Insomnia Never Gets Old

 Been a while since I took to the blog to attempt to hack my insomnia. 

Honestly, it feels like I'm fourteen again, dreading nighttime because even though I may have been a bear in another life, I can't get my stupid human body to cooperate and go the fuck to sleep. I used to take melatonin for it but it always left me feeling groggy in the morning. Then years passed and one psychiatrist or another prescribed Trazodone, which I can only describe as horse tranquilizer. It knocked me out for a full twenty-four hours so I opted not to continue it. Thanks a lot for wasting an entire day of my life -_-

I stayed at my dad's last night 'cuz yesterday was his 57th birthday and Yan Diego and I wanted to celebrate it by going out to dinner, just the three of us. It was really nice. The bro and I split a chicken Milanese salad while my dad ordered a spinach-mushroom type risotto (which I obviously stole some bites of because DUH). After dinner, we all ventured off to buy beer except I forgot about the laws on selling alcohol after 8pm in most places, so a gas station selection would have to do. Papi and YD both chose their faves while I hung back; wasn't much feeling the need for alc. Then the sweetest man running the counter rang us up and handed me two lollipops (presumably because he thought I was underage and was feeling left out by not getting my own drinks). Now, I'm fully twenty-two years old and 10000000% could've legally bought my own if I wanted, but I'll take free lollipops any day.

We ended up taking the long way home (with my idiot brother pausing to pee behind a bush). Once we got back, I greeted Scout and Phoenix with high-pitched affection and sat down so we could begin watching The Batman (Edward Cullen version). The movie was A THOUSAND YEARS LONG but very worth it. Of course, it didn't help that I kept having to pause every thirty minutes so I could recap what was going on... At one point I even got Yan Diego to make me an entire bowl of mac 'n cheese while recapping. Overall, I thought it was genius, brilliantly written, designed, edited, acted, etc. It did give me wicked anxiety though because the villains felt all too realistic and the misogyny some of the characters faced felt a wee bit too relatable eeek

Then Papi went to bed and I spent the next hour forcing Yan Diego to watch trash Riverdale compilations on Youtube. His old ass called it around 3am ('cuz he's a working man and all) and so we went back upstairs to the room we share. He and I haven't shared a room since I was seven and he was ten. Now we're twenty-two and twenty-five, him having taken over my mattress while I'm at college, and me occupying the couch sectional in the corner. And I know it's not like we actually share a room anymore (I'm never usually home), but something about it felt safe and familiar and old. We spent our early childhoods in Queens, NY; what feels like lifetimes later, we're in Po-town, NY. Still sharing a room. It made me long for my childhood like an absolute blubbering sap. Because here I am, twenty-two and a junior in college, feeling as tired and aged as my eighty-somethin'-year-old grandparents. 

I miss writing for fun. To feel things. To make others feel. I miss reading for pleasure. And waking up refreshed without an alarm. I miss spending all day off my phone (because I didn't have one), not a care in the world. I don't want to pay bills. I don't want to file taxes. I don't want to have to remember meetings and rehearsals and appointments. I want to wake up whenever I feel, eat sugary cereal and watch Cyber Chase. Or sit sprawled across the floor with coloring utensils. Or balled up in a hammock reading the very first Harry Potter book. I miss chocolate milk mornings and Beatles for bedtime. I miss giggling in the backseat and having no knowledge of car accidents. I miss easy homework and imagination for days. I miss my little self. I know people are always saying there's no use fixating on the past but I didn't know how quickly mine would be ripped away from me. So I'm allowed to long.

I'd forgotten what writing on here felt like. Like never-ending flutters on a keyboard, letting my thoughts dictate whatever they fancied. I'd forgotten how... freeing? it feels to ramble uninterrupted, uncensored, and with no agenda. I don't even get to do that in therapy!

I'm still feeling nostalgic and I doubt I'll make it to bed at an appropriate time but here's to trying.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Amalgamation

Sup.

I haven't been able to write for months. I mean, I've tried. But I never ended up finishing any of the posts I meant to write and so I've been left with an amalgamation of sorts. I thought I'd share them anyway.

..........

It's been exactly one month since I turned twenty and one month since I last saw all my Vassar friends. It's been a month since I had possessions that existed outside of a carry-on suitcase and a month since things started to go downhill.

It's hard to believe that a month ago, I was still convinced I'd be going back to school in two weeks' time; that I'd spend a week touring Chicago with my a cappella group; that I'd get to go back to my room and spend quality time with Jessica, with Charlotte & Leila; that I'd get to crash Evan's room so we could blow out our very late birthday candles; that I'd finally be able to go on a real date with the guy I was trying not to crush on for months.

..........

Heya.

It's late, I know. 

Bit nauseous, bit of a headache. Can't seem to sleep. Just one of those nights, I suppose. 

I'm in a mood I think. There were excellent parts to this week and parts I wish I could forget. My anxiety's been real bad.

..........

Hi friends <3

I meant to write something in the month of October but it seemed to have escaped me. The days dragged on, each one feeling longer than the last. A blur of nightmares, skipped meals, and incomplete assignments. My friends are gems, though. We're all just trying to make it through. Only three weeks til home.

Rip so I wrote that weeks ago

..........

I dunno what's wrong. I mean I should know what's wrong. I'm pretty sure I know what's wrong. I haven't taken my meds for a week. That would do it. It wasn't exactly on purpose. I dunno. Maybe it was. Maybe I'm self-sabotaging again. Maybe my brain doesn't want me to succeed. 

I'm in the middle of a Dungeons and Dragons game at the moment. Should I be paying attention? Probably. I'm trying to. I want to. I also can't shake the need to violently vomit. Withdrawals, probably. Oh, and the Big Sads. That, too.

Being home is hard. It's a lot. It's knocked me down lower than I thought it would. I can't wait to go back home. Real home. School. Where my friends will be. Where I want to be. 

I want to be okay. I want my brain to stop scrambling. I want to feel okay in my body. I don't want to hate being alive. 

I'm trying my best to feel like an interesting person. Like I can be good at things. Like I might have talents. Like I might not be mediocre. The company I keep is hard to beat. Not that there's anything to beat. I'm proud of them. I appreciate them. I love them for who they are. I'm just not them. Or anywhere near them. I want to like myself. 

I'm so tired all the time. My body hurts all the time. I think it thinks I'm fighting a bear every day. Or getting hit by a bus. Or battling the flu. My bones hurt. My muscles ache. My head throbs. My stomach churns. Why do mental poisons seep so deeply into our bodies?

..........

Hi there darlings.

I know the holiday season can be extremely difficult for some of us. It certainly is for me. Whatever your reason may be, I want to make sure you know you are loved and cherished and cared for, if not by anyone else, then by you. Be your own best supporter this holiday season (it's also a-okay to ask for help when you need it.)

..........

It was so bad. The screaming just never stopped. I just wanted to have a good Christmas. A good anything, really. Family isn't supposed to cause you this much pain. It isn't it isn't it isn't. Only a little more and then I'll be home home again. 

..........

We broke up. It was the right choice.

..........

A civil war? In this economy?

..........

HEY BITCHES!

