I can feel the heat behind my irises

the tingling prickling on my nose

the stinging in my eye sockets

from tears welling up.

it makes me scared to blink.

I blink and nothing comes out

its like it hasn’t been ruminating long enough.



but I’ve had enough,

the pressure is too great to keep contained

it’ll put more at risk if it stays within 

the confines of my ribs

as a stone that bogs down my heart like an anchor

gnawing at it while dragging it into the abyss

bitch...



why is it so hard to cry

there’s nobody nearby so that’s one less thing to care about

yet I still can’t feel the tears come out.

the therapist is fully booked tomorrow,

no time.

what can I do to save myself now?

I'm going through life like everyone else

and I have help, what a cheat. 

so why am I still not thriving? 

am I this useless that I can’t manage my fucking mind?



I would reach out, 

to friends, but I don’t want to be a burden to them

I don’t want to be bogging others down.

I want to let loose the floodgates and sob

but nothing comes out.



I'm holding my breath and feeling this weight in my chest 

it’s getting hard to breathe. 

it’s not a panic attack, not yet,

though I might have one again.

NO.

I'm not off my meds, I’ve checked,

they’re causing a pounding in my chest. 

but these are the ones that aren’t supposed to cause problems.

so I'm the problem I guess.



all this feeling and nowhere to put it,

all these words coming out and its bullshit

bullshit that I thought would make me let it out and cry.

still my eyes stay dry and my progress is blank.

I don’t realise I'm not breathing right until I have to gasp for air.



my sniffles are wet

but not my eyes.

it’s been 30 minutes of this. 

I try to think of all the sad and my mind shouts at me to work

you’re falling behind

it begs me to move it

if you can’t cry then at least be productive!

the clock doesn’t wait.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

Poetry written when stressed again, I’ll get through it though. I just have to do my best until my predicted grades are released. I really need to improve my score before the end of September :’)

(hahaha a part of me is still scared of being emotionally vulnerable on Substack)

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the soil doesn’t care if you beg, 

or make desperate pleas, 

nor does it listen 

to the promises that you whisper

to yourself in the dark. 

the thorns you don’t clear from yesteryear 

stay and bite your fingers

when you try to make grooves for growth. 

even if the ground is fed blood,

the soil has no pity.



it measures what you move, sow,

and the sweat

 that drips from your brow. 

it doesn’t take account twisted ankles, 

knobby knees, weak wrists, a bad day, 

it takes what you can give it and returns about the same.

no exceptions even if it’s unfair,

like when you start with less. 

your field could have shale and poison oak.



reasons are not heard, the same with excuses. 

you want to eat at the end of the season?

take the handle, heavy as it is,

and start farming. 



no stranger will walk your rows for you,

some kind ones might give you tools.

but the plot you were handed is yours alone to reap,

and wishful thinking leaves 

a barren field.



your sprouts that are deprived fertiliser,

get swallowed by the weeds,

and if you let the weeds choke out the sunlight, 

you will starve in the shadow. 

you cannot sit idle. 

break your back and move on.



you reap what you sow. 

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading,

I’ll write a better note once I’m less swamped with work. I still wanted to post something so here is a poem that I wrote yesterday during a breakdown. I feel guilty for procrastinating and distracting myself, and there are also some other thoughts that I’ve written into the poem.

Holding out for when I’ve met all my deadlines :’)

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many things stretch out their tendrils,

to wrap around and pull us in

then they shove us into the pit they hid,

behind them,

which they distracted us from.

are we still in the wrong for falling?



it’s their false smiles and false truths

that lure us into proximity.

it’s the promises of problems solved

and whispers that hedonism is a virtue.

they tell us how

our hands were made to grasp,

our teeth for biting down on sweetness,

our tongue to savour the pleasure from the fruit

that was never meant to last. 



they bring us closer

until we’re only a breath away from the flame 

we swear we can handle

just one touch.

to numb 

revitalise our painful bones

with a sharp jolt that won’t take long.

they make us ignore the crumble of our resolve.

their voices douse and muffle the warning bells,

with the sweet sweet syrup of now. 



we almost held it together,

and almost is a cruel thing to know.



because the fall itself is not cruel.

when we let our fingers uncurl

from the rail,

when we unhinge our jaws

from the promised fruit.

with swollen tongues,

we swallow the sirens for bliss.



and let the scorch spread and become a lover’s palm,

let it caress the unbreached parts.



it is good.



we are fools enough to believe it is good.



it is good.

for a moment.



for the span of a held breath

before the bile rises,

before the sweetness sours into a rot in our chests



until the hollow returns as a familiar guest, 

and wears our own voice again. 

softer now,

yet still in a whisper that knows

how to loosen a tightened jaw.

it asks for nothing, if just a taste, 

just a memory of the heat 

and the brief forgetting 

of the weight was nothing.



we let it part our lips,

so we forget how we still have blisters.

we forget so easily,

the rush of a new one outshines the hurt.



we’re desperate not to hurt,

we call our desperation want. 

and want becomes a need.



but the flickering flame does not answer to names,

it does not care if it is called comfort.

it simply is a door to further ruin

each time we walk through

expecting a different room.

it's never a different room.



is it does it matter if we know that?

because knowing changes nothing.

we still circle back.



the flame might teach a lesson each time,

but it’s unlearnt each time

when the fear of the cold returns.

inevitably,

it returns.



the only thing consistent are the tendrils,

they never retract.

they hold out an offer each time, 

offering to bring us back to peace. 

even if it's momentary,

so many lean in, 

but when the ash settles,

when the fire runs out,

I am the only one left in a room,

underneath the world,

with tall walls and nowhere to go.



what else is there to do except know, 

and continue?



when a step is made to leave,

don't think they won't reach back for you.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

This poem is about self-sabotage, I hope I made the story obvious.

I chose to use first-person plural for it, I don’t really know explain why? I guess it is to tell myself that it’s not a unique experience, but even if it isn’t, only one person feels the struggle and hurt from their own decisions. So either way it makes sense to feel alone.

If you would like to ask about the meanings of lines or why I wrote what I wrote, the comments and dms are open <3

(I really noticed my writing patterns in this poem, I’ll go cringe in a corner now)

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A funeral takes place in a room 

where polite people outnumber the honest tears, 

and where black is just a colour worn out of habit. 

Heads are hung because they’ve practiced, 

or their parents tell them to keep it down. 



The last time I went to one is blurry,

when I went I was too short to see over the coffin’s rim,

and too young to understand the ache of loss,

and how it’s supposed to be something to live with.



I avoid funerals.

They make me uncomfortable.

Some will be unavoidable.



Grief is a muscle of mine that has atrophied from disuse,

I was too young to remember its last exercise,

over the years it has only moved a bit.

But it still hurt.

I know the agony has yet to come.



Time has slipped by too fast. 

It has made me grown taller, more mature,

and it has cursed me with worry.



When you sit across me from the table, 

or rock in your chair, or tell me what you’ve learnt in life,

I can’t look past the wear the decades have left on you.



One day I will have to remember the details

of the last time we see each other.

And the many times when I could see

the slight upwards curve of your lips

when you scoff and laugh at my lame jokes, 

when you call me your darling,

with your hand squeezing mine, 

warm,

with overflowing affection.



The fear of losing you is there, 

and the fear of what I would do to deal with the loss when it arrives. 



Because I have not the muscle to stomach it, 

so it makes me sick to think about, 

so I fear for the day when your house becomes silent. 

I fear for the day because I love you more than words could ever say. 

It's so cliché.



There would be no way to fix the hole inside,

if you're gone.

No eulogy, no amount of tears will be enough. 

I don't know what to expect from life.



I'll stay afraid now, at this ungodly hour, 

with your home still cozy and your perfume nice,

maybe slightly tingly for my nose

when I lean in for a goodbye hug,

which never seems to be quite tight enough now.



I know you'll laugh at me,

when I tell you about the nightmare I had.

You'd tell me not to be sad, 

you'd tell me you don't want me to be sad.



I know that wouldn't stop me from crying uncontrollably when I think about your death.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading

I don’t think I’ve ever cried while writing, but I definitely did for this :’)

It’s gonna be a while before I drink apple juice before bed again

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when my mind is blank without the spark of inspiration,

the hours I spend staring at an empty screen

is like pouring water into a bucket with a big hole.



I keep starting new drafts with each of them only 

having a couple of shitty lines that don’t even rhyme,

they me cringe and roll my eyes as I reread

my writing which seems to depreciate and degrade

with each passing day. I write many lines then erase

them because they fail to meet the imaginary bar

that I’ve somehow set to be too high to reach

even when I know not to expect much from me.



I am not a good writer. I don’t know why I write. 

my mother taught me to aim for the stars,

but I don’t remember her mentioning the fall to the ground

when I take a shot in the dark and a leap and fall with my palm

outstretched but there's like a million or a few million

miles away in-between me and the taste of satisfaction. 



there just never seems to be the right time 

when I can just sit down and shut down and write

because there's always something in the way,

like the excuses I make so I get to turn my gaze

to something more stimulating like a video game

but I don't even like playing video games 

and I come out of it feeling so goddam sick

of my inability to settle my inattention. 



there's no reason for me to be so critical

I think, I should be writing for me and myself and I

ought to enjoy the process of creating something

that I will end up forgetting about two weeks later.

I won't lie and say I don't need validation,

"you reap what you sow" is how the saying goes.



soon I'll manage to make some time and effort

and hope that my brain doesn't default

on its rent now that I've increased my demands

to include a creative vision, just a poem or two.



an acceptable alternative would be motivation,

so maybe I'll have hope of finishing eighty-seven 

and counting drafts. 

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

I don’t know what’s going on but I’ve just been so demotivated from creative writing lately, so I thought that I could write a poem about it. It’s not like I don’t want to write, I’m just unsatisfied with what I’m writing since I feel like it could definitely be better.

If you have any advice on how to get out of this predicament it would be greatly appreciated :’)

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The definition of an introvert, according to Merriam-Webster, is someone who is typically quiet and reserved who tends to be introspective (the state of or tendency toward being predominantly concerned with and obtaining gratification from one’s own mental life), and enjoys spending time alone.

I have a problem with the label of ‘introvert’ or the description of ‘introverted’. Well, it’s not fair to call it a problem, it simply feels like an umbrella term that isn’t too suitable for my personality.

