Page 111 of That Pucking New Girl

I’m not sure what made Emil change his mind, but I’m glad for it. He seemed very determined that I take the GED if I wanted to after breakfast a couple of weeks ago.

The truth is, I don’t see myself going back to in-person classes again, and I need to minimize the amount of time I see Alastair, Draven, and Ciaran. A part of me worries one day I’ll start screaming at them, and won’t be able to stop. My secrets feel close to overflowing, and I just need to keep things locked down.

Avoiding them is my best bet right now.

Then, there’s the added issue of the Devils deal with the principal of my school. I don’t want to be Chesterfield Prep’s hockey mascot anymore, especially with how nauseous I’m still feeling. It often comes out of left field, and will last off and on all day unless I eat first thing in the morning.

Dancing, jumping, and skating for hours when I don’t typically engage in that much physical activity feels like a bad idea. The most I’m able to do is swim in the pool which is warm without setting off a flare. Sometimes, it’s nice to float, and Jared is still teaching me how to swim.

It’s nothing too strenuous. I can definitely handle swimming, and every day I get better at it.

I like my schedule, and it allows me to focus on what’s important for my health. This includes forcing myself to have breakfast and get out of bed earlier. It's helping me keep the nausea at bay and I’m grateful for it.

As for the generalized educational development certification exam, it’s standardized so there are lots of practice exams online and study guides. It’s been really helpful to keep track of the things I need to focus on and things I don’t. I think I’ll be ready to take it in a few days for my scheduled appointment. I’m still nervous, as I am for any exam, so I’m taking a break to help with the butterflies that are manifesting as air starvation.

Wheezing in a breath, I attempt to push away my annoyance with my body. It’s the same shit, different day and I want to create something pretty. I’m painting a landscape of a sunset I took a photo of while walking in the woods yesterday. It was slow and leisurely, and I went with the kids and Liliana.

It helped that the kids would stop every so often to ask questions, or point out a bird as we walked. It made sure my pace didn’t get too fast, and listening to them excitedly speak in two different languages is always fun.

My lips curl up at the memory as I paint the way the sun lit up the leaves through the trees. It was like getting my own personal light show, and I want to make sure I never forget it.

I’ve also been writing more in my notebook, which has been helping me to ground myself. It sucks that I no longer have a therapist, but I’m looking into the techniques that Dr. Dowdall said might help. One of them was journaling. I’m making a point to do this, even though she’s no longer my therapist.

There’s also a lesser known technique involving music-inspired art I found when I was researching, so sometimes I’ll close the door to my studio and blast heavy metal music as I draw with charcoal. It helps me work through heavy emotions in a way that allows me to bless, process, and release it all.

I’m doing the best I can with what I have. I’m just a girl with mental illnesses coming out of her pores and a lot of unresolved issues. If I can find things to help while I’m searching for a new therapist, then I will.

I don’t actually enjoy being like this, and there aren’t any magical wands to change my circumstances. If I want something to change, I need to do the work.

The added benefits of not having to juggle as many responsibilities between school and fighting with my bullies are helping my body not feel as if it’s swinging between fight or flight responses. No one will tell you it’s easier to work on yourself when you’re not in the middle of a crisis, but I will.

Pursing my lips, I gaze at my painting. It’s about half finished, but I need a break. My thoughts are moving to a darker place and I don’t want to fuck this up with my darkening mood. Part of being a good artist, I’m finding, is taking a break when you’re no longer feeling it. Putting the brush down, I get up slowly and stretch.

A couple of weeks ago, Theo noticed me walking back and forth to the bathroom to clean my brushes. He suggested putting a sink in the studio. Ignacio overheard, and stated he could hook it up with a pump to cut down on the need to run plumbing to it.

I’m not sure how it all works, but it’s adorable and cuts down on my steps. It’s even better because since the toilet reminds me of throwing up, I can avoid it now.

Picking up my brushes and putting them in a tray, I walk over to the sink to wash them all. I keep my legs in motion as I do this, lifting one at a time to improve my circulation and keep the blood from pooling at my feet. Humming softly, I put them in the drying stand Lili found for me.

When this family finds out about a special interest, they throw themselves into it completely. I’ve never seen anything like this. There’s a fan to keep the air circulating now, and an extra window AC unit I can turn on if it gets too hot in the summer.

Thankfully, this is the kind of weather that makes me happy. It’s no longer too warm, I can happily wear long sleeves and not sweat, and I can walk outside without feeling like the air hurts as I breathe.

As I finish up, I decide to put in my ear buds to blast some music as my mood changes. I want to draw something with heavy shading, and I’m not sure where that’ll take me.

Curling up in my love seat, I get comfortable and lift my sketch pad into my lap. I have a little caddy for my charcoal pencils now, and it sits perfectly beside me as I work. Opening the pad, I begin to mindlessly draw. It’s a good way for me to process whatever emotion I’m experiencing, and I don’t have to guide my hand while I’m drawing.

It’s getting harder to avoid some of the elephants in the room with me. I’ve always struggled with my weight, as in it’s difficult for me to gain and keep it on. POTS seems to suck the fat out of me for some reason.

With this being said, my body is changing. My breasts are rounder and I’m starting to develop divots at my waist that are giving me more of an hour glass figure. It’s kind of trippy to stand naked in front of my bathroom mirror and look for small changes only I’ll notice.

My hand continues to move over the paper as I think, and I’ll change to graphite pencil to layer in highlights and details as I go.

I know I won’t be able to change whatever is happening to my body. I looked up different options, but balked at the possibility of getting an abortion. My research took me down a rabbit hole of how it’s done, and I don’t think it’s the right choice for me. I believe everyone needs to make that choice for themselves, and this is mine.

My life is a sea of complications, decisions, and what ifs, and I’m just trying to navigate through it all. I haven’t had a period in far too long, even for someone who only menstruates regularly due to birth control.

Adoption also isn’t something that I’m comfortable with. I grew up in the foster care system, and I’m well acquainted with how evil people can be. After the conversation in the hallway two weeks ago, I can admit Elijah seemed as if the family would be willing to help me in whatever I decided. This is yet another reason they’re amazing.