Things have been kinda... good lately? Food has been more stable and fun (I get to cook a lot of it) and my brothers have been nice to me which is unheard of. My dad's about the same but we've binge-watched a lot of shows with my brothers like His Dark Materials and Peaky Blinders and Ink Master. It's been nice. My cats have each slept in my room more so, yaknow, maybe they love me after all. LINNEA ADOPTED A DOG! AND SHE'S NAMING HIM MONET! LIKE A BALLER! And he's going to be my little nephew I am so excited. I started knitting again (thanks to Jessica crocheting boob triangles) and I started collaging again (thanks to an identity crisis.) Oh also JESSICA FINALLY GOT HER ROOM ASSIGNMENT AND SHE'S JUST DOWN THE HALL FROM ME I AM SO BEYOND EXCITED TO SQUEEZE THAT WOMAN AGAIN! And also we finally watched The Warriors (her and her dad's fave movie to watch together, so I think I'm part of the family now.) I'm hella fucking nervous for school to start again because I still don't have my class schedule ahahaha but hopefully the imposter syndrome stops getting to me and I'll actually feel like I belong at Vassar. Oh, and I've made tiktoks? I dunno, man... I'm a new woman or whatever.

..........

Aaaaaand that concludes all the things I meant to write but never finished (minus the Thanksgiving and New Years' posts, those will have to wait.) I know it's not much but I guess you can at least see the progression of my different mental states or something? Wack. Anyway.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

On Love & Creativity

Creativity comes and goes in bits and pieces. Much like love.

Love does that, too.

Sometimes it pours into your life in torrents, other times it faintly trickles... Sometimes, it might even feel like it's not there at all (don't worry, it is—you just haven't quite found it yet).

Anyone who knows me or knows this blog understands that I am often at war with my artistic self. It's either never enough or too much. I'm too black and white; too all or nothing. It's a trait most of my family inherited. I'm constantly torn between GO GO GO and NO NO NO. I'm either rushing or dragging; soaring or crashing; exploding with material or run absolutely dry. It's exhausting to live your life in extremes.

Every few months I get stuck in a creative rut, where I feel like nothing nothing nothing I produce is worth paying any mind to. And typically, when the rut comes to an end, I am bursting with life and ideas and neverending thoughts that I must get down on paper before they disappear. The only issue with that, of course, is the expense of my health. When I'm not producing, I get down on myself for not being enough which in turn makes me depressed and zaps my productivity. When I am producing, I drive myself manic from hours upon hours of creation—no rest for the wicked... or food or breaks either, apparently.

I've gotten quite lucky in that the past week, fortune favored both love & creativity for me :) Seldom do those things come in pairs (at least in my experience—if it's happened often for you, must be nice). Finding new loves and rediscovering old ones is... Gosh, it's amazing. A bit overwhelming, sure, but so unbelievably rewarding, 10/10 would recommend. And then there was my drama final.

Did I put it off to the last minute? Of course. Do I work best under extreme, unnecessary pressure? You betcha.

My Movement for Actors class presented all our finals last week. We were to take a portrait of our choosing, embody the character in the frame, and produce a two-minute movement piece based on it. Out of all the portraits in the world, I chose a self-portrait of my brother, Yan Diego, called Mirror & Me. It depicts a shirtless young man looking solemnly into a hand mirror, a cross necklace around his neck, his silhouette a horned figure. The thing is, as much as it was a portrait of himself, it was also a portrait of me. And everyone in my family who has struggled with inner demons.

Growing up in a traditional catholic community had many downfalls. One of the biggest things was the lack of support when it came to mental illness. Feeling as though the fabric from which you were made actively went against all your community's beliefs was a lonely thing to experience, especially as a young child. Feeling as though you were left with no choice but to hate yourself was... not pleasant in the least.

I have often found that my best works are a product of excruciating pain. Why would this be any different?

I decided to use Bon Iver's 715 CREEKS as my background. Somehow it perfectly encapsulated everything I wanted to portray in a single song. The peaks and valleys of violence and tenderness... The conflicting duality of beauty and pain... Loving and hating oneself all in one go. My dear friend Caellum first introduced me to that song. We "grew up" performing together so, in a way, I wanted to pay homage to him as well.

Then came the exploration of movement. I'm no professional and I certainly had no clue what I was doing, but I wanted whatever came from this project to be felt, like really truly felt by the audience. So into my reservoir of feels I dove. It was awkward at first. I didn't know how my body was supposed to move or what I was supposed to feel. I just kinda went with it. I told myself I had to film it soon before I chickened out.

I forced Linnea to be my accomplice and help me film the piece in the downstairs bathroom (look, we needed to use a big mirror, okay?) I was beyond embarrassed at first. It took me about thirteen tries to hype myself up before I could allow myself to perform in front of my best friend.

But I'd say it was worth it. Thanks to Linnea, it only took me two tries to show everything I possibly could have wanted on camera. And those two tries took just about every ounce of energy I had. I hadn't felt that pleased with anything I'd produced in months. It's sorta hard to explain. I felt relieved that it was over.

My audiences seemed to like it :)

It's wild how love and creativity came hand in hand this past week. I am so blessed to love and be loved by such wonderful, kind, brilliant, generous, witty, complex human beings. Some of those humans have floated in and out of my life and I could not be more thankful for them. I guess my point is: cherish new loves, cherish old loves, cherish the loves you never thought you'd love again. Strive to love unconditionally. Love unapologetically. Love loudly. Love boldly.

There is strength in vulnerability. There is there is there is.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Love in the Time of Corona

I don't know what I'm trying to write.

Nothing I could ever write would heal this kind of hurt. And yet here I am trying to make some sense of it all. Or maybe not make sense of it, just... I dunno. Throw my thoughts into the void.

Everything has happened so fast. Two weeks ago, we all happily left for spring break without a care in the world. Some of us came prepared for the worst, others did not. I have attempted to take every step with grace, but have not been so successful. First, the rumors. Then memes, warnings, emails followed. News headlines flashing COVID-19, Coronavirus, Global Pandemic. It just doesn't go away. Hasn't gone away. Week two in self-quarantine trying to keep clean, trying to keep sane, trying to make the aches of missing you all go away.

I think I told myself to write this as an attempt to journal my way through the outbreak. People kept journals during the World Wars, during the Great Depression, during the Spanish Influenza—why should this be any different? Our world is at war with a virus we don't yet know how to beat. It's perhaps our scariest enemy yet. And while I don't think it productive to fall into a complete state of panic, people need to do better. Wash your hands. Stay home. Practice social distancing. Remain six feet apart. Don't hoard supplies. Be a decent fucking human being. We are all hurting. We are all scared. At least be kind.

Things are scary right now. They are. Between trying to navigate the transition to online classes, to figuring out where I was gonna live, to making sure my parents were safe, to scrubbing my hands raw, to battling with loneliness in isolation, to wondering what I'm gonna do when my medication runs out, to attempting to function at all like a regular human being... It just... It's a lot. I've been fortunate enough to be able to stay with Linnea's family in MA for the time being. YD is doing the same with a friend from RISD. Javi and Mami are stuck in the DR apartment. My dad is in VT working the frontlines every day as a retail employee at a pharmacy. Talk about modern-day soldiers.

There has been so much uncertainty and so much distress on all fronts. So much is out of our control. I've tried focusing on the little tiny baby things I do have control over (like eating and sleeping, showering and brushing my teeth, going for a walk or at least looking out the window) and yet I still can't seem to do them all enough. Evan's been pushing me to stay on top of it. Linnea's been trying to keep me sane. Vassar students everywhere are scrambling—for their belongings, their GPAs, their friends, their canceled graduations. Professors and administration can barely keep up with the ever-changing news. Entire states are being shut down left and right. Outside feels like a ghost town. Still, the only way out is through.

When things are scary and frightening and uneasy and unknown, I find it comforting to revel in the small things. Like raspberry jam on toast. And crossword puzzles. A weighted blanket for bed. Hamster feet. Hugs of every kind. Facetime. Fun-filled pasta. Rediscovering club penguin. Cooking dinner together. Puppy licks. Disney movies. Children's books. A hot shower. Solitude at 3am. Plants that continue to grow despite it all. I am so lucky to be cared for and healthy and safe. Not everyone can say the same.