Because with introverts, there’s a presumption that they do not enjoy socialising and social situations, and I do like socialising. At least, most of the time I think I do enjoy it. Except for the times when I’m standing there a few seconds or minutes after the conversation has ended, and I suddenly think of a response that would’ve made the interaction more meaningful.

Although I find meeting new people, hanging out, and talking very delightful, I still tend to avoid it. So I suspect that the problem is that ‘introvert’ doesn’t effectively capture my avoidance to social situations since it broadly assumes that I dislike socialising as a whole. When in actuality, it is the effort involved in socialising that I struggle with. I also think it is necessary to add that in my 16-personalities test, it’s basically a 50/50 split between introvert and extrovert with the former getting a narrow victory.

Socialising is hard, and there’s not really a reason behind it.

Wait no, there are a few reasons, and these reasons are quite pathetic. (Oops this might be too self-critical.)

I think I'll be repeating myself a bit through this, please bear with me.

When talking to someone, my mind moves faster than the conversation and I will rehearse responses in my head before speaking them out. Yet somehow, the sentences always come out missing limbs. I cannot recall how many times I’ve said things the other person could not understand because I left out part of the sentence that I meant to include but then forgot to, as I assumed that they already knew it since I knew it in my inner monologue.

And like I said before, 9 times out of 10, I will only think of things I wanted to say to continue the conversation and form a deeper connection with someone when it has ended. Then, I’ll spend the next couple of hours mulling over the possibilities and regretting my incapacity. This is because it’s hard for me to filter out what is suitable to say in a conversation. I spend a lot of time analysing the other person’s facial expression, and considering what reactions to give in order to leave a good impression. Like, should I start talking about a similar experience to show that I relate to theirs? Or will that sound too narcissistic and they might think that I want the conversation to centre around me?

The fear of judgement is a really big thing for me. It’s why I don’t usually take the first step to initiate conversation (when I do, I have to hype myself up to do it). I don’t want to say the wrong thing and come off unsettling, because a part of me thinks that the other person will register it and be weirded out.

However, after the conversation has started, it gets easier as time progresses. Sometimes the conversation is so interesting that I forget to think about what I should say, and it goes smoothly and the label of introvert doesn’t seem applicable anymore. Does that mean I’m just not brave enough to be an extrovert?

Maybe.

I say I don’t care about being extroverted, or meeting new people (when I do), because it’s simply easier to convince myself that I am better off with a small friend group. There’s comfort in the familiarity, I like situations where the outcome is predictable and it protects me from the possibility of failure (aka making a fool out of myself). If I don’t try to initiate interaction, then I cannot be rejected or judged.

It’s a bit frustrating.

For me ‘introvert’ is always a term used as a way to compare people. Why do I need to be reminded that there is someone out there who is better at being a social creature than I am? I already know that. And I’m jealous of people who are courageous enough to be loud, witty, and they’re able to carry the conversation so effortlessly. It’s so charming. In a desperate, (pathetic) attempt to imitate that, I will sometimes put on the act and try to replicate it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I have a higher success rate if I have a ‘fuck it we ball’ mentality.

I don’t like risk taking, or places like bars. They’re unfamiliar, and unfamiliar places require unfamiliar performances from me. Social rules are implicit and no one has ever given me a lesson on them. I’m sure I would be a good student if I was taught what was the right way to interact, where can I sign up for one? Because right now the only way to learn is through experience, I’m too awkward to do that and I’m also not good at interpreting social cues to figure these “rules” out efficiently. There’s a lot of trial and error involved and I hate making errors.

I’ve talked to my friends about it, one of them nicely suggested that these are traits of autism and that I might have autism. My educational psychologist did say that I had “Asperger tendencies,” so I told my friend that she was right to want to pursue a career in psychology. If I can be honest, I wasn’t offended since it was just a description of my behaviour and it doesn’t mean that I can’t do anything to try and be more comfortable in my own skin. My ADHD might be contributing to these “traits” but the main reason that I’ve identified as the crux of them is my social anxiety.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I should still be calling myself an introvert, and I am a person that wants to form connections with people. I’m still figuring out how to ‘life’ properly, it’ll take a while but I hope I’ll eventually get the hang of it.

I wrote a post on the ways to deal with anxiety a while back, but it’s more focused on stress-induced anxiety and I’ve never tried applying any of the techniques to social situations. I’ll find an opportunity to try it out maybe. It’ll be an interesting journey for sure, I’ll record it and write a tacky guide when I succeed.

This post was prompted by 3 weeks of INTENSE social interaction and me being thrown into the deep sea of social anxiety which led me to come to the realisation that in life, I will have to meet and interact with a lot of people. I worry that I won’t get very far if I’m too afraid of making the first move or too anxious to express myself. I hope I can grasp the technique of socialising and convince myself to not care about what other people think. In the meantime, I could be more lenient to myself and look up some guides to be more confident and comfortable.

I can feel that I poured out my jumbled up thoughts into this post so it’s slightly messy and disorganised. Thank you for reading until the end.

Toodles~ 🫶

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•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

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look at the stars— look how they shine for you

with a silent golden ache,

each one is a wish the night sky makes.

its light a promise, a clue to somewhere,

someplace in the infinite midnight blue

that will tell you why you are the reason

the stars glow and illuminate.



look at the stars— look how they spell your name

in faint constellations on a dark canvas,

just specks of dust in the universe

whispering to the comets, sparkling

about secrets a heaven keeps quiet.

like how you are the one thing to hold close

with a shy (and maybe awkward) embrace. 



look at the stars— look how they bend and fall

like petals, like tears, on their knees in prayer,

falling because they see you and they care.

falling because the idea of you is stronger

than the gravity that holds themselves together

so they fall at the your feet and they wish to lay

sweetly in front of you. 



I wish I could be the star you look for,

in the sprawl of the night,

the one to catch your gaze and hold it.

the one that makes you pause, take a breath,

and wonder.

 I could be the star you track with your finger,

or the star you make a wish upon.



maybe you’d ask me why you should look 

and I’d finally have the chance tell you 

that the stars always seem to shine a bit brighter

when they’re trying to impress you.



I tell you to look at the stars— 

but there’s something more it means. 

when you look at the stars,

I’d like to know if you see me. 

because when I am looking at you,

I want to be seen. 



I would be the star that doesn’t know how to stop shining

even when no one is watching—

because what if, just once, for just a second,

I'd catch you looking up?



so look at the stars, I guess.

(since I'm too shy to confess to you.)

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

I always find a way to become inspired to write when listening to songs, this one was inspired by the opening lines of ‘Yellow’. I’ve been writing a lot of poems about love recently, what a surprise. I’m pretty sure the next one will be something different <3

I don’t know if this poem makes sense to the people reading, I feel like I could’ve written the ending slightly more clearly. I would find some time to rewrite it if I knew how to change it. Please tell me if I should do that :’)

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my

loneliness—

is a temperature

it’s in the ceramic walls

that press against my back 

and in the porcelain tiles where

my knuckles are balled and pressed flat

against with my finger bones facing down

trying to dig themselves out of rage

and desperation to breach

the grout to break

scarred tissue 

again. 

the drip—

is the floor’s sound

when it meets free-flow 

tears of mine that do not keep 

with time and it goes plink for each 

and every word that was left unheard or

unsaid, so plink, plink from a broken faucet

biting its own tongue like a useless idiot

who failed to sputter out its worth

so it stutters over and over

until the syllables make 

their way down

the drain

again.

numbness—

rearing its head 

from the rear out of fear 

and charging its way up the bent 

spine with pin-needles as its anchoring 

points, shoving invisible spurs to drive notice

towards the harrowing storm escaping 

the confines of my mind to bypass the 

veil into fragile reality and be the 

poison permeating in my back 

to make me hallucinate 

squint eyes, hand 

on my thigh 

push up 

up to prompt 

a choir of brittle

joints, knees cracking

to briefly add one

more win for

tragedy

again.

lightbulbs—

flicker and splin

ter with the broken

heaving crawling its way

out of my chest, a hollering 

with corrosive acid taking bites of

sound. thinking that the disjointing state 

of my mind can deplete itself in the tunnel

then return to the cavity within to be in

captivity until the miserable clouds

meet miserable condensation

and misery billows past

the saturation point

to let the storm

break free

again.

standing—

I leave you now

don’t expect a thanks

I will leave faint evidence of me

being here today in negativity, believe

me when I say I was not myself 

so forget everything seen 

for no soul can know of

my instability.

so, you seal your lips

be quiet until the next shower 

dissolves my fragile dignity, and this

is to say— I am sure I will be back 

but I will not be here to stay.

until we meet again

my friend, until 

we meet 

again.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote down this poem’s draft in my bedside notebook, I built off of that for the final version. I don’t usually pay attention to the structure of my poems (when I do it’s only going to be with a few lines), so this is a mostly new style for me. The lines of different lengths are supposed to create an imitation of a wave pattern to reflect the fluctuation of emotions.

This is the original version in my notebook, it’s basically the first part of the final with slight changes. And my handwriting really sucks :’)

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How do I tell you, without having the words?

They turn into to ash in my mouth 

because in my throat there's the sun at its zenith, 

it swallows the words 

that have yet to be spoken.



I love you so much it hurts.

It's a constant sweet ache felt in the soul

from the pressure of holding in a breath

as I carry a basket of weighted blankets

that can warm and cause suffocation.



It's the honey I keep in my cupboard, 

crystallised gold so sweet it's cloy.

A spoon of it is enough to erode 

the selfish stone that used to withhold

the outpour of passionate promises. 



It's the splinter I keep beneath my skin

too deep for tweezers to remove.

I cradle the pangs of pain and tears and

call them forward I'm left alone.

I wouldn't let it heal if I could. 



It's a raw wound without a dressing

and one that never quite scabs over.

It's exposed to the infection of you, and you

always trigger that beautiful bleeding,

so that I still can't help but stare at 



You. I love you so much it hurts

like swallowing glass from the bottle

that contains the score for Liebesfrühling Op. 37.

I am not a musician, hence why I choke

and trip over notes and snuff out lyrics.



I love you so much it hurts.

There's nothing to left to do

but to let it sit, untended to,

and be the fervid fire I feed in the dark

where you won't see the ashes. 



I give up trying to speak it aloud 

with the illegal currency that are words. 

