get out of my head

Put a character in a scene where they feel homesick.

The salt from the ocean stung my eyes. It was cold out now, but this was still the beach he took me to. The sun was setting, but instead of walking with my dad, I was alone. I turned my back to the ocean and looked at the house. 

Eighteen years in this house. I sighed, putting my hands on my hips. The wind blew sand against my ankles, scraping gently against my skin. The Florida sun hid behind the clouds as it sank below the horizon. If I turned around I could see my dad and I running into the ocean together when I was 14, or my dad and I throwing a football around the night before I left for the Coast Guard. 

I turned back to the ocean and walked to where the waves kissed the shore. Sitting in the sand, my toes in the ice cold water, just like how things were before I left. How things were while I still had a home to go back to. 

I sat alone in the sand for what felt like hours, chasing the feeling of home that was here only a couple months ago. I didn’t move when it got dark, almost hoping he would come out of the house to yell at me. But it never came, and soon it was midnight. He was really gone, and eventually I would have to go inside.

Man asks Woman about her mom

“So, you’re from Texas, right?” His eyes searched her face.

“Yeah, why?” She responded, not looking up from her book.

“Does that mean your mother is one of those ‘Southern Belle’ types?” He smiled, thinking he was hilarious.

Her eyes shot up to meet his, confused and a little hurt. “Excuse me?”

“I was just thinking,” He paused, “You’re not really polite enough to be considered one, so I was wondering if you were raised that way, no offense or anything.”

Her eyes narrowed as she carefully set her book down, watching him to see if there was any guilt in his hazel eyes. There was none. 

Her mother was a drug addict, but would always put on a facade that she was a lovely Southern Christian woman. Forcing her kids to go to church every Sunday, even when the night before she was on a rush, heroin coursing through her veins. Hands stained yellow from the cigarettes she would pretend to smoke to hide her addiction, hands that were supposed to be gentle, that turned mean in an instant. 

A hand waving in front of her face snapped her out of her thoughts. “Hello? Jeez, sorry I asked.” He joked, sitting back in the chair across from her.

“No, yeah… I guess she could’ve been a southern belle…” She laughed weakly, brushing it off, “But she passed a couple of years ago. Drug overdose.”

Writing Exercise 2

A flirtation

Sitting across a table from each other, coffee steaming in mugs, eyes dancing, barely brave enough to meet. A soft smile, a careful glance, words on the tips of their tongues.

“What do you think of this cafe?” His eyes met hers for a second, a soft smile gracing his lips. 

“I like it! It’s a cute little cafe, I’m surprised I’ve never been here before,” She replied, too nervous to meet his eyes. 

“It’s a fairly underground place…” His hand twitched, wanting to reach for hers.

“Oh, so you’ve been gatekeeping this from me?” She joked, her eyes finally meeting his. He laughed, grabbing his coffee mug and taking a sip instead of reaching for her hand.

“I come here to study for my sociology lecture a lot, it helps to see how people interact with other people,” he smiled, “I’ve wanted to ask you to come here for a while.”

Her eyes widened, “You have?”

He took a deep breath and reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away. Finally, they held eye contact for a second, taking in the color of each other's eyes, the blush on their cheeks, the warmth of their hands where they touched. 

“I’ve had a crush on you for a while,” he glanced at his coffee cup, “Since the first semester of sophomore year, when we had calc together.”

“I didn’t know!” She squeezed his hand gently.

Written from the perspective of Jake’s Earring (shrink for details)

A loud crunch sounded before everything was crushed, glass and metal flying everywhere, cloth covering everything and making it hard to move. Jake’s head snapped back before knocking into the cloth, which didn’t give way for the weight of his skull. The cloth rustled and covered everything until the fresh air rushed in when Jake opened the car door. The cold night air was sharp against his skin as he scrambled out of the car, into the lights from the ambulance. An EMT rushed up, asking a million questions while leading Jake towards the ambulance, the lights getting brighter with each step. Jake turned his head away from the lights, squinting and wincing at the flashing. The EMT held a piece of gauze to his forehead, where a piece of glass had landed, cutting a shallow gash in his skin. Glass shards littered his clothes and hair, and he brushed some of it off weakly. Voices carried over to where he sat, but none of the words were clear enough to understand. A cop car drove up, stopping next to the ambulance where Jake was sitting. Before the deputy could step out of his car a truck skidded to a stop next to it. A smaller woman hopped out and ran to the wreck. Her voice was audible, but far enough away to be unintelligible. 

Alex walked over and sat down next to Jake, his eyes focused off in the distance. He didn’t speak, just sat down, keeping him company while the EMT focused on cleaning the glass off Jake. The deputy walked over, not asking questions, not yelling, just silently checking to make sure the boys were okay. Sweat dripped off Jake’s hair, and he shivered a little in the cold night air. 

