I'm Avendah Zickterman (Avie Watson) -an amateur writer. Sometimes, I doodle. Most of these doodle pieces are inspired by OCD flare-ups. All work is mine unless stated otherwise. The format is weird because I maintain this site using my phone.
Warning: This site may contain content that is disturbing to others.

If it makes you feel better, I am suffering too. Regret hurts so much.

Please forgive me. I am only human, and this is my first life. Before I knew empathy, I knew vindictiveness and rage. I can't forgive others because I have never forgiven myself. This is my new year's resolution: to forgive myself, to forgive others, and to be a kinder and more compassionate human being.

This is my punishment. I have almost died thrice. There's no use trying anymore.

Your love freed me from my hatred.

You give me hope.

To my dearest...

Acrostic I My mind hungers for the impossible - false perfidiousness.Oppressed soul is divided into frames - deviation.Remembering thoughts and feelings inaccurately - shame.Aversion to mistakes, especially the unintentional - anguish. Listening to poisonous messages - confusion.I seek understanding and to be understood - empathy.Tears permeate in crimson sand - suffering and “how much [I] hurt as a human being.” Yet, my heart abhors my own success - unbelieving. Obsessed with repentance - deserving.Clarity to acknowledge what I do deserve - forgiveness for myself.Despite the lies I tell myself, I know the truth - vehemently. “I convinced myself that I did not deserve my accomplishments, and that’s what feeds the monster. The monster clings on uncertainty. It devours hope. Its bite stings and corrupts to the bone and the crevices of my brain - such a cruel disease.” Shneidman, E. (1999). The psychological pain assessment scale. The American Association of Suicidology. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1111/j.1943-278X.1999.tb00524.x

“People want you to conform to societal and social expectations to compensate for their discomfort.” (B. Sam, 2023).I thought that I needed to fit inside of society's bubble to un-relentlessly exist - to be seen, heard, and understood. As young as five years old, I realized that this was a fool's dream. It's not society's job to "see me." It is not the world's task to "hear me." It is not my calling to be understood by all. When I travel into the spaces of unknown possibilities and unnamed people, my only calling is to shine as I am. To love as I am. To see, hear, understand, and defend myself.There was no onyx sketched in my soul. I was a clean slate with endless opportunities. Still, I was burdened by a forgotten cloud hanging tirelessly over my head. There I was, being me. Experiencing and existing. Without a soulful guide and evidence of kindness and empathy, I faltered. I fell to my knees, solidifying every label, statistic, stereotype, and judgment into the layers on my skin. A scar - a painful memory, etched into every fold of my physical vessel. And if I shouldn't be seen, I should be invisible. Blending into soft maroons, coppers, and golds, I was safe in my solitude.The only cloud I wanted to mold was the one drifting softly over my brightness - immune to oppression, fear, and anguish. I found my brilliance within that emptiness with only myself to guide me.

I’m strong for my students because I love them and value them more than the world. I have never felt so much passion and purpose in my life before I began teaching 4 years ago.

I have taught children who have experienced terrible, unimaginable trauma; children with severe emotional pain; children who have hit, bruised, and swore at me - leaving permanent physical scars on my body; and children who have hurt other kids to the point of seriously injuring them and causing bodily harm.

I’ve seen enough torment in children to last a lifetime.

Yet, this is my calling. Out of all of the things I could’ve done in my professional life, I chose to be a teacher. To see a child smile and get closer to reaching their personal and academic goals is the greatest joy I could have ever imagined. Every day, I walk into the classroom with the attitude of being the teacher that I wish I had as a kid.

If I can reach the heart of even one child, my life will be complete.

A daffodil in the rain. Your hostility is not invisible. People talk. Their words are lethal. Their voices flutter in the suffocating air. They have turned against you too. That's how we know. Our eyes and ears reveal the truth. Our actions are like staves on a mountain. All are visible.

We aren't born thinking that something is "wrong" with us. No. The world teaches us that. Even when you are quiet and keep to yourself, it is never enough. They will find anything - any reason, any mistake, to justify their abhorrence. And they will blame you. You will be their scapegoat. And when you leave, they will find another.

Self-Portrait

Like the moon on my chest,

I dreamt of the future.

A future where my tears are evidence of my

Humanity.

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