Give Me A Reason

Please, to want to get out of bed everyday now.

Stupid Or Not?

On the fence about that one now. Seriously. Why does life always consist of perpetually waiting for greater things to come? I hope they would arrive already with their own fantastic magic already, for life is becoming just so unbearable to really endure. Am I a cosmic and nonsensical fool? I would love to think not. But in reality, I am just as stupid as the rest of them. But Please let's hope not. Please save me from my foolish and quite soft-witted rationality in this present existence of life we have to put up with. (Really though, could you hurt me any more? I think so.)

Dark Red Head

There is seriously almost nothing better than blasting hard music and a bottle of hair dye to put you right again. Well at least for the moment at present.

Who Has Two Thumbs And Is A Goddamn Idiot?

(points at self*) This guy. I meant me, just in case you didn't get it.

Seriously, so I gave in about a couple weeks ago and messaged Stephen (I know, here we fucking go again) on, yes fucking facebook, the banes of the 21st century's existence. Well he had posted a note and it happened to pop up on my newsfeed. Mind you after I saw it I decided to hide it. Honestly I thought I had hidden him a while ago. You know, the whole letting go thing I am terribly failing at. (Though yes I may still have feelings, this not letting go is not related to the wanting to be with him factor because honestly I just don't know anymore about that part. I don't even think I want to be with him anymore. What I should do and what is are entirely differing issues)

So anyway, the note was quite depressing and of course naturally, I was worried. After many minutes of contemplating whether or not to message him or not (I didn't text because I couldn't, proud of myself for having deleted his number) Eventually I messaged him with something short and concise along the lines of, "Hey I didn't want to text you because I wasn't sure if your phone would receive it (total lie), but are you okay?" That was that.

I didn't think I would get any response til today I received a text. "Hey I'm sorry I just saw your message. Insert conversation here." And so begun a short stream of back and forth texts.

Just great, ended up re-adding him back into my phonebook. I know this is probably not the smartest thing I could ever do as of present, but hey I don't often do a lot of smart things when it comes to my own well-being.

Turns out, his dumbass girlfriend had dumped him for another guy.

My response?
I'm sorry, I didn't know whether to laugh or to seriously feel his pain for him. And so I opted for the pain with a bite of 'I fucking knew it that this shit would happen' on the end.
I can't tell you how many times I knew it in my mind and heart that she wasn't good enough for him. Really not saying that out of any "jealous" disdain from my past feelings, but really just opinion and perception from just being a good friend. Though of course I never voiced it.
I just wanted him to be happy. And that was good enough.
Goddamn, I seriously saw that shit a mile away. I fucking knew it.

But what can you do?
And now I don't know what to feel. But I know it's not the same. It can't ever be the same anymore for me because what happened still happened when it all comes down on paper with facts. Which I apologize for not explaining yet. I guess that moment will soon follow shortly in a few days after this entry. But I know I have to be smarter this time. I have to use my head more often rather than my heart that is seriously hanging by a thread on my fucking sleeve. It's just weird that it stopped hurting so much before I even realized it. It doesn't hurt like it used to when I used to think about you.

Fuck Formalities

I am so sick of having to fucking put on a happy face all the damn time just to ensure that others won't perceive me as someone who is in fact truly dark and twisted inside. So sick of having to do this all the time so that others won't get frightened at anything that is less than shallow. So sick of having to care for everyone else's well-being over the sacrifice of my own. I am so sick of having to put on a smile all the damn time when around people so I don't come off as unresponsive and a complete bitch for really not caring. So sick of having to put on such a facade when inside I feel quite the opposite just to reassure others of their own insecurities. Fucking fantastic. I am just so sick and exhausted with everything. I just want to be left alone. Plain and simple.

