United States

Name: Amanda
Explanation for username: It's a Spongebob joke
Bands: Waterparks/MCR/TOP
Books: Hunger Games/Shatter Me series
~Teen writer/author~
~Youtube channels~

"Feel free to feel."

Message from Writer

Writing's a hobby, a passion, and an escape. Words are everything. Write. Take what you read as what you feel, what you see, what you want, what you need, and enjoy the moment. Let the words bleed out of your mind, your heart, your soul. Feel free to find parts of characters in yourself. Feel free to learn, grow, smile, cry, love. Feel free to feel. - Amanda

"As I pick each foot up, step by step, and walk into each door, I get further and further away from myself. As I make each choice, choose each entryway, I try to forget the last.
I want to get lost."

"I will use this torment, this pain, this curse against the enemy, and I will win." - Brooklyn Alderman, Lurid

The Team, Not My Team

November 11, 2020


    I try to look at them from more than one perspective, but all I could find is my own. The disconnect is painful. I see them run across the court, their legs pumping fast. They communicate better than I have ever heard. It takes some level of familiarity to do that. Something I certainly don't have here.     
    I look at some of the girls, try to imagine her, but none of them chanted quite as she did. None of them had her dark curly hair and lively persona. None of them had her nickname. They could hit the hell out of the ball, but their jump serves aren't quite like hers. It doesn't matter if it's a public school and had only juniors and seniors on the team. We were amazing. We worked as a team, and we communicated in our own way and we huddled and I felt like I was one of them. Things clearly work differently here. I won't be on varsity this year like I would have. It's kinda ironic, how I've been on a varsity team in eighth grade and went to states for the first time in years as a team. It's funny how I got little to no playing time yet I felt like I was always on the court. I looked up to those seniors. My JV jersey even had her number one on it. 
    Here I sit... looking at the team. 
    Years of serving and passing and hitting and setting and happiness and friends and travel ball and happy tears and sad tears, and here I sit...looking at the team.
    I was going to be the next number one and then things happened and people broke and life cracked and pain came and it still hits me hard, hard, hard. 
It hits me harder than my serve hit that one girl when it gave her a bloody nose that I felt quite bad about.
    Surrounded by other girls with a passion, I still feel lost. 
My friend remains. We've been through it all, going from private to public to virtual school together.
    I try to look at them from more than one perspective, but all I can find is my own.
Tears streak my face. I forget the pain that got twisted into my life from this sport and the repercussions that wavered and I remember my team. I remember the letter I wrote to myself a year ago thanking my two senior idols for everything they inspired me to be. I am tempted to open it when I go home, but I promised myself to wait until my senior year.
    I look at the team, not my team.
I remember my team, my "friends", my friends, my coaches.
    Boys file into the room, and I feel a bit awkward with them lined up ready for football practice. I huddle over close to my friend and start to mumble off about Josh Hutcherson to prevent a panic attack. 
    What is happening to me?
My eyes dash from place to place but eventually land in the huddle that had just been formed after the varsity girls stopped playing their scrimmage we were told to watch and take note of.
    "Lady C's on three!"
    "One, two, three, lady C's!" My voice was loud, but the passion, the spark the familiarity was gone. It was quite ironic that both of my schools start with the letter C. Boy does life have a form of irony.
    I look back once more, pulling my mask down as I leave which I thought was literally going to suffocate me halfway through. 
    Sure...okay...this is the team, yeah.
Not my team.
    I sigh and walk out with my friend, my mind on my novel, my head buzzing with what I'm going to write to ease the pain, to get lost, to feel better. I get to my car, and pull out my AirPods, put on my feelings playlist, and open up write the world.
    I can not stop thinking.
What am I going to title this?
My fingers hit against the keys and soon enough my mind starts to run wild. 

    The Team, Not My Team.    
Hey guys, this is definitely not how I planned to re-enter write the world today, but I am glad I wrote really helped me. If it's not clear, "her" refers to a senior on my old volleyball team who I did not want to disclose her name for privacy. I'm not usually very open about my school "career" and what not because boy, has it been a chaotic, crazy, whirlwind, but I really needed to get some of this off my chest and as soon as I got in the car, pretty much I started typing so....this is more of a mental health, reflective type thing and it may be a little confusing, but feel free to comment your thoughts! Hope you all are having a good day/night-



See History
  • November 11, 2020 - 3:46pm (Now Viewing)

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  • ava09 (sorta back)

    this is sad but in a relatable and kinda beautiful way because it's written so well. the piece is honestly incredible. i'm glad you were able to get it off your chest, but i'm sending loads of hugs. <3
    replying: no problem! i also get really close to my characters. maybe it's a writer thing haha. :)

    6 months ago
  • anemoia by a thread

    <3 <3 <3 always, sending prayers, hope, and grungy your way.

    6 months ago