Please be kind to yourselves and each other. The world has needed tenderness for some time now. Give it to her.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya 

Existential & Twenty

Hello, my dears. I am feeling a bit sleepy so I'll try to keep this short.

On Friday, yours truly turned twenty years old. Two zero. Absurd, if you ask me.

Of course, I had all sorts of trepidations about leaving my teen years and no matter how much Evan tried to console me by saying it's just another number and it doesn't even matter what age I am so long as I stay myself, I had doubts. It's only been like three days and surely I feel just the same except for the fact that I don't qualify as a teenager anymore. Which means I'm not a child. Which means I'm an adult. And I kind of hate that.

When you're an adult, people start to expect things from you. How to behave, how to talk, how to dress. Manners, diligence, resourcefulness. Children look up to you. You accumulate responsibilities. And you're expected to do all this knowingly without a moment's notice. Now, of course I know most adults do not, in fact, have their shit together and tend to scramble and make mistakes and flounder and ask for help and make more mistakes and fail over and over again. That all just seems a bit scary to me.

I know more adult-y adults will always be around to help but what if you don't even know where to begin? Surely every other twenty-year-old on the planet felt more capable than I when their birthdays came about. Am I the only one who spent an inordinate amount of time mourning their adolescence? Is there anything there to even mourn? Then again, I've always been quite the existential creature and have felt the weight of the world at every age.

I think in some ways, I have my shit together more than most other newly-twenties; in other ways, I feel like everyone else was given an instructional pamphlet and I was given a coloring book.

I can really feel the sleep hitting now...

I'm kind of excited for this new decade but I'm also kind of wondering who thought it a good idea to let me be in charge of things. I'm still just a freshman in college but I know for a fact this time will fly by and before I know it, I'll be an even adultier adult with a life and a job and more bills to pay.

I guess I'm just scared because all I've ever wanted was stability. I'd be content if nothing exciting happened to me for the rest of my life because more often than not, excitement has brought along its fair share of tragedy and I've never been able to escape it. I want to be happy in my uneventful, stable, healthy, routine, comfortable life. I want a roof over my head and food at the table and health for me and my loved ones. Everything else would just be a bonus.

I think things will be okay. I think they will. I'm optimistic and hopeful enough, I'm just tired of fighting sometimes. And tired of being awake. But good things can happen when I'm awake so I'll keep waking up.

Sweet dreams, friends <3

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

More Important Things than Valentine's Day

Hey everyone. It's been a while. Sorry about that.

Yet again I find myself writing seemingly nonsensical gibberish at four in the morning. To be fair, at least I don't have class on Fridays. I went to bed wicked early last night with the intention to wake up around 3am so I could deliver my absent roommate's adorable Valentine's Day treats, and I guess I just haven't fallen asleep since.

I took the opportunity that I was awake to edit Pri's college app essays which I had promised to take care of two days ago. I'd been meaning to do it but always found myself preoccupied or too tired. I'm proud to say it's over and done with now though. It's something I accomplished and can now tick off my to-do list.

I've been binge-watching Season 3 of Riverdale because I love my trashy Cole Sprouse show with all my heart no matter how bad it is or how many plotholes there are. I've been trying to make it through the week relatively unscathed. Hasn't particularly worked. After my roommate, Jessica had to go home last week due to an emergency, I haven't quite been able to pull myself out of this weird energy vacuum. I miss her like hell. I miss when the room wasn't so empty. She'll be back eventually but it might take a while, we don't know.

Though I love my classes and my job and my friends and my schedule this semester, I've still been struggling with some other energy-sucking situations. Meetings with the Title IX office; meetings with my therapist; meetings with my survivor's group therapy; meetings with my academic/life coach; it's just all been a lot. And I've been well supported, I have, but it's still like... Like I just don't have the focus or alertness to do it all, all the time, you know?

Anyway.

I love my job—working with little kids brings so much joy. I love my Movement for Actors and Jazz Dance classes the most. It feels so good to get out of my head and into my body and get actual academic credit for it. I love my friends—the ones that listen to my bullshit stories and the ones that take me for a drive at two in the morning and the ones that take spontaneous diner trips for shakes and fries and the ones that take boudoir photos of each other and the ones that play cards against humanity till we pee ourselves and the ones that agree to sing their heart out with me. They're all so special and I adore them so so so so much. I love my roommate and I cannot wait until she gets back.

I've sort of been in a creative block lately. Like I have so many ideas and have so many things I want to create and pursue but I just can't bring myself to start any of them. Writing this blogpost was my attempt to just kinda get out there and make something even if it's shit. It beats keeping everything inside my head.

Tomorrow or I guess later tonight, I'm going to see my friend Leila's burlesque show and I'm super duper excited about that. And on Saturday, the Owls have their annual Margaritowlville concert. The dress code is all black—dress to undress. So that's pretty exciting too. I'm gonna attempt to do as much of my work ahead of time as possible so I can fully enjoy the weekend in all its glory.

Or something like that.

Ay, mijos, it's nearly 5am and I still haven't gone back to bed. I should fix that, really. Tomorrow I will breathe to life new accomplishments and new creations and I will have things to be proud of. I will I will I will.

Here's wishing you all a dandy Valentine's Day. May it be everything you want it to be or not be.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

I Am

Hello hi hi hi I literally have two entire blogposts on hold that I started before this one (it has been impossible to come back to writing them for some reason) but the inspiration came to me (probably due to my own delirium) and I couldn't let it go #sorrynotsorry ;)

Anywayyyyy here's the piece I felt overwhelmingly compelled to write.

..........

I Am

by: Maya I. E. Wilson

I am not beauty, nor elegance, nor grace
Don't you dare speak my name
I am festering wounds
I am tumbling mouths
I am crumbs in the bedsheets, stale gum and plot holes
I am not softly falling rain
I am the hurricane
I am peppered on bruises
I am swollen tonsils and week-old stubble
I am talking hands and chipped nail polish and sand
I am sunburnt ego
I am too-large nose
I am too loud, too short, too proud
I am my mother's mistakes
I am my father's mistakes
I am above my past and I am forever grieving it
I am reaching for fireflies
I am making new histories
I am big, I am love, I am joy
I hold the entire world in my palms
I am the cracks on the sidewalk and the flowers that grow from them
I am freezing cold water and gasps for air
I am yearning for something that might not be there
I am not steady
I am not calm
I am not a product of everything wrong
I am kites flying high and piles of snow
I am not the rehearsal, I am the show
I am tuna melts and Yankee candles and pinky promises
I am tangles of ivy and Newport and clam chowder
I am frigid Novembers and colder Decembers and overweight Vermont turkeys
I am crackling knuckles and future arthritis
I am the dulce de leche my grandparents invited
I am the speeding sailboats and the swaying palm trees off the coast of California
I am the currents flowing through Río Ozama
I am the hymns from churches I've never been to
I am a New York sliced pizza and fights you've never been through
I am too scared of subways, too Hudson River,
too young and still too much of a giver
I am not the national anthem, I am not a prize to be won
I am the children's laughter at recess
I am the view from Pico Duarte
I am the unspoken progress
I am free time on a workday
I am the floors my mother slept on
I am the songs my father sang
I am my brothers' peace of mind
I am the help hotline you rang
I am the dream that never ended, the story always retold
I am terrified of staying, terrified of growing old

I am not fleeting, nor sudden, nor temporary.
I am present, ever constant, ever permanent.
Ever here.
Do not try to perfect me,
I am my own magnum opus.
You do not get to claim me.
I am not yours to be had.
I am mine and mine alone.
You got that?

..........

So I casually stayed up all night––it's currently 12pm (as in noon) and I have yet to fall asleep :-) I dunno, I felt this urgent call to write. Like, I just had to. It was gonna eat at me otherwise.

