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I Know I Can Seem Bitchy

Not a lot of people read my blog here, which is part of the reason I go to it to really vent. Whether people read it or not, posting my feelings makes me feel like I’m speaking to someone who is there just to listen, like a therapist. And those who do read it have told me how much they can relate to me.

But I completely understand that, especially through text, I can come off as abrasive, hostile, unfriendly, and downright bitchy. Well, there’s honestly a few reasons for that. With text, the main reason is how the reader chooses to read something, and that applies to many people online; so many misunderstandings have ended up in fights and lost friendships just because someone chose to read the text in an unfriendly tone. Not only that, but everyone who knows me knows that I have speech and social development problems that cannot be fixed. I hate them. People accuse me of thinking I’m better than everyone else, or that I’m vain, or that I think I’m special. The one that really grinds my gears is when people think I talk about my problems because I want others to feel sorry for me.

I am sorry I come off this way. I would change it if I could. I try my hardest to be nice to individuals who are also kind, people who deserve to be treated well because they treat others well. But when I rant, I’m releasing a lot of pent up feelings and emotions that aren’t directed toward any one person alone, but types of people, or situations, or even things that really aren’t a big deal. That’s me bitching, I know. I’m a woman, women bitch. XD Still, it’s my therapy, and it makes me feel better. Plus, it’s a very healthy way to get out your anger and frustrations, something I have been told by professionals and non-professionals alike. Some people drink or do drugs. Some people punch holes in their walls or beat their spouse. Some people kill people. I complain on a blog that hardly anyone reads. Sometimes I complain on videos, which surprised me when people gave positive feedback. Sometimes I’ll rant in a journal on DeviantArt if I feel I need some feedback or response, if I need to see if people feel the same way so that I know I’m not alone. Not everyone is going to agree with my views, and I get that. Still, sometimes, even though my logical brain knows that there are nearly eight billion people on the planet, and statistically, it’s impossible for me to be the only one with these specific views or problems, my irrational brain will tell me, “you’re abnormal, no one feels the same as you, you’re alone.” Those are not happy thoughts. If I can find comfort in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone, I am allowed to do that, even if a small few find it annoying, or even if some incredibly sad person decides to post segments of my rants up on a cyberbullying website and deliberately leaves out ANYTHING that shows that what they are saying of me is not true.

I am an honest person with many problems. Just because I’m open about my problems, doesn’t mean I enjoy having them. Honestly, I have mad respect for my boyfriend, who is mentally healthy and can shove things off easily. I wish I could do that. I choose to try, naturally, but my brain does not allow it. My brain does not allow me to take criticism, though most “criticism” I get is from people who don’t know the difference between “criticism” and blatantly insulting someone’s work. I’m sorry, but I can’t control this either, but why should it concern anyone else? It’s not your problem, and letting it bother you is just wasting your time and energy off of something that’s nothing. It’s not because I only want to hear good things, it’s because, if something is wrong with my work, my irrational brain says, “well, there you go, you fucked it up. Good job, you worthless piece of shit. Why do you even try? Just give up.” These thoughts aren’t fun, and I don’t understand how people could hold it against me for having them. If you’ve got a problem with how my irrational brain works, please, for the love of god, become a scientist and find the cure for mental illness. I will bow down to you and praise you like a deity.

What people don’t understand is, I may seem bitchy when I’m complaining, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a friendly person. There are other people like me who lack certain social skills. In fact, for those of you who watch The Game Theorists on YouTube, you’ll know that one of their editors (and dear friend) killed himself. When MatPat was describing his personality, it was shockingly similar to mine, how his way of speaking was something others had to get used to, how only his close friends ever knew what he meant when he was speaking, HOW PEOPLE THOUGHT HE WAS EXTREMELY RUDE OR UNKIND WHEN HE WASN’T MEANING TO COME OFF THAT WAY. In fact, one of the things Ronnie didn’t have in common with me is that he bottled everything up. I’m willing to bet that he could have greatly benefitted from doing what I do and just letting it all out, just so that it doesn’t fester inside and create this unstable ball of misery and self-loathing. He’s not the only one either. I try to encourage people to get things off their chest, even if no one is listening. People come to me to vent or to get advice, and I love that because it means that they are using me as an outlet to feel better about themselves… you know, in a way that isn’t harassment. And you know what? So many people have told me that I stopped them from killing themselves. That makes me feel good because this world needs to be rid of the bad people, not the kind-hearted. Do I think I’ll save the world? Of course not, that’s silly. How much difference am I making? I don’t know, but even a small difference is important to me. I don’t believe I have any other purpose but to try and help people not be like me. It also makes me hate humanity even more when people vent to me about problems way worse than I’ve ever personally dealt with, things that make me feel sick. I’ll never understand how people enjoy using sex as a weapon.

Also, the “pity” thing. I’ve said it so many times, I’m surprised people still accuse me of trying to get y’all to feel sorry for me. “Oh, poor Reitanna! She has to deal with so much crap! I feel so sorry for her!” Tell me, does that sound pleasant to you? Yeah, me either. When people pity me for my personal shortcomings, it makes me feel like I shouldn’t try to battle them, it makes me feel like… well, like I’m pitiful! I need sympathy in the times that really matter, such as the sickness or death of a loved one, and really, that sympathy isn’t even for me, it’s for the one who suffered. If I have a pet who dies, I tell everyone because, for one, people often fall in love with my babies too, and for two, because that baby deserves the love that is expressed by those giving their sympathy. But for my own sicknesses? My flaws? My upbringing? Sure, no one deserves what I’ve been though, but the truth is, millions do. I’m far from the only one suffering, and as previously mentioned, there are plenty of people who suffer worse fates. This isn’t some contest. I just love how people don’t realize that I am helping myself. I chose to see a psychiatrist and get help. I choose to vent my feelings instead of drown in them. I choose to try and stay as strong as I can for the people I love. To pity me is like saying none of it was worth it, that as far as I’ve come, it was a waste of time. All I ever want when I am talking about my problems is for people to understand and empathize. I mean, how else am I going to defend myself when people think I’m being a bitch?! “This is why I come off like that…” I explain my issues to help people understand why they misjudged me. That’s not a crime, that’s just honesty. What, am I supposed to make up some fake reason? That’s called “lying.”

People also think that I’m upset or something when I’m not, simply because of the way I type, but if you heard me speak, you’d know the difference. Actually, if you’ve seen the way I type when I’m upset, the difference is black and white. In my channel video, I’m showing my bubbliness, and in the description, it says not to leave hateful comments. That’s not me going from ūüėÄ to >:(, that’s me giving a reasonable demand to help protect both myself and people commenting on my videos. There’s not indication that that sentence gave any negative intent, you know, unless you wanted to leave a hateful comment, in which case, you’re a very sad individual with whom I don’t wish to associate. If I’m upset or being mean, you’ll know. “And don’t you fuckers leave any fucking shitty comments, or I swear to FUCKING god…” Doesn’t that sound hostile? Doesn’t that make, “don’t leave hateful comments” sound civil now? That’s because it always was, you just chose to take offense to something that does not show offensiveness. If people find me even the least bit annoying, which I don’t blame you, and they have nothing better to do than to make mountains out of molehills, which I do blame you for, they will fit my words to their narrative. For instance, the blog I posted about my dermatillomania… showing only the things I say where I’m bitching, and then not posting the part where I say I’m not looking for pity makes others believe I want pity. That’s why I always tell people to come to me to get the truth. Most people who make hateful threads about me are people who either misunderstand me, or are just hateful bastards who want to ruin my, what they call “popularity.” Or they want my “white knights” to fight with them or something. They are simply juveniles with lower self esteem than I have, and that’s saying something. I mean, c’mon… “white knights?” That’s pitiful.

