Drafts of the Insomniac

 I know I’m not the only person to feel like they’re just getting by in life. To feel each small negative event pull them to a dark emotional state. To feel as though they are just drifting through life, hoping to catch themselves onto something, anything. I experience tiny joys in my everyday life. My wife’s smile, my son’s laugh, my brother’s jokes, my friend’s kindness. But after a moment or two of happiness, the darkness returns. I feel tired. Tired of work. Tired of school. Tired of keeping up with people who haven’t reached out to me in years. Tired of trying to keep up a positive image. Because of my wife, I keep pushing to work hard to provide for her and my son both in school and work. Because of my coworkers, I keep pushing to have a positive attitude when they are exhausted and need motivation. Because of my expectations from others, I push to keep a happy face and better myself because I can’t let another person down. I feel as though I’m too deep in things to give up o...

Today, I mentioned something to a coworker that she had told me a few weeks ago. She responded by saying “Wow, you have such a good memory”. I don’t think I have a good memory. I think I know what it’s like to talk and not have anyone listen. To wish to just be heard. To be made to feel important to someone, down to the small details. To feel like people care to know things. To hope for a friendship built on trust and respect. To love freely and fully. To be comfortable hugging someone when you have a hard day. I think I know what it’s like to feel completely and absolutely alone and isolated. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I just care that people don’t feel the way I did. The way I still sometimes do.

To all those who may or may not be reading this, Welcome. Welcome to my blog. My journal. My diary. Welcome to the zone where I can record all of the different random thoughts that go through my mind every single day. As you read through any posts I have, you’ll notice I seem severely depressed in most of them. This is because I was severely depressed when I wrote them and I probably still am. To those of you who know me personally, you’ll know I’m not a talker. I don’t like sharing my feelings and I tend to suppress them as much as possible. If you’re part of this category, welcome to a new side of me. One I try to keep hidden from friends, family, and everyone else I know. Every time I write on this blog, I feel the tears falling from my heart, turning black and becoming the words on each page. I see the thoughts of sadness and hatred bleed with the same intensity on every line. I’m cutting literal figurative pieces out of myself and transcribing then as best as I can to show...

I knew the storm was coming, but I could never have anticipated the floods that it would bring. With each drop of rain, the frown upon my face would grow. The thunder and lightning struck fear into the heart every time it struck and the depressive winds from the east would tear at my house. I always thought I was safe, but don’t we all. My storm stuck on May 4th, 2013 and lead to the following. It came in a wave of scarred wrists, shed tears, and too many sleeping pills. I was sent to a “behavioral hospital” on May 5th, 2013, the day of one of my best friends birthdays. My phone was taken, I was able to have one phone call during the day, there was no door leading into my room, and although it felt like prison, I felt safe. Every day, we would be awakened by one of the counselors. They would knock on the door frame where the door should’ve hung and tell us to get up. They would give us any and all pills that had to be taken in the morning. It would be followed by breakfast. All ...

This isn’t a call for rescue I don’t need someone to come save me And although my life may feel askew I just want for others to see Everyday I wake and feel the pain And I just can’t seem to be free Of my past which chases me in vain Of someone I used to be It pulls me down and pushes back This heavy weight called depression I’m not prepared for another attack Upon my mind it’s left it’s impression I do what I can to help any friend Overcome the pain which I can’t bear For other people my back will bend To help others escape the snare Friends talk to me to relieve their mind Of trials throughout the day For I n their own problems they want to find A refuge and keep sadness at bay See others go through issues And in their life I am so small But through any tears and tissues I wish to hold them tall See I try to help any in life So when I go through sadness I won’t be alone in all my strife Because solitude brings a certain madness I use my phone to che...

When I was ten years old, I wanted to grow up to be a soldier in the army. I always looked up to these American heroes and think that was the greatest thing someone could ever achieve. Being able to travel the world in the defense of the greatest country to exist. This dream came from mostly Call of Duty's and Medal of Honor's, but I wanted to be like those fictional war heroes I played as. The way that they would fearlessly rush into a war zone and be able to take out their enemies with ease. I wanted that courage, that determination to win. But that was just the dream of a kid who didn't know anything about bravery When I was fifteen years old, I wanted to grow up to run a marathon. I could already run a lap on the track quicker than everyone else who was doing track and field. I wanted to race in the Boston marathon and be in front as I crossed the finish line. I wanted to be congratulated with a gold medal and be sent to the Olympics. I would think of everyone in th...

