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Posts tagged ‘annoying’

I Just Need to Vent Again

This is less about people reading it, and more me just trying to empty the bottle a bit. These are times when I wish that I lived in the Harry Potter universe. I would be a witch that attends Hogwarts, and I’d have access to the Room of Requirement. I’d make it a room filled with breakable objects just so I could get out my frustrations physically. I’ve never been able to do that, and I really need to have a huge violent fit right now in order to completely empty the bottle… venting just doesn’t cut it most of the time.

Of course, we live in a world where we can’t just be violent without consequence, which is upsetting. Humans are naturally violent creatures, and we need to… excuse this reference… purge in order to get rid of it. I finally saw the movie The Purge, and it did not live up to my expectations. But what if, man? What if we had an annual purge? Let’s make a few changes though. Instead of annually, this purge could happen whenever the fuck people want to physically let out their rage. How would this work?

Well, the way I’m seeing it, this purge wouldn’t be “all crime is legal.” In fact, laws would and should stay the same. I’m thinking more like… having a facility with different types of rooms for different things. You’d need to pay to enter the facility, maybe like ten dollars, I think that’s fair. There’d be rooms where you could just break stuff, there’d be rooms that only one person can enter at a time to destroy stuff with different kinds of weapons, and there’d be rooms where people could enter to consent to actually fighting each other. A controlled environment where the only injuries are your fault because you chose to engage.

If we had that kind of outlet, crime could possibly lessen, but I’m not saying it would stop all together. This “purging” would be for, you know, regular people who get stressed and want to JUST FUCKING BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF SOMETHING OR SOMEONE. This would lessen anyone taking their frustration out on others, both verbally and physically. But, just like I say when I wish I ruled the world, unrealistic dreams are unrealistic.

So, what’s grinding Reitanna’s gears today? Fucking… fuckity… FUCK… FUCKING TEENAGERS, man! Okay, I’ll admit, when I was a stupid teenager, I was guilty at doing this too, but now I know how stupid and irritating it is! When some fucking kid sicks their friends on you. Especially for no reason! Like, say someone deliberately insults me. Well, I’m a fucking Scorpio, I don’t take that shit sitting down! I’m a lover and a fighter, and I believe people should not just get away with doing something wrong, they need to experience the consequence. So, naturally, I defend myself. Depending on the insult, I could respond with annoyance, frustration, anger, or rage.

Say this person doesn’t like one of my “Muffins” stories. Okay, cool, no problem, everyone has their own opinions. However, because they dislike it, they have the audacity to say it’s BAD WRITING. Excuse me, but I am far from a bad writer, and that’s not my opinion. I have an extremely high reading and writing level, to the point where I’ve out-shown everyone in all of my classes involving reading and writing since second grade. When I was in second grade, my teacher actually forbade me from reading books that were a second grade level because I read them too easily. She forced me to pick from the fourth grade books, which were still not much of a challenge, though much more entertaining than the second grade books.

By eight grade, I was at an eleventh grade reading/writing level. Then, by Sophomore year, I was at a college reading/writing level. My Sophomore English teacher sat me down one day to talk about my essays. She said, “I noticed something about your essay writing. When you try to follow the thesis/commentary/commentary/conclusion format, you don’t seem to write at your full potential. The best essays I’ve seen from you are ones where you didn’t follow the standard format. From now on, I want you to just write. Don’t bother with the format, just go.” That was some of the best advice I had ever received from a teacher.

Junior year came around, and at the end of the year was the Junior Paper. This was a huge essay that counted for most of your grade. Well, me, being in Choir, was going to be in Washington DC while everyone else was working on all three of their drafts and the final essay. My grandmother bought me a second-hand laptop so I could attempt to work on it, but we hardly spent any time in our hotel rooms. We mostly attended workshops, practiced, went sight seeing, following all of the events that our teacher had planned for us. Then, of course, there was the competition itself, which had multiple stages. We killed it, by the way.