And they say, “if you don’t want hate, don’t post shit on the internet.” You know, that’s sad. It’s sad that the human race is so hateful, that we are supposed to expect everyone to bash our heads in every time we post something. Yeah, it’s true that most of the people who use the internet are sheep who hide behind their computer screens pretending to be big bad wolves, but that doesn’t change the fact that there are still kind, honest, and fun people to communicate with. I have social anxiety disorder, this is my only means of socializing. No, I don’t expect to receive hate for what I post, because I’m not doing anything wrong. If I do receive hate, it’s not my fault, it’s theirs. I want to have fun, be happy, feel accomplished, and share my successes that prove I am ten times better than either of my stupid parents ever even hoped to be. Every human likes praise and positive attention. I work hard, I work to get the kind of attention everyone wants, the kind that all hard workers deserve. I have a curse; the desire to prove myself. You would too if you were told all your life that you’d fail by the people who were supposed to love you.

And yeah, I think I’m ugly without makeup. I am a very eccentric person, I like bright colors, flashy clothes, gaudy jewelry, etc. And you know what? Without my makeup, all I see in the mirror is the woman who gave birth to me just to make my life a living hell. That whore is the ugliest piece of shit on the fucking planet, and I could literally be her twin. I love makeup. I’m even a certified makeup artist. I can do all types of makeup, from subtle and casual to dramatic and whimsical. I’ve gotten more compliments on my appearance when I’m wearing what I like to wear than without. My boyfriend also loves it when I make myself look my best (he thinks I’m pretty anyway, but I disagree with him). I’m his type of girl. If you have a problem with my choice in fashion, that’s your problem, not mine. Maybe you just need to dress the way you want too and stop being a sheep. Or maybe you need to focus on real problems, like school, your job, bills, chores, whatever. Get up, go learn a new skill, get a hobby or two! Here I am learning 3D modeling and game coding on top of many other talents and hobbies, and here you are, sitting in a corner, hating on someone that doesn’t deserve it, being all unhappy and angry… I’m going to be someone’s wife soon.

But really, to whoever is reading this, I just want you to know that I am easily misunderstood due to my less desirable idiosyncrasies, and I am sorry if you hear some really bad things about me. I’m even more sorry if you believe them. If you truly don’t like me for whatever reason, there are two things you can do: You can either come to me and ask me civil questions to cure your misunderstandings, or you could just forget me. I’m not everywhere, I’m not in the news, I’m not “trending,” it’s easy to move on from me. I am not important to you. I am not hurting you. I think I deserve the same kindness I am giving you by not hurting you. I don’t have any reason to bitch at any one person unless they start shit first. And just because I bitch about stuff in rants, and just because I bitch out people who decided to throw the first stone at me, does not mean I am a bitch to everyone, and it also does not mean that everything I say is bitchy. Not everyone is going to like everyone, but no one deserves to be a victim of slander.

And as a parting note, I don’t think I’m special. No one is special. I’m a perfectionist that is far from perfect, and that drives me INSANE. There’s a difference between vanity and self esteem, and when I try to have a little self esteem, it’s no excuse for anyone to claim I’m vain. Actually, I wish I were vain… then I’d have high self esteem. XD


This post has not been proofread. Any typos or misspellings simply prove I’m human.


If I Could, I Would

It’s 9:30 AM, got woken up around seven or eight by my rat, Jerry, chewing on the bars. Couldn’t get back to sleep. Haven’t taken my medicine yet. Yesterday I saw a comment on an old video showing anger toward mother’s day that accused me of lying about my past. I wish I had copied it before I deleted it to quote here, but I wasn’t planning on ranting about this. Bad mood. Worse mood. It started out with, “That’s a lie!!!!” It then proceeded to tell me that everything I said in the video, everything I said about what Erin did to me, did not happen, that I was “painting a picture for my fans.”

Everyone knows I don’t lie by choice. I didn’t want to include the comment in a Hall of Shame video because that series is for entertainment, not for comments that get to me. This got to me. Maybe it’s because I still have to fucking deal with it, I still have to struggle with the problems she gave me. They even said that the police had been called because of ME, and not because of her. I wanted to chew this person out, but instead, I simply said, “either learn how to swim, or get out of the gene pool. You’re ruining it for the rest of us.” Here’s what I wanted to say.

How DARE you? For one, how can you possibly say something didn’t happen if you weren’t even there? You have no right or reason to claim something that isn’t true if you don’t know if it was or not. For two, I don’t lie, honesty is my code of honor. Sorry if you’re a two-faced lying bitch, but I’m not. For three, oh? It didn’t happen? So I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for no reason? I have constant night terrors every night for months at a time because I “painted a picture?” I have flashbacks, break downs, attacks, and my adult life has been ruined due to my broken childhood because why? My hatred for the woman who gave birth to me and was supposed to love me gives me permanent resentment toward parents and family in general, I have witnesses, which is the reason why custody was taken away from her in the first place! I was a child of the state! I had to be fucking ADOPTED by my grandmother, who was the one adult who finally saw what she was doing to me! February 14, 2007. That day, my entire life changed. And each year, on February 14, I get shell shock. It’s not as bad as it was a few years ago, but it still happens. But oh, I must be lying about that too, huh? Just because someone on the internet isn’t afraid to hide their demons, doesn’t mean they’re PAINTING A FUCKING PICTURE, YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT. Good for you for having a loving, caring mommy! Good for you for being so PERFECT! Good for you for being a fucking IDIOT!! There are things I can’t do now because of what she did! NORMAL things! Like talk on the phone, for one! I’m TERRIFIED of anyone taller than me! I can’t wake people up if I wake up before them! I can’t assist someone unless I ask for permission first! People raising their voice, holding up their hand too quickly, holding up cooking utensils, ALL of that makes me flinch with fear! THAT’S NOT FUCKING NORMAL!! YOU ARE A WORTHLESS LITTLE BRAT THAT ASSUMES THAT, IF SOMEONE HAS HAD A BAD LIFE, THEY’RE LYING BECAUSE THE WORLD CAN’T POSSIBLY BE THAT CRUEL, RIGHT?! Get a fucking reality check! YOU’RE A MORON!! You’re one of the types of people that helps society rot in their own waste, and then throws it around at everyone with a fucking brain so that they have to deal with it too! YOU’RE A SHEEP!! Do you know what happens to sheep? THEY GET SLAUGHTERED!! I sincerely hope that something terrible happens to you. An accident, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, ANYTHING! People like you need to fucking DIE. To quote MJK, “I should play god and shoot you myself.” You’re fucking LUCKY that I’m not the type of person to hunt you down. I’d force you to look at every scar on my body that she directly caused, then I’d give you EVERY detail of the things she did to me, to the point where you lose faith in all of humanity, and finally, I’d do TERRIBLE things to you. But that’s one of the reasons I’m on medication, because I’m not just a danger to myself, I’m a danger to OTHER PEOPLE TOO. And when I take my meds today, this comment isn’t going to bug me so much, I’ll just shake my head at your stupidity, though I will still hope that you get what you deserve because the medication doesn’t change how I feel, it just makes it so I don’t feel things at extremes. But there’s a reason why people I know in person are AFRAID to piss me off. It’s because they know what I’m capable of. I’ve had countless people describe me as “scary,” and that’s not being overly dramatic. Yeah, I can say shit on the internet, but it doesn’t have nearly as much effect as it does in person, when you can see my eyes, hear my voice, read my body language, and feel my rage. I’d be your WORST NIGHTMARE, you stupid, egotistical¬†cunt. You’d regret every single moment of your life where you deliberately tried to mess with someone’s head. Next time, you might not get so lucky. You might mess with someone who is the type to come hunt you down, and they’ll do it. They’ll find you, they’ll torture and kill you, and you know what? I hope they do. I hope that happens to you. If I could, I’d give you all of my memories of her, my trauma, the problems she caused, my nightmares, my fears, EVERYTHING. I’d give them all to you so that you’d have to deal with it, and I’d be free. You’d kill yourself. You would FUCKING KILL YOURSELF. And I would not care. Then again, if I gave you all of the problems she caused, I wouldn’t be a sociopath, so I probably would care! Because empathy is a weakness! But right now, I’m wishing horrible things on you, things I’d NEVER wish upon anyone, things I won’t dare say on the internet because they are that terrible. I may be a fucked up person, I may have more problems than I can handle, I may be a victim to my own psyche, BUT AT LEAST I’M NOT WHATEVER YOU ARE. And if your life is already shitty, and you’re just pushing your misery onto other people, you DESERVE your shitty life. You deserve MORE than a shitty life. You are less than scum. Do us all a favor and die before you have the chance to reproduce.

