If my pain had a purpose, it would probably hurt less. I know where I'd come from and I know how I got here, but not knowing why I'm still here when I have everything a person would need is extremely ungrateful of me. In fact, it's almost just being a plain drama queen.
The worst part is, depression is such a fucking trend. Every girl around the corner wants to wear this dark persona, each one wanting to out-depress the other. I hate trends, I never follow. Now how did depression become such an attention-seeking tool? Every girl wants to be the “It” girl. If you’re not the “It” girl who has a crazy nightlife and mingle with the “in” crowd, then go left wing (not that it is anymore) and wear this morose personality and hope that it makes you more of a person just because you chose not to be from the other group.
My symptoms tell me that I'm on edge of turning into one sad girl. My father tells me I need help and that my “hippie” phase is not funny anymore. My mother cries because I jolt out of sleep screaming for help. My roommate thinks I'm an alien because I either sleep once every two or three days or sleep for hours on end. My sister told me I'm a freak. Is this possible? Have I become one of those girls because my parents tell me that I am? Why do they fail to see the normal functioning being that I am? I may not be the touchstone of sanity in our society but I hold down my responsibilities, have a disciplined moral conscience, do my laundry, finish my homework and cook my own meals.
But it seems it’s not what I am, it’s what extras I have, hence what I am too much of. From there I could see that limitations are being set. Instead of being told to shoot for the moon, I am being told to tone down and to behave like a normal young adult. These limitations should guarantee extreme perspicacity. Instead, because daddy is pushing me to speak to a professional, I’m misplaced, not knowing where I’ve made a bad turn.I am not depressed. Sadness, sorrow and desperation are unpleasant but absolutely common.
Sorrow is when I have to watch for my choice of words when speaking to my father. The slightest implication of anything strange could trigger him. Years ago I told him I thought Nixon was a great president and I would have voted for him all three times. An hour later I mentioned that I wished I was born in the 60s, I would have been brimming with purpose. Of course to me it was all wishful thinking but to a father who loves me so unconditionally, I’m crazy. Sadness is when daddy confiscates all my books on Hitler, Karl Marx and even textbooks which has to do with socio-economics teachings.
Desperation is watching mommy break my AC/DC and Misfits CDs, choking on her words, incoherent and red, convinced that rock and roll has driven me to lunacy.To them, I am a walking minefield. I was sure I wasn’t, until I realized that there are sudden implosions within me and I just want everyone to stay the fuck away from me. At least until I’ve been dismantled.
Friday, August 4, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Fye puts the E in Idiot :D
Fye is an idiot.
He told me that someone (who used to be significant) asked him if he's got a new girlfriend.
That's just odd because you don't really ask someone like Fye that kinda question.
It's just weird.
So anyway I told him that a friend of that someone probably saw him with a girl somewhere alone and assumed that he's got a new girlfriend.
Fye: But I haven't been out with just a girl in a long time. At least since Rachel left.
Me: ... I. AM. A. GIRL.
Fye: Not in my book you're not.
Me: Yea yea just your book, not other people's books, tard.
Fye: You have a pussy and balls.
Me: You have a pussy but no balls.*grin. I won :D...
Fye: Phew, good luck to those "other people".
He told me that someone (who used to be significant) asked him if he's got a new girlfriend.
That's just odd because you don't really ask someone like Fye that kinda question.
It's just weird.
So anyway I told him that a friend of that someone probably saw him with a girl somewhere alone and assumed that he's got a new girlfriend.
Fye: But I haven't been out with just a girl in a long time. At least since Rachel left.
Me: ... I. AM. A. GIRL.
Fye: Not in my book you're not.
Me: Yea yea just your book, not other people's books, tard.
Fye: You have a pussy and balls.
Me: You have a pussy but no balls.*grin. I won :D...
Fye: Phew, good luck to those "other people".
Tuesday, May 2, 2006
In an alternate universe
In a sudden lurch I'm yanked from where I am to somewhere I long to be. Words exchanged, and I'm playing the Cookie Monster chewing my stances and standpoints, swallowing them below yet chewing so carelessly the tell-tale crumbles clings down my front, exposed to the world and I am once again vulnerable.
Songs play and everything is inanimate. I feel like I'm being tricked, the lyrics and the rhythm of other things in play seem suspect. I'm packed into a container of disorientation, fully sober. I imagine us staring up at that damn mistletoe, wondering if we should "act like big city kids now that the sun's gone down"
I really wish could leave unscatched, have these weak proposals bounce off me but I'm not made of rubber.. I am not elastic in perception. My reservations are ideal, if I am willing to keep playing the moving target. Then again if someone wants to shoot me after reading this, I be damned.
Songs play and everything is inanimate. I feel like I'm being tricked, the lyrics and the rhythm of other things in play seem suspect. I'm packed into a container of disorientation, fully sober. I imagine us staring up at that damn mistletoe, wondering if we should "act like big city kids now that the sun's gone down"
I really wish could leave unscatched, have these weak proposals bounce off me but I'm not made of rubber.. I am not elastic in perception. My reservations are ideal, if I am willing to keep playing the moving target. Then again if someone wants to shoot me after reading this, I be damned.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Stained
Why do girls always have to watch out for this gross possibility when contemplating the motives of that strange species, the young adult human male?
Actually, I wouldn’t be one of those girls. If that male had unpleasant intentions, I could handle. I’d know what to expect and I’d know how to counter it. But if his intentions were virtuous, I’d be at a loss.