10/23/25:

So she gets an apology, but I don’t. What the fuck, (ex-boyfriend)? I have no idea what I did to deserve you crawling back to (his ex-girlfriend) because, apparently, you loved her the entire fucking time we were together. I did everything for you, and we broke up, and one of the first things you do after blocking me everywhere is unblock the ex I asked you to block, and APOLOGIZE to her? What the hell is your issue? (ex-boyfriend), I loved you exactly how you wanted, and you threw that away. What did I ever do wrong other than yelling at you one time? ONE. 

11/17/25

(This was sent to him first, but it fits the theme don’t worry abt it.)

10/18/25

I just want to be good again. I want to be that coxswain who doesn't have to think about the sport and just knows what to say. I want to be 16 again and racing at nationals. I want to feel confident again. I want. to be 17 and winning every race again. I want to be 18 and let everything roll off my shoulders instead of taking it all so personally. I don't want to be watching my every move.

I want to be good at this sport again. I poured 8 years into it, and all I can see are my flaws. I want to be 15 racing the 2v again. I want to be 14, not caring about medals, just being happy that I raced. I want to be 13, trying to quit because I don't like it even though I'm good.

I don't want to be 19 watching myself fail, over and over again.

I don't want to be 19, watching myself slip back into old habits.

I don't want to fail anymore. I want to race and watch my coach smile, I want him to be proud of me, I want to be good.

I want to be the coxswain he recruited.

Everyone tells me I'm good, I need to get out of my own head, but all I see are old, stupid mistakes. I know I care too much. I know it's just a sport, but after the number of things I've had to go through, this sport has been my only constant. This sport became my home.

I want to be home again. I want to walk into the boathouse again and see everyone I used to row with and be back in that four again.

I want to be a good coxswain again. I want to be the reliable coxswain again. I want to be the one who the rowers come to for anything.

I'm not good enough.

10/14/25:

You’re not who I usually write these letters to, but we broke up, and I have things to say. We weren’t meant to last. Two months of dating into basic training and 1500 miles separating us? That was doomed from the start. I’m happy we tried to make it work, but we should’ve known. I did love you, I did believe we were soul-bonded, until you got to AIT. Then it was just excuses and short answers. You told me, your girlfriend, that you forgot how to talk to me. We got into one argument, and you said you didn't recognize me anymore. We were together for five fucking months. You knew everything about me, you saw the good, the bad, the ugly, and you still said you didn’t recognize me. That was one of the most manipulative things you probably could’ve said to me. I yelled at you one fucking time because you weren’t listening to me, and you pushed me away. So far away that I thought I had to end it, or you would. So I did, and to be completely honest, I’m really glad I did.

(his name redacted), everyone I was friends with saw your red flags. I was the only one who didn’t. Now you’re crawling back to me, but the damage is done, bud, I’m done. I’m never coming back. You can apologize, you can pretend you changed, but you and I both know that we weren’t going to work. You’re a soldier from the middle of nowhere, New York, and I'm a college sophomore from Rochester. Even when we first started talking, you didn’t even think about telling me that you were in high school. You just assumed I knew, but I didn’t. I guess that's partially my fault; I didn’t ask and assumed you were in college, but neither one of us corrected the other. 

I cried for one day after we broke up because we broke up. The other times I cried, it was because I knew I had let you walk all over me. You made me your doormat, and I didn’t deserve that. I gave you MONTHS of effort, months of love, months of letters and phone calls while you threw crumbs at me like I was a starving pigeon. Oh, and I know you’re going to spew shit about me even though you know that I’m the best you'll ever fucking have. I talked to (his ex before me) again. Our stories about you line up. You were the problem. You got comfortable with me staying, you thought I’d never leave. You seemed to think I was weak and needed you so bad that I would tolerate your disrespect. Well, how’s that going for you?

I think this will be my last entry. I’ve run out of things to say to you, which means I’m moving on finally. I just want to say that I will never forget what you did to me. I will never stop being angry about it, because you ruined my sense of self. You can try and blame me for that, but let’s be rational here: who raped who? 

Who refused to go to therapy and only went after we broke up because you thought that MAYBE we would get back together?

Who treated me like a toy to play with when you remember I existed?

Who put video games before me?

Who was the one who forgot I hated yelling?

Who was the one who didn’t want to do anything? Who made me cry at our senior prom?

It was you. Always you. You were right, I won’t forget you. Just not for the reason you thought. I won’t forget you because now it's trauma. Do you understand how stupid that seems? PTSD at 19 years old. Because of my fucking ex-boyfriend. I might get a restraining order on you because I don’t want you anywhere near me. I think I probably could, but it’s probably expensive, and I have to pay for school.