I will smuggle it in my breathing

as I count the miles between you and me,

and let this ache permeate the remaining days of living.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

I’m realising that it’s pretty hypocritical of me to have written a poem about not knowing how to write about love. Alas, life is full of contradictions and I’ve found myself full of pent up affection which poetry seemed to be the best outlet for.

I didn’t think I was able to be so genuine in my poetry. There was an intended person behind this poem, but after reading it through again and again, I’m not sure anymore.

Please share with me what you think of this, I’d love to hear your thoughts! 💕

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automatism—

the performance of actions

without conscious thought

or intention.



the fingers trace along patterned paths

the feet advance across the floor

they remain divorced from reason

and love and wrath and

slip beyond a locked door



into a hallway that stretches long

The lights flicker on and off and on so

hear the click, click, clicks rhyme

when the foot steps an unlearned song

to keep pace with borrowed time



as the passenger inside the skin passes

through the soul falling asleep

and descends into vast recess

to join the crowd of walk-in masses

into darkness where clocks tick



until each chess piece leaves the game

stripped of name and crown and trait

for what is death but an empty board

ready to be played again

with new wood, to lay new tiles

as life begins anew when the hand above

places a new player down



one erased of memory and fresh to love

when new eyes open, untaught

and ready to walk paths unknown 

while the body sips the residue

that past minds left behind



to a new life— 

start without conscious drive

newborn fingers grasp at the air

by design, it acts without comprehending

to live without trying. 



a blank slate with transparent ink. 

that's automatism, I think. 

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

I honestly had no idea what this poem would become when I started writing it. I woke up one morning and the word ‘automatism’ popped into my head (likely due to my recent readings). Now that I’ve written the whole thing out, my interpretation of the story is:

After death, there’s nothingness and a complete separation from earthly possessions/desires. However, there’s not total nothingness in it because the next generation carries some part of the old ones that came before it, which I’ve chosen to convey through the description of newborn instincts.

But these are just my thoughts, do share if you have a different interpretation of it :D

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lost in your wake, 

teased by the present haze.

water breaks the tension of our gaze.



stubborn ripples nibble at our ankles

to close the soft sandy distance.

we'll share a drink and stare—

just like the old days.



share a hug that swashes in 

then retreats,

a thief

that slips away 

with snapped heartstrings—

heartbreaking.



plunge into the deep after it

shock hot skin with ice.

sink into tangled arms

that hold close—

and be dragged under.



surrender. do you know 

how I surrender?

surrender to the undertow.



did you know?

how brave I was?

brave enough to beach 

on the bay of love

and wait

for your embrace

again.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

I’ve adapted this poem from my response to a poetry chain, the lines that evolved into this were:

lost in your wake.

water breaks the tension of our gaze,

and teases the present shore.

stubborn ripples remind of what you displaced,

yet I surrender to the undertow

My recent poetry has a lot of elements of being abandoned and repetitive hurting, I wonder if it’s reflective of a subconscious worry.

image source

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Unlock the ribcage, 

bend the white bones back

to let them grab the heavy, wet thing

beating in the chest.

Take it to place in their hand.

Offer them the naive prey

that mistakes closing fingers for sanctuary.

They carry the flesh, the heat, the heart.

For you, in their palm rests

the muscle of life.



Then watch how their knuckles whiten,

the thumb pushes against the pulse,

tests

tests the endurance of its devotion.

Feeling this alive rhythm pound,

trying to feel something 

beneath their numb.



Maybe there is hope for you.



Hope is brittle

in a hand that only knows how to clench,

the thumb presses too deep,

the rhythm stumbles,

quietly tears tissue.



Slow spill stains their palm.

Violent. Red gushes 

out with the warmth,

spills through the gaps,

stains the tightening fist 

with a heat the skin cannot absorb.


                It wasn't supposed to be like this.



Look down at their painted hands,

wonder why there is only quiet

when you stand before them pained.



They drop the broken heart,

wipe their hands on their clothes.

They turn and walk away,

leaving the ruined muscle

to freeze against the stone.

Undone,

alone in the cold.



Learn too late

that sanctuaries can tell lies.

Never give out your heart,

that—

is what's best for you. 

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading

It’s been so long since I’ve written a poem I don’t hate.

I wrote this because I was deleting my old photos and remembered someone. This poem is about the betrayal and heartbreak felt in deteriorating/toxic relationships.

image source

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i’m just going to start typing and see where this takes me.

are humans inherently kind? or was the bible right in saying that we are all born with original sin?

it certainty does feel like the temptations of pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, and sloth are experienced on the daily. so perhaps the question lies in whether or not most people have the ability to stand their ground in the face of these temptations.

it is very obvious that some people aren’t able to do that. actually, probably everyone can’t do that, some are just more quiet about it than others or they hide it away from the eyes of society. the thing about the ones that aren’t hiding is that they’re practically next to me so i can’t help but place my attention on them. i think that’s what i’m unintentionally doing, i’m seeing people doing wrongs and it leaves a deep impression on my mind.

this is heavily influenced by the work that i’m currently doing, where i’m learning that in so many professions, even the ones that my culture preaches to be respectable, earnest, and trustworthy, are capable of blunt violations of professionalism and ethical contracts.

this opened my eyes to the reality where there’s a lack of good people. sure, that’s just an assumption, but it’s rooted in experiences. the number of times people have let me down vastly outweighs the times they’ve actually proven to be good.

a suitable example, purposefully kept vague to prevent disclosing private information, would be a victim of a sexual abuse case who turned out to be lying. the instinctive reaction would be to have empathy for the victim and anger towards the abuser, so when it was revealed that she fabricated everything, i was shocked to say the least.

i was baffled by how someone could accuse another person of a serious offence like this and the accused’s would’ve lost his job and family; it was so close to happening too. even if the accused wasn't completely innocent in the grand scheme of things (he’s not), making a false claim of with a scale of impact that large isn’t justified. that said, i think i understand the motives behind her choice, which is why i wouldn't say that i am entirely baffled by her actions.

but the next example i am about to raise is inexcusable. two days ago i posted a note about not understanding why people could trade their integrity for money, and i got a response that said:-

I see what you mean - you’re probably too young or you’ve never been hungry.

Otherwise, the reason ppl trade integrity for money is very simple - some of them lived long enough to understand the world and some realised that their whole integrity can’t buy them a loaf of bread.

(don’t jump to refute what I just said. wait for 15 years and we can get back to this topic then.)

(btw: zero animosity to the person who commented! i appreciate my thoughts being challenged.)

the following is my reply:-

I’m referring to a professional who already has status, stability, and a high income; but still chose to cheat others by abusing their trust in him. I think that this is blatant greed and not out of desperation. He wouldn’t have starved if he was honest, he just would have had less so it’s an active choice to choose to lie and scam to feed his materialistic desires. And it’s a choice that goes against the oath he sworn about serving the wellbeing of society.

I haven’t waited 15 years to refute because I think we’re having two different conversations, my note wasn’t about someone having no other choice, and I don’t think time will make fraud less fraudulent.

Time doesn’t excuse entitlement, it’s pretty damning when someone knows better and does it anyways. Apologies if my initial comment was worded poorly, it was written spontaneously with great disappointment towards how a person could have no remorse for earning dirty money.

another thing i would like to add now, in hindsight, is how some people losing their integrity in order to survive is a reflection of the fucked up world we live in. but then i’d also like the raise the question of whether or not it is an active choice to give up that integrity.

it’s human nature to be selfish, that nobody does something for nothing, right? maybe that is the case for most. i’m aware that i speak from a position of privilege. i might be able to rebut and say that there are people who struggle to get by but are still honest people, but i will never truly understand how difficult it is to do that.

the existence of these people hurt, they give me the hope that humans do have intrinsic kindness and integrity.

i’m definitely inexperienced and not well versed in the human mind. i don’t understand why people would want millions and billions. sure, it must be nice to be able to afford everything you want, but how do you sleep at night knowing that you fucked people over to get where you are?

i have both feet in the real world, yet i'm still gripping onto the belief that people are good. i’m not ready to let go of that idealism…i just want to see the world through a lens of sunshine and rainbows again.

it’ll be extremely comforting to have a reassurance to fall back on when an injustice happens, to think that “the universe will take it’s course.” but chances of a brick falling on someone that kicked your dog is low, so instead, people rely on the law to get their retribution.

whether on a local, national, or international scale, the legal system frequently fails to punish wrongdoers adequately, often letting them off with a mere slap on the wrist. i hate this. i hate seeing this happen. i’ve tried diving into this specific disdain and the reason behind it, but i can’t find a reason. the frustration and helplessness i feel when a money launderer gets less than three years after scamming elderly people out of their life savings is immeasurable. maybe in the eyes of the law and sentencing guidelines, it’s justice served. but it doesn’t feel like justice. i’m being illogical. my heart overrides my head.

everything happens for a reason but sometimes it’s a reason i cannot accept.

it is so deeply frustrating to watch a clearly guilty (but wealthy) individual exploit the legal system. they get to waste taxpayer money on a trial simply because the right to due process applies to everyone. i understand the principle, but i hate the reality. when they get the best lawyers and squirrel their way into an acquittal, does that count as a fair trial? their criminal record may be clean, but not their actions. what happens to their uncompensated victims?

good isn’t something in black and white, even when you think it is. real life is not a fairytale, the villains don’t always get the ending they deserve. and that’s just something i will have to live with. i won’t necessarily accept it, but i have to. so i’ll do it begrudgingly.

i want to see the hope in humanity, i want to know that people actually care for each other? why is that so hard to ask for? the metaphor in the title is because it feels like a sick joke, like some force out there knows my weakness and keeps dangling hope in front of me. just as i’m fuming over the world’s selfishness, an advocacy campaign or an act of pure kindness shatters my cynic view on life and it leaves me sobbing (literally). i don’t know what to name that emotion. it’s like feeling moved, but not quite. it’s like the suspended seconds you experience at the top of a rollercoaster where there’s a temporary pause to look at the view—

and then you prepare for the inevitable drop.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading my rant, I’ve been holding it in for a bit. (this was copy and pasted from my notes, dated: 03:24, 08/07/26.)

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What’s OPCVL?

OPCVL is a skill I learned in my history course, and it’s supposed to be used in source evaluation. However, I’ve found that it can be applied to contemporary media and it helps people become more critical of what they are seeing/reading. It’s always good to be a skeptic, especially when it feels like everything has become polarised.

OPCVL is the evaluation of a piece of media (the source)’s values and limitations in it’s Origin, Purpose, Content.

