on things. Her voice is loud and commanding (albeit annoying). No matter what the circumstance is, you can’t stop Aileen from being…Aileen. How powerful is that? To be yourself regardless of what’s going on.

Aileen inspires me more than anyone else could. In the most annoying way possible. I feel like I have taken her friendship for granted. Even as I write this, I’m sorrowful, reminiscing on how I’ve treated her. How I would brush her off and ignore her sometimes. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves a good friend. A friend that will listen to her rant and rave about her day. A friend that will help her with whatever problems she may have. A friend who will make her feel loved when she feels lonely. That’s the type of friend she needs, because she has been that friend to me.