In the third grade, I had my first stint with mental illness. My only real friend had just moved away, and no one wanted to play with me at recess. I was depressed, big time, and I was also working through grief at the loss of my friend. The stages were evident (retrospectively) in the narratives that went through my head as I tried to sleep. Some nights I would cry. Some nights I would invent stories in which who had abandoned me continued to wrong me; some nights I would scream my anger at her. At eight years old, I would spend some nights thinking seriously about death. But it wasn’t until the next school year that I started to understand that these thoughts were anything out of the ordinary. lonely-child-1024x678In the fourth grade, after she saw me hitting myself repeatedly during tests, my teacher sent me to weekly group sessions with the school counselor.

It’s gotten worse since then, but it’s also gotten better since then. My depression comes in waves. The stresses of elementary school, junior high, and high school all took their toll on me. So, too, has the unforgiving coldness of winter, as well as the unrelenting loneliness of summer. Depression is not a constant companion, but it is a consistent companion.

My anxiety, on the other hand, does not come in waves. They aren’t as bad as they could be, and I’m always learning to ways to negotiate with them, but they never leave. Ever. In fact, I’m not totally sure where my anxiety stops and my nervous personality begins. Fretting is ingrained into my very aspect.

I was born an anxious person. I was also born a sad person. That’s sort of my point, my raison d’être: to be anxious and sad. It makes me see things that other people ignore, and it allows me to be introspective. In that, mental illness is what makes me a writer. I’m only an artist because I was wired incorrectly at the factory.

Maybe I should be grateful. Continue reading “Awake”


Gone Gone Gone: A Poem

My legs are gone.

Gone gone gone.

My voice is gone.

Gone gone gone.

My nerves are overheated, overwired, overshaking.

My mind is overcontemplating, overthinking, overracing.

My hope is gone.

Gone gone gone.

My capabilities are gone.

Gone gone gone.

My ears are oversensitive, overhearing, overworking.

My eyes are overclosed, overdark, overslammed.

My ambition is lost.

Forever forever forever.

I am being strangled.

Forever forever forever.

(Can’t you see that I can’t live like this?)

I want to be gone.

Gone gone gone.

Where Did the Time Go?!

Holy crud. Since when is it December twentieth? No one asked me if this was okay!

That means there are four more not-Christmas days until Christmas, today not included. You know how many presents I’ve bought? ZERO! I have bought zero presents! Zero is THIS many:


This is unbelievable! Unacceptable! Completely and utterly not okay! I haven’t gotten around to writing any super cool Christmas-themed stories. Heck, I haven’t even put up a tree yet. I’ve been doing some serious slacking. We need some Christmas up in here!

After finals today, a friend of mine (who happens to be agnostic Jewish) wished me a Merry Christmas. And I was like, “SHOOT! CHRISTMAS! I ALMOST FORGOT!”

I have been so caught up stressing out and going on the internet to avoid studying that Christmas has barely crossed my mind. Everyone’s asking me, “So what do you want for Christmas?”

And I just want to say, “How am I supposed to know?”

Maybe I’ll just ask for some Christmas for Christmas. Seriously. Just a deep breath, a cup of hot chocolate, and a nap. That would be great, thanks. And how about some mistletoe, when you’re at it?

Just when I thought my stress was going to be over for the next two-ish weeks, the holiday season has to start blinking its warning signs at me. Not cool. SO not cool. I just hope there’s enough time left to deal with it.

Feliz Navidad,



Busy, busy, busy. That’s me all the time now that summer’s over. I don’t have time to do all kinds of things I got used to doing every day, including (but not limited to) posting on mikkiaaron, jamming out, and working on my writing. Being constantly busy is emotionally and psychologically draining, filling me to the brim with complete and utter apathy when I do have time to do those things. Usually, I’ll just go to bed early instead.

Ironically, on the weekends, there is absolutely zero to do. Those are the days when my friends are busy, busy, busy. Either I need some new, less-busy friends or some better plan-making skills, or maybe both. Those are the days that I could be doing something productive, including (but not limited to) adding the next installment to my epic up-and-coming novel that’s turning out marvelously thus far (yeah right, Mikki, how many times have you said that before?).

But, seriously. I’m turning into a lump that occasionally grunts. My general workload has incapacitated me from any real activity, such as physical activity or social activity. Overall, it’s taking every ounce of me to cope with the lack of summer/free time, and it’s not pretty.

Ciao for now,


The 5 Worst Things to Do on a Test

How many of us have bombed a test at any point in our schooling careers… because of one stupid, bonehead mistake? (Or maybe more of them, from my own personal experience. I seem to commit more than my fair share of stupid mistakes.)

1. Do a little bit of wrong work that throws off the whole thing.

If you’re taking a math test and you write a minus sign instead of a plus sign, then your entire problem will be screwed up, and you will be screwed. Especially in those multi-step equations.

2. Fill in the wrong bubble.

You know the right answer, but your pencil doesn’t seem to.

3. Write something down from a few steps back.

You have the right answer… and work to prove it. But it looks like the work got in the way, and you wrote down a number or a term that is only a fraction of the right answer. Whoops.

4. Simply not know the answer.

It’s not that you forgot it, you never knew it in the first place. Did you miss a day of class? Everyone else knows the answer. So why don’t you? This is where the some of the real panic can start to rise.

5. Get too frustrated.

If you get too frustrated while taking a test, it will make it harder. The questions won’t make any sense and your fingers will spend more time pressed against your forehead than wrapped around a pencil. Relax.

Ciao for now,