Pulse

4: November 30

My therapist said meditation would be good for me, so I tried it today.

And I fuckin' suck at it.

I get it, alright? Breathe, calm your mind, try to think about nothing or think about "calming" shit. I can't think about calming shit, man. Matter of fact, I always got shit to do, so it's hard to tear my mind away from that.

Apparently I have, like, G-something-D. G...GED? No...GAD? Is that what it is? And some other 3-letter thing with an O too or whatever. I don't remember what the hell they stand for, but all I know is it means I've got a shitton of anxiety. It's not like a thing of needing everything to be "clean." It's more like if I'm convinced that something's out of my control (which could be true or not), I'm antsy as fuck. For example, last week, I stepped on the edge of the kitchen carpet with the middle of my right foot and couldn't move on until I stepped on that edge the same exact way with my left. Ruined my whole fuckin' day.

Can we just get rid of every carpet in the house altogether?

A lot of people experience anxiety in different ways. Mom gets jittery, Olly would shut down, and I...

I don't like to think of myself as being like Dad, but sometimes I look in the mirror and see his dark eyes and flared nostrils and creased frown lines.

And I hate that about myself.

I've been trying to unlearn turning immediately to anger and hostility, but it just happens. Someone says something I don't like, boom, I'm yelling at them before I can even go through the steps of having a "healthy and meaningful discussion about feelings." I don't want to be known as that angry rich kid. I don't.

I'm a lot better than I used to be, though.

All throughout elementary and middle school, I'd be in the principal's office almost daily for pounding another kid's face in. For stupid stuff too like "Oh, they were on the swing set too long" or "Oh, he cut me in line so he deserved it." (Though in hindsight, the only fight that I'll never take back is breaking Gerald Johnson's arm for shoving Olly off the jungle gym in fourth grade. Gerald's cool now, but I hope he still looks back at his old cast every once and a while. Y'know. For memory's sake.)

Only reason I've never been severely punished for shit like that is 'cause Dad would buy the other parents off before they could make any serious complaints to the school. I'm not perfect, I know that. Dad knows that, but he pretends like he doesn't. When I was a kid, I always wondered when enough would be enough for Dad but he always stood his ground for my – well – his reputation. It was hard not to feel any remorse for the other kids sitting in the nurse's office with cracked noses and swollen eyes.

I wish all those parents never took Dad's money. Maybe that would've fixed me earlier, who knows.

Am I a bully? I dunno. Yes, no, probably. I'm not a good person, that's for sure. Whenever I come to write stuff down in this goddamn journal, it feels like I'm throwing myself a pity party, but I'm not looking for sympathy. People like me don't deserve it.

...Negative self-talk.

I should stop that.

Since I started doing track my freshman year of high school, I can proudly say I haven't knocked someone's lights out since, so woo hoo, go me. That doesn't mean I haven't snapped – that still happens sometimes – but no physical violence. Coach Harris would probably kick me out if I shoved my foot up someone's ass (which is pret-ty tempting to do from time to time), so I'm being as good as I can. Plus running is a good way to focus my body on doing something other than putting someone in a headlock. Does track count as meditation? I should probably ask my therapist about that.

Other than meditation, I was told I should try "smiling more" to avoid getting too stressed out. It's supposed to trick your brain into feeling happy or something psychological like that. Stress can, like, kill people apparently? It can affect your physical health if it goes untreated for years, so smiling can't be too bad...right?

I don't have RBF, do I? I hope not. Mom says scowling promotes wrinkles and I'd hate to look older than Dad before I turn 20.

I've never been much of a smiler, but it's been hard to think about doing so these days. I can smile when I talk to Teddy, but it hurts to do for too long.

Olly never had a problem with smiling.

He smiled when he was happy, when he was sad, even when he was pissed, which was always hilarious (and slightly unnerving) to see. People would take him smiling as a sign that he was constantly elated, but just knowing about...everything...

I should've paid more attention to the signs.