9/21/25:

Remember the day you fucked me in the backseat of my car in the mall parking lot? All I remember about that is how bad it hurt. I don’t know why I was so afraid of you, probably because if you could yell at your own mother without consequences, how bad could it get with me? I was always terrified of making you mad at me. I watched you scream at your own mother over a fucking video game, and honestly, I probably should’ve left then. I should not have put up with you as long as I did. Everyone thought we were going to last forever, but that was just the facade you put up. You needed us to look perfect because everything else you did had to be. An honor roll student athlete who got basically straight A’s, dating the barely passing student athlete who wasn't even sure if she would get into college. That's probably another reason your mom didn’t like me: I wasn't smart enough for you. 

9/19/25:

Hey again, I have more to say to you. You probably remember how jumpy I was in public, but if you don’t, I was always on edge in public, always looking around for fear of anything happening. Well, guess what? It's worse now. Even though the man who raped me (you) was someone I knew and trusted, I am now terrified of almost all men. If someone I trusted could do that to me, what could someone I've never met do to me? Thoughts of you control me. I saw someone who looked vaguely like you on campus and almost ran the other way when I had class in 10 minutes. There's a picture of you I still have just because it has Mickey in it, and every time I see it, I want to throw up. You fucking disgust me. You said you loved me? I think you loved the way I made you feel invincible. You said you loved me, and yet you raped me. That’s not love, that's control.

You had control. I’ll take some blame here; I did let you have control. I let you think that was okay. It's not. No part of how you treated me or others was okay. You were a dick. I thought it was a joke, I thought it was funny, but you actually hurt people. I don’t know what you were compensating for or why you decided to be such a dick, but I know that not one person you acted like that with deserved it. Remember early in the relationship when we would walk home together? Yeah, I don’t. I remember one day, though, when I was just trying to talk to you and you YELLED AT ME. You knew I hated yelling, and to this day, you still haven't apologized. Do you understand that my mental health isn't a joke? You said you wanted me to get better, and then immediately contributed to me getting worse. 

Now I understand that our relationship was your first one, but with the amount my friends know about you, good luck getting another relationship with anyone from (hometown name redacted). Hopefully, you're not a giant dick to the people at your school, because that's why people don’t like you. You complained to me about not having friends, yeah, that's your own fault, bud. You’re rude and entitled. But I know where you get that from, and it’s your parents. They didn’t like me from the start. Now I admit, I was unstable when we first got together, but your mother was so rude to me. I wonder if she would defend you if she knew what you did to me. She would probably say I made it up.

You know what’s funny? I tried to protect you by lying and saying someone else raped me. To this day, I can’t explain why I did that. I think I knew everyone would tell me to leave you, and I didn’t want them to know I had no respect for myself. I grew a backbone, though, and you are never coming near me again. You try to even speak to me? I’m getting charged with murder. The cops can’t do shit to you, but that doesn’t stop me. You dated a crazy girl and thought you could ruin me and get away with it? I will drag you through the fucking mud. I seriously hope you rot in hell. I’m tired of pretending I’m not mad about it anymore. I’m pissed. You wanted me forever, and then instead of showing me love and respect, you tore down everything I had done to get better. You are the reason I hate men; you are the reason I have my keys in my hand all the time. I never feel safe. Let’s be honest here, (rapists name redacted for his privacy), if someone tried to hurt me while we were out together, I doubt you would've done anything. 

I walked to dinner a couple of minutes ago, and I felt your hands on my thighs again. I have never wanted to hide my body more. I hate that years later I feel you on me still. I can still hear your voice. Do you know how many men don’t blame you? A lot. I’ve had them straight up tell me that they don’t blame you because I’m so pretty. What a backhanded compliment. You know what makes this worse? I have a boyfriend. One I love so so much. He is fully aware that I can still feel another man’s hands on my body. Do you understand how disgusting that makes me feel? I have an amazing man who shows me nothing but patience and love, and I can’t get the feeling of your hands off my skin. 

I wish I could go back and tell myself that I need to get away from you. I should’ve left right after you raped me. I should’ve told someone, I should’ve done something. I don’t know why I didn’t. I need to tell that scared 16 or 17-year-old that it isn’t her fault. I need her to know that she did nothing wrong. I wish I had told my parents, my therapist, my doctor, anyone. I could’ve gotten away. I could’ve saved myself from a full year of blaming myself, of hating myself. 

Also, if you ever even open this document, just know that my boyfriend also has access, and he has a lot more power than I do. So watch your mouth.

