Regression

I've taken to wordless whining when I really want something. It verges almost on the edge of whimpering, kind of plaintive, but more obnoxious. I really, really want House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski. REALLY.

Don't tell me if you've read it or liked it. I need this for myself.

I know, I sound really dismissive and who do I think I am? I need this feeling though, this want for something. I think this is worth living for.

Of course, wait till tomorrow, when I have my psych midterm and see if I say the same thing. I'm like three chapters behind the reading and at least ten lectures behind the class.

hurt + resentment = hate

WHEN WILL YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I DON’T GIVE A SHIT? HONEST TO GOD. I REALLY, REALLY DON’T. YOU KEEP BITCHING AND BITCHING ABOUT THIS AND THAT. YOU KEEP HARPING ON ABOUT FILIAL PIETY, HOW I HAVEN’T HELPED YOU MOVE SHIT (WHICH I CAN’T) AND HAVEN’T PLACED THE SHIT ON THE SHELVES (FOR WHICH I DON’T HAVE TIME AND PLAIN DON’T CARE ABOUT) AND HOW I SIT AT HOME, USELESS, WASTING YOUR TIME.

I DON’T GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT YOUR STUPID UNSUCCESSFUL BUSINESS. THAT MEANS I DON’T WANT YOUR STUPID SHELVES IN MY ROOM, I DON’T WANT TO KNOW ABOUT YOUR STUPID STORE-LADY GOSSIP AND I REALLY COULDN’T CARE LESS ABOUT WHERE YOU PLACE YOUR SHIT AS LONG AS IT’S NOT IN MY ROOM.

FOR YOUR INFORMATION, I KNOW I’M WASTING TIME. MY TIME. NOT YOURS. I DON’T LIVE SOLELY TO BECKON TO YOUR EVERY CALL. I DON’T EXIST TO SERVE YOU. I DO EXIST OUT OF CONTEXT OF YOU. THAT’S SOMETHING YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND.

IN OTHER WORDS, PLEASE NOTICE THAT I HAVE A LIFE OF MY OWN. OBVIOUSLY IT’S NOT TOTALLY INDEPENDENT OF YOU BECAUSE I DO LIVE IN YOUR HOUSE AND EAT YOUR FOOD, BUT THAT MEANS THAT I’M NOT GOING TO BEND OVER BACKWARDS TO YIELD TO YOUR COMMANDS. THAT ALSO MEANS THAT WHATEVER MONEY I HAVE WILL BE SPENT IN WHATEVER FASHION I DECIDE.

YOU’VE GOT TO STOP TRYING TO BIND ME TO YOU BECAUSE AS MUCH AS I DO RESPECT YOU AND AS MUCH AS I DO LOVE YOU, I DON’T EXIST FOR YOU. I EXIST BECAUSE OF YOU. I CAN’T DEDICATE MY LIFE TO REPAYING YOU THROUGH FILIAL PIETY.

WHY CAN’T YOU REALIZE THAT I’M A SELFISH PERSON, BUT UNDOUBTEDLY A PERSON. AS A HUMAN BEING, SOMEONE WHO HAS HER OWN THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS. YOU CAN’T HONESTLY EXPECT ME TO DO SOMETHING FOR YOU WHEN YOU JUST PUT ME DOWN, DO YOU? REALLY?

I HAVE MORE SELF-RESPECT THAN THAT.

NOT THAT YOU’LL EVER APPRECIATE THAT. BUT IF IT EVER OCCURS TO YOU THAT I DO DESERVE RESPECT AS A HUMAN BEING AND NOT JUST BECAUSE I’M AN EXTENSION OF YOU (BECAUSE I REALLY, REALLY AM NOT) PLEASE TAKE ME SERIOUSLY AND MY OPINIONS TO ACCOUNT.

BECAUSE IF YOU HADN’T NOTICED, I DID WARN YOU YOUR BUSINESS WOULD MORE THAN LIKELY FAIL, AS OTHERS DID FOR THE SAME REASONS. IN FACT, ALL OF THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU WHO CARE ABOUT YOU TOLD YOU THE SAME. WHY DIDN’T YOU LISTEN TO US?

AND NOW YOU CONCEDE ONLY A LITTLE AND I UNDERSTAND IT’S A SACRIFICE, BUT IT’S HONESTLY A SACRIFICE YOU COULD’VE AVOIDED. AND YOU SHOULD’VE ENDED THE BUSINESS. BUT YOU DIDN’T. AND NOW YOU’RE FUCKING UP MY PEACE AS WELL AS EVERYONE ELSE’S. PLEASE, PLEASE COME TO YOUR SENSES.

THERE IS REALLY NO POINT TO YOUR BUSINESS. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.

I'm not sure how it works

And I don't know how to explain this to you. You, all of you, any of you, none of you.

I honestly don't know.

I mean, acting indifferent is cool, right? So when I shrug and mutter something about not giving shit, what am I doing? I've done it so often, it's become true.

But it just feels like I'm shutting people out. I don't know how to care about something without feeling pathetic and desperate. I don't know how to show someone I care about something or someone without feeling hopeless and insecure.

I really, really, don't know. Believe me.

But maybe tomorrow, I won't think this anymore. Maybe all this insecurity that's only a part of me will become me entirely tomorrow, to an extent where I can't even post this on my blog like an angsty, impulsive teenager. (See I can't even blog without putting myself down.)

So there.

Angst Be Gone

I'm looking back at my posts and I realize just how anguished I was, emotionally. There was a time I preferred sleeping to being awake. Let me put it this way: I would wish I didn't wake up. Selfish, huh?

I don't know. It was hard for me and I definitely did not work through it. It just got easier to handle, or I got used to it. Most of it I think was because there were so many assignments that I knew I had no interest in completing and I was actually thinking seriously of not doing them. I wasn't in a good place. To be honest, I never really am, but this was like all those moments magnified because it was my last year in high school, the last couple of months when everything was due and even though I had like three classes, my grip was slippery. Grip on what, I don't know.

Like I mentioned before, it's not like it got better or easier, it's just renewed. I mean all the due dates have passed and all the things that you usually get excited about happened and well, been there done that.

Then new angst popped up, in the form of that old friend of mine, Incompetence. Well, really, my problem is my lack of perception, or my shitty observation skills. This problem has manifested itself through every aspect of my life and I react the very same way everytime. It's something that makes me incompetent and anxious and then I set myself up to crash and burn. I didn't wish that I didn't wake up at that time, I just wished I didn't have a job. Which is an improvement?

I don't know.

Well, I quit. And resolved to get another job. Still haven't found one.

I woke up in the middle of summer one morning at like five am and went through a complete, I don't know, debugging in my mind. I decided to enrol in a different university than I'd already accepted for a completely different program and did so in a matter of two weeks. Then I selected my courses, got my shit together and now I study English instead of Biological Science.

At this current moment, I am stalling the writing of my four page paper on Dylan Thomas's "Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night". I may have mistyped the title, I'm not sure. Anyway, I can't write it because of my incompetence (lack of observation related, but not so much) in poetic analysis.

I still don't know what I'm doing.