B&N's

I have no idea why, but just walking into a Barnes and Noble's Bookstore gives me such comfort. (I had already bought 4 books the week before the last and am reading one presently. And yesterday just bought another, I can't seem to stop buying more books. Though really I don't mind, it's just the expense of it all is not at all thrifty) Even just recalling my time (hours might I add, I have to limit my time there out of pure discipline or else I really will risk clearing out my entire bank account. Really. Not cool.) spent there sends me into this transcendent mode where I just feel so entirely elated and relieved of everything as if I were still leisurely pacing the aisles slowly out of pure enjoyment. Such transferrence enables every burden to be washed away from the core of my body out to the tips of my fingers and toes. Each to be slowly dissolving until I feel nothing but the succor and repose of a lingering of warm, gooey, and fuzzy sensations which can only be felt through a person's center core and to be described to slightly resemble looking into a great and inviting fireplace on a cold, quiet, and clear night.

I seriously could spend an entire day buried in the comfort of a bookstore. I would love to. Except the unfortunate factor of going possibly and most likely completely broke from trying to buy out the entire stock from the Fiction & Literature section. (Ah consumerism and materialism, the banes of our human existence)

By the by, I started my morning off by visiting a Barnes & Noble's bookstore, thus such the ardent-felt entry.
Did I mention I bought yet another book this morning? (Such loveliness) Oh, I guess I didn't. Haha. Seriously, my bookshelf is about ready to collapse. Well, I cannot wait to begin reading it when I find some downtime. And indeed, it seems like I am back to my original text color after playing around a bit. Happy Tuesday lovers.

Another One Of Those Days

Where I feel like just taking a bat and smashing everything in the world I come across today. And when I say everything, I mean everything. (Non-animate and animate things/people) And then eating out the entire contents of my fridge and pantry. But obviously I can't do either.
Everything's pissing me off today.
I really don't feel like doing shit today, but do I must.
Yep, majorly cranky today.
Let's hope my mood brightens up after I've eaten lunch.
And hey, at least I am going out to Hollywood tonight all dressed to the nines in a killer dress and heels to have a bit of fun.
Cheers lovers.

Ready For A Long Story?

Seriously, it's like my own mother doesn't see me. No, it's true. She doesn't see me.

Even when I try to softly explain and rationalize, nothing goes through.

She expected to sit in with me at my physician's appointment when I get up the courage to go.
I eased into this conversation and told her that I am a very private person and even telling a doctor my personal woes is a very daunting hardship for me.

Of course she didn't hear what I was trying to say. She quickly butted in assuming that she knew and kept saying, after I repeatedly tried to rephrase my statements to gauge better understanding, "Yeah, I know I know. I won't say anything, I'll just sit there."

No mother, I can't have you sit there.
I tried again telling her that it's already so difficult to tell a doctor my personal sentiments and to open up. Also, that would mean there are things I don't want her to hear either because I don't want her to feel parental guilt or fault. I told her I didn't want her to feel bad for the things that I would ultimately reveal soon enough. I meant that I didn't want to hurt her.

Tell me how is it humanly possible to start this conversation and ultimately have it become turned around by my mother and suddenly be all about her. Tell me why does she always assume that everything is about her. Why does she get so defensive and think that factors are personal attacks on her when they're really not. Believe me, they are really not.
And to make matters worse she becomes phenomenally defensive and then comes the passive aggressive outbursts that are triggered from a completely different subject.

I was trying to get her to understand that this wasn't about her. She took it as me wanting to hide something from her. As if I had some superficial actions from my past to hide from her. No, I wasn't talking about the things I have done. I was talking about my own intertwined thoughts and emotions of which I have accumulated from my pathetic, lonesome, and mentally abusive and destructive childhood.

Then of course after the passive aggressive outburst comes the childish defense mechanism that only my mother could smoothly pull off and execute. She closed off and refused to listen or be even open to understanding my reasons behind my words or what I had to say to her. Or even why I wanted to share with her.

And you wonder why it is so difficult for me to open up. Everyone wonders why. Stop wondering and start seeing.

And what gets me the most are my pathetic never-yielding attempts to try and help her see me. Those deplorable acts of trying to help her with the sacrifice of myself. It's as if I am still a child still trying to vie for my mother's attention to try to get her to see me or try to get her to actually want to know me.