Why didn’t I say all of that? Because I’m not that far gone. It’s only been like ten hours since I last took my meds, and that’s not nearly enough time to lose myself. If I had been off my meds for a good couple of weeks, I’d have written that, probably something worse, and then I would’ve had an attack. Thankfully, I still have enough common sense to tell myself that that’s what they probably wanted. They wanted me to chew them out. They wanted to upset me. They were probably trying to get a video made about them. Well, they got one thing they wanted; it upset me. While “Annatier” is whispering in my ear to teach this person a lesson, my sanity is yelling in my other ear that it’s not worth it, that this person isn’t worth it. My sanity is also telling me that ranting about it is a waste of my time, but hey, I’m far from perfect. Still, my fantasies are kept from bleeding into my reality, so I can live another day with a flawlessly blank criminal record.

In the most unrealistic of fantasy worlds, I’m friends with Hannibal Lecter, and we’d make sure this person was cooked to perfection. Of course, I would not partake in the consumption because I’m a vegetarian, but at least Hannibal would get to enjoy prime lamb.

My sanity tells me having fantasies like that is childish. Well, that’s what happens when you never got the chance to be a child. At least I can still differentiate between reality and fantasy, though sometimes I wish I couldn’t. Then I could lose myself in those fantasies to escape reality, and I could live in a world that follows my laws, with fictional characters surrounding me that do as I want them to do, behave how I want them to behave.

Alas, this is why I’m not technically considered insane.

“Lucky Me,” She Said with Sarcasm.

I feel like that one wrestler who gets badly injured, is out for a few months, and then comes back, only to get injured again, once again having to leave for a few months. Yep. It’s like… come on, I escaped my life’s biggest tragedy when I was fourteen, and I have PTSD because of it. Surely things would get better, right?


I’ve learned now to never say, “it’ll get better” for me. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” is what I say now. On top of everything I’ve had to deal with so far in my adult life, you’d think the universe would lay off of me a little bit. Nope! Oh Reitanna, you’re such an idiot, having hope for the future. Every time it seems like life isn’t so bad, I get ran over by a train. Not only that, but when Michael is trying to schedule something for me to help fix it, I say, “so, what’s the bad news?” Because I know he doesn’t have any good news! And I’m right every single time! I’m not surprised anymore, but it doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

Let’s just cover the recent things that have happened… I lost all of the weight I wanted to lose and then some! I am currently 113 pounds, and my goal had been 115. My weight keeps going down! I dunno what I’m doing right, but whatever it is, I’ll keep doing it! My diet is decently healthy, but it’s not really that you have to worry about, it’s the number of calories you eat each day. I’ve been eating 1200 calories a day at max for months, and it paid off. I like to eat fruit and yogurt to combat sweet cravings, and every so often, a little 100 calorie ice cream cup. When Aunt Flo comes to see me every month, I’m allowed to eat as much chocolate I want, so when she leaves, I always check my weight to see how much I gained… but I never gain any, I just stay the same as I was before. I rarely snack, and when I do, I make sure to only have one serving, I don’t drink juice with a lot of sugar, I never drink more than I should, and I only have soda every once in awhile, which ends up being once every few months, if that. The only candy I eat is either a special occasion, or that one time of the month.

I turn twenty-six this November. At the time this happened, I was 114 pounds. I am in perfect physical health. No history of this kind of thing in my family. I got a kidney stone. Some people don’t get kidney stones until they’re in their sixties, but most people don’t get them at all! Someone my age, with my weight and diet should not have gotten a kidney stone. It was the most painful thing, literally, not figuratively, I have ever experienced. Here’s the kicker: I didn’t show any of the symptoms that lead up to passing a kidney stone, it just came out of nowhere. Boom. Pain. Oh, did I mention I drink water all day, every day? Not sink water, filtered water. Have been for years. And another thing… my diet has remained the same for over a year now, too. My completely healthy diet has not changed. And I got a kidney stone. I don’t eat anything in excess that causes them, and everything causes them.

We’re gonna get “too much info” personal here. I also have always had a… “plumbing” problem. Ya know, things don’t pass as frequently as they should. I thought it was normal for people to make only once a week, but no, the average is about every other day. So, I needed more fiber! I’ve been taking fiber supplements for a long time now, too, nearly a year. Welp, it’s made it easier, but not more frequent. Why am I bringing this up?


Leafy greens. Guess what? I don’t eat those anyway! I hate darker green lettuce! It has to be light green for me, otherwise I gag! I can’t even eat spinach unless it’s canned. So, there’s part of my fiber problem, but it doesn’t explain how I got a kidney stone. I eat lots of fruit, including lima beans, which are high in fiber, but again, the “lots” isn’t an excessive amount. Basically, it looks like I’m going to need a colonoscopy!

Back to the kidney stones. There was never blood in my urine, and when I supposedly passed it, no stone was actually discovered. My urine test showed that there was a tiny trace of blood, but that could’ve been from the many scabs I have around my pubic area. There. Is. No. Reason. I. Should. Have. Gotten. A. Kidney. Stone. Ooooh, but here’s the best part! MY KIDNEY STILL HURTS! I urinate more frequently, it’s uncomfortable, and my kidney aches similar to menstrual cramps, except only on that one side! Still, no blood in my urine, and the pain is either worse, or less, depending on the day. I’m drinking cranberry juice, which is supposed to dissolve the stones, but do I even have stones? They did a CT scan at the hospital and said they didn’t see any!

So, I’m just supposed to be in pain for the rest of my life? Do you know what I was planning on doing after I hit my target weight? Working to flatten my tummy and get a belly ring. I wanted to have a tummy I could show off. I was so happy when I reached 114 pounds… now, I can’t work on flattening my tummy because it hurts. Standing and sitting down hurts. Walking or bending over hurts. Everything. Hurts.

That was weeks ago, but the pain hasn’t gone. And today… oh… today… ha! Well, lemme just start off with this: ten years ago, I was eating a vanilla flavored See’s hard candy. I tried to chew it on the left side of my mouth, and I felt something crack. I spit out the candy, but along with it was a very small white piece that actually resembled the candy itself. Upon closer investigation, it was actually part of my tooth. Well, it was not really a big deal; I had had a root canal on that tooth about a year prior, so I didn’t feel any pain. It was just a little chip that I had to make sure to brush and floss extra thoroughly because food got caught in there more easily. I got used to it…

This morning, that same tooth completely split. I try to chew on the right side of my mouth because I have two problems on the left side. One, I still have my wisdom teeth, and at the very back of the left side of my mouth is a space between the bottom¬†tooth and the gums that forms a sort of trench, and a few years back, food started to get trapped in it, because it actually hadn’t been there before! It’s nearly impossible to clean, I brush at it, I use toothpicks to try and clean it out, but it’s too far back in my mouth, and, I dunno if you’ve noticed, I have GIGANTIC TEETH. I’m like¬†Hermione Granger in the dental department, but I can’t have them shrunk. Two, on the top left side of my mouth, the filling in the very last tooth fell out a couple years ago, so there’s a big hole. I can actually feel the gums through the hole. Even though I chew on the right side of my mouth, food still gets stuck in it, and I HATE IT. I brush at it and try to dig it out with a toothpick, but I end up poking my gums, and it hurts. Plus, it’s too far to reach!

