(no subject)
Everybody deals with stress differently. I have a friend who blasts her eardrums out listening to death metal. Another friend who plays computer games. Me, I tried the eardrum-killing thing for a while. Disturbed is a good band for it. Especially "Indestructible". It works to a certain extent. Clears my head for a while. Doesn't work in the long run.
I don't know. Sufficient to say the week hasn't been that great. School problems. Cue me getting headaches and really fucking pissed at nothing. At myself. At the world.
I cry when I'm stressed. And I think about breaking things. There's a bookshelf in my room, and more than once I've thought about just yanking the whole thing down and listening to it crash. But then I think about all my books and having to clean the mess up, and I don't. What I do is go fencing.
Specifically, I go out and bout Nick.
Nick's a nice guy. Maybe thirty. Brown hair, glasses. Taller than me, which isn't easy. Wears a wedding band, but I've never met his significant other. Nice enough when he talks, which isn't often. Good fencer, good referee. I suppose I like him, but I don't really know him.
But he isn't afraid to hit girls. Some of the other guys are.
So when I'm frustrated, when I'm angry or when I just feel like my head's going to explode or I'm in danger of starting to cry, I go bout Nick. And we beat each other up.
Think fencing isn't violent? That it doesn't hurt. Imagine a full grown man slamming into you. Then imagine all that force condensed into a half-inch steel point.
Sometimes I need it to hurt, though. Sometimes I need to fence ugly and violent just so I can keep everything together. I hit Nick as hard as I can and he returns the favor. We bout until we're gasping and sweaty, don't bother keeping score.
We don't talk. I don't think he knows why I fence like that some nights.
Today was better. I took a lesson with my coach and worked on my footwork, my hand-placement. Small things. Neat fencing. Nick wasn't there and I didn't bout. Just worked on little things. Sometimes I just have off days. And I bout hard. It all works out.
I don't know. Sufficient to say the week hasn't been that great. School problems. Cue me getting headaches and really fucking pissed at nothing. At myself. At the world.
I cry when I'm stressed. And I think about breaking things. There's a bookshelf in my room, and more than once I've thought about just yanking the whole thing down and listening to it crash. But then I think about all my books and having to clean the mess up, and I don't. What I do is go fencing.
Specifically, I go out and bout Nick.
Nick's a nice guy. Maybe thirty. Brown hair, glasses. Taller than me, which isn't easy. Wears a wedding band, but I've never met his significant other. Nice enough when he talks, which isn't often. Good fencer, good referee. I suppose I like him, but I don't really know him.
But he isn't afraid to hit girls. Some of the other guys are.
So when I'm frustrated, when I'm angry or when I just feel like my head's going to explode or I'm in danger of starting to cry, I go bout Nick. And we beat each other up.
Think fencing isn't violent? That it doesn't hurt. Imagine a full grown man slamming into you. Then imagine all that force condensed into a half-inch steel point.
Sometimes I need it to hurt, though. Sometimes I need to fence ugly and violent just so I can keep everything together. I hit Nick as hard as I can and he returns the favor. We bout until we're gasping and sweaty, don't bother keeping score.
We don't talk. I don't think he knows why I fence like that some nights.
Today was better. I took a lesson with my coach and worked on my footwork, my hand-placement. Small things. Neat fencing. Nick wasn't there and I didn't bout. Just worked on little things. Sometimes I just have off days. And I bout hard. It all works out.