Really, it's like she doesn't even see me at all. She doesn't even know who I am or the things I hold so passionate dear to me let alone the reasons why I clutch them to my heart while holding on to this miserable existence of a life.
Even in the present when I openly speak to my mother I am impaled with the harsh realization, as I understand, that she really isn't paying mind to anything I say as she ceases to produce any sort of noise that would suffice as a response. Realizing that she just hears it as incessant and meaningless rambling from her 'whimsical, energetic, and eccentric' daughter. When in fact she doesn't know that I may very well be just the opposite.

After repeatedly and unrelentingly speaking in earnest and trying to get her to even open up her ears and eyes to look at me and really listen to me, the dialogue has quickly escalated into an immature fight among two high school girls. The only difference is is that she is almost 55 years old.

I'll admit I even went a bit far today, but when frustrated and angry we all have our faults of tongue.
First I remarked about how short a fuse she has because she is always so damn quick to become enraged. Then surprise surprise my supposed to be maturely aged mother but really not came back with "have you seen yourself?" Of course this being a jab at my own projected demeanor to others and I know I am very much irritated all the time and showing major signs of passive aggression.

But the thing is, I know why I am like this, or at least I am striving to understand why I can't help but be like this, and this is why I am aiming to seek help. This is what the physician's appointment is all about.
But does she try to put two and two together and understand?
No. She just decides that she has something to throw back into her daughter's face because she is just so hurt from her daughter's honest and sharing words.

Then I said well maybe I get it from you. And then she pulls out the big gun and states, "So are you saying I am to blame?"
Stupid me had to say, "Yeah I do." Big mistake. Big oops. (Better to sacrifice yourself and be hurt for the protection of your parents? Or to risk their hurt for the honesty they think they want but ultimately really don't?)
Thus opening a can of words and creating a massive cyclic chain of events of the whole childish defense mechanism I stated earlier in this post.

She doesn't realize that she just proved my point of why I do not want her to hear the things I have to say about my personal life because I don't want her to feel bad/guilty/hurt/whatever and take it the wrong way. Which I know she will.

I had just been honest with her (as I always am, I hate lying), but of course she got hurt and took it the wrong way. My point exactly. And henceforth made this conversation suddenly about her now.
And god seriously, I am so fucking pathetic. I still try with my mother after all the infuriating useless language. Why does my love have to be so fucking unconditional? Why do I seriously want, no need, my mother to understand me? Anyone else would have given up already, just like my mother who quickly just gives up time and time again much to my great disappointment. What is it with the neverending trials for a child to want the approval of her parents no matter how good or bad the relationship turns?

And then I called her childish. And then she threw a condescending motherly finger in my face and told me to watch my attitude. (Remember, this is the same mother of when I confessed my depression to almost half a year ago, told me that "Hey it's normal to be sad all the time." Really?)
Why doesn't she get that it's not juvenile attitude I am exuding. This is me trying to reach her. Why? I have no idea. Why I can't just be a normal kid? I have no idea. I just don't know any more ways to do so. It's like everything I try fails. And you can't believe how many times when she throws my own behavior back into my face that I want to say I am seriously a mere 22 year old and she the one who is supposed to be all ripely sagacious at the almost age of 55. Compare and contrast, it's a really rude awakening to get older and suddenly realize that at times it all turns around and it is almost as if you're more mature or reasonable one and that your parents are turning out to be quite childish. Fuck the neverending cycle of this so called life.

And of course how she is able to so resiliently bounce back and act like everything is fine after 10 minutes is beyond me. Does that prove of how little of importance she considers my really fucked up issues to be? Or is it defense mechanism/self-preservation/repression 101?

All the while I am left still stung by the failure or the things I can never achieve, solve, or relieve. I know I am partially to blame, but I am still trying to make whatever this fucked up shit is work. I am still trying while she refuses to. Why can't I ever just give up?

Referral

So, this story may actually be coming true. Given the right amount of courage, and me still scared out of my wits and entirely fighting the urge to just fee the other way, a meeting with my real physician will be made and followed through with (let's hope my bravery doesn't fail me) a sit down consultation. Quite soon in the near future is what's promised to help me figure out what is exactly wrong with me if and in fact there actually is something wrong with me.