So… no matter how often I brush and floss, I continuously have bad breath. I can’t stand it. I hate being a human because we are so fucking gross. I’m gross. I’m gross, and I have always done everything I can to stay clean. It’s no mystery where my self-hatred stems from, and this is one of the main sources.

But this morning, I was chewing my fiber gummies on the right side of my mouth like I always do, but accidentally let one slip to the left side. I bit down on it one time, and I felt that same tooth just crack, and now half of it was able to be wiggled. Again, no roots, so it didn’t hurt. However, I couldn’t get the damn thing out of my mouth with my fingers, so I did the most metal thing I could think of, grabbed some pliers, and yanked the damn thing out. My pain tolerance is pretty high, so it didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Now it’s just a dull ache, but now, instead of having the front of a tooth, I have an exposed filling. Thankfully, this tooth can’t be seen when I talk or smile, but that doesn’t change the fact that this is a health risk.

For those of you who are not adults, and mommy and daddy handle all of your medical costs, you may not know that dental care is horribly expensive. I am a low income independent, so my insurance only covers basic stuff. Michael was on the phone all morning try to find a dentist… well, he found six! Seems like things are finally looking up, huh? NOPE! One was closed, one was fully booked, and all of the others had their problems, and the only one that could take me had a single opening for eight o’clock in the morning. Well, I’m obviously going to sacrifice the sleep I desperately need to try and get this fixed, and hopefully address the other issues going on in my mouth, bu… seriously? Out of six, not one could take me today? I’m afraid to eat anything!

Mike told me, “we’ll get you fixed up, and everything will be fine.” I said, “has it ever been fine? History tends to repeat itself. From my past experiences, I know it won’t be fine. It’ll never be fine.” I mean, FUCK, universe! Couldn’t you just give me cancer? Stop playing with your little toys and finally bring out the big guns to finish me off? This is fucking stupid. I just lost the weight I wanted to lose to feel better about myself… I’m trying not to pick at my face or pull my hair… but what’s the point in trying to be pretty again if I’m just going to lose all of my teeth before I’m thirty? NO MATTER WHAT I DO! I will never be pretty like I was when I was a teenager. God, I was so pretty… I used to look like this:


So pretty… so thin… now I’m thin, but… why does the world hate me? I do absolutely nothing but be the best I can be, I help people, I’m honest, I don’t do drugs, I have a clean criminal record, I’m not abusive… I don’t do anything to deserve these things. This is why I don’t believe in karma.

Now, I’m not saying all of this to hear, “oh, I feel so sorry for you,” so don’t even give me that. I don’t need you to spit in my face, thanks. In case you haven’t noticed, I need to vent about things, I need to complain, and whether or not someone actually reads my blog, I don’t care. It needs to get out, and so I get it out. In the past, when I’ve done this, people have accused me of trying to gain pity and sympathy. It always baffled me, because I was like, “what on earth makes you think that?” I guess it’s because I don’t understand the concept of trying to make people feel sorry for you? All I ever want out of this is to get it out, and for anyone who reads it, to understand. Now I have to actually say I don’t want sympathy because of this sheepshit. It’s… pathetic! It’s like it’s a fad to accuse people of crying out for attention or something. Don’t they understand that it’s healthy to vent?

All the same… I guess I don’t necessarily feel sorry for myself, it’s more like, “really? I haven’t been through enough yet?” They say some people are born into tragedy. I was born from a drug addicted, alcoholic whore who didn’t even know who my father was until they did a paternity test. I had to endure fourteen years of constant physical, mental, and emotional abuse. I still have my first scar from when I was six, and she burned my arm with her cigarette. I have every single scar she ever gave me, and a nice assortment of mental disorders to boot. And when I got free… it just didn’t stop. Thing after thing after thing just kept happening, from being accused of premeditated murder, to being told by my principal that he’d call the police if I didn’t stop crying, to getting in trouble for crying when someone else threatened to kill me, to being used and abused by the worst guy I ever dated, to not being allowed to share a hotel room on our choir trip with my best friend because I had just come out as bisexual at the time, to being kicked out of my grandma’s house after graduation with NO arrangements made as to where I would live, to finally being happy to visit my father for the first time in a decade, only to find that the family expected me to give them money that I didn’t have, to having to sit with my father’s mother in a restaurant and be lectured on how some man was going to take everything I had and I’d have to come crying to her for money, to coming back to California to see my shit packed up and nearly being put on the street AGAIN, and when I finally get some success by getting a job, going to school, getting certified as a makeup artist and licensed as a cosmetologist, I had to endure three years of harassment from an assistant manager to the point where I finally cracked, tried to kill myself, and didn’t leave the house for two years straight because I had gone to Anime LA and was stranded there by the “friend” I had gone with, so I had to ride four hours back with complete strangers, and now my social anxiety is the highest it has EVER been… and that’s just up until 2013… I could go on! Oh, there’s so much more!

And when I’m forced to think about all of this, and realize that I’m still not any closer to getting a house with Michael, getting married, and finally have some fucking peace… my throat feels tight, and I’m actually starting to cry. I took my medication, so this is actual sadness, and I hate it. All I want is to be happy, to smile, to laugh, to feel as colorful as I look… I love feeling happy, it’s the greatest damn feeling in the world… but I’m not happy. I’ve completely ditched my real life responsibilities and created a life in Animal Crossing: New Leaf because I can be healthy there, I can be pretty, I can be social, I have a nice big house, I make money, I’m so successful and happy… I’ve not been working on anything that pertains to me real life job as a YouTuber, and it’s because I had gotten so stressed about people demanding “Muffins,” that I haven’t even touched the next narration in months. It’s bad, and I know it.

I’m just… unlucky. I’m practically a jinx. It’s because I was never meant to be here, I was a mistake. And no, that’s not some emo-boy-dreamy-haircut sheepshit, it’s just an actual conclusion that I have accepted. The fact that I’m not meant to exist doesn’t depress me, it’s that I’m constantly punished for existing, even if I do everything I can to fight life, to do good things, to help other people with their life battles, and I have stopped so many suicides, including my own brother’s. I’m proud of my good nature, especially since I do, in fact, exude 80% of a textbook sociopath’s behavior. I use that to my advantage to protect myself, but having sociopathic traits does not stop me from choosing to do good. And when it all comes down to it, when I finally see some light, just to have it snuffed out again, when every single part of me gets sent back down to the hole I came from, it hurts. It hurts so bad. If there’s a god, this is just one big joke to him. If he created us, he created people like me on purpose. Oh, were you under the impression that I thought I was the only one? Of course not.

There are eight billion people on this planet. I can feel as alone as possible, but the truth is, there are hundreds of thousands of people who were born into tragedy. People who are nothing but bad luck, people who shouldn’t exist. The levels vary; some people have it not as bad as me, some people have it worse, some people have it worse than the people who have it worse, and some people have learned to make it work. I am no different than these types of people. That’s why I don’t feel sorry for myself, because I know that there are countless people in these situations of varying severity. I don’t feel sorry for myself, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not begging the universe to give me a break. I wish it didn’t have to be this way for anyone. That’s why I give advice to those who seek it from me. I want to help them by giving them the tools for survival that I wish I had when I was young. Because it’s not fair. Life is not fair. Life will never be fair. I have accepted this.

But I just want to be happy.


(Forgive me, I’m too exhausted to proofread this, so there will be typos. Please respect that I am human, and I am not perfect. Everyone makes typos.)


I was contemplating human existence a few days ago, and realized something: we’re it. We are the end of the evolutionary line. We are the last species on this planet, and we’ll never evolve into anything more, even if the Earth manages to live for another billion years or so. Nope. We are literally the end.

