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Whiney Kid

I whine a lot. Whine whine whine. I often do so while drinking wine, but even without any sorta influence I can whine like the best of them.

For the longest time, I refrained from blogging because I didn't like it anymore. I didn't like the persona portrayed. It came naturally to me once, but now I find myself trying too hard, being too emotional, being too open.

This happens often enough that over the years, I've got about fifteen blogs (not all anonymous) and like four blogger accounts. I'd like to think that it reflects the evolution of my mentality. But really sometimes I find that I've just gotten better at ranting about the same shit in more romanticised ways.

So in regards to that last post, I'm okay. I was sad, but I got over it. I'm less bothered by things nowadays. I've been trying to not sweat the small things, and to understand that the big things happen for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. That's how I got here, right?

And I'm glad that I got here. I'm glad that finally, the world around me is finally making sense. I'm thankful that I'm finally making more sense to me. I swear, that psych degree paid off.

So I'm here today to remind myself this: Do what you wanna do, write what you wanna write, and whine what you wanna whine.

Out of all ways I like to escape, writing is the least harmful. And most beneficial (I gym wayyy too much......).

Now excuse me for I will be rereading The Fault In Our Stars, hopefully finding some functional satire in the novel, because apparently socially-conscious novels are pointless. I don't know where that came from.

P/s: I'm a lot more quiet IRL now, so please don't take offence... I'm not angry or cold! I'd just rather keep my mouth shut than say something I'd regret. Xo

My Dear Ex

Dear Hamster,

Happy birthday. Another year has passed, another birthday lost where we should have been together. Sometimes I think of the what ifs, and wonder if you think of them too. Us being apart, and now, so estranged, really makes me cry sometimes.

Just last week I had an internal monologue, talking to myself inside my head, talking to you. I was feeling depressive, and angry. But by now you know that anger is just my default escape, and that I like to escape, yeah? By now you know me, yeah? But if you knew me, we wouldn't have ended up like this. If you knew me, I wouldn't still be hurting today.

But that's not the point of this post. I have been patient, I have kept silent, and I have respected you. I have stood up for you, I have always thought things through for you. When we broke up, I went to that fat lesbian bitch Tam because I wanted Moon to be there for you. When I moved on, I did so not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Do you remember how I'd just stay awake the whole night crying about your departure before you even left? How could you not know how much pain I was in. How could you just be so mean and throw so much hate my way just because I wanted to not be so fucking depressed because of you all the fucking time?

You are fucking selfish. And I fucking hate you. I sent Katie to you, to make sure you were okay, and she returns with bitter words from your fucking mouth. Yeah, I'm a fucking princess, and your next boyfriend will be someone who isn't such a spoiled fucking princess. Well fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

This is barely the surface. When I confronted you, it was after months of me swallowing my feelings. Months of me being angry, months of me diverting pain to anger to suppression. Yeah, I'm not the same anymore, always smoking, always high on weed. Have you ever thought how I got there? Have you ever thought that after you, I became for the worst? Did you know what traumas you left on me? You already know what Freddy did to me. You already know what all those guys did to me. And you did the same, and I forgave. You force me into sex even after I've developed an aversion towards it, because of that period of time when you would treat me like your fucking sex toy: call me over when you feel like, rain check me even when I've made it all the way carrying a fucking heavy bag to your house, regardless of how I felt, or how you would fuck me and cum inside me and just go to bed and tell me to jerk off on my own.

You told me to not bring up the past so I didn't.

I'm sorry but I couldn't forget.. but I promise you, I tried.

And you still forced me into sex. Don't deny it. You know it. And I let you.

You're the fucking self-centred princess.

But I digress, this was not the point of this post. Remember all that I said when I confronted you? Suppressed anger aside, I told you that someday when you grow the fuck up we can be friends again. I mean it. I think of you still. I want you to be happy. I want us to talk again. It makes me cry that someone once so close to me could be so distant... but it hurts more that someone once so close to me could say all those things about me. So I escape. I rage.

But when have I ever raged at you?

I swallowed it still.

And I know I shouldn't blame anyone for my own sins, or for my inadequate way of dealing with things. So I guess I don't blame you. And that pisses me off.

You hurt me. You really did. In ways that I would never even dream of doing to you, because doing so would hurt me too.

Did I ever tell you what sort of abuse I went through as a kid? The things my mum would say to me, how she threatens to leave me, how I am the only reason she is staying with my dad, and how unhappy she is because of that (3 times throughout my life, I think)? Or how about the time when she threw a chair at me? Or how attached I get to things because my mum has a habit of giving me things and then destroying them (remember how I cried when you threw that soft toy you gave me on the floor)? Or how I developed the habit of staying up late because I was always waiting for my father to come home, so I could carry him to bed after he passes out drunk on the couch, so that my mum wouldn't have to deal with it, so she won't tell me how me and my sis are the only reason she's staying with him, with tears in her eyes, wine glass on one hand and a ciggie in the other?

By the way, sexually abused by my cousin when I was 3. And this barely scratches the surface. Yeah, been doing a lot of psychological soul searching.

Why am I even saying all this?

I guess I really had a lot to say to you. A lot of things I wanted you to know... just because.

I guess you're still important to me.

So happy fucking 24th birthday, you mother fucking fucker.

I wish you nothing but the best. And I hate you.

K

p/s: Quit smoking about 4 times now, that ganja period of my life is over, etc. So fuck you. And yes, I'm sober right now. You asshole.