Would love to hear your thoughts <3

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

P.S.: I'm reading this over right now and I don't know if it's the sleep deprivation but I am absolutely in love with it <3

For Lack of a Better Post

I really need to stop taking such enormous hiatuses.

Here are some fun and exciting things that have happened in the life of Maya since we last spoke:

1) Papi and I saw Avengers: Endgame and if you haven't seen it by now, shame on you. It's a cultural necessity.

2) I read a beautiful and tragic book by the name of Zac+Mia. Highly recommend.

3) I skimmed through some cool babysitting jobs and managed to become part of the top 1% of babysitters in my area apparently???

4) I finally managed to start going to therapy again after freaking months. Insurance is truly a bitch.

5) I became fast friends with one of Lauryn's college buds, Luke :)

6) We had our Newsies cast party and I had the best time!!! My babies CJ and Nat were adorable as ever and we even got to play Unstable Unicorns with my other baby Danny <3 I got a wee bit drunk and so did everyone else and it was glorious.

7) I introduced Papi to Queer Eye and I'm pretty sure we've watched every single episode at this point. There's not a single one he didn't cry at.

8) Papi and I watched one of the most horrific renditions of Les Mis this world has ever seen and did not regret a single second of it. We were thoroughly entertained. Who knew Les Mis was a comedy?

9) I filmed a mini Mother's Day video (props to my cousin Brenda for putting it together) for my beautiful Tia Nelly and was rewarded with many tears and words of appreciation.

10) My cousin Natasha came to stay! We got to catch up on our wild lives and the many petty things that happen to us on a regular basis :)

11) I continued to walk the precious puggle, Chloe, although she's been having trouble walking lately and it makes me v sad.

12) I got asked to dogsit for Shea again!!! For five days!!! I'm so excited!!!

13) I started reading Reincarnation Blues at Luke's urging and so far I'm completely loving it.

14) I booked my train tickets for RI. Gotta go see my Abbey babies graduate next week!

15) I finally got around to watching The Imitation Game and was a thousand percent blown away. The cast was impeccable and their portrayals of these real people were astounding. I could watch it again and again and again.

16) My mom turned a whole fifty years old! Which is crazy to me because I honestly have frozen her in time at age 36. Or 37. Hard to believe she's even a day older than that, honestly.

17) In searching for pictures to post on my mom's birthday, I discovered an obscenely large amount of meme-worthy pictures featuring me and my entire family. That's what happens when your mom decides to post every single fucking picture that exists of you on Facebook. What a time to be alive.

18) Since Vassar's administration decided I was a ghost in their system (long story) and didn't make any moves to fix it, my parents took to writing many strongly worded emails and I just gotta say I never feel luckier than when my parents defend my honor/existence. It's truly a blessing.

19) These abortion bans have got me all kinds of fucked up. Livid. Scared. Outraged. Distraught. I can't even begin to explain how terrifying it is to be in possession of a uterus these days. That goes for trans men, gender non-conforming, agender, and non-binary people too. It's really fucking scary to know that a bunch on non-uterus-possessing individuals can just snap their fingers and take away our bodily autonomy. For fuck's sake, dead corpses have more bodily autonomy than we do. It's not about the children. It's never been about them. It's about control and nothing more.

20) I'm going to see Nat's dance recital this weekend and I'm so freaking hyped!!! That girl's got wicked talent.

And thus concludes my mini update. I swear I have better post ideas, it's just a matter of actually sitting down and creating them. In the meantime, you get to enjoy my day to day life. Riveting, I know.

Honestly why do these always occur at the crack of dawn?

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Time Capsule

Hello hi all.

I was attempting to write an actual blogpost for this (and I promise it is coming... eventually) but realized it is far too late and I am way too under-caffeinated so I'm resorting to slightly-very-cringey-at-best post. In short, I dug up some old writing pieces from twelve year old Maya, as in, weirdly religious, uncontrollably emo yet optimistic, using words I didn't really know the meaning of Maya. Sure she had some insight about quite adult-y things back then but she also very well may have been tripping off lack of melatonin production.

(Just for reference, most of these were written the summer I was away at Phillips Andover for weird artsy prep-school summer camp. Hence the odd prompts and shit. Carry on.)

Anyway. Here goes.

..........

"We carry around our own exits"

         We are the ones who decide how we finish. We make the best out of life, out of our opportunities, and how we decide to behave is what is going to be remembered. We make our own marks on this earth. I believe that we should all try our best, even when we fail; at least we worked hard enough to say that we put effort into whatever we did. From the day we are born, we carry around our ending, and we just have to find it. Our purpose of living isn't just trying to find our end, but enjoying the journey along the way. We are born, and we travel this long journey that leads us closer and closer to our end, but sometimes we just need to be reminded that it will all be worthwhile if we make it that way."We carry around our own exits,"... Yeah, that sounds about right.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

For whom do we express ourselves if not for ourselves?

   I usually ask myself the same question whenever I am about to make a decision: “Am I truly doing this for me, or am I trying to act like someone other than myself?”

   My parents have raised me to be my own person; they said it was okay to think and act differently, so long as I made smart choices.

   I always try my best to be confident in my own choices of thought and my own choices of action. I try my best not to let anyone tell me how I should live my life, or express myself.

   Everyone has their own moments of insecurity, when they try to be someone they’re not, or otherwise, they are pressured to. Of course, I’ve experienced those times when I just tried to fit in, where I’ve acted a little differently for the sake of people liking me, but I’m trying really hard to break that habit little by little.

   In conclusion, I am successfully trying harder every day to let loose and just be myself, no matter what people say. I am who I am; I was born that way.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

...Last Glances...

Have you ever felt the urge to look at that person one last time, but you didn’t, and that one decision haunted you the rest of your life? Well, that disgusting feeling has touched me more than once, and it’s scary to move on and look ahead when I think about it. You’re unsure; you feel cheated, that it might’ve been necessary to take a last glance, but your foolish mind blindly ignored your first instinct.

   First deaths always hurt the most. Especially when you knew that person. Especially when you were close to that person. And then you try convincing your brain that it’s not true, and your whole body goes in denial. Then it starts going numb, and when you’re numb, you’re not supposed to feel the pain, but it hurts more than it ever has before. And you try hiding it, and you try getting over it, and you try to remember his face, and you try to remember the last time he smiled at you… Then it all seems real and it all feels gone, like all those moments spent with him were wasted, and then you feel guilty for not looking one last time, just so you could remember those smiling eyes, and messy, black hair, and goofy laugh. Just one last time… And then the feeling clings to you forever.  

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Where I’m going...

   Where I’m going, it’s full of hills; grasslands cover all that is seen. Hills over hills, meadows over meadows; it all seems pretty endless. At dawn, the sky is a pale pink; rays of purple and orange seem to burst from the heavens, kissing the soft earth on the horizon. Sheep start to graze lazily as the big, bright sun illuminates the land around them. There, I can run free, not a care in the world, just wandering and admiring God’s creation. At noon, I’ll retreat to the nearby woods, dreaming underneath its shadows. I’ll speak with the squirrels, sing with the birds, care for the deer, and keep the trees company. Where I’m going, the dawn simply lulls into dusk, and the days seem blissfully endless. There’s no need for sleep, for my sleeping days will be over, so I’ll take my time and wander. A young fawn will keep me company as I count the stars in the sky, telling the youngling stories of my adventurous days. The fawn will go to sleep and the night owl will whisper its call, and I know it’s time to wake up. Though now, it’s a dream, I know I will get there; someday, I promise I will. My days will pass by, but it’ll all be worth it, for in the end, I’ll have eternal peace.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

“The self is made manifest in the opposites and in the conflict between them. It is a coincidentia oppositorum (coincidence of opposites). Hence, the way to the self begins with conflict.”