Think about it. Really think. Humans are the only creatures on Earth that defy nature, that go against instinct, and serve no purpose to other creatures or the planet itself, except to destroy it. We are also the only species on this planet that exude evil. One of my favorite quotes from the Hannibal TV series is, “Human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors. Cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself.” As humans, we are born evil. Some of us will learn to suppress most of that evil, but it will always be there. We have evolved into the end of the world. How did it happen? How did we gain the ability to be cruel to everyone and everything?

We’ve already proven that nothing will come after us unless we literally create it. You see it every new generation, you see it with every child that is born. There are too many people on this planet, yet we keep reproducing. Why? What’s the point? We don’t need more of us! The whole reason animals reproduce is to continue the species. It’s a survival thing. Well, it doesn’t look like we’re going to go extinct any time soon, not before the planet becomes uninhabitable.

And look at the people who are reproducing; parents that think they’re ready, but aren’t, teenagers and young adults that get pregnant by accident, women who get pregnant by rape, drug addicts that can’t stop fucking each other, and people who refuse to get abortions because of their religion or whatever. Then look at their kids. Oh… their kids… seriously, just look at the children in this generation. Now look at them from the previous generation, and the one before that, and the one before that. Notice how each new generation is getting…………… worse? Uh, yeah… and no one has thought to stop it why?

“Children are our future.” Children grow up and have children of their own… humans are the end… what does this mean? It means that the only reason nature has allowed us to exist is to destroy this planet. Is this all part of god’s plan? I already thought, “if god exists, he’s one messed up mother fucker.” Heh, another quote¬†from Hannibal: “Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?” If god exists, his whole plan was to build up this project called “Earth,” and then create something that would kill it all. Why? Just for the lulz! God is just one big troll!

I know I won’t get the chance to see the end of humanity, but the fact that we’re already looking for another planet to move to is concerning. I hope we never make it to another planet. Do you know what will happen? We’ll end up destroying that one too… and the next one… and the next one… if humans continue to exist, our race will be the destroyer of worlds. We are a threat to the universe. Why is it that the geniuses of our time are trying to find ways to prolong our existence instead of trying to stop it? We have no problem stopping other species from existing. But even if we do move on to more planets, we’re not going to evolve any further. We are stuck in evolutionary limbo, and the only direction we can go is backward. WE ARE THE END.

There are people who will agree with me, but there are also those who think I’m very wrong. Only time will tell, won’t it? If I’m wrong, I won’t be around to see it, but if I’m right, I won’t be around to tell future humans, “I told you so.” And if there are people reading this thinking I’m just being a Negative Nancy, I just have one thing to say to you…

Don’t blame the player, blame the game, son. Open your eyes.

Insensitive Assholes at their Finest

WARNING: It’s rant time!

Everyone has had to deal with someone that seems to have absolutely no heart at all, whether directly, or indirectly. The jerks who laugh at things that are far from funny, things people can’t control, things that hinder every day life. You’ve either seen it, or you’ve had it happen to you. These bastards don’t understand how detrimental it is on us to be made fun of for our ailments, almost like they want to make it worse. Whether you’ve been a victim, or a witness to a victim, I’m sure most of you reading this will understand where I’m coming from, and that my frustration is justified. Here are my own personal experiences dealing with the literal shit of human society.

If you’ve been keeping up with me at all, you’ll know that I suffer from a mental illness known as Manic Depression, AKA Bipolar Disorder. If you don’t know what it is, it’s a depression disorder that greatly affects our moods, but it’s not just “mood swings.” You have your manic episodes, or “happy” episodes, and your depressed episodes. Manic episodes might not sound so bad. Large bursts of energy fill us with optimism, makes us determined and motivated, and life is full of puppies, flowers, rainbows, and candy.

It’s not all that fun. At all. In fact, it’s just as much of a road block as the depression episodes. While experiencing mania or hypermania, we may seem like the happiest person in the whole wide world, but our minds are both going a mile a minute, and remaining completely blank at the same time. Now, everyone is different, so symptoms may differ from person to person, but these are the things that I experience. I basically turn into a hyperactive child, bouncing around, not properly listening to people who are talking to me, I get easily distracted, and if someone is trying to be serious, it’s nothing but a joke to me. Obnoxious, loud, spontaneous… and reckless.

Having a manic episode is still dangerous. I have indeed participated in self mutilation while seemingly completely happy. The problem is, I’m not really aware that I’m doing it. It just… happens. The X on my hip was caused by one of these instances. During the episode, I don’t really seem to care, but other people definitely do. They ask, “why did you do this to yourself?” Do you know what I say? Something completely off topic, because I avoid the question. For me, my manic episodes last significantly shorter than my depression ones do, though they used to last longer when I was younger. When I was nineteen, I had one that lasted about three months. I had some long ones in my senior year of high school too.

Oh, it gets better. How does one come out of these episodes? Oh, well, IF ANY TINY LITTLE THING GOES WRONG, I’m brought spiraling down into an¬†extremely deep depression. Doesn’t that sound fun? Oh yeah, it’s a fucking blast.

My depression episodes last a very long time, months on end. My brain takes anything bad, even the smallest thing, and reacts like it’s the end of the fucking world. I have no motivation, no determination, no appetite, and no energy. When I say no motivation, I mean not even enough motivation to watch a movie or play a video game. I lay in bed, staring at my wall, and listening to my thoughts. Oh, this is the greatest part; MY THOUGHTS. They run wild, literally nothing can silence them. I don’t hear voices, but I might as well, I can’t control what they say, I can’t stop them, and I can’t tell them they’re wrong. They say things like, “I’m worthless,” “I’m hopeless,” “no one cares about me,” “mommy didn’t love me,” “my life has no meaning,” and “I want to kill myself.” These are things I do not think while in my right state of mind. And you know what? I believe them.

You’d be lucky to get me to talk while in a “mild” depression episode, or even move for that matter. If I start to talk, you’ll know that things are gradually going downhill. If I start crying, I’m starting to have an attack. Oh, the attacks are the most fun, but I’ve only heard about them, because I don’t remember them. A few people have seen these attacks, but Sempai and Michael have seen them more than anyone, and they’ve provided me with the details that utterly horrified me. In fact, both have said, “you become a different person.”

Even when mildly depressed, I, again, turn into a child. If someone tries to gently grab me, I’ll yank away with a whiny grunt. I will pout, I will dead weight so no one can move me, I’ll refuse to look at anyone, and also refuse the much needed help. When the attacks happen, according to what my loved ones have told me, I’m like a child throwing a tantrum, except I’m dangerous. I have come very close to killing myself multiple times, but have succeeded in collecting a large amount of self inflicted scars on my body during my life. Also remember that I was not medicated until I was twenty, so when I was a teenager, my hormones made my depression even more unbearable.

I’m not just a danger to myself, though. I get violent both toward me, and the people around me. I’ve never tried to kill anyone, but I’ve left huge scratch marks on people that took quite some time to fade, and even bit Michael a few times. Luckily, he is much stronger than me, so he is able to hold me down. This doesn’t stop the screaming, however. Like I said, I am throwing a tantrum. I scream as if I were being murdered, my sobbing doesn’t stop, I fight every single fucking step of the way, and if I get a hold of something sharp, it needs to be taken away immediately.

After the violent part of the attack ends, it’s just hysterical crying. I am no longer a danger to anyone, and Michael and Sempai know to hold me tight like a fucking baby. They have to comfort me, saying “shhh,” and “it’s alright…” I’ve been told I’ve said things like, “why didn’t mommy love me?” “Where’s mommy?” and “I want my mommy.” Since most of my trauma stems from Erin’s abuse, that’s usually what my brain likes to focus on. An attack like this can last from one to three hours non-stop, and I’m not exaggerating. Once I go quiet again, it’s unlikely I will have an attack for another few days.

When in the mild stages of my depression, I will cry for literally no reason. You know when you get upset and you have a good cry for about ten, maybe twenty minutes? Yeah, mine last for a few hours, the waterworks turning on for long periods of time, shutting off shortly, and then turning on again. No fucking reason. And unlike a manic episode, it’s much harder to come out of the depression. Sometimes it’ll change out of nowhere for absolutely no reason at all, but simply trying to “cheer me up” does nothing. Doesn’t that sound fun?

