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Welcome to the official website of TheMrFrick! For entertainment, I have multiple blog posts, links to various entertainment sources and access to my Discord server.

Writing is My Coping Mechanism

Writing is My Coping Mechanism

I never used to write, nor did I like doing such an activity. I always thought of it as a waste of time, and I made fun of anyone who had committed the act. I kept this thought all the way through middle school and the beginning of high school. Unfortunately, since my thought process put reading and writing at a lower priority than almost everything else, my attention span and reading levels were so poor that I had a troublesome time throughout a majority of my courses that had a concentration on reading and writing skills (so everything except Math and some Science courses). 

Life used to never be challenging. It never used to have stress, judgment, anxiety, panic, and depression, only freedom and happiness; however, as the years came and went, I would move from place to place having to meet new people and try to make new friends all over again, and the judgment came. My parent would come home and complain about their body not working like it used to. Panic ensued. Classwork would pile and pile into a tower higher than a skyscraper. Stress would occur. Then it finally came down to having to decide was I was going to do later on in life, but once that decision was made, I would be in competition with thousands of other students that wanted the same thing and wanted to get into the best school. Anxiety came shortly after. With the mixture of stress, judgment, anxiety, and panic life was starting to not feel like a fantasy, but a cold hard reality. The thoughts that would appear in my mind would scare me and I was afraid to commit these thoughts. As the mixture went more one way, the thoughts would change to adhere to the change. For example, as stress was leading the mixture, my thoughts became more violent, and when judgment was leading the mixture, my thoughts became more sarcastic and satirical. 

As my thoughts became more and more challenging, my normal coping strategies weren't working anymore. Setting the problems aside and continue on with my life was not working. Trying to find another coping skill was my first priority otherwise, these menacing dark thoughts would become a reality. I tried multiple things: talking to people about the problems, going to the gym to let out the anger and making jokes about the thoughts. Unfortunately, only one of the four items pertaining to my thoughts would subside. It wasn't until I started doing the act that I disregarded the most that all four items pertaining to my thoughts subsided. I started to write all these different poems that were freeform. My writings never had structure because they never needed to, no one would see them and no one would read them, but then one day I left my notebook behind in class and my teacher picked it up and started to read it. After two classes, I was looking for my notebook, but I couldn't find it, so I went back to each classroom that I had been in previous asking each teacher if they had seen a notebook left behind. As I entered the classroom, I noticed that the teacher was reading through the notebook. She had to be halfway through it by now and she was so intrigued by the writing that she didn't even notice that I had walked into the room. She told me that she loved each piece because they were real pieces and not the cloudy-fluff that all the other students wrote about. These pieces, my pieces, pertained to the darkest qualities of life such as the inner war between the brain and the heart, reasons for death and joyful play between a child and the devil. 

After that, I started to share some of my writings to others to see their reactions and their thoughts on my pieces. Some people stated their joy while reading and others have yet to speak to me because they are afraid of what my thoughts produced.  It has been half a decade since I started writing and I wanted to share one of my first writings, so just bear with the poor original writings of mine. 

In the time of death,
What do people do?
Where do they turn?
When death comes,
Who comes to be the savior?
Who is there to lend a hand?
While I am a lost soul
Walking the Earth
Trying to find the one that has ended my life
When people steal
When people kill
they put others in danger
But that night
I was supposed to leave.
Now my body is in the woods
Someone has to find me
Before my hourglass is up.
 
Internal Thoughts of a Bored Student

Internal Thoughts of a Bored Student

The First Anxiety Attack

The First Anxiety Attack