D on’t let me forget how happy I was getting that brand new Xbox 360 in the year 2007. E ven my parents would play the new games with me and my brothers, it was so great. P ut me back in the day when Christmas was about eating candy all day in my pj’s. R emembering how I felt when I walked upstairs to see the two gerbils I got. E ventually I started to get sad and lose hope little by little over the years. S tarted to feel lonely and unloved on what should be the happiest day. S omewhere I lost the feeling of joy because of too much stress. E nd of my childhood was stripped by an invisible dark force. D on’t think there’s a word to describe this Christmas.

It’s been nearly three years since our class ended. Three years. This morning, I woke up next to my wife. For whatever reason, I had a dream last night about being back in our class. As the memory filled my thoughts, I found myself back in the auditorium, wearing nice clothes and walking on stage to receive a golden plate, a signed photo of Mr. Nelson, and my Noscar, which read “most likely to get married first”. As Michael handed it to me, I thought about my girlfriend at the time and knew that it wasn’t going to last. I knew there was no way I’d be getting married first, but I accepted the award and sat down. I woke up, laying in a bed in my in-laws basement, next to the woman I married 4 months ago. I was thinking about our class and honestly, I started to cry. I felt feelings that 12th grade Tanner felt. I closed my eyes and I could see myself sitting in the back of the classroom. I could vividly remember days I spent in Mr. Nelson’s class. I remember feeling alone looking around...

(I know this is sorta cheesy, but this isn't your blog, it's mine. And I don't care if you don't like it.) Often times growing up, I never thought that I would be happy. Depression, toxic relationships, and anxiety always seemed to be getting in my way. I've always written about death and sadness and struggles on this blog, but sometimes, it's good to include the good stuff. Mr. Nelson always talked about how we shouldn't always write about rainbows and bunnies and love because the world isn't always rainbows and bunnies and love. Sometimes we need to include the rainclouds and hatred and sadness. As I've gotten older and more experienced, I've realized a few things. First, life is a balance of good and bad. The bad isn't always bad and the good isn't always good. What I mean by that is that sometimes, we need bad things to happen to us so that we can fully appreciate the good times in life. Bad things may happen so we can be ha...

I can't even really believe I'm writing this. Not that blogging is bad at all. I just wouldn't have even thought I would have time to do anything besides school work. Maybe this is just a ghost post. One that no one will ever read because I'm pretty sure there is no one that checks my blog anymore to see if I post. I was horrible at posting in the class so why would I post after? I'm not sure. Maybe I just need to vent. Here goes nothing. To whomever may come across this post, First, I want to start by thanking you. I don't know if you came across this blog by accident or whether you came wanting me to give something to you to relate to. I'm not even really sure why I am here in the first place so maybe we came searching for the same thing. To feel. Two days ago. Monday. September 28, 2015. The day I said goodbye to my best friend in the world. Jacob Steven Finch. Elder Finch. It has been so hard for me to say goodbye to the only life I have e...

I'm not sure whether or not I want to actually post this. I'm afraid that people will see me differently than they do now. I don't want that. Or maybe I do. I'm still just trying to figure out who I am as a person and people expect me to be applying for college and leave everything for 2 years and get good grades and keep a job and be kind to everyone and I just don't feel there is enough time for everything. I don't want this to sound like I'm revealing my pen name, but here goes nothing. My name is Tanner Johanson. I was almost named Dylan, but my parents decided to switch at the last second. I've always been quiet until you get to know me. I don't have very much self confidence, but I barely make it by with what I got. I feel more pressure than is needed. I don't like school, but I tell people to go there and learn as much as possible. I tutor, yet I don't do my own homework. My actions and words are pretty hypocritical and I hate that...

There is a girl who sits in our creative writing class. She has green eyes and bruised knees . She understands what a broken heart is and how it can be fixed. She knows the meaning of being real. She really knows how to connect with others and she knows how to write her heart. She is a girl with an impressive mind and I think everyone should have a chance to talk with this girl. This girl is named Kailee. I've only talked with Kailee a few times, but she has always been very kind. Her blog is just as impressive as herself. In my opinion, her blog, Navy Skye , is one of the best blogs in the class. Her writing is real and she is 100% artist. Her blog is something that is very beautiful and anyone who says she isn't anything less than a great writer is just jealous. Some of my favorite quotes I liked from her blog: "A gap toothed, freckled nose, green eyed face with a voice so quiet she believed no one could hear her, but God did." "Beca...