So, what did this mean for me? I got back home at about midnight on a Sunday. I usually went to bed around nine (I’ve set my own curfew since I was ten). Guess what? THE ENTIRE JUNIOR PAPER WAS DUE THE VERY NEXT DAY. I had to write an eight page essay in one night, very exhausted, and very jet lagged. But oh man, did I write that sucker. I stayed up until three in the morning writing the essay from scratch, no drafts, no notes, NOTHING. The required length was eight pages, and I honestly don’t remember if I exceeded it or not. Monday came, and I had been the only one in the class who had flushed out their entire essay in one night with no preparation, and no guidance from the teacher.

B+ mother fuckers. B FUCKING PLUS. If I had had the time that everyone else got, that would’ve been an A+, but a B+ for something like that was good enough for me. I was shocked, but astounded, and it was then that I truly realized what having a high reading/writing level meant. I had never really appreciated it much until that day. Naturally, for my Senior Project the next year, I wrote two stories; “Quiet Heartbeat” and “Untitled.” Of course, you never stop learning, so I’ve come a long way since then, but the judges still gave me near-perfect scores. I say “near-perfect” because one bitch made a note about how I wasn’t dressed professionally. I’m sorry, but I was wearing a black and white sawtooth blazer with a matching skirt that fell just above my knees. Even my grandmother said I looked professional, and the other judges didn’t seem to have a problem with it!

Anyway, I’m twenty-five now. I may still be learning and improving my skills, but that does not make me a bad writer in any sense. However, apparently if someone doesn’t like something, it means it’s bad. Oh wah, cry my a river, build me a boat, and take me on a vacation to Whinersville. Let me give two examples from real people that shows what a rational person does when they dislike something.

I hate Star Wars. With a passion. Always have, always will, no matter how many times I’ve tried to get into it. I can’t. I can’t stand it so much, I hate when people talk about it. HOWEVER… does this mean the movies are bad? Some fans would have their comments about how certain films were disappointing, but in general, are the films bad because I dislike them? No, I don’t think they’re bad at all, quite the contrary. I think they’re stupid, but that’s an opinion. The fact is is that the Star Wars franchise is incredibly successful, and for good reason. I’m certain that the movies have broken multiple world records. They are great films, I can’t deny that, I just don’t like them. I can hate them all I want, but that doesn’t change the fact that they are excellent.

My boyfriend, Michael, loves Star Wars, but HAAAAAAATES Harry Potter, which I love. All the same, just like me, he cannot actually knock the films, because they are not bad films. He cannot knock the books, because they are extremely well written. Same with music. He hates Lady Gaga’s music, but he can’t deny that she’s talented and that her music is good. He just doesn’t like it, and that’s his opinion. He is fair to the creations, even though he wants nothing to do with them. Sensible people do this. Now, it’s different when something actually is bad, like Sonic Boom.

Oh, that brings me to a third example I just thought of! This one is sort of reverse, and has to do with the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise. Unlike many people, I enjoyed Shadow the Hedgehog. It is known as one of the worst Sonic games, but I enjoyed it. However, I can see why many people dislike it, or even hate it. There are too many elements that, rightfully, make it a bad Sonic game. All the same, I really enjoyed playing it. I love Shadow (not as much as Knuckles, though), I liked being able to choose to be good or evil, I enjoyed using weapons even though it was so unlike a Sonic game to do such a thing, and the entire game itself was challenging. I tried getting all of the endings, but there was one I couldn’t get because I couldn’t fucking find this one thing to complete this one level… Still.

I assume that’s how fans of Sonic Boom feel, as few as they are. Hopefully they can see why it’s a bad game. But let’s face it, no matter how bad Shadow the Hedgehog was, it’s nowhere near as bad as Sonic Boom. You know, the same goes for Silent Hill 4: The Room. That is hands down my favorite Silent Hill game, but is often shot down by other Silent Hill fans. Even though it’s my favorite game, I can still see why some people don’t like it.

