Probably Something Cliche

Author's Note

If someone asked for a transcript of my thoughts throughout this past summer (this past awful summer that is), this would be it. Of course, I don't think in rhyme, but, inevitably, everything sounds so ingeniously crafted when they have some sort of rhyme scheme. Seriously, people ask me how I write everything I write... and I don't know. Trust me, I'm not a genius, I'm just a sprinkle of insane and a sprinkle of angry, and then a shitstorm of emotions that probably don't even exist, or at least have a word.

Poetry is the only way I can keep myself from taking a long nosedive into the life of a true psychopath. Although the connotations of words are probably none of my business, I find it interesting how that word has changed meaning. It went from illness to some definable factor almost every stupid pubescent kid calls themselves (which is not to say that there aren't actual psychopaths among us). And, interestingly enough, this claim is as valid as it will ever be. Today, the average American child faces more anxiety than the average 1950's psychiatric patient (apa.org). This is unacceptable, but it's something we're gonna have to deal with, isn't it?

As a person undergoing Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), I can say from experience that I do not feel alone. Almost every high schooler these days is a little bit insane, from missing a screw to being held together by strands of chewed gum. I do not feel alone, but that does not mean anything. Perhaps I shouldn't be, but I'm honestly pissed when people say, "you're not alone," "don't worry, I totally understand what you're going through". First of all, this is untrue; every mental illness and experience of that illness has a different effect and a different severity. Secondly, I'm most certainly not comforted by the fact that more than 3 million Americans are diagnosed with the same disorder as me each year (adaa.org). So many people in pain does not "comfort" me, and frankly the claim that you know what I'm going through strips away the actual severity of the problem.

Because it is a problem. In my personal experience, I've had so many in-class anxiety attacks that my teachers told me if I left during another test I'd automatically fail. I pull out my hair to the point that I frequently find myself with small bald spots. I never want to leave the house, and often my parents have to drag me out of my room to even do trivial things like eat dinner or run errands. The fact that the average child is now an anxious mess is scary. How is a generation supposed to get by with such stunted thoughts? How is the next generation going to function in a world that is supposed to be ours in the future if we'd be known as nut cases living in the '50's? I dunno. And frankly it's giving me another anxiety attack. 

So even though this isn't a poem, rather a mere improvised explanation of my inspirations, I hope you hear me. Everyday is a challenge. I get made fun of because I'm "depressed" and scared of pretty much everything that I come across. The question isn't: "Who hurt you, Kai?" but rather, "who has not hurt you, and when is that inevitable transaction going to result in a spiteful poem?"

Oh no.

I'm the Taylor Swift of poetry.

~~~~Kai Fjord