These are my Top 5 favorite songs with reasons why. Please don't judge me or anything when you read this. Don't Let Me Fall - B.o.B Song that made me fall in love with rap I know all the words I connect with the lyrics Colder Weather -  Zac Brown Band His voice makes me cry I get nostalgic The line "I could smell your perfume through these whispering pines" is one of the most beautiful lines I've ever heard. And I'm not sure why. Fallin' - Trip Lee Rap about God and how he will lift us up when we need him Got me into Christian Rap I get chills when I hear the last two verses Open Letter - KB Again, raps about God Tells a story Relatable lyrics Closer To Love - Mat Kearney Have you ever heard his voice?? The instruments used make it sound so great I am in love with love songs These are my top 5 at the moment, even though my top 5 always changes for everything.

First off, this post may or may not be an apology post. I'm not sure what it really is yet, but I guess we will find out as I write. I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't go home and write a post on the day that Mr. Nelson got mad at us all for not posting. I'm sorry I've been a freakin tourist. I was a teacher-aide for Mr. Nelson last year and every single day, I would tell myself I would be a full on artist. I haven't been doing that. I'm sorry I haven't been posting on the blogs or commenting or participated much in class. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that one of my biggest fears is being the center of attention and I'm sorry I'm such a coward. This room might be a nest, but I don't even feel comfortable at home. I'm sorry, Mr. Nelson, that I have not always been fully invested in the class. I'm sorry to all the kids in the class that have been trying to get me to participate. Some days I would just rather br...

Here we are again. New semester, new classes, new teachers. Same faces. And with only a semester of school left, this will be it. No more new classes. No posting schedules on Instagram or Facebook with the caption of "Any classes anyone???" This is it. For all the Dallin Ferrels, Jake Ervings, and Ben Clarks. It's time to fight on and reach our peak. Or so we have been told for the last three years of our lives. And for the first two years, I have just been getting by. I do not know what would have happened if I hadn't taken Mr. Nelson's class in 10th grade. That class was where I felt alive in one of the deadest places in all of Utah valley from 7:45 to 2:15 on Mondays to Fridays. If I hadn't taken that class, I probably wouldn't have been in Creative Writing and not have been in this class. If I were to map out my high school life for you all, you all would see things that may make some of you cry. But then again, maybe not. I was never a football or ...

For my book, I read 13 Reason Why. It was a good book, I really enjoyed it, and I did not see THAT coming. I don't really know what to write about because I feel like I would be giving it away. I guess I will give you a basic premise of the book. And when I say that, I really just mean that I will copy what the back of the book says. Clay Jensen doesn't want anything to do with the tapes Hannah Baker made. Hannah is dead. Her secrets should be buried with her.           Then Hannah's voice tells Clay that his name is on her tapes - and that he is, in some way, responsible for her death.           All through the night, Clay keeps listening. He follows Hannah's recorded words throughout his small town. . .           . . . and what he discovers changes his life forever. The reason I chose this book, is because Mr. Lassen from Timberline said it was a good book. So I finally had the chance to read it. I w...

I guess this is it. No more pen names. No more guessing and surprises. No more masks. This is the real me. If you really knew me, you would know that I love rap music. It's not just my favorite music. It's basically my life. When I'm driving, when I'm showering, when I'm laying in bed at nights and in the mornings when I'm too lazy to get up for school. Some say rap isn't music, but it freakin is. Just ask Nelson. If you really knew me, you would know I would do anything for anyone. Which is ironic because people say I'm nice but I don't believe them. If you really knew me, you would know that I feel so inadequate about so many different things about myself. My writing, hair, eyes, clothes, voice, glasses. Basically everything about myself. I have a job. I tutor kids. I started doing it because I am a high school student and I need money. But over the months I've tutored, the best reward is helping others ...

I remember saying hi to the new kid. I remember he told me he didn't want to be my friend. I remember jumping on the trampoline with him and her and her and him and her. I remember hiding from piano lessons. I remember falling asleep in my closet because I had to escape everything. I remember my Barney and Sully stuffed animals. I remember playing a really cool game at his house. I remember becoming addicted to that game. I remember the first time I thought I deserved it. I remember when no one stuck up for me. I pretended like it didn't happen. I remember being told I was weird because I hardly talked. I remember being told to type 801 on a phone because it was a new rule. I remember his phone number. I remember crying when I first saw my dad cry. I didn't know my grandpa passed away. I remember not being able to remember my times tables. I remember my teacher telling me it was easy and I felt stupid. I remember the song, but I do...

"A disproportionate rare print would be fantastically addicting and everyone would want one"   "Death is back."