A breakdown of OPC

Origin: This is the examination of where the source came from.

• Who is the author/institution behind this source? Are they reliable?

• What personal beliefs or alignments do they have that may influence the source’s perspective/stance? (personal biasses)

• When was the source written? Is it too outdated to be reliable?

• Is the source a translation? Could there be tidbits of information lost in translation?

Purpose: This is looking at why the source exists.

Every piece of media is created with a specific intention and an intended audience. For example:-

• TV news coverage is designed to inform the country/city’s general public about contemporary situations.

• Research journals are designed to present peer-reviewed findings to advance academic knowledge for specialists, researchers, and university students.

• Government-issued media is designed to communicate the government’s position on things like official regulations, policies, and legislations for its citizens (but it also has the motive to maintain public trust in the government)

• Speeches are designed to persuade, inspire, or rally a specific audience or voting public toward a shared cause or ideology.

• YouTube videos are designed to entertain and/or teach, but it might need to capture the viewer’s attention first before it can achieve those objectives.

• Social media posts are designed to entertain, but also inform (depends on who posted it). They could also be designed to trigger emotional reactions to drive engagement.

Above is only a very brief summary of what I think the purpose behind the listed types of media is. Given the diversity of sources available online, purpose varies according to circumstances. So to determine purpose, you can ask yourself these questions:

• Why did the author/creator choose to present it in this way? (e.g. through a social media post instead of a news article) What is their goal?

• Who is the target audience? (e.g. is it leaning towards: a particular political group/population demographic)

• What is the business motive behind the source? Does the author need subscriptions, clicks/ad revenue, or are they subsidised by the state?

Content: This is looking at the substance of the source instead of who/what is behind the source. This involves evaluation of what is present in the source as well as what is absent from it.

• What is the core argument/thesis being made?

• Does the title accurately summarise the core argument/thesis of the source? Or is it sensationalised?

• What tone/language is used? Is the vocabulary objective or hyperbolised?

• Is there evidence to back up what the source says? Is the evidence cherry-picked?

• Which perspective(s) does the source present and what perspective(s) is missing? (e.g. only showing accounts from people who are part of the Conservative Party but not people of the Liberal Party when covering the public’s view on a government policy)

Steps to apply VL to OPC

Origin:

• Value: Does the author/creator's background give them special access or expertise?

  • (e.g. The origin is a peer-reviewed research of an experience, therefore there is a value of scientific accuracy.)

• Limitation: Does author/creator’s background introduce an unavoidable bias or conflict of interest, even if it’s unintentional?

  • (e.g. The origin is Fox News which is seen to be a right-leaning network, therefore there is a limitation of political bias.)

Purpose:

(To keep it simple, just think about this as the extended effect of a source’s bias.)

• Value: It tells you what the source aims to do and from that it can be inferred what a specific group wants people to believe, and how they are able to perpetuate these ideas (both positively and negatively)

  • (e.g. Trump’s outrageous tweets reflect the volatility of the US government’s attitude towards social issues, and show that emotional triggers are being used to divert irl activism to online feuding.)

• Limitation: Most sources are unable to reflect the full truth, even centre-aligned sources often simplify or censor in order to appeal to a large audience

  • (e.g. A TV network needs to maximise its engagement and as a result would only convey their political opinions subtly to avoid receiving backlash from viewers, so they might omit information that could potentially cause debates.)

Content:

(Think about what happens as a result of the limitation. If there’s a missing perspective, you would need to read another source in order to see the full picture.)

• Value: Examine the accuracy, transparency of evidence and balance of perspectives.

  • (e.g. The YouTube video provides direct links to the sources and statistics used, it allows viewers to verify the claims of the video independently and it isn’t afraid to be challenged. This shows that they have substance to their argument which is a value.)

• Limitation: Look for emotive language, one sided arguments, and omissions.

  • (e.g. There’s a reel on Instagram which says that children raised by gay parents have a higher rate of depression, but it’s only interviewing middle-aged, cranky conservatives. This makes it obvious that it’s a weak statement and not backed by actual evidence.)

When to apply OPCVL

You can apply it to almost any situation, whenever there is something that tries to convince its audience of a specific narrative or promoting a perspective. With multiple ongoing wars, complex geopolitical conflicts, and deeply polarising conflicts on our feeds every day, there happens to be a lot of sensationalisation. Regardless of whether or not you agree with what the source says, it’s important to keep an open mind and learn to challenge what you’re believing. It prevents overreaction and participation in comment-section fighting which doesn’t help anyone. OPCVL has helped me become more logical and objective, I truly believe it can improve anyone’s critical thinking skills.

You don’t need to worry about making your evaluation flawless. Mine is far from perfect. As long as you have the instinct to challenge what you are reading or watching, that’s good enough to avoid being manipulated by eye-catching titles or falling down a rabbit hole where you lack the substance to challenge the other side’s views. I have my own political views, but by knowing exactly why other people hold their opinions, I’m able to understand their logic and as a result, rebut their arguments much better :)

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

(Big thank you to my history textbook for being my reference)

This is something that I wanted to share while I recover from my poetry writing slump. (please forgive me if some parts sound hasty, I’ve been very sleep deprived :’))

I originally thought about including an example of myself applying OPCVL to a real world source, but I decided against it. I worried that I would go on a tangent and also impose a template onto the application of OPCVL. OPCVL isn’t meant to be an extensive evaluation but it’s just what helps you form brief, critical thoughts when you come across a source.

Feel free to try using OPCVL the next time you come across a source worth evaluating. (and if you still want an example, I’ll definitely add one!)

I like reading political cartoons and they were quite simple and helpful for practicing OPCVL when I was preparing for my test on it! Maybe they will be of help to you too :D

If you have any questions please don’t hesitate to ask! I’ll be happy to answer any of them.

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The runway stretches, dividing the lives we’ll lead ahead,

I stand and wave goodbye, heavy with a quiet dread.



The future is obscured by rolling clouds of grey,

it threatens to take the colour that brightens my everyday.



Though timezones will differ, and parting comes too soon,

we'll still rest under the gaze of the same silver moon.



So can I please ask that you:



Think of me when you hear a guitar’s soft strumming,

and recall all the songs we spent long hours humming.



Think of me fondly when sunlight starts to fade

and shadows lengthen over the memories we made.



Remember me, once in a while, when you’re in a rush,

in the hustle of the city, or under a library’s hush.



Remember the laughter that once echoed so loud—

Know that to me, you'll never be one in the crowd.



We’ve said our goodbyes at the terminal gate;

we've left what's left to the mercy of chance and fate.



The distance is heavy, it's a weight we must bear,

but love is the bridge that'll span everywhere.



Please promise me you’ll try when the stars are aligned,

to keep all our shared moments safe in your mind.



Though seas surge between us and mountains stand tall,

we’ll prove, despite challenges, friendship can withstand all.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

This was a rewrite of the poem I wrote for a childhood friend who was moving away. Inspired by the lyrics of the song ‘Think of Me’ from Phantom of the Opera which was the first musical we watched together.

“Think of me
Think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye
Remember me
Once in awhile
Please promise me you'll try”

I think these lyrics pretty much encapsulates the meaning of this poem. I also chose to use rhyming couplets throughout to show that two people can remain connected despite being physically apart (I hope I didn’t do it too awkwardly!).

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Is it even worth it to trying to figure out my sexuality? 

I’m scared to write
I’ve been putting this off for so long.
What if I prove these thoughts right?
What does it mean if these thoughts are right? 
My draft stares back at me.
It dares me to continue. 
It whispers for me to face myself.
But the brave tide has withdrawn.

I constantly ask myself:- Am I a good person? What metric should I use to measure my “goodness”?

I wish these were questions with easy answers, but “good” has been a constantly moving target built by the people around me. I have turned my own heartstrings into the bowstring, yet every arrow I fire misses. I don’t know where to aim, the harder I try to hit it, the more I fray.

Should I go with what the church and society demands? They have given me, at least, a stable target to aim for. It’s placed at such a jagged, unnatural angle though, if I line up a shot, the tension of the bowstring will cut my hands. The bow will be pulled so taut and it will feel like tearing myself apart from inside out.

I was raised Catholic, it shouldn’t be this difficult. I just have to follow what the Bible says.

Sunday School was inescapable weekly routine that I followed from age four to fourteen. I was taught by the grouchy middle-aged women there that being gay was wrong, and so were tattoos, alcohol, weed, and piercings. There were the 10 Commandments, the manual to get into heaven. It listed the “thou shalt”s and “thou shalt not”s I had to live by. Heaven was presented as a paradise, and I wanted the heaven church promised.

Until I was around nine, when I started to have the ability to form my own worldview.

See, I went to a private school where English was the medium of instruction. This meant that I could read and understand a lot of content on the internet that the other kids at church didn’t know about or access. (For context, where I’m from, English is not the first language, and public schools teach it with limited proficiency.)

Using the internet as a window, I saw that what the church deemed “sinful” was normalised in Western countries like the US and the UK. There were people committing these “sins”. Some had piercings, tattoos, queer relationships, and they weren’t burdened by the idea of burning in hell. They were happy in their lives and they lived vivid lives.

The teachings I’d been raised with began to feel increasingly discordant. They focused on restricting things that, to my eyes, didn’t cause any harm. They chided things that were simply expressions of human life and I felt that their way of imposing their ideology caused more harm than the “sins”.

My questioning of the Bible isn’t due to a desire to be rebellious. No, I just no longer wanted to associate myself with a religion that did not tolerate the humanity I saw around me. For a religion that told people “you shall love your neighbour as yourself” (which is the part of Catholicism that I wholeheartedly agree with), they weren’t very loving.

When I started doubting, my doubts were accompanied by an almost intoxicating sense of liberation. It felt like I had finally cut the anchor and had finally cracked the code to being a “good” person, which was someone who accepted people for who they are regardless of whether they were following what the Bible said.

I’m proud of myself for being open minded, and keeping that perspective for all these years. People should be able to pursue their identities without shame. But there’s a painful irony in that thought: I’m generous with my acceptance of others, yet I don’t offer it to myself.

It wasn’t until very recently that I allowed the idea of my own bisexuality to take root. I’ve seen so many people come out of the closet but I’ve never thought about the possibility that I would one day find that I was in one.

I’m sorry if this reads as parasocial (I promise that I am aware of where that line is and I have zero plans to cross it), but it began with Pinterest showing pins of Renee Rapp and Towa Bird- both of whom are...so goddam attractive.