As the realization of real confrontation of my issues is drawing to a close, I have to really own up to the fact that I am seriously terror-stricken and have no clue why. Maybe because if this last and final step does indeed have execution, then I will really be certain that I am as flawed and broken as I already believe myself to be.
No, that can't be it. I think it's just actually the bodies outside of myself, you know other people, who will have to become involved no matter how much I wish they would not be. The mere involvement of outside persons such as my physician, who I will need the referral from, and those I will have to encounter, of whom I have never met or let alone even known is what scares the shit out of me because as private a person as I am, I will have to speak to strangers (why is that anyway?) when I don't even speak to those closest to me because of my majorly proven trust and abandonment issues. The fact that I will have to leave the comfort of my own barriers I have meticulously built up since childhood seriously scares me.

This entry doesn't even make sense. I can't even put down my feelings onto this virtual paper because I really don't know what to say. So I just end up rambling on with these run-on/fragmented sentences in hopes I somehow strike a chord within my brain to produce something that will eventually make sense to me as a whole and ultimately satisfy my perfectionist persona. So please disregard my shitty rejections of grammar, syntax, and word choice because right now my brain is on speechless mode and anything will do.

So let me try again.
I don't even know why I am a bit freaked out. Thank god for my self-preservation keeping me sane and still attached to my skin. It's the same fight or flight feeling when encountered with an unfamiliar and uncomfortable obstacle. Just as last year when I almost sought out real counseling help, moments of walking to the clinic I immediately froze and resorted to rationalizing with myself that I was just being dumb and that nothing was wrong with me at all so that I maybe didn't have to go through with it. It starts with denial right?
What ended up happening was that I ultimately chickened out. I feigned a rescheduling and ended up not going.

What I also don't get is that I feel that I pretty much have pinpointed, analyzed, and diagnosed my issues and the roots that have caused them. It's just the getting over it part that I seem to have issues with. And believe me I'm trying, but I really feel like I need something more to help. But what is it that I need? I don't even know.

I feel like I don't fucking need some stranger to tell me why I am the way I am because of this and that that happened to me in the past because fuck, I already know. I could write a fucking book about all the roots of my issues and then some. I mean I don't need help to figure out how to express my emotions. I went to school for that.

I just want help not to feel so fucking unhappy, hopeless, and alone all the time. I want to not self-inflict harm on myself anymore. (though now that I say it, I kind of don't want to give it up; what can i say? i love it, it makes me feel good and alive)

I also feel like I don't fucking need the pity and sympathy of others. Got it?
And I especially don't need the likes of my parents and family members to feel sorry for me or god forbid feel like they've failed.
I mean sometimes I want to tell them, yeah you failed, you really fucked up, but really in truth, that's really not fair to say that and would do more hurt than good.

But that's what I mean. I guess if this starts, then it's real and the whole privacy thing goes out the window. People will actually know. And I feel like that is at times worse than just having yourself know. I am more comfortable with just myself knowing.

I really just want to keep this to myself without having to share my issues with my parents. And I know there's a whole doctor/patient confidentiality thing. But I just know that my mother will be hurt if I exclude her (which I really want to just to save her from feeling pain from my pain).

I want to be helped without anyone knowing about it.

Hour Of Plugged-In Solitude

After an hour of working by myself plugged into my ipod with tunes of music from the greats of Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Etta James, Ella Fitzgerald, Otis Redding, and a few from other contemporary but still great artists, I feel a lot better now. Now I am just numbed and ready to put it all behind me. I still feel like crying and being by myself, but I'm okay now. Hurray for that. Happy birthday to me.

Lucky #7? I Think Not.

So today is indeed my 22nd birthday. I even woke up all hopeful and bright, especially with the gift today of lovely gloomy weather I really do love. I am now officially a year older. I feel better now after an hour had passed, but earlier today I just really want(ed) to go home and cry. Or just take a couple of large sleeping pills and waste the day in a blissful perpetual slumber.