-Carl Jung

What I interpret from this passage is that we create ourselves and improve ourselves through conflict. As crazy as that sounds, it is usually true in lots of cases, where the argument between two opposites brings them together. We see that mostly in family relationships. The conflict, when confronted, can clear out just what was needed to be said. This would explain coincidentia oppositorum.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Grieving and Regrets

Cemeteries are full of memory and regret.

The headstones engraved with meaningless words;

The empty silence that reminds me of my loss;

The battered land that be crossed again and again.

Survivor’s guilt burns to the surface of my skin,

As I sit and rue for hours on end;

Hearing the humming songs in my head,

Swallowing my tears, for he’s not dead.

I turn around and almost swear that it’s him;

At least, I wish, oh! I wish it were him.

But it’s my old,

Sad shadow there, instead.

I faintly hear whispering words,

Hurtful words; Painful words.

I wish I could sew down my ears,

To save myself from this raging guilt.

Getting ready to leave is the hardest part;

Sometimes I wish I were dead so

I didn’t have to leave him.

Cemeteries are full of memory and regret.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

“A necessary end...” -Saltillo

   I race along the path of unknown as I swerve through the towering trees that try to manipulate me ~

I don’t let them. I cross many rivers, past mountains, past forests, hearing the echoes of the eery tree nymphs. I am running away, but I’m not sure from what. As I run into the unknown, horrifying memories of my past flash through my eyes. The intimidating trees offer no comfort as I weep. Proceeding along the path, I get distracted by the luring, angelic voices of the nymphs. I turn every corner, but there is no escape. The white voices surge through my brain. Full of frustration, I bound my way back through the remaining obstacles. The trees are clearing and the voices, fading. At last, I have reached the end of the path, and gratefully, I welcome my end.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those

who could not hear the music." 

-- Friedrich Nietzsche 

  And those who were classified as “different” were bullied by those who envied such personalities. And those who sang and spoke “to themselves” were thought to be mentally insane by those who could not hear the spirits. And those who loved with a love unlike any other were threatened and called “gay”. 

  This particular quote makes me reflect on many things, and think about many relating situations. This particular statement makes us question the society we live in. Is it truly that bad to be our own person? Why are we questioned about our own choices that we make in our own lives? I strongly believe that we are who we are, and no one is in a place to judge. 

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Threshold- Joseph Campbell

  If I had been moved a moment too late, my life wouldn’t be as it is now; I would feel like my life was pointless ~ no purpose to my living.

   I was a mere nine years old when I was touched by a song, a song that would be the beginning of a whole new way of thinking. The speaker was a seven year old girl, who had recently had visions of the upcoming World War II; her innocence completely shattered. The tears that rolled down my cheeks by the end of the song were caused by the powerfulness of the words; the great emotion from the lyrics. I was quite naive at the time and didn’t understand war very much, but after hearing the song ~ interpreting it ~ I was changed.

    ...children...hurting...crying...needing...begging for someone to reach out and save them!

   All I could do was weep for those children who never got the chance to be kids; who were born into a world of conflict and danger. I had become extremely sensitive to war topics after that. Barely two years later, I had to read a book for school called: The Hiding Place. It was a personal experience about the Holocaust. I read that book page through page; I felt the fear and terror build up inside of me ~ and then I found what was missing in my mind: the amazing power of faith in God. 

   As long as the author and her family prayed to God for the forgiveness of “those poor men (soldiers who tortured them) who don’t know what they’re doing”, her family was always saved from the frightful beatings to come. This book literally changed my life. I am grateful for absolutely everything I am given and my life feels like it has a purpose now, even if I don’t know what it is yet, but God made me for a reason, and I’m sure I’ll find out someday.

Maya I. E. Wilson, 2012

..........

Holy fucking shit, that was a trip and a half. I hope that wasn't nearly as uncomfortable for you as it was for me. Seriously, why was I obsessed with aligning in mismatched formats??? for like? paragraphs???? Who knows. None of us may ever know.

I hope your day/night/hibernation is going splendidly! I love and miss you all.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya 

Troubles

Hi there. It's getting quite late and I haven't managed to fall asleep yet.

Part of it is because I've been distracting myself by watching wedding vlogs. Wedding vlogs make me immensely happy. I need the distracting because if I lie awake too long tossing and turning, I'll remember how hungry I am. And I just cannot afford to be hungry right now. I had dinner already and that is that.

It's frustrating even to write this. I dunno. The past week, I've had 1 1/2 meals each day. There's only so much food left in the house and my dad and I have to make it stretch, so I really can't be pigging out on snacks any time I get bored. I know how I get when I get hungry, so I've avoided feeling it as often as I can. A good way to do this is by falling asleep, because when you're asleep, you can't know or feel how hungry you are, thus, a good two more meals are saved.

Needless to say, I spent a good portion of this week sleeping. And filling out financial aid forms for college. And sleeping. And washing dishes to pass the time. And sleeping.

My dad's been extra busy helping Javi out with his boarding school applications so he hasn't really had a lot of time to focus on me, or himself for that matter. And I mean, it'll be over soon, I guess, what with deadlines and due dates coming up. Anyway.

It's never a good feeling to know the person you depend on is not doing too hot. This I know because financial aid forms are very nosy and I was required to ask my dad some invasive questions. Living with a parent who struggles with mental illness is difficult. He knows this. He knows that I know this. And just like anyone with a mental illness (myself included) he has his good days and his bad days. I feel like my job is to make sure there are more good days than bad. 

My dad is pretty high functioning, all things considered. Just not when it comes to your basic everyday things like making his bed and doing the dishes and taking out the trash and getting us food.

Very few times in my life have I opened the fridge door just as my stomach gurgled, only to find it completely empty (and this is just a testament to my privilege, I am thankful I have experienced this only a very few times). All that was left inside was our water pitcher and an empty jar of mayo. Deciding I needed to eat soon lest I crave the early onset of a migraine, I scoured the cupboards for anything left since my brothers departed after the holidays. In this search, I found a can of tuna, a can of corn, some rice and some soup. I laid all the items out on the counter so my dad could see, strongly hinting that we needed to go grocery shopping ASAP.

Very few times in my life have I also needed to ransack my house for spare change, just to go get food. I looked at my dad, handing over the four bucks and eighty-six cents I searched all over my room for. That left us with a total of $26.86 to go shopping with. Something was something.

Again, writing this is infuriating. Because with every word I write, I feel like a privileged fucking hog who grew up in a white castle with unicorns and rainbows and butterflies. And maybe I did. That's not to say I wasn't aware of poverty—growing up in the Dominican Republic couldn't shelter you from that. But I lived a comfortable fucking life. And god bless me for that. I thank my lucky stars I was born into a nice enough family whose sole priority was our education and that we were loved. I am so lucky.

What I can say is nothing, absolutely nothing in this world can prepare you for when that rug gets tugged right out from under your feet. Sure, you think you'd know what to do if you were in a similar situation but until it happens to you, holy shit dude, you have no fucking idea.

And so I convinced my dad to go grocery shopping with the last of our cash. Because we needed to. So we got milk and eggs and bread and some other things I forget, knowing that we probably won't go shopping for another long while. That is, unless he reaches out to my mom for support.

Having divorced parents who are weird about money really fucking sucks.

This is all just a long-winded bitching rant to say that it's almost 2am on a Monday morning and I'm the kind of hungry where your stomach feels like it's eating itself and might kill you.

This wasn't meant to worry you all. Or, I dunno. You can think what you like. This is just how my life is going right now and you can think of it what you will.