You can imagine the hell this has put me through. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was twelve or thirteen, but I was showing symptoms much earlier, around six or seven. Naturally, no one paid attention to the quiet little blonde girl, not even her family. Erin herself would joke, “she’ll start crying for no reason, lock herself in her room, and come out an hour later completely happy.” Oh yes, you stupid bitch, so funny. Why did it take you until I was in middle school to get me checked out? A six year old should not be talking about wanting to die, or wanting to kill people. When I was diagnosed, they put me on medication that made it worse, so I refused to take it. When I was twenty, I decided on my own to get properly treated.

I had to endure this disorder on top of abuse and neglect from Erin, and constant bullying at school. This wasn’t “neener neener neener” bullying either, kids have tried to kill me. Not only that, but my entire life, I’ve had social phobia, which I didn’t know until recently is the same thing as Social Anxiety Disorder. Now, I’ve exhibited text book symptoms of this disorder to the T, but I have not been professionally diagnosed yet. I’m going to get psychoanalyzed in a few weeks. I’m preparing for the introduction of a second Other…

Oh yeah, Others. For those of you who don’t know, they are fictional creatures that represent real mental disorders. I created Annatier as a form of self therapy, because regular therapy doesn’t work on me. She has helped me understand my Manic Depression much better, to the point where I have found ways to cope, and have accepted the things I can’t control. Doing this has inspired many of my fans to create Others based on their disorders as well, and it has helped them cope too. I’m thrilled to hear this, because I feel that my purpose in life is to help others find ways to arm themselves against the unkindness life brings. I’ve endured a lot of pain, and I want to keep others from feeling it so severely, I want to help them find the strength to meet these issues head on. I have been told by countless people that my advice is impeccable, and I’ve saved tons of people from suicide, including my own brother.

Anyway, thanks to medical science, I can keep my moods stable so I can lead as normal a life as I can. What does this mean? I have to take medication for the rest of my life. Every. Single. Day. It’s not fun, I don’t like it, I wish I didn’t have to, but it’s the only thing that keeps me emotionally normal and shuts my brain up. On top of depression, I’ve also had to struggle with insomnia since I was nine. “Oh, how annoying can it possibly be to take a couple pills every day?” A couple? Not including my vitamin B and vitamin D pills, I have to take nine pills each day. In the morning: one Lamotrigine, one Bupropion, and one Venlafaxine. In the evening, around 5:30 or so: one Lamotrigine, one Bupropion, and one Venlafaxine. At night, before bed: three Trazodone pills. Those are to get me to sleep. I have to take pills just to fucking sleep. What keeps me awake? Well, the earlier meds have worn off, sooooo…. my thoughts.

That means, each day, I’m taking three anti-depressants and one anti-psychotic. FUN, RIGHT? FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. It’s so COOL to have this disorder, and I’m so FUCKING HARDCORE. And god forbid, if I forget to take my medication, I may not have an attack, but I will certainly fall. I don’t have many manic episodes anymore, they seem to be rare as you get older. Speaking of, Manic Depressive Disorder gets worse as you age. I’m twenty-five. I’ve got a long way to go, and a hell that will never leave. THERE IS NO CURE FOR MENTAL ILLNESS.

I also suffer from two disorders that affect my appearance negatively, which doesn’t help make me feel better. I am very self conscious about my appearance, so dealing with these two things are a nightmare. People that have one usually have the other as well, and there is no cure. These things are…

Dermatillomania: “An impulse control disorder characterized by the repeated urge to pick at one’s own skin, often to the extent that damage is caused.”

Trichotillomania: “An impulse control disorder characterized by the compulsive urge to pull out one’s hair, leading to hair loss and balding, distress, and social or functional impairment.”

These two disorders are NOT, I repeat, NOT a joke. Since I was nine or ten, I’ve pulled out my eyebrows and eyelashes, and obsessively picked at my skin. In fifth grade, both arms were covered in scabs. When I was sixteen, I started pulling hair from my head. Since I hit puberty, I’ve picked at every single goddamn imperfection on my face, to the point where I have embarrassing scabs and scars. Here is a recent picture:


It took a lot of courage to even post this on DA, let alone here. Of course, you can’t see the bald spots on my scalp, but you can see my eyelashes, eyebrows, and skin. Oh, by the way? My eyebrows will never properly grow back. The only hair that grows is vellus hair, and maybe a few terminal hairs here and there, but not enough to form a shape. I have to draw them on. Every. Day.

As for my face? These were not huge pimples. These were things that other people could not see unless they looked as close as I did. And do you know what I do? I pick off the scab to reveal little white bulbs that I try to pull out with tweezers. What are these white bulbs? MY HAIR FOLICLES. I cannot control this, no matter how hard I try. Hell, you should see my back and shoulders! And don’t even get me started on my pubic area. ISN’T. THIS. FUN??? I’ve tried many things to get myself to stop, but it NEVER FUCKING WORKS.

Why have I brought all of this shit up? To make you pity me? To try and get sympathy? To show how horrible my life has been? No. To make people understand. In fact, I think pity is one of the most disgusting things a person can give to the disabled. But chances are, many of you do understand! A lot of you may struggle with the same obstacles! Hell, I bet some of you have it worse than me! I’m just one out of seven billion people on the planet, of course there are people like me, or have worse situations! The point is…

I have been ridiculed for these things. These disorders I can’t control, these painful and degrading things that I didn’t choose to have. Some of you can relate to what I’m about to say. I’ve been accused of, get this…. I’ve been accused of CRYING OUT FOR ATTENTION. Because I’m honest about what goes on in my head? Because I’m a human being who is done hiding like I’ve done for nearly two decades? Because I want to help people understand what could possibly being going on in their heads?

Oh! OH! It gets better! I’ve been called “emo” because I have depression. I HAVE A SERIOUS MEDICAL DISORDER THAT I CANNOT CONTROL IN ANY WAY, and I’m apparently “emo.” Um, I am twenty-five years old, there is no such thing as stupid little teenage fashion cliques! Hell, “emo” isn’t even a thing! People use it to describe EVERYTHING!!! I FUCKING HATE IT!! Oh! And then there’s this one… “edgy.” I’m “edgy” because I HAVE A FUCKING MENTAL DISORDER. It’s so COOL and HARDCORE to have to take NINE PILLS EVERY FUCKING DAY FOR THE REST OF MY FUCKING LIFE!! Do you understand how much I HATE this? I would give both of my legs to be cured of this. I’d never be able to walk again, but that’s way better than dealing with my illness!

Same with the DTM and TTM. I posted that picture on Deviant Art, not to get fucking sympathy or pity, but to make people understand why I don’t think I’m pretty. I’m SICK and TIRED of hearing, “oh, you’re pretty no matter what!” NO! FUCKING NO! DO YOU SEE THAT? THAT IS UGLY AS FUCKING SIN!! I wanted people to tell me how bad it was, to basically punch me in the face to possibly get my mind to understand that it needs to STOP. It was basically a voluntary intervention. You know what? I got a lot of people who didn’t read the description telling me what I didn’t want to hear: That I’m pretty on the inside! That the outside doesn’t matter! IT MATTERS TO ME! The other people told me exactly what I needed to hear, they were honest, and though the words may look unkind, I needed to hear them from somebody other than myself. The truth isn’t always pleasant, but it is always necessary.