I fear I may have been cursed my whole entire life since the moment of birth.
I got a speeding ticket this morning trying to get to work. Location: just a block from work. Congratulations to me for being the most unlucky person in the world. Really, go me. I feel like I shouldn't go out anymore because I seem to get punished everytime I do. (This weekend was great, this morning right before the ticket I had even been feeling horribly guilty and shitty for my acts of enjoyment over this past weekend. Looks like the universe once again stepped in and did its deed to preserve my stature as the one who has the least chance in survival) This is why I can't seem to find the resources or faith to actually believe in God. Cheers.

Actions > Words

So I have been meaning to write this entry for a long time now; I just never found the motivation or time to actually care. But I do want to make some kind of marker in my history so here it is.

I am so sick of all these guys coming up to me and making all of these false promises of wanting something more with me and what not. Be serious. Actions speak louder than words losers.

I can't tell you just how many guys I have encountered this summer who have all been, hmm shall we be slightly vulgar? who have all been trying to seriously "holler" at me. They have all been saying sweet nothings of hopes and promises to me and wanting to "do things right" and blah blah fucking blah. They know there's not even a maybe chance of getting anything from me; yet, (I guess to commend their courage and bravado) they get up the nerve to approach me and lay it all down.

And really, nothing ever comes from words until proper action is taken in order to secure the progress of execution and success. I love words, given that I majored in one of my passions. But these words, there is a difference. I know there is a difference between truth and pure bullshit.

You say you've thought about this for years, yes I am talking to several of you, but yet when push comes to shove, you can't man up to actually do anything about it to make me believe you. You get butthurt that I stopped speaking to you. Hello? I'm not about to put my life aside just to try to get to you.

Stop trying to fill me up with your trials of righteousness and self worth of you trying to be something more to me than what really is.
I told you, I play for keeps; that's if I play. You wonder why I'm so hard to get to, this is why. You wonder why I don't ever give an inch until time has been spent and contemplated or worth has been proven. This is why.

And to those who have tried to follow through: Stop fucking calling or texting me, obviously if I haven't picked up in months, that means I am not interested. Sorry and thank you.

On a side note***
Isn't it strange that the one you want never seems to work out while you get thrown a whole bunch of trite selections? I don't know, maybe I am too picky. I've been told that constantly time and time again haha. No, actually I am too picky. But why shouldn't I be? Why settle? I am a person with high expectations and standards. I don't think that they should be lowered to allow more assholes into the spectrum of my world.

Anyway! Haha. I am feeling light and free today on this happy Friday. I hope everyone is having a lovely day. Cheers lovers.

Still

It's crazy how much I still miss you. You even dropped in on me unexpectantly the other day. It's crazy that I know I will probably always miss you. Given our relationship, it would be fiction not to. And we are definitely nonfiction.
But I'm trying to let go again. It's hard because I want to tell you everything that happens all the time and I know I can't. I almost just texted you again but I stopped myself from reaching into my SIM phonebook to get your number. I would have to do that because I have deleted your number from my cellular's phonebook in hopes of preventing further embarassing drunk confessions. Even though you don't ever seem to mind. I just can't really delete your number completely. I know.

I can't allow myself to do that to myself again. I know I can't keep letting myself get hurt over you time and time again. Stephen I miss you everyday and this sucks. Today is the first day I have actually allowed myself to really think about you, and it surprisingly aches really badly. I haven't allowed my heart to ache this badly ever since the last time I let it become punctured. I realize I have yet to archive what exactly happened while in Vegas, but in due time. Everything in due time.

Fucked Up Thursday Morning

Congratulations! You have once again fucked up your daughter even more with your excess leakage of criticisms that you fucking swear are really "For [my] own good."

Yeah fucking bullshit. What it really does is get into my already damaged mind and it helps distort the mentality I have acquired of my own self image, through years of mental abuse, even further; thus aiding it to evolve into something which is even more unacceptable and rather revolting through my eyes.

