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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.

Why?

A little bit of wine is all it takes to slow me down and force a check on perspectives.

So I guess we aren't really friends.

That's rather saddening. No call, no notification. You expect service when you want it. But I went out of my way to prepare and you couldn't even be fucked to send me a simple message that you both weren't gonna come.

But that's okay. I have always went out of my way.

But not anymore...

You lost a fan.

Observation, Introspection and Honesty

19:13

The (new) boyfriend is sitting next to me as I type this. I am slowly sipping my half-shot vanilla latte at Starbucks. Why do I keep coming here? People keep saying that their coffee is shit but I guess I like the consistency of my favourite drink as well as the random cute boys that walk past. Darting eye-games and the uncertainty of whether a place serves flavoured coffee with amounts that can be modified to my preference are both very important factors.

It is raining and we're just sitting here. Talking occasionally, lighting a cig and just blanking out.

Is this contentment?

Thank you bibi.

Happy 8 months!

The Chase of Temporary Highs

There're somethings I really have to say, not for anyone else, but for myself. I chose to let this cannon loose here for the sole reason that I write best under the possible judgment of another's eyes. Preferably anonymous.

I am an individual who has a penchant for chasing all the wrong feelings. This somehow extended to weed, and eventually at Stereosonic I went harder. I exercised control even while under the influence, but I still partied two days. Two pills. And then some.

I became the bad influence my parents warned me about. With my values twisted, even my best intentions warped into negativity. I was negative. I always was, but drowning my sorrows with various vices I fell into a hole I honestly don't know if I could've escaped alone.

I'm drawn to problematic individuals, friends with various issues, with the only consistency being that they drowned their sorrows too. Together we traversed down a road paved before us. At first it was fun, liberating myself from the haunting voices inside my head. Then it plateaued,  and I felt the voice of reason pull me back. I was scared, despite the enormous love amongst us. This love we had for one another brought us deeper into the hands of the pleasures we lost ourselves in.

Earlier today, I caved and submitted to my cravings. It was too readily available. The marijuana made me uneasy, uncomfortable. I wanted it to end. Deep down I was thankful that I developed this aversion. I've been there, to the darkest, deepest pits of ganja wasteland and I know it doesn't make me happy. I'm done.

So why did I do it again? I don't know. I cannot explain it. I can only be glad I regretted it.

For the longest of time, "the chase of temporary highs" was the tagline of choice on many of my profiles. It came naturally to me, and I didn't think much of it, but that really was my life. That really was me. Is me. I don't know. Internal conflicts are the worse, and the driving force fuelling my then out-of-control habits.

Enough is enough K.

A Reminder

"What's that "X" on the back of your hand about?"

It's to remind me to forget you, to move on. It's about how much I want you and how much I can't show that I want you. It's about not seeming pathetic in front of people. It's about how torn up I am about you, and how you will never know. It's about how I'm dying to talk to you, but I'd end up emotionally dead if I do. It's about moving on. It's about you.

"It's a reminder for me to quit smoking."