I remember being with John in a moment of intense frustration. We were sitting in Thompson’s classroom, and it was an overcast day outside. His blue blinds were cast aside, and we could hear the students playing outside through a crack in the window. It was lunchtime and we were eating together, a tradition that grew out of being mutual loners. I don’t remember what actually happened to cause his frustration, but he became so affected by it that he chomped down on his ballpoint pen out of spontaneity.

The pen cracked, and flooded his mouth with thick, dark ink. Upon realizing that his stress relief method would cause him even more anxiety than he thought, he quickly ran to the window and desperately tried to spit out as much ink as he could, the ink overflowing in his mouth and spilling down to his chin.

We tried our best to clean him up before anyone could have found out. After all, high school was hell. I remember secretly hoping that the ink would stain his teeth (only for a day, of course) to see the extent of his creativity in explaining what looked like super accelerated gingivitis to his father.

Sometimes I feel like bursting out from frustration in such a “self-destructive” manner. Usually, I can never bring myself to act out on such an impulse though. I always see the results of the destruction before I do anything, and in the end it never seems worth it.

It leaves me with my emotions bottled up inside me, and a desperate need to opine. Sometimes I can find relief through this medium. Sometimes it’s not enough.

Sometimes it doesn’t do anything.