Even when I was having a really fabulous morning, such as I was today might I add (with my perfectly waved hair, perfectly chosen spur of the moment outfit, and perfectly applied light make up), I even woke up earlier, a simple criticism can just completely eradicate those precious moments and make my life return back to the obsolete.

On even such a perfect day, of managing to seem well put together with assistances of all material possessions I love. Okay yeah that sounds superficial as hell, but truth be told, if you love the things that surround you then ultimately they make you feel better about yourself. (Such as books, music, art, etc.) Hence the term shopping=mental healing because if you feel that you look good, you ultimately feel better about yourself and all that bullshit entails. Whatever it seems to work even if just temporarily. But hey when it wears off, just consume some more! I hope that makes sense because I really don't feel like explaining it any further to make it seem less shallow and materialistic, but hey it is the dawn of the Consumer Age right?

So when I decide to share something with her, you, with anyone with blatant pride and boastfulness, it quite literally means just how much I am satisfied with whatever I seem to be raving about. What eventually turns everything around that no matter how happy I seem, her excellant "honesty" cuts like a fucking knife because she can't just once let me hear what I want to hear to send me on my happy ray of fucking sunshine day to perpetuate the cycle of yellow happiness.

No, she has to criticize about all the imperfections she sees. (And with me as her daughter, believe me the number is infinite) I mean it is already hard to be perfect everyday; for that is an impossibility. No one is perfect and I am a hopelessly flawed person. So I do my best. But apparently my best isn't good enough. No, nothing is ever good enough. I am never going to be good enough. So thank you mother. Really. (sarcasm intended for all you dumbasses that can't tell the difference)

No, your "honesty" really isn't helping, more so it just makes me want to rip my entire face off and tear it into bits everytime I look at it in the mirror.

And what makes matters worse is the constant weak pleas by me daily to get her to stop the constant criticism. Yet, as we all know with most people whom inherit hypocritical qualities, people that often dish it often cannot take it when thrown back in their faces, even if it is thrown back in even the most subtle ways.

You know, shit like:
"Mother, you really criticize a lot. Even my friends say that about you."
"Me, it's not criticizing, it's because I care about you, blah blah fucking blah"
I'll admit, I went the extra mile today with:
"Really mother, you think it might help, but really it doesn't" (yes I managed to withhold the fact that in fact, her criticisms make me feel even shittier than before)

And of course something she really does not want to hear. Yes, with her anything she doesn't like to hear she throws the childish fit and throws back the silent treatment. Or she gets all defensive and pulls the parental bullshit of "then just don't ask me anymore about anything" and then everything blows up then resets then cycles all over again. Just fucking lovely.

I mean I get it, sometimes I should keep my mouth shut. But really? At what expense? Would it be better for the child just to continuously take it and get hurt so the parents don't? Or for the parent to get hurt by the honesty divulge by the child trying? I don't know whether to just feel really angry or really guilty.

But either way,

I end up feeling really shitty about myself (really, fuck Chinese dutiful daughter guilt) even further, until it eventually passes like all these things, for somehow managing to hurt her fucking feelings instead of trying to heal mine. Fucking fantastic.

Catatonic Convenience

Seriously, I really hate hearing my parents converse with one another let alone hearing the grounds of arguments. Even the white noise it creates disturbs me to no end. Knowing that the reluctant atmosphere creates an electric tension in the air that could cause conflict at any moment.

Trust me, this I know from years of hearing it whether it be waking up to the sounds It is definitely not pleasant to the ear. Sometimes I wish they would seriously just separate from one another. Leave each other and be done with it. I feel like it would just be that much easier and make everyone happier. (or at least help lower high blood pressure)

I know that is a terrible thing to confess, but it's true. My dad would have the freedom to do whatever he pleases in China guilt-free, while my mother could continue what she does here burden-free. But there are so many fucked up underlying factors that even the simplest solutions would create even greater problems. But of course, what else would they do at this day and age? These problems that already co-exist in this obligatory and familial domain we can't help but inhabit. But indeed one can always dream.