I am cringing while typing this.

Saving one pin seemed to push me down an entire rabbit hole. And also, looking at the artists I currently obsess over, or how I pay more attention to the female characters in movies, it’s like the puzzle pieces are finally clicking into place.

I say I’m bisexual because there’s a dissonance. I have had crushes on guys, but then I wonder: was what I felt for them attraction, or just the crushing weight of societal pressure to have a romantic relationship? Everyone my age seemed to be getting into one so I might have felt like I should like someone for the sake of liking them. And when I think of anything beyond hand holding and kissing, I want to throw up. Like Renee Rapp said in an interview, the idea and shape of a dick just…disgusts me?

On the other hand, I’ve only had one crush on a girl which I don’t think it counts as a crush. We aren’t even close, but I love texting her and when it happens, I always reply to her texts with a smile on my face. Is this what attraction feels like? Even with the celebrities that I’ve mentioned earlier, I believe I’m drawn to their vibe rather than the actual person? I’m so lost.

At the same time, I don’t really think about sex. Regardless of the other person’s gender. I think likely due to the fact that purity culture is so deeply ingrained in me.

I do think there is a gender preference with my attraction, though it’s been really confusing and frustrating, which is why I’ve decided to sit with the “bi” label for the time being.

I won’t lie and say that I don’t care about what other people think. Although my friends are kind and open minded, I am terrified of altering their perception of me. I am secretive with these thoughts of mine, but I can’t help but occasionally drop breadcrumbs to test the waters. And then I am denying, denying, and denying when they ask about the trail.

This secret is a heavy coat that I wear, and every day feels like summer. It is suffocating, yet I keep it buttoned up to my chin because I am terrified that if I take it off, I’ll be exposed to a version of myself I’m not yet ready to accept.

Weirdly, I’m disconnected from this fear in the digital world. I smile when I scroll through Pinterest, lingering on and saving the pins that speak to my bisexuality (and lesbianism). I’m genuinely perplexed by my feelings, and doing things like this makes it harder to neglect them.

I guess the truth has a way of crawling out from the depths.

These feelings sit there like a stupid pea under the mattress. No matter how many layers of denial I pile over it, I am unable to rest. The knot digs at me, especially at night, and it has become impossible to ignore.

I don’t want to be not straight. I despise that part of me that makes my heart flutter and my head panic when I see a pretty girl. It feels like a thorn in my side, one that threatens to grow into and disrupt the life that I’ve planned. I want to amputate it ASAP. I want to outgrow it like it’s a childhood phase, and I hate myself for wanting that because I know that’s not how it works.

I’m trying to label the ache.

Is this what they call religious guilt? Shame?

Or is it something deeper like the fear of the unknown?

Even though if I’m not a practicing believer, the Bible’s voice still echoes in the back of my mind and tells me that my thoughts are a transgression.

I have so many things to unpack:- my sexuality, my capacity for intimacy, the blurry lines between admiration and desire which confuses me about the status of my crushes. I also worry about the future. I know I’m expected to marry a man, and I have an inkling that I will.

“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night with your head in your hands, you’re nothing more than his wife.” — Good Luck Babe, Chappell Roan

Is that what I want? I don’t think I will be happy, but who knows? Maybe I will, that’s what I tell myself. Then, in the quiet moments, I find myself looking forward to the rest of my days with someone who won’t make me consider such “what ifs”.

I wish I could be “normal.”

The longing for normalcy sits on my chest like a stone.

Sometimes I see things online that say, “Just embrace it!”, “Be loud and proud!” It’s beautiful, but it’s not that easy.

I want to work in a government position, and where I am, this is not something that will be accepted.

I am trapped in a pit of my own making. The part of me that loves and wonders and flutters is down here in the dark with me. Soil is shovelled onto us, if I climb up and escape to the surface, I will have to leave this part to be buried down here forever.

I’m not sure what would kill me faster:- trying to crawl my way out of the dirt, or abandoning the possibility of who I am.

I wish God will tell me what to do.

My experience with church has been less than pleasant, my relationship with God feels like a frayed wire. I remember going to mass this year and having an hour long panic attack. I don’t know if it was divine punishment for my unfaithfulness, a sign from the devil to walk away, or just the physical manifestation of a heart that hurts from being unable to reconcile the “good girl” I was taught to be with the girl I am discovering.

Dear Heavenly Father, forgive me for my sins. I’m not a religious person but if you make it obvious that being straight is the correct path, it’ll be easier to give up the other one.

I’m such a hypocrite, I wouldn’t want to enforce this suppression on others but I can’t stop doing it to myself. It hurts to exist like this, but for now, it’s the only way I know how to live.

I might never get the answers to these questions on the standard of “goodness:, and I have to live with that. I’m just holding out the hope that I do. I’m envious of the people who can be true to themselves and I’m happy for them. I wish I had the circumstances to do the same.

I keep coming back to this quote:- “I pray that there’s a place in hell for the people who couldn’t save themselves.” And I wonder— is it selfish to pray for myself?

I don’t know what “good” is. Does being “good” mean I won’t go to hell? Or does being “good” mean performing the way society wants?

This is a deeply vulnerable post and it’s more of a vent rather than a cohesive thought. I initially hoped that putting these thoughts into word would act as a kind of relief or a way to settle the internal conflict. Instead, I feel like the battlefield has gotten even messier compared to before.

I feel lost, and the path forward is obscured by the guilt and the expectations I can’t seem to shake. I have so much more to write, but writing this has been unexpectedly taxing and I’ve reached my limit. I haven’t proofread, I’ve only divided it into sections so it’s doesn’t feel that overwhelming whilst I was writing, so please excuse any grammatical errors. I’ll return to these thoughts when I have the strength to. I’ll pour my heart out into poetry in the meantime.

If you have any advice, or even just a word of empathy, it would mean the world.

Thank you for reading.

I guess this pretty much sums it up:

There’s an energy to the word crazy,

it takes the form of buzzing 

from a static charge that clings

to the blurry cusp of my periphery. 



It happens when the room is too quiet

out the corner of my eye

the small skittering

six-legged shadow skitters past.

I blink, it’s a trick of the light. 



It happens at the dinner table

a sudden flit of wings

too fast to be dust

too dark to just

ignore the taunting

dancing beyond my line of sight.

I swat, my hand brushes nothing.



It happens in the classroom

on solid wooden desks.

I trace it with a flick of my head

black speck darts across text-

books and dissipates.

I hesitate, conspiring against certainty.



It happens again at midnight

in the lamp’s glow

a mite pirouettes

I try to catch and reach out and touch 

meets a surface bare,

empty. 

I wonder, if my mind is fraying

at the edges mistak

en movements

unravel rationality. 



Doubt revisits

I check my sleeves, shake out my hair,

gaze policing 

the air where

things might arrive.

Settling in 

the blind spots

phantom mimics crawl 

play cruel games 

in my eyes

shadows refuse to stay

still I cannot tell what’s real.



Breaths are held true

waiting for the next alarm.

Nervous projection

by my lens of the world.

I turn my head too fast

again a jagged snap

against the silence

becoming the fly

trapped in a web

and

my own shadow

s starts 

the crawl

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Thank you for reading!

This was based off my experience with seeing bugs that weren’t there as a side effect of stress and sleep deprivation. Thankfully it hasn’t happened since then, it was quite disturbing to go through and I was worried that I was going insane. I thought it would make an interesting, fragmented poem— where one line leads to the next but can be read as a standalone (except for a few intentional exceptions). I’m not sure if I executed it well though, please feel free to share what you think about it!

If you enjoyed what I wrote, you can check out my other posts linked in here:-

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The Home would be the name for the exhibit where every room was a collection of things you went without, sitting in a museum of sacrifices I never asked to curate. You defined it with the language of labour, the ironed t-shirts, the hot dinners that vary occasionally yet arrive orderly at 7pm. And the way you exchanged what you had left of your youth to build these walls around me. You stand in the doorway, the hallway light carving out the weary lines of your face. You don’t need to speak, no, the words pick themselves up to pelt me— I did this all for you.

I look at my own hands, callow and smooth, and feel the phantom ridges of your callouses pressing down onto my palm to seat the pen. I watch myself let you be a stand as the supervisor for my future-mapping cartographer. And as the work progresses and borders of the life I will inhabit take shape, the room collapses. Stress stings my nose and worry blurs my vision. I sit in the paralysis of despair as my ink runs dry. You, without an ounce of hesitation, slice yourself open to replace the pigment with your lifeblood. You hand me a compass, still warm and guilty of the wound, and you stay silent. You may never tell me how desperately I needed that. I didn’t even know I needed that. The compass is stained, crimson dyes the needle and permanently anchors it to the North Pole. The question of whether I can reach that life ceases to be a question to take the form of a terrifying certainty. Your sacrifice cements my final destination and warrants a definite path.

I have to reach it. I will become a vessel of knowledge, filled to the brim. You want to pour the best of your life into me, I know you did not mean to taint the cup. Still, the wine tastes bitter against my tongue. It is my responsibility to look in the bin at the remnants of your mute exertion; my fault for wringing out the salt of your unspoken sweat from buried napkins. A drop a day concentrates proof of your expenses for my nourishment.

In regret I gather pages spilling from seventy times seven midnights, each one testament to hours of losing myself in the dark, and press them into a semblance of order. I construct an archive of my growth with the secret hope that when hollow winter skies eventually collapse under the weight of reality, I could be the warm blanket to shield you from the cold.

I see you count constellations in my silence, wishfully waiting for a sign of recognition. Your studies are the rhythms of my breathing, and you await the pause that signals a vacant moment to lean in and ask how my day was. You find only the friction of my exhaustion. Shame me for being a child who fails to make you proud— you have every right to. I would feel less guilty if you did.

I look past the subtle disappointment in your eyes and see its origin in the mothballing of your dreams sitting in the corner of a closet, the smoothing of your temper’s stubborn spikes so they wouldn’t cut me. It was generosity so absolute, though I suspect you know nothing of it becoming a cage.

I might have wanted to stand in the garden to watch the weeds grow, to witness the wild tangle of life that requests nothing. But there is no choice left to make, for you are already there, paving it over. You level the earth, stamping down mountains and filling canyons so that I can walk without stumbling.