Oho, but there was one user who was butt hurt that I blocked him for being a douchebag, who claimed I posted it to get attention. Are you fucking serious? That’s the reason I want to STOP! Because these scars and bald spots bring me unwanted attention! People stare at me like I’m some fucking druggie! I’m already afraid of people, so WHY the FUCK would I WANT them staring at me you STUPID asshole?!? I hate sympathy, I hate pity, and the only attention I want is the kind I’m rewarded with when I work hard at what I do. When I create something, draw, write, make a video, whatever, that’s what I like. I don’t require it, except, of course, on YouTube because that’s my job, and I am certainly not going to try and get attention through dishonest ways, or by exploiting my flaws! I need people to understand why I say the things I say, why I do the things I do, and so I can help others, as well as receive help for myself! Asking for help is not the same as crying out for attention! I’M FUCKING SUICIDAL, so I must be “emo” and “edgy,” right? FUCK OFF.

I don’t even understand why some people go through such lengths to get attention, the people who seem to “need” it. I don’t understand that. I’m an adult, adults aren’t “edgy” (whatever the fuck that means, because edgy only has three definitions, and these stupid freaks are using it in a way that doesn’t fit any of them), adults are not “emo” (that’s just something stupid teenagers came up with so that they could take multiple fashions, throw them together, and call it a new thing), and adults don’t “cry out for attention.” God… I hope not… then again, there was that lady that lied about being a 9/11 survivor… okay, some sad excuses for human beings do that, but responsible adults with common sense like me DO NOT. I rarely even leave the house, and that’s so people don’t see me, and I don’t see them! Making videos is the only time I feel comfortable being myself somewhat publicly because I’m not face to face with a real person!

I’m not the only fucking person with Manic Depression, I’m not the only fucking person with DTM and TTM, and I’m not the only fucking person who is comfortable enough to talk to people about it. So many people don’t understand mental illness, and I used to be afraid of admitting that my brain wasn’t wired right. But it’s shameful to feel ashamed, and I’m sick of hiding like a sniveling coward. I have completely accepted what I have. I don’t like it. I never will. I hate it. But I’m not hiding. I am a human being, so I will act like a human being. YOU, who attack people like me, are SNIVELING FUCKING COWARDS.

I wish… oho, do I wish… that I could give these bastards a mental illness. Let’s see how “edgy” they think it is. Remember that “point-of-view” gun from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? Yeah, I want that, but super powered. Let’s see how they like crying for no reason, let’s see how they like wanting to die, let’s see how they like taking medication, pulling out their hair until they’re bald, and digging holes into their faces! ISN’T IT SO SUPER DUPER COOL?? OH MY GOD, I’M SO FUCKING EDGY!!

You bastards think you’re all big, bad wolves hiding behind a computer, but you’re nothing but sheep. I guarantee that, if you met me face to face, you wouldn’t be able to show those big balls you pretend to have. No, you’d cower. There’s a reason people have told me I’m scary, there’s a reason people have learned not to mess with me. I can’t do SHIT through the internet, but let me tell you, when I’m face to face with someone who has enraged me, my social anxiety is GONE. You’re sheep. Cowardly, pathetic sheep being led by a shepherd, not knowing that your shepherd is taking you to a slaughter house. I’m not afraid like you are, and that’s why I’m honest about what I feel, and how I live. That’s why I don’t keep secrets. What’s the point? I have nothing to gain by hiding, but everything to gain by showing my true self.

Even though I only get one out of every hundred people who decide it’s funny to make fun of the disabled, it still infuriates me to no end. I mean, what if I didn’t have medication and killed myself? Would they say, “oops?” Would they feel ashamed? HA! No, that’s not how it works, apparently. They’d laugh and feel PROUD at what they accomplished. I hate these people who get joy out of seeing other people suffer for no reason. I did not choose to have these disorders, I don’t want them, and I sure as hell don’t need them. Please! Take them away if me talking about them bugs you so much! I would shake your hand and kiss your ass for the rest of my life if you took them away! Why would anyone lie about having an illness? Why does anyone lie in the first place? Lying gets you nowhere! Just deeper into the hole you’ve dug yourself! THAT’S WHY I DON’T DO IT! My code of honor, once again, is honesty, and I cherish it like it’s my own beating heart. I choose not to lie to anyone. Why? Because the consequences for lying are way worse than the consequences for telling the truth. I am literally the most honest person you will ever speak to.

If these fucking shit holes are over the age of twenty, I would be disturbed beyond measure. These are things that snotty nosed preteens and teenagers do to each other. Where the fuck are the parents? Hope you’re proud of your fucking kid! But if they are an adult, I laugh at how ludicrous their behavior is! I mean, you’ve got to be pretty insecure to act like a dull witted teenage bully when you’re a fucking adult that is supposed to be paying bills and taxes! Maybe they have a small dick, I don’t know. Maybe the girls are uglier than I am, I don’t know! But even if this enrages me to no end, at least I know that their warped perception of me is not true.

And what they don’t know is, I am the kindest and most loyal person to people who also show kindness, and I am a wonderful friend. I can love just as much as I can hate, and I can hate like fire can burn. If these trash talking lowlifes had just been kind, and spoken to me as a fellow human, we probably could’ve been great friends! No, they have to make themselves feel better by making other people feel bad. Whatever issues they have to deal with in their life, I could’ve given them the advice to cope. You know what, shit heads? You chose to be miserable, and you chose to be just another zit on the face of society just waiting to be popped. I’d love to take my disorders and shove them into your head, that way, I’d be free of them, and you’d get a taste of hell. Ha! Maybe someone would call you “emo!”

To the people who are kind, to the people who have witnessed behavior like this, and to the people who have experienced this, speak up. None of us should be hiding. The pecking order is fucked up, and we need to do the pecking here. If you have a mental illness, don’t hide from it, fight for it. You know what? Many people have been able to find ways to make their illnesses help them in life. Admittedly, a lot of my best creations have come from my fucked up mind, but I’d still rather be rid of it. All the same, we need to learn to stand up, because we are way stronger than these hip-gangster wannabes. Why? Because we have to deal with literal hell, and yet, we’re still here! They wouldn’t last a week in our shoes! I don’t have the power to start a movement, that’s a very unrealistic fantasy, but maybe my words could reach someone who does. People like this need to be put in their place.

Just stop the silence.

Current Qualifications for Being Emo

The word “emo” popped up in juvenile labels at some point, and has become very misconstrued over the years. Basically, it took fashion styles from gothic, punk, grunge, skater, and rave, mixed them all together, and vomited them into the face of society. On top of that, they made the act of self mutilation “cool,” as well as being miserable. The word itself comes from the word “emotional.”

However, it’s been eaten and thrown back up so many times, we’re unsure of what it even is anymore! This makes low life kids, tweens, and teens call anyone who is anyone “emo,” almost as if it’s become a fad to call people “emo.” Of course, those of us in the real world know that fads and labels are a waste of time.

But in case you’re wondering, or if you’re afraid of being accused of being “emo,” I’m going to tell you the things that currently qualify you as “emo.”

First off, your hair must be one (or a mix) of the following colors:

  • Black
  • Blonde
  • Brown
  • Blue
  • Pink
  • Purple
  • Green
  • Orange
  • Yellow
  • Red
  • White
  • Silver

Next, your hair must be styled in one (or a mix) of the following fashions:

  • Side swept fringe
  • Straight across fringe
  • No fringe
  • Pixie
  • Bob
  • Ringlets
  • Wavy
  • Short
  • Medium
  • Long
  • Shaved
  • Bald

When it comes to clothing, you must be very careful. If you don’t want to be called “emo,” avoid wearing any of the following colors in any shade:

  • Black
  • White
  • Grey
  • Pink
  • Blue
  • Purple
  • Green
  • Red
  • Yellow
  • Orange

BROWN IS THE SAFE COLOR! As for patterns, avoid any of the following:

  • Stripes
  • Polka dots
  • Checkers
  • Argyle
  • Animal print
  • Sawtooth
  • Paint splatters
  • Flowers
  • Spikey stuff
  • Plaid
  • Just lines
  • Solid

In order to be “emo,” your clothes must be any of these:

  • Long sleeved
  • Short sleeved
  • Spaghetti strap
  • Sleeveless
  • Cut off
  • Corsets
  • Dresses, any length
  • Skirts, any length
  • Shorts, any length
  • Pants
  • Any kind of belts

Shoes must consist of:

  • Boots
  • High heels
  • Wedges
  • Sneakers
  • Canvas shoes
  • Sandals
  • Those weird like… roman type shoes…
  • Uggs
  • Crocks
  • Flats
  • Swimming flippers
  • Those traditional Japanese wooden sandals
  • Slippers

For socks or leggings in any color, styles must include:

  • Stripes
  • Polka dots
  • Rainbow
  • Argyle
  • Animal print
  • Sawtooth
  • Checkers
  • Plaid
  • Patterns with licensed cartoons from any genre
  • Solid
  • Fishnet
  • Lace
  • Any sort of cool patterns knitted into the fabric and stuff
  • Solid color
  • Tights
  • Thigh high
  • Above knee
  • Knee high
  • Ankle
  • Below ankle

In fashion alone, if you don’t want to look emo, you must avoid any of the following:

  • Studs
  • Chains
  • Lace
  • Pleated fabric
  • Layers in clothing
  • That kind of fabric found under poodle skirts
  • Denim
  • Fleece
  • Silk
  • Velvet
  • Suede
  • Leather
  • Pleather
  • Vinyl
  • Collars
  • Chokers
  • Jewelry
  • Tattoos
  • Laces
  • Buttons
  • Frogs
  • Clasps
  • Velcro
  • Rips or tears
  • Hair gel
  • No hair gel
  • Nails painted any color

Also, if you have been professionally diagnosed with ANY mental disability, you’re fucked for life. Though you have to take medication to keep your brain from making you hurt yourself or someone else, and no matter how much therapy you are required by the state to take, no matter how difficult your life has become due to your disorders, YOU ARE “EMO.” Suicidal thoughts, self harm, any sort of anger or sadness of varying levels, and even happiness can tag you. And god forbid, if you have homicidal thoughts, you’re just so super “emo.”

Music is a big one too. If you’re into any of these genres, you’re “emo:”

  • Rock
  • Metal
  • Soft rock
  • Pop
  • Classical
  • Musicals
  • Electronic music under its various sub genres
  • Industrial
  • Punk
  • Grunge
  • Choral music
  • Industrial jungle pussy punk
  • Ambiance and/or binaural beats

Also avoid movies or TV shows from these genres:

  • Horror and all sub genres
  • Drama
  • Romantic
  • Historical
  • Documentaries of any kind
  • Comedy
  • Thriller
  • Mystery
  • Anything animated

So, in conclusion, in order to NOT be “emo,” you must either be plain and boring, or a hip gangsta wannabe. Also note that AGE DOES NOT MATTER!! If you’re an adult who has discarded labels back in high school, and you just dress however you want as long as it’s cute, if you shop at Forever21, Hot Topic, JCPenny… or anywhere else for that matter, you are NOT safe from the “emo” tag! Even if you looooove colors, or even if your job requires you to only wear black. What’s wrong with you? Why are you not a hip gangsta wannabe?

Also beware of art. If you are an artist, or even like ANY type of art, you’re soooooooooo super “emo.” Video games also fuck you. Sideways!

Even though labels don’t exist in the real world, you’ll still be tagged by little kids, tweens, and teenagers over the internet because they’re too scared to say it to an adult’s face. These youngins usually have low intelligence, are easily influenced into doing bad things, and will become future criminals. They will enter the real world with a warped idea of how adulthood is supposed to be, and then realize they are completely fucked no matter what they do because they won’t have everything handed to them anymore. They will live with their parents, and possibly continue to act like a little teenager, trolling people on the internet, taking out all of their misery on people who are just simply human beings living their life.

Take my advice: stop being human and transform into a turtle, the least “emo” animal in the world.

Christmas is a Scam

A majority of America celebrates Christmas every year, and even a few other countries celebrate it. But what has it become? I’m sure, maybe a few hundred years ago, it used to be about family, and presents were given as a way to show your loved ones that you appreciate them. It was also about celebrating the birth of a baby from a supposed “virgin,” whom we all know was lying about it, she just didn’t want anyone to know she was a slut, so she claimed her baby was “the son of god.” That wouldn’t fly in this day and age.

Religious bullshit aside, seriously, Christmas is nearly a cancer now. It’s just an excuse to spend ridiculous amounts of money for people who don’t deserve it. Little kids want game consoles, the newest phone, the top gadget on the market, and you go out and get it for them so you don’t have to hear their sniveling and crying. No one appreciates a hand-knit sweater anymore. Just like every holiday, Black Friday and Christmas are just a market ploy.

Oh yeah, Black Friday. “These sales are one time only! And you can only get these items at three o’clock in the morning! You should all fight each other to the death to get this stupid crockpot!” More bullshit. You know very well that these sales aren’t “one time only.” In fact, most Black Friday “sales” last the entire weekend! Not only that, but they’re usually no different than their usual sales! They just bait you to buy more, more, MORE! Then there’s the internet, where you can find that same crockpot any time of the year for that same “sales” price.

Every Christmas commercial you see is pushing product. They are all advertisements, and for what? Some toy that your kid will get bored of in about two weeks and never play with again? A watch that your husband will accidentally break at work? A priceless necklace that your girlfriend will pawn as soon as you break up? “Give us your dirty money and buy, buy, buy!” That’s Christmas.

Because of product demand, people have to work on Christmas. They don’t get to be with their families, they don’t get to enjoy the company of their loved ones. They have to deal with a shit ton of impatient and disrespectful customers clambering to spend money they don’t have on things that no one needs. I’ve worked Christmas two out of the three years I worked at Walgreens, and it opened my eyes to what the holidays really mean.

Excuses. That’s all it is. Spend money, eat more food than usual because you’re totally not already a fat ass, and drink your liver away. Sing stupid carols that mean nothing anymore, just old timey religious propaganda. Watch little Timmy open his presents, just to see his face fall because he wanted the blue Mega Man, not the red one.

Then there’s the lying. Yes, my friends, you know what I’m talking about. Santa Clause! What is the point of telling your kid he’s real? For fun? Lying is fun for you? Or maybe you just want them to make you cookies. I deduced that Santa Clause wasn’t real when I lost a tooth and witnessed my grandmother placing money under my pillow, even though she thought I was asleep. Why do they even pay us for losing teeth anyway? I wasn’t too upset at the time, but, as an honest person, I don’t see what you get out of lying to your children. It would be good for them to know the truth so that they don’t live in their fantasy world for too long. Not enough children understand that real life is going to literally suck all of their happiness out of them when they grow up anyway, might as well start early.

I don’t have family to spend the holidays with, but I do have my boyfriend. My boyfriend who is working on Christmas Eve and day. My best friend has her own family to be with. I’m alone on a holiday that’s supposed to represent peace and love, when in reality, it represents greed, selfishness, and advertising. And you know what’s worse? We fall for it every year! Every single year!

And every holiday is the same; Valentine’s Day, Easter, Fourth of July, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and every other meaningless holiday in between. “Spend more money!” That’s all it is. I make presents for people, I put in hard work to create something for the people I appreciate. And you know what? If I get something in return, cool! If I don’t, that’s cool too, the person didn’t spend money on me. I’d prefer a home made gift any day, or even a Happy Meal toy over “the next big product.”

Just another excuse for corporations to suck us dry, when we barely have the money to support ourselves in this country that revolves around money, a country where everything is so expensive, only the rich people can afford anything, a country that bows down to the rich instead of focusing on those of us who are struggling just to keep a roof over our heads.

Yet still, I make a Christmas parody song every year, as if I truly enjoy the holiday, when I’m just catering to my fans. Though last year’s parody did express my thoughts and feelings pretty accurately: It’s Beginning to Feel a Lot Like Christmas (parody song)

Fuck holidays, we’d all be better without them.