132: Fish Wish

The last time I got my wish was the day my fish died. Poor Killian Jones.

My fish died of what I assume was a heart attack from being unable to escape the net when cleaning his tank. My dad and sister had been visiting and told me I needed to clean his tank. It was pretty dank, but I can’t help blaming them for his death. At first, I thought he was still alive. His thin fin was still twitching. I waited probably ten minutes to see if he would turn back over, walking in and out of the bathroom every thirty seconds. Although now given my knowledge of myosin motors, that was probably just rigor mortis.

You’re probably wondering what my wish was.

I think I’m not going to tell you. Yet.

via See Jane Write: 365 Blog Post Ideas and Writing Prompts

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127: Indifference

What is the opposite of a kiss? 

I find the opposite of a kiss to be indifference. To be purely disinterested and detached. To not have a care at all for that mouth that was once on yours. To not have a care that he or she deleted you. To even not have a care that he or she doesn’t look as good as once before.

All because you didn’t even really care in the first place.

But this indifference cannot exist without the kiss. That kiss, that connection, that attraction. With the knowledge these are possible, indifference doesn’t come so hard.

What is the opposite of a kiss? 

(What were we talking about again?)

via See Jane Write: 365 Blog Post Ideas and Writing Prompts

 

I am Better

I talked about how this time last year I was hospitalized for severe depression (in Who I am Not). My favorite uncle had recently passed from colon cancer in April. School was hard for me, between counting thousands of flies and writing out organic chemistry reactions. It was easy for my anxiety to take over and send me into a depression.

It was after my sorority’s formal that I intentionally stepped in front of a moving car. I told my therapist and she suggested that I go to the hospital. I told my mom and soon her and my father were up at school, ready to take me home.

After the hospital, I spent the summer in an intensive outpatient program. With five hours a day, five days a week, there was barely any time for me to enjoy myself. Not like I could remember what I enjoyed doing.

Even last semester, I entered into a two week depression. Taking forever to leave my bed, forgetting how many days it had been since I had showered, failing to reach out to even my closest of friends. It was all so hard for me to even think about.

Despite all that I have gone through in the past year, I am now in good place. I’ve regained my characteristic motivation. I am motivated to do well in my classes, reach out to friends and family, and do the things I know remember that I love.

This time last year, sitting in the psychiatric ward at the cafeteria tables looking out at the rain, I would’ve said I’ve been better. But now, looking at those same water droplets hit the Ithaca soil, I can say I am better.

via Daily Prompt: Better

Stylish/Boujee Life

Boujee. You hear that term first coined in the Top 40 song, “Bad and Boujee” by Migos. We all know what bad means, but what does the latter mean?
Boujee is an abbreviation for bourgeoisie, a “elite demographic defined for a need for luxury and material items” (Refinery 29). Basically, boujee– or bougie– means being materialistic af. And guess who is bougie? Yours truly.
I have an Erin Condren planner and buy custom-made stickers on Etsy. I buy acai from Wegmans to make acai bowls.  I use wireless Beats earbuds as I listen to podcasts and Spotify premium. I purchased purple Tevas from Urban Outfitters so that my shoes could match my purple Kanken backpack.
Now tell me I’m not bougie.
But is there anything wrong with being bougie? I wouldn’t say so. There is so much more to me than using speech to text on my gold Apple Watch.
Bougie is simply one lifestyle, not an entire life.

via Daily Prompt: Lifestyle

124: Who I am Not

I am many things. A daughter, a sister, a friend. I’m a student, a researcher, a writer. I am many things but I am not my depression, my anxiety, my obsessive compulsive disorder.

It was this time last year that I was hospitalized for severe depression. I didn’t even know that it was Cinco de Mayo then. Not like it mattered; I was in a psychiatric ward with no allowance to the outside world.

Being in the hospital, you only focus on yourself. There are groups that you go through in the same recreation room throughout the day to understand the mental illness you are dealing with. By this, it’s hard to draw the line between yourself as a person and the state of your mental health.

After being released, I still had a hard time differentiating between who I am as a person and the handful of mental illnesses I had been diagnosed with. I thought of myself as my depression, my anxiety, my obsessive compulsive disorder. Combined with the unfortunate stigma surrounding mental illness, I looked down on myself as a person.

It wasn’t until a certain exercise in an intensive outpatient program over the summer that I realized the extent of my identity. The therapist first told us to draw a bubble with “me” written in the center. Then she told us to write the particular illness or illnesses we have in their own bubbles around the first one. Finally, she told us to write who we are to others and our interests in other bubbles surrounding those original drawings.

With that inspiration, I was to fill up the majority of the page with bubbles other than my mental illnesses. That drawing showed that I am so much more than a few diagnoses.

I am many things. 

via See Jane Write: 365 Blog Post Ideas and Writing Prompts

Shook/Triggered

I am shook. 

This phrase is commonly used by my fellow millenials in reference to being panicked. You will commonly hear these three words when either of the following occurs: you see that guy who ghosted you via Snapchat in the stacks, someone makes a comment in favor of the conservative stance on reproductive rights, or CTB has run out of their classic sun dried tomato bagel.

You will also hear that they were triggered. But what do they mean by that word?

In a sense, they mean to express that they are offended or that their feelings are hurt (thanks, Urban Dictionary). However, the psychological intent of the word triggered is when someone’s mental illness is exacerbated. You don’t seem so triggered now, do you?

But that’s fine; you don’t need to have a mental illness to be triggered. There can be memories or traumas in your life that you would prefer not to be reminded of. For example, unseasonal weather triggers me. It reminds of me of this time last year when my uncle was slowly passing away and I was entering a depression. As a result, I wasn’t one to chill on the slope in February when it was a mild seventy degrees.

We all have our triggers and it’s important to know them. If I didn’t know I retreated into my room and isolated myself whenever the weather was nice, I’d be much more distressed trying to figure out why.

So claim to be shook. But don’t consider CTB running out of your favorite bagel to be one of your triggers. The garlic is so much better anyway.

via Daily Prompt: Panicked