I know I ought to be grateful for the pavement, thank its steady support. It just so happens to be unyielding when I lie down to rest. For there is no soft soil to affirm my fatigue, the flat surface is a blunt reminder of your relentless effort which haunts me like a fever. I can feel the weight of the concrete you are carrying and pouring for me, and because of that I cannot fathom staying still. I have the pressure to keep running, to keep moving because stopping would be admitting that all your heavy labour is going to waste. The more you flatten the world for me, the more it compels me to charge until I drop.

I am drowning in the debt of your love. But alas, love is still love. You have given me your world, and it is my burden to hold it. It would be a cruelty of the highest order for me not to notice its cost. I see the ledger of your life in every corner of this home. It is my quiet tragedy that I see the price of your grace so clearly. When you reach for my hand to steady me, I feel the tremor of your tiredness; when you spend money on me, I imagine another want that you are keeping unfulfilled.

The world you are giving me is beautiful. I stand where I am today because you have set me up for a greatness I didn’t have to ask for. I am watching you watch me, and I see the smile on your face as you witness your child having everything you once dreamed of having yourself.

That smile makes me wish to see a reverse. One day, I will be the one paving the ground for you, but you won’t have to worry about my dreams while I make yours come true. I hope that one day, as we file new memories into photo albums, I can point to them and declare with a hearty grin— I did all this for you~

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I don’t know what to write for the author’s note on this one. I wrote this a week ago at 5am and I think it speaks for itself. I wanted to share this while I’m working on another post :’)

Before my junior year, I didn’t consider myself an anxious person. I was relatively confident in my ability to handle whatever was in my way and I didn’t stress about grades until this year when they became the defining matter for my university choices. As the workload grew heavier and deadlines multiplied, I found myself caught in a web of stress (and distress) which I hadn’t anticipated. I didn’t expect that I would be staying up past midnight, and waking up before sunrise to study. There was also the constant pressure to perform, with the fear of falling behind adding to the compounding storm of anxiety.

I have organised the following methods that I use to manage my anxiety, taught to me by the people who I asked for help from. They’re not ordered in any way but I’ve left the lengthiest as the last. Even though I have yet to master them, I still wanted to share them in case someone could also benefit from knowing about these tactics. I also introduce the methods that work for me, based on my personal experiences and tendencies. And I'll include a little bit about how my anxiety manifests at the end.

I’ve poured a lot of heart and time into this, and it’s ended up being much longer than I ever anticipated when I first started writing. At 6000+ words, this is quite the deep dive, so I completely understand if you aren’t able to finish it in one sitting, feel free to break this up into multiple reads!

If you resonate with what you’re reading and want to support the work, please consider leaving a like or subscribing :D (and read the author’s note at the very end of the post please <3)

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1. Controlled breathing

The simplest advice I got came from my university guidance counsellor. I had gone to her office before a mock exam because I felt panicky and suffocated. My thoughts were racing, and despite hours of preparation for the exam, my mind had gone completely blank. I was so worried that this state would continue and prevent me from performing well, but before I could tell her that, she told me to

“breathe in for 3 seconds, then breathe out for 5 through the mouth”

At first, I was almost offended by the simplicity of it. It felt bizarre to do and I thought that it was so stupid of her to think that this would solve my problem. But as I followed her instruction, the physical symptoms of anxiety began to ease. My hands were still shaky but I could breathe again. This sounds quite weird but I had only noticed that my breathing had gotten quick and shallow, but I hadn’t tried any method to fix it.

I could feel my mind clear and my shoulders naturally dropped from their tense position. It turns out that when your breathing becomes shallow and rapid because you’re feeling anxious, it signals to the brain that you’re in danger. So by consciously slowing your breath, it sends the opposite stimulus so your brain is able to relax. This is why the act of taking a few deep breaths is easy for its effectiveness.

Being honest, it did not help with the underlying cause of anxiety, but it definitely helped me calm myself down and at least take a small step back from spiralling. This exercise alone was not enough to stop me from panicking again and my breath hitched again when I stopped reminding myself to breathe.

2. Identifying the source of anxiety

During my second visit to the guidance counsellor (less than 30 minutes after she taught me the breathing exercise), we sat down on the couch to talk. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember the question that she asked, which was “what are you scared of?” She advised me to look into my anxiety and think about what was the thing that made me anxious.

This question seems obvious, but when I was in the grip of anxiety, I didn’t think to actually examine what was behind my fear. It is an uncomfortable feeling, to think about it, and I couldn’t answer that question immediately.

After some reflection, I realised my exam anxiety was not really about the test itself. It was the fear of failure and the subsequent narrative I built about my intelligence, my self-worth, and my future prospects if I were to underperform. It was also a feeling of profound helplessness- the frustration of knowing what I needed to do but feeling paralysed and unable to act.

Pinpointing these specific feelings is the vital first step towards addressing them. Once you identify the factors behind the anxiety, you can address them using more targeted strategies (I will introduce them as you continue reading).

3. Worst case, best case

I don’t remember exactly which teacher shared this with me, though it was likely taught to me when they noticed the visible toll of my stress/anxiety or after I finally admitted to struggling. Regardless of the source, she encouraged me to practice what she called “worst case scenario, best case scenario” thinking.

How it works: When you are having anxiety about an upcoming event, write down or mentally map out the absolute worst possible outcome you can imagine. Make it as catastrophic as your imagination allows (this is usually what you are most afraid of). Next, do the same for the best possible outcome. Then, take a step back and objectively ask yourself- what is the most likely outcome?

You will usually find that reality sits somewhere in the middle. Most importantly, you will realise that the probability of your worst case scenario actually occurring is often near zero.

I recall applying this during my oral exam. I had ten minutes of material prepared, but nerves took over, and I began to stutter by the second minute. I blanked out and fumbled through the remainder of the presentation. When the five-minute Q&A session began, I had to rely on the teacher to help fill the gaps in my argument. Afterwards, I started crying. I was convinced that all my preparation had gone to waste because the performance was far from perfect.

However, upon reflection, I realised that my performance was still significantly better than my “worst case.” My worst case would have been being unable to answer a single question or forgetting the entirety of my speech. But that didn’t happen because I had managed to compose myself and engage with the examiner. This perspective allowed me to have a more balanced view on the event that happened and now I know that there was nothing to be anxious over. Even while anxious, I was still doing better than my worst case scenario, so it obviously would not happen if I didn’t have anxiety.

This exercise, first, provides a physical vessel for your anxiety; by forcing yourself to write down your catastrophic thoughts, you stop them from spiralling into even more distorted realities in your mind. Second, it highlights the statistical improbability of your fears which you will realise while putting them into words. Third, and perhaps most importantly, even if you do not perform as well as you hoped, identifying that the actual outcome was still better than the “worst case” gives you the necessary leeway to go easy on yourself because you weren’t a complete failure.

Even if you identify as a staunch realist like me, this could still be useful to do. A “realist” can still fall victim to cognitive biases when they are stressed. Sometimes, your internal reality is distorted by the very adrenaline and fear you are trying to manage, so this practice serves as a necessary reality check to recalibrate those judgments you are making without a clear mind.

I also think that this is one of the most useful methods in social situations, like when you’re trying to talk to others. Because when you’re nervous about walking up to someone or engaging in a conversation (or both), you have to remind yourself that chances are, they’re not going to be thinking about you a week from now. Even if it does go awkwardly, you won’t have to think about it again after it’s over.

4. Breaking down triggers

I learned this next strategy from my psychologist. When anxiety becomes overwhelming, it often feels like an amorphous, suffocating weight pressing down on me. In these moments, I struggle to identify exactly what needs to be addressed since everything feels equally urgent; and because every task feels like a priority, everything becomes impossible to start.

My psychologist taught me how to decompose this overwhelming mass into manageable components:

Take a physical piece of paper or open a notes app, and list out everything currently on your mind. This includes major projects, deadlines, and even the seemingly small, nagging responsibilities. Once you have your list, rank each item from most stressful to least stressful by assigning each a rating out of ten. The goal is then to start by tackling the smallest, least daunting tasks.

When I feel frozen by anxiety, my default reaction is often total avoidance. I don’t want to face the reality of my workload, so I do nothing at all. This method helped me to stop worrying about all my obligations and forgetting some of them. Once it is written down, I can tackle the list one item at a time. I’ll start with the smallest tasks which provide an immediate sense of progress. Small accomplishments fuel my motivation for the next tasks by creating a positive feedback loop.

You don’t fully realise how much space small stressors are occupying until you see them written down. These tasks linger int he back of your mind and add to your anxiety levels. The psychologist gave me a helpful cup analogy to visualise this:-

Imagine your capacity to withstand stress as a physical cup, and your anxiety is the water being poured into it. If you allow too many small worries to accumulate, the cup will inevitably reach its limit and overflow. This is why you cannot afford to let the “little things” occupy space, and this practice also helps to prevent anxiety buildup in the first place. (This is my summary of what she told me, but I searched online and I feel like this link provides a more in-depth explanation of it)

5. Grounding

Panic attacks often accompany heavier bouts of anxiety, and grounding has become one of the most effective interventions I’ve found for those moments.

My psychologist explained that much of my internal turbulence stems from what she calls “time traveling”, which is the tendency to dread about the future or ruminate on the past. I find myself spiralling over an upcoming exam, regretting a procrastinated paper, or fixating on the perceived judgment of my teachers. The irony is that in the present, I am often safe.

Grounding is a practice designed to forcibly anchor the mind back to the present. By placing your feet flat against the floor, resting your hands firmly on your lap, and focusing on your breathing, it makes you aware of the present through these tangible sensations.

Doing this, I am finally able to observe my anxious thoughts as thoughts. I can see that they are not objective truths. This realisation allows me to see that obsessing over these anxieties is what is preventing me from taking the concrete actions necessary to mitigate them in the future.

To be clear, this doesn’t make the anxiety vanish but it provides the necessary distance required to gain perspective of the situation that you are currently in. It creates a pause to give you the mental space to consciously choose my response to the anxiety rather than allowing the brain to default to an automatic reaction of panic. And because my panic attacks usually involve me feeling lightheaded and shaky, doing this helps me divert my attention away from that which calms me down.