We're gonna be fine, things are just shitty right now. It's okay.

I love you guys very much and sincerely hope you are doing well.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

The Fire

by: Maya Wilson

Growing up, I didn't know anger.
Anger was this wooden box full of smoke,
tucked inside people's mouths and then forgotten.
Anger wasn't yet a fire. It wasn't dragon's breath or a bugle horn.
That didn't come 'til later.
For now, I learned that anger formed snakes of people's tongues,
daring them to twist their words into this and that.
Anger was slippery and it was quick,
a smoke that filled your lungs and made you sick.
It was a warning sign and the disaster.
It was a way to sedate others, to keep them in your grasp.
When I was thirteen, I learned that smoke can burn.
It knows no mercy, even if you ask.
It's painful, and bubbling and a little too hot.
Anger was a cruel friend, who mocked and feigned sweet.
Anger lashed and licked away, leaving scars to rot.
But soon, it turned to flames, clearing all in its haste.
The fire and flames took the house down with it,
The girl and her dreams, and every last minute.

To My Mother

My mom is the kind of person you can't quite put into words. Ever since I got into poetry (circa 7th grade), I told myself that one day I'd write the greatest poem known to man about my mother. And believe me, I tried. But every possible effort felt fruitless because none of them ever measured up to who she truly was. I could never bring myself to show her any of my drafts because they were all incomplete. I started over again and again and never seemed able to finish––I wanted it to be perfect because she didn't deserve anything less. Here I am, years later, still with an impossible number of drafts and exactly zero finished products. It occurred to me that time is a luxury though, and one cannot waste it attempting to grasp perfection. I decided instead to post them anyway, all in their incomplete glory, in the hopes that some combination of words is the right one.

Here goes nothing.

..........

To My Mother

My mom can't cook.

Forget the lessons, the step-by-step recipes, and the easy-bakes.

There are reasons Mami doesn't step foot in the kitchen...

My mom can't sing, either.

Try as she might, the notes are never there and no matter how many times she blasts the radio in the car, something about her tuning is always off.

Nonetheless, that's never stopped Mami.

She made her own rules. She set her own limits.

Besides that, no one determined what would get in her way.

..........

Mami, I love you so <3

My mom is not a large person.

In fact, I tower one entire inch above her mere 5'1.

My mom is not a large person.

She never learned to cook, or clean, or swim, or sew.

Still, my mom is the #1 most badass person I know.

My mom grew up a rebel.

"Now, what straight A, valedictorian student becomes a rebel?" you might ask.

Well, my mom is made of fire, you see.

She pops, and flickers, and crackles.

She's warm until you bite her, then she burns.

My mom is so cool, she learned calculus over the phone.

My mom is so rad, she ran a marathon with bronchitis.

My mom is so awesome, presidents from all over the world have wanted to meet with her.

My mom is so fabulous, she was crowned Reina de Ocoa at age six.

My mom is so sick, she owned a skateboard in college.

My mom is not perfect.

She has little patience, is always right and can't pronounce the word "vegetables."

But my mom is heroic.

She left her homeland at seventeen, learned English on her own and was the first in her family to go to college.

I'm telling you––my mom is a LEGEND.

..........

Dear Mami:

I know you're probably mad I haven't called you in the past hour. Listen, life gets busy, I can't be calling you every time the weather changes (here, it's every five minutes...)

I just wanted to say thanks, I guess.

For, well... everything.

You sacrifice a hell of a lot and I hope you know it doesn't go unappreciated.

Hey, Mami, you know... uh... well, I guess we don't always agree on stuff, but that doesn't mean I love you any less.

I know you don't understand how I can possibly love girls AND boys, but thank you for still loving me.

I know you will never understand my crippling anxiety, but Mami, it's okay. I forgive you.

You grew up in a world where survival was the only way out. Sacrifice was the only lifeline and courage, a necessary resource.

You grew up hot-headed, thick-skinned, determined and with a thirst to succeed like no other.

See, Mami, you gave me that same thirst.

Except my thirst to succeed has never been quenched.

Instead of praise, my body punishes itself if it does not have the strength to go on.

See, mi cuerpo, Mami, was not built to endure a life like yours.

Mi mente, Mami, was not structured with the inches thick of buffers that block out killing machines of the world around.

You are petite, but you're built like a stone wall.

Mami, you are a fortress.

Everything you hold dear, you protect. You are fierce with defense and baptized with respect.

You fear no coward, you fear no villain.

You grew up a dragon with a fire burning so hot, it could melt hatred and turn arrows to stone.

Mami, you say I am your dragon but I have yet to breathe a single spark and someday I am hoping to become a fortress as well but I feel as though the only building materials I've been given are ash.

I cannot build from the ash, Mami. I am not a phoenix. I cannot rise again, like you did.

You have so much strength. You know nothing but perseverance. Mami, I know nothing but defeat.

Your child, I am nothing but the shadow in your flames.

Everyone says I am just like you, but Mami, can't they see that I am weaker? Not tougher, not keener.

I am nothing but me. Plain Maya. Nothing more.

I cannot be you. You have done so much more.

How do they expect me to do it?

Where do I even begin?

So you see, Mami, I have anxiety, and I know you don't quite understand it because you grew up in a world where there simply wasn't enough room for that. Only the fittest would survive, so you did.

Mami, I live in a world where perfection is everything.

Image is everything. Legacy is everything.

How must I take on such an enormous legacy when you are divine?

I simply cannot recreate your success story, please forgive me.

My fears blockade the way.

I hope you still have room enough in your heart for me.

..........

Three unedited, erroneous attempts.

Oh whale, at least I tried.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Nightmare

Hello darlings. 

I recently had a clear out of my phone where I went through all my old photos and notes and the like, deciding which ones I should chuck and which ones I should keep. It appears I haven't removed any of my middle-of-the-night scribbled notes since 2013 and it took me 'til now to uncover some buried bits. It was almost so long ago, I barely remember it happening. Anyhow, I thought I'd share something I wrote on October 15th, 2014 at 12:06am.

TW: Graphic description of traumatic panic attack/night terror.

..........

I grabbed onto the sheets but all I could feel was my pulse and the grime clogging my veins and when I opened my eyes I forgot how to breathe so choking would have to do but the air was hot and my skin was sticky and my pulse kept thumping 'til there were gashes in my brain and the sweat stuck to my skin like a child to her rag-doll and my god I tried to picture a world without me and it just seemed to click but the silence started screaming and my breathing strangled itself while I dry heaved my feelings onto the floor and the taste of spoons tickled my tongue when I noticed the teeth marks on my fists and I couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous I was being and how childish it was to think I would ever belong.

..........

That sure wasn't a pleasant night. Or a pleasant part of my life either, for that matter. I'm happy to say I don't quite wake up in the middle of the night with frightful thoughts (such as the above) as much anymore. I hope none of you have ever had to go through anything similar and if you have or ever do, I'm sending my warmest hugs.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

Fragments of a Fragile Mind

The universe works in funny ways. Last week, things got a bit dark and fuzzy again.

If it weren't for my dearest friends, I don't know where I'd be.

Here are mere fragments of the things said, all from different conversations, bits and pieces of the state of mind.

The purpose was to show the scattered frenzy that I can become and ultimately, to show that you are not alone. The fact that I'm writing this right now proves that I was not alone, even if it felt that way.

I can assure you at this moment in time I am safe and okay.

Caution: May contain triggering content. If you are ever at risk, please get help. I beg of you.

..........

Sorry sorry

I feel sick

So many things happened

How can I not let that define me?

I was trying to be rhetorical, asshole

The sad part is I wanna try again...

