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Someone told me someone told him the loneliest job in the world is probably that of a writer. 

“That’s bullshit.” I told him right off the bat, “I am never lonely.” 

“You have a lot of friends?” 

“A lot is an understatement.” 


Hi, hello, wassup

Wow. Look at you. Reading one of my shenanigans again. Thank you, by the way. Without you I wouldn’t have the courage to keep writing or... creating, or whatever this is. It feels nice someone appreciates it. See? I don’t need to publish a book to call myself writer. 

(Just kidding. If you’re from Penguin Random House, please take me. I have good ideas. I swear.) 

Okay. So I’m not sure where I’m going with <this>, but I planned to sleep and a little voice inside my head kept bothering me about work— “You have to work! You’re not done with your article!”—blah blah, so I decided to trick itself by giving it the satisfaction of producing an output by not really doing work-output. Do you know what I mean? Basically what I’m saying is, while I’m writing this, I’m literally lying to my brain without my brain knowing. 


Anyway, some days ago was Suicide Prevention Awareness Day—or maybe we’re still in that Suicide Thingy week, Idk, I turned off my internet—UGH, I’ll focus now. I just wanted to talk about that for a bit. 

Yeah so, uh, don’t kill yourself

You’re not alone, okay? Someone is always listening and sometimes those people just need to hear the truth from you, take that itty-bitty leap of courage of saying what needs to be said. There is no shame nor weakness in this. If you want a test-run, you can comment below as anonymous or send me a message. Just reach out. Just give me your hand. AND YOU WHO MAY HAVE FRIENDS LIKE THESE, reach out too. We’re in this together! OKAY? I AM FOR REALSIES RIGHT NOW. 

I sound like I’m mad but I’m not. 


Did you meet my thingamabobs already? Aren’t they the cutest? 

Back in high school, I remembered I’d often doodled and did cutouts of them. I’d placed them next to the titles or the topic I was about to report in front of class. They were baits for my classmates to listen about, say, The Cold War. (I vividly remember doodling a blue thingamabob who looked like he was shivering from the cold war!) 

I feel silly drawing them now because they look like blobs of what’s going on inside my head. I guess they can be called imaginary friends? But they’re way too special because I can see them. I mean, I gave them a form both of us can see. Like, if I say Juju, you will remember that blue motherfucker with rainbow auras. They’re more than an idea now. So you know what, I take it back, they can’t be imaginary friends, they’re already real. 

SPEAKING OF IMAGINARY, I chatted with this Dylan fella, and he was nothing like my Dylan at all. And I don’t mean that in a bad way, it honestly felt nice talking to him, but it got me thinking about him for a sec, and how I am the way I am and how there are many of them in each of us but some of us (obviously not me) never get a chance to talk to at least one of thems. (We’re calling imaginary friends thems now, and yes, I just made that up.) 

KYLA-THEORY #456: Thems are just our different selves that never made it to being the self. They’re basically lost souls hovering around you every now and then, but at the same time they were never alive in the first place so they’re not really dead—unless you want them to be or whatever. So instead of getting rid of them—granted they’re not giving bad thoughts because you totally need to get rid of bad thoughts like pronto don’t kill yourself—you let them stay ‘cause it turns out they’re sort of nice to be with. It’s like having another world that only you see and comprehend, but just let it stay in THAT world. Because their rules don’t apply to ours, and vice versa. (If you figured out a hack, let me know.) 

So yeah, I thought of that and then decided in detoxifying me by giving myself a little check-up; 1) I reread my journals and used my highlighter to cite cool things I may have wrote, like, “I have this strong and weird feeling for someo—okay this isn’t cool at all. Oh, here’s one: “Don’t worry about the plot, worry about the characters.”

Me to me with me

2) I sized up everyone who were constantly present during my quarantine and how they affected me mentally; and 3) I listened to a lot of music and cried a lot. So yup, totally my hormones. SIA MAKES ME CRY OKAY so if you can’t feel the melancholy in Chandelier, then fuck you (in a playful way please don't hate me). AND HAVE YOU SEEN THE VIDEO? Damn, every time I see that I cry so hard because it gives me a gush of sad emotions I experienced the same time she released 1000 Forms of Fear. It’s a good album. 


Good times. 


Okay I’ll stop. Ha-ha! 

Anyway, my point was that I know this pandemic kind of hit PAUSED on everything but it was nice to get to pause and just look back at where I’ve been. No regrets. A lot of WHYYYYYYYYYY and WHAT WERE YOU THINKING KYLA$%@^&# but other than that, I’m okay. For a bit it was a little depressing but as a creativebitch I’ve learned to snatch myself back before I fall to an endless pit of sadness. 

Also, hormones. Ladies take note of this: since you know it’s hormones, don’t give too much effort into making a guy understand your situation because hahahahahahahahaahaha they will never understand. We’re born with pain built in, so they will not get that, and no, we’re not hating them either. Just stop—give me that baseball bat—wasting your time and energy into that. Toss them somewhere else, there are healthy ways, like, murdering someone else other than your man. 


I'm kidding. I’m going to bed now. I just made you read a 1000-word article about my hormones, AND you also helped me lie to my brain. 

But seriously, you guys are the best. Thanks for reading. Please take care of yourself. 



Dressed in Black by Sia 
One by Bee Gees
Paul by Big Thief
In My Life by Pusher
Hymn for the Weekend by Coldplay 


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