You asked about my Tinder matches after we broke up. Well, meet (boyfriend's name redacted for his privacy). The amazing soldier who, in just a couple of days of knowing me, made me feel more loved than you could in all of our 2.5-year relationship. He is the man I’m going to marry and is more of a man than you will EVER be. 

9/17/2025:

I really think I should write about everything you put me through. Everything I remember, anyway. Since that day, I don't remember a lot about our relationship. Maybe writing about it will get rid of the feeling of your hands on my skin, get rid of the sound of your voice in the bathroom while I cried on the couch, get rid of everything you’ve done to me. Maybe it would erase the fact that you raped me and still think that I’m the bad guy. Maybe it will erase the love I had for you, because even after everything you did, I still loved you. I forgave you when you deserved my hate, when you did more damage than I even thought was possible. I can’t sleep at night anymore because all I can think about is how disgusting you make me feel. 

I haven't even fully faced it yet. It's just something I carry around and have carried for years. From what I remember, which isn’t much, it’s been close to 3 years since you did this to me. Since you raped me. Somewhere deep down, I still blame myself. I still wish I had told you no. I still want you to be happy and succeed in life. At the same time, though, I want you to know what you did to me. I want you to feel bad. I want you to know the damage you caused me. I want you to regret ever putting your hands on my skin. I want you to face the fact that you haunt me. I wonder if you want to haunt me. I wonder if you want to be stuck in my head. I know I was a terrible person for how I broke up with you, but you're a terrible person for what you did to me. You don’t know that I relapsed and had to restart therapy. You don’t know that I got diagnosed with PTSD, you don’t know the extent of the damage that causes problems in my day-to-day life. You don’t know how bad my relationship problems have become. 

I'm not trying to blame you, even if it is your fault. I just want you to know. Because somewhere deep down, I want you to be truly sorry. I want you to hate yourself for what you did because then you'll change. You'll get better if you know the damage you've done, if you know how much one day affected me, then maybe you can be a better boyfriend for your next partner. No one deserves to go through what I did. I didn't tell my parents until after we broke up, and the self-hatred I experienced while I grappled with the thought that it was my fault. You never mentioned it. Even when I brought it up, it was just a half-assed apology and move on. It never crossed your mind, or if it did, you never mentioned it to me. I was just supposed to handle it alone. I really internalized the thought that it was my fault. I didn’t tell you no. So, honestly? Fuck you.

I was scared that if I wasn't able to satisfy you sexually, you would stop loving me. So instead of telling you no, I sat there and took it. I let you do it. That's why I think it's my fault. Since restarting therapy with a therapist who specializes in trauma, I've learned that it wasn't my fault. Since I was afraid to tell you no, I wasn’t consenting, and you didn’t even ask if I wanted to do anything. I haven’t fully accepted that, even now at 19 years old. That's why I want you to know what you did to me.

A lot of the guys I’ve told about this have said they're sorry, but they're always thinking that I'm damaged goods now. They usually block me after finding out because no one wants a girl like me. I’m lucky, though; my boyfriend accepted it immediately and has been my rock through everything. But before I met him, I was a girl who was difficult to want. None of the men wanted a woman who needed reassurance all the time. Especially one who is terrified of sex. If you're not able to help him get off, then what are you good for? Now, don’t get me wrong, I know most men aren't like this. The men who are like this are unfortunately the loudest in the room when women try to speak out about what they've been through. 

Truly, I hate that I loved you. I hate that I believed you were sorry. I hate that I defended how shitty you were. I hate that you were my world. I hate that I didn’t listen when people tried to warn me about you. I hate you. But more than that, I hate how much I loved you, and I hate myself for staying after what you did to me. 

I know there's a very small chance you'll ever read this. But the part of me that will end up in jail if I ever see you again is very tempted to email this document to you. I hate you. I hope you know that. I hate how much you broke me because let's be honest here. You may have been the longest relationship I’ve ever had, but you were the worst. I wish I had more reasons to hate you, honestly, but at least the ones I do have are big ones. I’m glad I never married you. I hope you get what's coming to you because that was the worst thing you could've done to me. I have a general distrust of every single man I meet. I think everyone wants to fuck me. Not even in an “I'm so sexy” way, I just genuinely think that I’m so uninteresting that sex is the only thing anyone could ever get from me. 

And you couldn’t even get your shit together to give me a proposal. You didn’t ask me to prom, so I had to bring it up. You were the reason I cried at our senior prom. You were passive in that relationship unless it involved your dick. You asked me for a reason why we broke up, so I gave you multiple, but I left out two big ones. You raped me, and waking up to see you jerking off in the other bed in my dorm was disgusting. You were always so horny for no reason.