Except I wanna succeed this time

I wanna hurt again

So fucking badly

I am so so sorry

I won't do anything tonight

But I cannot tell you how lovely dying sounds

How lovely slipping away sounds

I

I'm trying to be okay

Over and over again

I love you all so much it hurts but I can't tell you how much I want to die

I'm so fucking weak

But I can't get out of my head

You shouldn't love me

Fuck

I want to go

I want to go so badly

My head is pounding

So exhausted

But I'm all snot and tears and yucky

All I'm gonna dream about is dying and I'm scared

I'm sorry for keeping you up

I just feel so fucking lonely

Fucking hell

I just wanna be loved

I don't wanna be judged

I wanna be hugged and told that I matter

And fall asleep not hating myself

I want people to fucking give a shit about me

I don't want to disappear into nothingness

I want to hurt because I don't know how else to be okay

I want the outside to match the inside

Just

I just can't go to work

There's so much blood

I'm literally itching for sharp edges

I'm craving it holy fuck is this what addiction feels like?

I can feel the hurt in my chest, I can physically locate it

I don't even like blood

And how I could so easily drown myself there

It feels like there's this little parasite in my brain telling me that I want things that I don't really want

And I'm too tired to cry anymore

It's just been the worst night ever

Just know that I love you please

And I hope that you love me

But I cannot promise you that I won't try again

I'm sorry if I've failed you

I didn't mean to scare you I'm so sorry

Goddammit 

I just really want to not exist

And I can't bear to put you through another Rosie

I want to end it so bad

I feel like I'm suffocating

But I'm not actually sick

My head throbs

Please don't leave me

I feel lonely

Not your fault

And I couldn't think and my heart was literally ITCHING, like a mosquito bite but inside of me

And I kept scratching at my chest and trying to breathe but it was suffocating

I felt physically attacked

My head was pounding with a migraine. It still is.

And I just can never win ever

I am never right

I am never understood

I'm still in bed

I just feel so unaccepted here

I'm just so angry

I just feel bad

I haven't eaten since 7:30pm last night

I don't want this to get worse

Everything feels so foggy right now

My whole body feels heavy

I still can't get out of bed

I don't know

I'm sorry it's not like I meant to

I love you too

..........

Bless the hearts who endured with me through the early hours of the morning. I couldn't have done it without you.

Please know that I am home and safe and okay. As okay as I can be.

And again, please get help if you are in need of assistance. It is the best thing that will ever happen to you.

I love you all.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya

The Field

Hello fellow readers. I dunno why the idea for this story has been swimming around in my head for a while but I kinda needed to get it written down before it drove me crazy. I dunno if it will make much sense to anyone or if it will even be enjoyable to read but alas, here you go.

..........

I don't know why he made us do it.

Besides, it's not like he even had the right—he just got here. New subs never know what the fuck they're doing.

Detention's never been a joyride but it sure as hell was never this bad.

One Friday after school he just decided to do it, though. I don't know why we didn't just run away. 

All four of us piled into the back of his pickup while he drove us out of the lot, then out of the neighborhood, and then out of the town.

The other three didn't seem to give a shit about what was goin' on.

Jason stretched an arm out the side of the truck, spitting up gobs of saliva and watching them splash on the road as we zipped past.

Amy kept her head down, knees pulled up to her chest while she picked at her arms incessantly.

Becca toyed with the chain around her neck and sucked the crucifix into her mouth. She's an atheist.

Me?

I tugged the beanie over my eyes and decided I might as well take a nap while I'm at it.

'cept the road got bumpier and I could tell we weren't nowhere near Cortland anymore.

Just fields. For miles and miles.

He pulled up to the side of the road.

"All right, dirtbags, get outta the car," Mr. Lawlor said matter-of-factly, like it wasn't weird that he just pulled up in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and asked four teenagers to hop outta his truck.

"Lawlor, what the hell we doin' here?" Jason spat at the ground and folded his arms across his chest.

Jason's a real manly guy. You know, real tall, beefy, linebacker... That sort.

His brother served in the army. Hadn't seen him for two years.

"I'll tell ya what we're doin' here," Mr. Lawlor began.

The girls hopped off the pickup and Becca leaned against a tire, the crucifix still in her mouth.

Amy stared at the ground.

"You four are gonna do as I say, ya hear?" he took up this weird authoritative voice, one none of us had heard before.

I watched Becca tense up out the corner of my eye.

"Elliot!"

I turned my head to face him.

"Tell me what you see," Mr. Lawlor said.

My eyes widened at the rope in his hands. My words caught in my throat.

"I-uh..." I blinked, "Rope, sir?"

"That's right, son, now show me your hands,"

I could sense the others around me and I wondered if they all expected me to bolt.

Listen, I'm no track star, never was, never will be. And it was gettin' dark out and I had no idea where I was and...

"Good man," Mr. Lawlor wrapped a tight cord around my wrists, binding them in front of me.

"You kid, c'mere," he was talking to Amy.

I could tell she was shakin' real bad but wasn't making any moves to run away.

Neither were Becca or Jason.

You see, whatever happened out here couldn't be worse than what was waitin' for us back home.

Mr. Lawlor took the end of my rope and looped it around her wrists, binding us together like cattle down a line.

Amy started picking at her hands.

"Mr. Figg, hands please,"

Jason didn't comply at first but he figured what the hell? He owed us that much.

"And lastly, pretty girl, I'm gonna need your hands,"

"What for? I don't do handjobs," Becca didn't bat an eyelash.

Amy stifled a laugh.

"I'm afraid that won't be happenin' today, Miss Hansen," and with that, Mr. Lawlor grabbed both her wrists and pulled the cord, far tighter this time.

"'Scuse the precaution, kids, I just can't have none of you runnin' away, you see..."

"Lawlor, tell us what the fuck we're doin' tied up in the middle of nowhere," Jason was getting impatient and you could tell by the way he grew about a foot while speaking.

"Jason, I don't care for your language right about now." his tone was unbearably condescending.

"Yeah? Well I don't care for your shit right about now! So if you could kindly tell us what the hell is goin' on, we would highly appreciate it," Jason was making Amy nervous.

I could feel her whole body shakin' right next to me.

"All right, since you asked so politely, I'll start with Miss Hansen over here," Mr. Lawlor put both hands on Becca's shoulders and ushered her away from us, out into the fields and far away.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!" we heard her screech at him, but I don't think it did much difference.

It was so dark now, we couldn't hardly see each other's faces.

"Shit, guys, what's he gonna do to her? We need to get the hell outta here!" it was the first time I ever saw Jason panic.

Amy started tuggin' at the cord that bound us together.

"It's no use tryna run away, we're still connected to her," I said, nodding towards the yards and yards of rope between our connected knots.

Jason tried wriggling out of his cord but it didn't matter.

We weren't gettin' outta here, the rope was too tight.

Then we heard it.

A shriek more piercing than anythin' I'd ever heard before, like it was splitting the air around us.

Amy's eyes widened in fear and I tried to think of something, anything that could make her feel better.

But then it came again, louder and followed by broken words and hackin' sobs.

"DON'T—GODDAMMIT—KILL ME! JESUS CHRIST—KILL ME!—PLEASE!"

Becca sounded like she was choking on somethin' and for a second I thought it might be her crucifix.

The irony in that would just be...

"Holy shit, man, we gotta do somethin'!" Jason was looking at me pleadingly now.

Amy looked to be absorbed in her own world, 'cept the skin round her nails was bleedin'.

"What do you mean?! We interfere, we're both dead!"

"Elliot, get your head outta your ass and help me think of somethin'!" Jason looked as if he were about to cry.

I shut my eyes real tight and tried to channel Lin.

Lin was my big sis. She was great at everythin'. Smart, beautiful, talented. You know.