6. CBT

Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) was introduced to me by a teacher and it feels the most pragmatic for managing anxiety, she gave me a pamphlet (pages taken from ‘The Feeling Good Handbook’ by David D. Burns) with some ways to identify my thoughts and feelings and ways to challenge them. I’ll try my best to summarise them in my own words and add my own elaboration.

a) Identifying thoughts and feelings-

• Anxiety is often fuelled by the belief that you are in immediate danger because something bad is about to happen, but this framework helps categorise other common emotional traps:

• Sadness/Depression: Results from loss or the failure to achieve a personal goal.

• Guilt/Shame: Stems from the belief that you have hurt someone or you have failed your own standards. Guilt is from self-condemnation while shame includes the fear of losing face when others discover your “true” self.

• Frustration: Occurs when life falls short of your expectations. Often marked by “should” statements about yourself, others, or events (e.g. I shouldn’t have made that mistake/Why is the road crossing always red when I’m in a rush?!).

• Inferiority/Inadequacy: Rooted in negative social comparisons.

• Loneliness: Happens when you feel unhappy after telling yourself that you’re alone because others aren’t giving you enough love and attention.

• Hopelessness/Discouragement: Feeling convinced that your problem will continue and never improve.

b) Validating your thoughts

These automatic thoughts are often part of feeling anxiety. If left unchecked, these initial feelings are likely to devolve into what Burns calls “twisted thinking”, a series of cognitive distortions which only make you feel worse. Giving these patterns a name allows you to recognise them when you experience them and it also reminds you that you aren’t the only one who has gone through these feelings.

To help you spot these habits in your own mind, here are the 10 forms of twisted thinking that Burns introduces:

1. All-or-nothing thinking: You think that if a situation is not perfect, it’s a failure. (e.g. You get an 80% on a test when you were confident that you would get 90% or higher, or you mess up on an interview question and automatically assume that you didn’t qualify)

2. Overgeneralisation: You view a single negative event as part of a larger negative pattern, using words like ‘always’ or ‘never’ to describe it. (e.g. You tell that you’re always left out of your friend group because they never include you in their conversations)

3. Mental filter: You dwell on a single negative detail and constantly think about it, causing you to have a distorted view of reality. (e.g. You receive one negative comment about your work, obsess over it, ignore the positive comments, and lose all motivation to write)

4. Discounting the positive: You reject positive outcomes and insist that they don’t count. Even if you do a good job on a task, you tell yourself that it wasn’t good enough or someone else could’ve done the same and even better.

5. Jumping to conclusions: You assume that someone else will have/is having a negative response to you, and you predict that something will go wrong. This is quite hard to identify, as there is usually a basis before you jump to the conclusion. (like you haven’t studied enough, so you assume that you’re going to flunk the test)

6. Magnification: You exaggerate your shortcomings and the weight of your problems, or you minimise the importance of your qualities. (This is similar to the mental filter and discounting the positive)

7. Emotional reasoning: This is sort of like pathetic fallacy, you assume that your negative feelings reflect reality. (e.g. You think that because you’re nervous about meeting someone, that someone is someone that is hard to get along with) This is the opposite of jumping to conclusions, but they are easy to confuse. Jumping to conclusions is making a prediction about what will happen; emotional reasoning is believing that because you feel a certain way, it must be the current truth of your situation right now.

8. “Should statements”: Like I mentioned before, you think that things should be happening the way you expect (or hope) them to be, but it also includes your attempts to motivate yourself through saying things like “I must do XXX.” This leads to rebellion and you get the urge to do the opposite. This is the pattern coined by Dr. Albert Ellis: “musterbation.”

9. Labelling: This is a form of all-or-nothing thinking. Instead of saying that you made a mistake and stopping there, you give yourself a label like “stupid”, or “failure.” This does nothing but contribute to more feelings of anxiety and frustration. You might also find yourself attributing labels to others. What this does is that it just makes you feel hopeless about any improvements in the relationship and prevents constructive communication. (e.g. Someone tells you that another person is a jerk and you believe them, so before you meet up with that person you’re nervous about their “jerk” behaviour and what they might do to you)

10. Personalisation and blame: Taking personal responsibility for events beyond your control, or blaming your circumstances for your problems.

It is important to understand that experiencing these thoughts does not mean there is something wrong with you or that you are being irrational. They are signs that you are human, and they are natural, albeit painful, reactions to the high pressure environments we experience everyday. Please know that it is entirely normal to have these automatic thoughts.. To validate these feelings, you have to learn to detach from them rather than accepting them as the truth and continuing to believe them.

I started by giving the automatic thoughts a name out of the 10 as soon as I think that I am going down a negative spiral. By acknowledging that my brain is operating with a distortion’ filter, I am then able to challenge the thought using the steps outlined below. But this process doesn’t mean you’re invalidating your feelings- you should still validate your experience of the emotion, like crying when you’re sad. It’s just that after you’ve had a cry, you should try to address the narrative your anxiety is selling you and the thing that made you want to cry.

c) Challenging these thoughts

It might seem difficult to challenge these thoughts because they feel so overwhelming. However, once you have identified that you are having automatic thoughts, you can try using these techniques below. I’ve added my evaluation of these methods which might be helpful for you to explore which way fits you best. (Please note that there are bits of overlap with the techniques that I have mentioned above, but I didn’t want to omit things from the pamphlet and I also did not feel like restructuring my whole post :’))

1. Identify the distortion: Write down your negative thoughts so you can see which of the 10 cognitive distortions you’re involved in. It makes it easier to think about the problem in a more realistic way. But while this provides immediate distance from your rushed and panicky thoughts, it requires a high level of self awareness to categorise them in the heat of the moment, so don’t worry if you struggle initially! Keep persevering!

2. Examine the evidence: Instead of assuming your negative thought is true, examine the actual evidence for it. If you think you never do anything right, list several things that you have done successfully. It can be simple things like starting the task at hand or the other times when you felt the same emotions and still succeeded. This method might seem difficult because you can’t always recall positive things when you are feeling deeply discouraged. I advise having an achievements list where you can add everything that went well onto to remind yourself of them the next time you’re feeling dejected.

3. The double-standard method: Stop being your own harshest critic and start speaking to yourself in the same way you would to a friend who has a similar problem. Although it can feel unnatural to apply this self compassion when you are accustomed to self condemnation, writing your thoughts down first helps you do this.

4. The experimental technique: Do a little test to test the validity of your negative thought. If you think that you’re going to die when you’re having a panic attack and you can’t breathe, force yourself to take deep breaths. This proves that you can do it. Personally, I think this method takes a lot of effort, which is why I haven’t really tried it so I don’t know how to explain it; I lean a bit more towards the other methods.

5. Thinking in shades of gray: Instead of thinking about your problems in an all-or-nothing way, evaluate them on a scale of 0-100. This is similar to the ‘worse case, best case’ technique in that when things don’t work out as well as you hoped, you can still think about it as a partial success rather than a failure.

6. The survey method: Ask people questions to find out if your thoughts are realistic. They might agree with them partially, helping you realise that you aren’t alone; disagree with the rest, and you figure out that you’re having exaggerated thoughts.

7. Define terms: This is a useful tool where, when you use extreme labels like “loser”, you force yourself to define them. What is the definition of a loser? Is it a realistic definition? Oftentimes, you can’t come up with a definition and it reveals this label to be an illogical abstraction. Now I know you might be thinking: what if you are able to come up with a definition for loser and you believe that you fit into that definition? Here you can use method number 3 again and put a friend in your shoes. Would you call your friend a loser in a non-sarcastic way? If you’re still challenging this method though (like the friend I shared the pamphlet with), you could always use one of the other ones and find one that suits your way of thinking.

8. The semantic method: This focuses on substituting “should” statements with neutral phrasing such as “it would be better if”. This helps reduce your self blame and focus on the future which you can actively influence with your current actions, unlike the past which has already happened.

9. Re-attribution: This helps you stop blaming yourself by considering external factors that contributed to this problem. I think this sounds good in theory, but requires a lot of thinking. So just remember that you should be focusing on solving the problem, or preventing the problem from happening again in the future instead of using all your energy on blaming yourself and feeling guilty.

10. Cost-benefit analysis: This involves listing the advantages and disadvantages of holding a specific negative thought or behaviour. I find this most useful as someone who wants to be pragmatic. This analysis is highly effective, though it demands you to not give into the hard to admit “advantages” of negative thoughts like the perceived protection they offer against disappointment.

I feel like I should give an example on how these methods help to deal with anxiety, and I’ll also be including my own method which works best for me at this point in time:-

These are the thoughts that I have had when writing this post. (I wrote them down in the middle of finishing the ‘Grounding’ section)

“I’m writing this article about dealing with anxiety, but I overhyped it and I’m spending so much time on it that people will be disappointed with my late upload. My organisation of the post is so messy that people won’t want to read it, but I don’t know how to fix it and I don’t have the motivation to fix it. And there are so many things that I want to include and what happens if I don’t include it all? my post is going to be so bland and people wouldn’t be able to relate to it. Why am I even writing this post? What if people aren’t interested in what I’m posting anymore because it’s taking too long to come out? There are so many overlapping ideas that I want to include but I won’t be able to include them all. I don’t know how to continue and I have other stuff on my to do list that I need to complete but I can’t complete them without completing this post first. Who am I to even be writing this post? I can’t do anything.”

So what am I feeling?

• Guilty because I am not finishing the post fast enough for my standards

• Frustrated with myself because I should be able to do this

• Anxious that I am spending too much time on this and neglecting my other responsibilities

• Worry because what if people

• Inadequate because I am struggling to put thoughts into words and some people on this site can do that way better than I can

• Discouraged as it feels like a task too big to tackle and I don’t think I could ever finish it

(Now, I give myself a pat on the back for being able to identify these feelings)

Next, have I been falling into any twisted ways of thinking?

The answer is a resounding yes-

• All-or-nothing thinking. I’m convinced that if the post isn’t perfect or doesn’t include every single idea, it’s a total failure.

• Discounting the positive. I’m ignoring the fact that I’ve already written several sections,I’m only focusing only on the incompleteness of it.

• Jumping to conclusions. I’m believing that people will be disappointed or will be uninterested before they’ve even seen the final draft.

• Magnification. I’m perceiving the lateness of this post way out of proportion. It hasn’t even been a week since my last post.

• Emotional reasoning. I feel hopeless and overwhelmed, so I assume that means I am hopeless and incapable of finishing.

(Wow! That is a lot of twisted thinking!)

Then, what should I do now?

