This is me.

I am really struggling with something called derealization. In response to writing this book which is becoming harder and harder to write. Not necessarily the context but my connection to the little girl that I am writing about: Me. I still have this overwhelming drive to write which I am glad. Derealization is something I have experienced before when I was younger but it is back with more intensity than I am comfortable with. I feel as though I am not real, I am not real in my own environment. It is an interesting thing to experience because half of me believes I am crazy. In reality I know it is just the effects of my past coming to a head. I like to convince myself that I am over my past, I mean it happened 5 years ago? I'm supposed to be over it right? Unfortanetly not. I am learning to be accepting of the fact that in some ways I am not over it and that is okay. That is valid. My feelings towards the events are valid. This book is not getting easier to write, more so with th...

I traveled back to my old high school to watch my brother play in his basketball games. I knew going back to the school would be somewhat difficult but I would just go back on my merry way. I was mistaken. Going back to that high school was not remincising on the lunch room gossip (there wasn't any), the classroom discussions or the just plain simple fact that I was in school. The reminiscing was of that little girl. Me. The little girl who was only four years younger than me seems so very far away. Far away in the way she responded, to her outward world, to herself. Writing this book is even more of a reflection of that pain. Everytime I ask myself "Why am I writing this?" "Is this book going to make an impact?" I remind myself of her. To all the teachers who are somewhat blindsided with the society of the public school system. This is why. I am pursuing a transformation of the worst moments into moments of triumph. Moments of expressing my voice that I just ...