Only one night she and her boyfriend got drunk and he tried to drive her back to our place, but...

Well, you get the idea.

I opened my eyes and turned my head to follow Amy's gaze.

He was back.

Without Becca.

The fields were quieter now.

My eyes scanned his body for blood but I didn't see any.

Did he just...? Did he choke her to death...?

God, that must be a bad way to go.

"Jason? The fields are waitin' for you," Mr. Lawlor had some sort of sickly grin plastered on his face and I wanted nothin' more than to clob it off.

Jason's eyes met mine for a split second before I saw him visibly tense up and make his way over to our sub, a stiffness in his gait.

I gave him a small nod and held my breath 'til I couldn't see him anymore.

"Ohmygod,"

I turned my head and there's Amy, trickles of blood trailing down her fingertips and splattering in neat drops on the ground.

"Fuck, Amy! Stop that!" I tried to pick her hands apart but the way I was tied up, I just couldn't.

"Ohmygod" she kept whispering to herself and I could see the tears pooling in her eyes.

She picked more intensely at her hands and before I could scold her again, we heard Jason.

It wasn't as pained as Becca's scream, it was more of an... angry yell?

I shut my eyes again and tried not to think too hard about it.

"Fuck fuck fuck! I can't let him take me... I-I need to get outta here, I need to... I need," Amy's eyes were glazed over and her chest seemed to be moving up and down a bit too fast.

"Hey, Amy, you gotta relax, kid," I tried to coax her, "It'll be easier for you that way,"

"No no no no no! You don't—you don't understand, I... My Ma! Elliot, without me, where's Ma gonna get her shit, I—"

"Shit? Amy, what shit? What're you on about?" I couldn't understand her.

I'd known Amy since kindergarten but we'd never so much as had a five minute conversation together.

"Her drugs, for God's sake! My Ma's an addict, I thought everyone knew!" she looked at me with pure anger in her eyes and that's when we heard Jason's screams again.

"I HATE YOU!—I—I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING!—FUCKIN' H-HELL, I—FUCK YOU!"

What Jason said threw us both off for a bit.

I dunno, it just sounded a bit... personal? To be screamin' it at Mr. Lawlor, at least.

Gave him everything?

"I hope it's fast,"

I looked at Amy and saw her eyes shut tight. I figured I'd follow suit.

The last of Jason's screams blew away in the wind as Amy and I waited for our turn.

And then he was back.

"You're next, darlin'. You'll thank me later, Miss Evans, I promise," Mr. Lawlor winked at Amy and she struggled on for as long as I could see her.

The dark took over after that.

How in the hell did I end up here?

Fuck it, I shoulda listened to Lin when I had the chance.

"Stop smart-mouthin' the teachers, you hear?"

"I know, Lin, I know, they just—they're so dumb sometimes!"

"Suck it up, kiddo, that's life. Now quit the sass and stay outta detention!"

She was always tellin' me to do the right thing, you know?

After the crash, I—our dad, well... Lin was my dad's favorite. Everybody knew that.

After she... Well, my dad started goin' out a lot and comin' back home at three, four in the morning, and...

He didn't like me very much. I tried to stay outta his way but... Anyway.

"I TRIED, GODDAMMIT!—I TRIED, AND YOU—JUST LISTEN TO ME!"

Amy sounded like her throat was being torn to shreds.

I felt sorry that I never paid her attention much. She was real beautiful when you really looked at her.

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST?–GOD, WHY CAN'T YOU LOVE ME?!"

What?

Did she and Mr. Lawlor have a...?

No, but she couldn't have. Mr. Lawlor only started subbing a month ago, that's too soon, that—

Then she screamed again. This shrill, hot fire of a sound, like the ground was vibratin' underneath you or somethin' was clawing at your chest.

I wanted her to stop. I wanted it all to stop.

Why didn't he just kill us on the spot? Isn't that what he wanted?

I thought back to Becca and Jason.

Becca and I used to be good friends, you know... Back in middle school.

Her father was a preacher and she'd been to church every Sunday since she was a baby.

'cept somewhere along the line, I dunno, we just kinda... stopped being friends, I guess?

Then the rumors started about her father pimpin' her out to his friends and, well...

No wonder she stopped believin' in God.

Jason and I, though... We never really saw each other 'cept for detention.

His brother used to go to our school. Jamie, he... Jamie never went to college, you know.

Jamie went straight into the army. He was real popular in school.

Jason, though... I guess he was always just in Jamie's shadow. Somethin' like that, I suppose.

I heard his Ma's real tough on him. I heard she threw him outta the house once.

"Elliot Moss, looks like you're my last one."

I shook off the last of my wanderin' thoughts and looked up.

I took a deep breath before following him.

Mr. Lawlor placed a hand on my shoulder that made my skin crawl.

"Look, sir, whatever you're plannin' to do, just... Just make it quick, alright?" I held my breath and waited for something.

I sensed that we were far, far out in the field somewhere. I couldn't make out the pickup anymore.

"Nonsense, Mr. Moss, I'd just like to ask you a few questions," he looked at me as if he were harmless.

What kind of sick bastard was he?

I nodded, wanting to get it over with.

"Your mother, she's passed on, hasn't she?"

I tensed up. It wasn't a question.

"How did you—?"

"I'm a teacher, Elliot. We've got access to all your records," he said it as if it were obvious.

I fought the urge to puke.

"Now, I take it your mother was a nice woman, Elliot. What can you tell me about your father?"

I wanted to punch this guy in the throat.

"You have no right to—!"

"Your father, Elliot, what has your father done to you?" he raised his voice at me and it took everything in me not to shrink away.

"My father hasn't done anything to me," I lied between gritted teeth.

"Then tell me why you're shaking right now, tell me!" Mr. Lawlor grew three times his size and I swear I couldn't see the end of him.

"I'm not—I—Fuck you!" I clenched my fists through the ropes and swallowed the lump in my throat.

"You had a sister, didn't you? Real bright, wasn't she?" he circled around me and I felt my chest tighten.

"Don't you talk about Lin—" I started but he cut me off.

"Lin, was it? She could've been anythin' she wanted. Your father wanted her to go to medical school, didn't he?"

I wanted nothing more than to impale this bastard with scathing knives.

"What? How did—?"

"The files, Elliot! The files! Now, focus!" his voice rang in my ears like a chainsaw.

"When she died, he wanted you to be just like her, didn't he?"

"I—"

"Didn't he?!"

"YES! FOR FUCK'S SAKE—YES!" I gasped and swallowed a sob.

"When she died, do you think he resented you?" I hated the way Mr. Lawlor had burrowed inside my brain.

I couldn't even tell where his voice was comin' from anymore.

"I—no, he—"

"His only daughter's dead and he's stuck with you! Now, Elliot, tell me, did you pay for it?!" he grabbed me by the collar.

"LET GO OF ME, YOU BASTARD! LET GO!" I screamed, knowing no one would hear me.

Mr. Lawlor swung his arm back, ready to punch and I lost all sense of who I was.

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! IT'S—IT'S NOT MY FAULT!—I'M SORRY, DAD, I'M SORRY!"

"Fuckin' scream, Elliot, I want you to scream for it," Mr. Lawlor placed a hand on my shoulder.

I let out the wildest yell I think I'd ever made in my life and crumbled to the ground in a heap.

I couldn't see anymore.

"That's good, kid, that's good..."

The rest is a blur.

..........

So. Yeah. I wasn't quite sure how to end it since I wanted you guys to kinda come up with your own conclusions...

Sorry if that was a load of bullshit I just made you read. Anyway. Let me know your thoughts and such. It'd be much appreciated.

Hasta la próxima,

Much love xoxo

Maya