Here’s one situation in which I panic. In a matter of months I’ve morphed into someone who is not accustomed to happiness. It’s not like I hadn’t aspired it, I reached out for it and I burnt my hand. Therefore, it is straight-up biology that my brain tells me never to put my hand near it again, ever. Not all pots are boiling water yes yes, but I can’t see beyond the bottom of the kettle see. Even if there isn’t a fire under it, I’m convinced it’s an electric kettle. I have no doubt in my mind that they are set there to hurt me.
This ridiculous fear of mine has dribbled onto other aspects of my life. Now I can’t even hold a hot mug of coffee witbout worrying that it might scorch my hand. Due to my ludicrous, maybe imaginary dread, I stick to cold drinks. I’m okay with not having variety really. I like things the way they are. I don’t want, much less need change in my life. My friends are enough to get me by my whole life. The last thing I need is to feel at a loss over what to think about him, what he thought about me, to discern from what he said and done what he might be thinking about me, where he was hoping things between us to go. I shiver with displeasure at the idea of this giddy happy delight… simply because I know I have done nothing to merit it. I am not deserving of happiness.I’d be more comfortable with a guy who’d come to me, earnest and forward, and say “I assure you, that I would leave you for no good reason in approximately 6 months and by then I guarantee you, that I have already been sleeping with some other chick.”That, I can handle because I’ve been there, done that, worn the T-shirt... twice.I hate the fact that they have left such a mark on me. I hate the idea that I’ve become so cynical when I’ve been dreaming of baby names since I was fourteen.
I hate the truth that I am so consumed by my obsession with keeping a distance that I probably am never again, able to trust and love like I know I could. Because I think that I have a lot to offer. But I am broken. All I have to offer are fragmented pieces of myself, so charred the carbon could kill.
Actually, I wouldn’t be one of those girls. If that male had unpleasant intentions, I could handle. I’d know what to expect and I’d know how to counter it. But if his intentions were virtuous, I’d be at a loss.
Here’s one situation in which I panic. In a matter of months I’ve morphed into someone who is not accustomed to happiness. It’s not like I hadn’t aspired it, I reached out for it and I burnt my hand. Therefore, it is straight-up biology that my brain tells me never to put my hand near it again, ever. Not all pots are boiling water yes yes, but I can’t see beyond the bottom of the kettle see. Even if there isn’t a fire under it, I’m convinced it’s an electric kettle. I have no doubt in my mind that they are set there to hurt me.
This ridiculous fear of mine has dribbled onto other aspects of my life. Now I can’t even hold a hot mug of coffee witbout worrying that it might scorch my hand. Due to my ludicrous, maybe imaginary dread, I stick to cold drinks. I’m okay with not having variety really. I like things the way they are. I don’t want, much less need change in my life. My friends are enough to get me by my whole life. The last thing I need is to feel at a loss over what to think about him, what he thought about me, to discern from what he said and done what he might be thinking about me, where he was hoping things between us to go. I shiver with displeasure at the idea of this giddy happy delight… simply because I know I have done nothing to merit it. I am not deserving of happiness.I’d be more comfortable with a guy who’d come to me, earnest and forward, and say “I assure you, that I would leave you for no good reason in approximately 6 months and by then I guarantee you, that I have already been sleeping with some other chick.”That, I can handle because I’ve been there, done that, worn the T-shirt... twice.I hate the fact that they have left such a mark on me. I hate the idea that I’ve become so cynical when I’ve been dreaming of baby names since I was fourteen.
I hate the truth that I am so consumed by my obsession with keeping a distance that I probably am never again, able to trust and love like I know I could. Because I think that I have a lot to offer. But I am broken. All I have to offer are fragmented pieces of myself, so charred the carbon could kill.
Wednesday, February 8, 2006
Thrown for a loop
When flesh is born, it is sin as soon as it enters this world. Blessed with freewill, we are bound to make one wrong decision and tell one lie too many, scream rebellion at a parent in a holy hour or steal a wicked glance into the immoral.
A propaganda that burnt bridges from the future, an upheaval that resounded through ma’s heart, an indulgence too difficult to turn the other cheek.
And I want to say that trudging through this mud has been a great experience and that I’ve come out stronger and all that crap. But I’m broken on the inside, worry eating me alive and anxiety gnawing on my veins. I sleep at 5am. Three hours later I’m rubbing my eyes and pulling on my hair. My nose starts to itch and I couldn’t help but wish I had something I could hurl across the room. I want to scream and scream and scream and scream till I could not scream any more and feel any less. Remnants of my life is spinning around me but I wish they would just fall to the ground and shatter my burdens. My hands are twitching. I want nothing more than to chuck my laptop out the window and take pleasure in watching it smash merrily. But I cannot afford that luxury. I would just have to post this and rationally take my hands off the keypad after I turn on another 213 song.
A propaganda that burnt bridges from the future, an upheaval that resounded through ma’s heart, an indulgence too difficult to turn the other cheek.
And I want to say that trudging through this mud has been a great experience and that I’ve come out stronger and all that crap. But I’m broken on the inside, worry eating me alive and anxiety gnawing on my veins. I sleep at 5am. Three hours later I’m rubbing my eyes and pulling on my hair. My nose starts to itch and I couldn’t help but wish I had something I could hurl across the room. I want to scream and scream and scream and scream till I could not scream any more and feel any less. Remnants of my life is spinning around me but I wish they would just fall to the ground and shatter my burdens. My hands are twitching. I want nothing more than to chuck my laptop out the window and take pleasure in watching it smash merrily. But I cannot afford that luxury. I would just have to post this and rationally take my hands off the keypad after I turn on another 213 song.
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