First, I have to examine the evidence. Is it actually true that people won’t read my post because there are 4-5 days between this one and my last post? No, I don’t think so. Some other accounts on here post once a week and still have a steady audience. Besides, I think people would appreciate the authenticity of this post and I’ve seen comments from people saying how this could be useful for them.

Then, I can use the double standard method. If a friend came to me and said they were stressed about a late post, would I call them a failure and tell them to give up? Absolutely not. That’s such a weird worry to have. I would tell them that their effort matters and I acknowledge the effort that they’ve already put in. And I would also tell them that they’ve done a good job already at writing the 2000 words they currently have.

I should also practice thinking in shades of gray. Instead of viewing this post as a failure because it isn’t perfect, I can choose to see it as a work in progress. Which means that it is a partial success because I have already started writing. This gives me hope that as I continue writing, the success will just evolve into a greater success.

Afterwards, I will do a cost-benefit analysis on my need for perfection. What does it get me? My obsession with perfection is only causing me to become stuck and no one will be able to see what I wrote if I’m too scared to publish it. Even if I end up posting a “perfect” post, what does it cost? My mental health, my time, and the joy of writing and sharing my thoughts. Why am I making this a chore if it doesn’t need to be one? This cost is too expensive, it’s telling me to stop chasing perfection.

Finally, I use my own method, thinking about the ‘why.’

Sometimes I just have to remind myself why I am doing this. I remind myself that the ultimate aim of posting this is not to have a perfectly structured article, nor is it a chase to get people to subscribe. The goal is to provide a collection of methods of others who feel overwhelmed and experience anxiety the same way I do. Even if this is only read by a few people, if it helps them then I’m satisfied.

When I focus on my initial goal (the thing that made me start writing this in the first place), I can stop worrying about trivial things like having perfect grammar and structure. It just has to be comprehensible. And I don’t need to include everything, there’s always the edit button and I can engage with my readers in the comments after this post is published to see if there’s anything that needs to be added.

By dissecting my thoughts and addressing my worries, my mindset shifts and it becomes easy to continue writing. I hope this provides a better understanding of how to apply these CBT techniques.

Some more methods to prevent anxiety

While there are many ways to handle anxious thoughts, part of managing anxiety is also about building habits that reduce the frequency or severity of those thoughts. Here are some of the methods that have worked for me and made my life less stressful.

Dividing up tasks

When I’m faced with a massive project, my brain tends to freeze and I don’t get anything done. I’ve tried to break down these intimidating tasks into tiny ones. Then I estimate the time it needs to complete the small task and set a timer for myself to complete it. Without a timer, the brain has a nasty practice of dragging things out indefinitely, and these tasks are not something that I want to spend copious amounts of time on. I’ve also found that Pavlov-ing myself by giving myself a reward after completing every couple of small tasks gives me the most motivation.

Take breaks

It sounds obvious, but sometimes I just want to continue working on the task even though I’m not making any progress. I’m learning to recognise this and when it happens, I make myself step away from my desk for around 5 minutes. Then I go back and continue with a fresher mind.

After you’re finished with your task, reward yourself by doing things you love!

Contained negativity

When I have negative thoughts I don’t always want to address them in a logical way and I just need to vent. So I’ll write it all down in a notebook or talk with a friend. But once that’s over, I stop thinking about what triggered the negative thoughts and the negative thoughts. This prevents them from reappearing and bringing the associated emotions with them to ruin the rest of my day.

Talking to people and asking for help

This is what inspired me to write this post. Talking to others and telling them that you need help isn’t embarrassing. My teachers have been really understanding and not judgemental at all. I understand that it might be hard to find someone you trust, but you can still do this by using the many resources online.

Stress performance curve

The stress curve is a reminder that pressure isn’t all bad as long as it stays in the ideal zone. (My psychologist loves reminding me of this curve and to stop putting so much pressure on myself) But once you cross into the strain zone and the zone of delusion, your performance starts to plummet because your brain is too busy panicking to be effective. If you see that you’re becoming counterproductive, that’s your sign to stop, take a breath, and use some methods to reduce your stress levels.

The “good enough” mindset

This is essentially consciously lowering the bar when you notice that your internal expectations are no longer serving you well. This addresses perfectionism which acts as a barrier, preventing you from completing the work altogether because you are paralysed by the anxiety that it won’t be flawless.

You really don’t have to do everything perfectly. The pursuit of perfectionism blinds you to the fact that “good enough” is more than sufficient to achieve your goals.

Take grades for example, if getting an 80% gives you the same final grade as a 90%, don’t beat yourself up for the 80. Remind yourself that there are always better things to do with your time and energy, and a grade on an internal test is rarely the final determinant of your value or your future.

Embracing a “good enough” mindset is definitely not being lazy, but it is being realistic about the standards you are setting for yourself and being strategic with your limited time and efforts. This is WAY easier to describe than to actually do this, and I still have a lot of work to do to adopt this mindset.

Understanding yourself

This truly takes a lot of time and requires serious patience. You have to learn your triggers so you know what spikes your anxiety, then look deeper into why those specific things get to you. It sounds simple on paper, but you’re often your own harshest critic. If you know you’re a pessimistic person, catch yourself when you start spiralling and remind yourself that you’re a pessimist and your take on the situation is likely to be overly negative.

This self-awareness also helps you solve practical problems. For example, when I was struggling to write this post on the substack interface, I moved the writing to Google docs because I know that that’s a space which I’m more familiar with and comfortable with using. At times, understanding yourself is just as simple as knowing which tools make you feel most capable.

I’d like to wrap this post up by sharing my own experience with anxiety and how I realised that I was developing bad anxiety. I didn’t really notice it until it began to manifest physically and mentally. I’ll keep this brief as recalling details takes a toll on my mood.

I was experience sleep paralysis at my worst times and in recent months, I adopted some involuntary physical habits, like biting my tongue and obsessively picking at my thumbs. Both I wouldn’t notice until it started to hurt and bleed. My emotional stability also became impacted, I would have sudden bouts of panicked, shallow breathing and mood swings that left me feeling completely disconnected from myself and feel guilty for lashing out at the people around me. The most damaging manifestation of my was a complete lack of motivation, which only fuelled the negative cycle and made me more anxious about not being able to complete my work. I obviously didn’t want this to continue, so I needed to find a way to release the nervous energy, thus prompting me to ask for help. Things have gotten better now so I wanted to write this post to let people who also feel anxiety maybe find a way to process/manage it too.

Thank you for reading until the end!

I’ve put an incredible amount of time into this post and it ended up being so much more extensive than what I originally had in mind. I think I’m going to shift gears and return to posting poetry for a little while before I attempt another long form self-help post like this, but I definitely intend to write something like again. (I’ve got a few ideas on a post about motivation in my drafts)

I want to offer an apology if at any point, the advice here felt a bit unrealistic or overly superficial. I’ve tried my absolute best to curate and include techniques that are useful, but I’ve noticed that my tone sometimes shifts into being a bit assertive or maybe even little preachy when I’m trying to be encouraging. I hope that didn’t deter you from reading or make you feel judged.

If you found any parts of this post to be unclear, confusing, or in need of further explanation, please let me know. I would be more than happy to clarify or expand on those sections. (The same thing goes for the discrepancies in tone)- I also feel like I could’ve gone deeper into the anxiety of interacting with people and the specifics, but I think the techniques that I have included could also be applied to those (If you would still want me to do a deeper-dive, please tell me lol)

And please don’t be discouraged if you try these methods and they don’t work perfectly. Breaking long standing habits takes a lot of effort. You have already done an incredible job just by recognising your anxiety.

Above all, I want you to remember that you are enough. Anxiety is a universal human experience, and struggling with it doesn’t make you inferior in any way. In a strange way, anxiety isn’t inherently a bad thing since it often just means you care deeply about what you’re doing, a little bit too much. Your heart is in the right place so sometimes, the most important thing you can do is just learn how to reel yourself in and breathe. Trust that you’re doing just fine <3

(if you enjoyed what I wrote, would you consider subscribing?)

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I write of fire as someone who has never been burned.

I kindle sparks from scorched pages,

from crackling sonnets and trickling pools of ink.

I stole embers from those who dared to think

that wordy verses could capture

the heat of human souls. Since—



I do not know how the heart works.

Why a warbling, frantic bird,

can bring itself to thrash its wings against the cage—

at just words.



Or how the stillness inside can be suddenly

violently stirred.



But I have heard the reports of the crash

accompanying the thud of closing hearses.

Love exists, it's real.



It made me a civil servant of a country I have never visited,

and a cartographer that maps fantasy lands, 

or a mole who tries to describe the sun from deep underground.

Because I write of love like one describes the aliens—

as transmissions hums from an unreachable sector,

haunting echoes in an eyeless dark.

In which I stare at the static of a signal I am tasked to intercept

but have no vessel to decode.



I catch the tremors of a fever I never succumbed to,

shivering through long, hollow nights of unfamiliar cold,

waiting on the sunrise they sing in songs

composed for the actual fevered minds—

for warmth.



I read about—

the reflexive way two hands might interlace

to forge a temporary, often desperate, sanctuary.

At the pressure points where palm meets palm,

there is tension required to bind,

to seal a circuit of heat.

I am only permitted to view

behind the glass.



I learn to plan a shelter

that I lack the materials to build.

Breaking down the manifestations closeness 

seems to dissolve the architecture of solitude.



I commit crimes of mimicry,

tracing salt-bitten coastlines I have yet to walk.

I keep the ocean on paper,

a dreaming sailor 

obsessed with sketching the uncharted sea

while anchored dry upon the shore,

desperate to prove that there is water without drowning.



I know the words, 

but nothing of their weight.

And yet, I arrange borrowed cinders

into an unlit fireplace. Hoping—



I can stack the wood with enough care,

drench the pile with enough gasoline,

so the hearth might finally snag a feeling

of something true...



I am an imposter worshipping flames in an airless room.



Still,

I am writing.

I might never find the fire,

but I don't want to admit the cold.

•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•°¤*•

Thank you for reading!

I tried to put into words the ache of wanting to write about love as someone who has never loved romantically (or at least not in the way that people tend to portray it as). I guess this is why I have a really great admiration for those who are actually able to explain the feeling of love and have it make sense, even if I am unable to relate.

Perhaps this poem is an exaggeration of my detachment from “passionate” love; maybe that is because I am scared of getting hurt, or maybe it is simply because the stars have yet to align— I imagine I’ll explore that at a later date.

If you liked this one, feel free to check out my other works <3

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