Another possible example is The Last Airbender. I loved the cartoon, so I was excited about the movie. The pronunciations of the names had me cringe each time they were said, and I have a great deal of complaints about other main aspects of the film. However, I was able to see the good in it, even though it’s small. People often say the entire movie sucked. Well, that’s not really true. This is a very small matter, but the graphics were pretty good. There were other tiny things that made it pretty entertaining. I wouldn’t voluntarily watch it again, but if someone else wanted to watch it with me, I’d be able to tolerate it. It’s just a matter of seeing things from different views.

Now, this person said my story was “bad writing” because he/she did not understand how the bakers act in the story, specifically mentally torturing others, not the actual act of physical violence. Long story short, he/she could not actually comprehend how someone could be so cruel, as if he/she was unaware of the reality of just how cruel real people are. Because of their cruelty, he/she said they dislike that particular story. No big deal, that’s fine, no problem. But he/she outright said it was “bad writing.” Um, no, it’s not, in fact, it’s the exact opposite. It’s realistic, it captures the mentality of a Sociopath, it shows how a “normal” mind reacts to such torment.

I can easily write this for multiple reasons; I have a criminal mind, I understand the basics of Psychology (maybe a little more), and I’ve done enough research on countless criminals to fully understand how it all works. It also helps that I realized at a young age how evil people are. My eyes have long been open to the reality of our world. Putting all of this together, it is actually very impressive writing.

So, just because you don’t understand how Psychology works, you deem it “bad writing?” That’s like me saying, “Psycho-Pass is a bad Anime because I have a hard time remembering their names.” (For the record, Psycho-Pass is an excellent Anime, and that’s saying something coming from me since I’m not a huge Anime person.) JUST BECAUSE YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND SOMETHING, DOESN’T MAKE IT BAD. Actually, it means either you have a warped perspective of the world, or…….. yer dumb. That’s just it. Your opinion isn’t law, it doesn’t change all of the things that make it good.

I could’ve been fine with the lack of understanding, because I can explain that. I could’ve been fine with “I dislike this story,” that doesn’t bug me. But to flat out call it bad writing is just… selfish! Especially after he/she said, “I like the series, I just don’t like this story.” So, you’re a fan, but you called me a bad writer? Doesn’t that contradict itself? You, sir or madam, do not make sense to me. Ooh! I don’t understand you, so does that make you a bad person? By your logic, it does! T_T In reality, no, it doesn’t.

BUT THEN some little punk comes in and says to me, “someone’s a little butthurt.” Wow, someone give a trophy to this huge dick, he just tore me from my V to my A. “Butthurt” and “insulted” are two different things. The thing is, I didn’t even rage at the person calling me a bad writer, I gave them a fair amount of anger that was reasonable, enough to show them that they blatantly disrespected another human being for absolutely no rational explanation. But oh, here comes Mr. Raging Testosterone to tell me I’m “butthurt.” I wonder if maybe he just needed to be burped.

Now, I don’t actually know if he/she sent that person on me, or if they even know each other, but it reminded me of what youngins do, and what I, regrettably, also used to do. Someone starts being a big meanie, so let’s send all our little friends to flame them. Like… it’s embarrassing to know that I WAS LIKE THAT!! I just gotta keep reminding myself, “I was a stupid teenager.” Teenagers think some of the most ridiculous things are important, but they’re not! They think that their petty problems matter, but they don’t! “I’m so hardcore because I have an army of friends waiting to fight my battles, the ones I started because I decided to make this person angry!” Man, I hope you grow out of it just like I did, it’s so pathetic. Teenagers… are… pathetic! That’s all there is to it!

Now, note that a lot of my fans are teenagers, but you know what? They know they’re in THE PHASE. They know what’s going on with their minds and bodies, and they know that things feel like a BIG DEAL when they’re actually not. They understand that they will grow passed that once their body hits full maturity at age twenty. Makes me wonder why eighteen is the legal age… That’s still stupid teenage time. Though, I have to say I started to wise up at nineteen because I was thrown into the real world with no preparations for it. Man, was that a smack in the face.

And if Mr. Raging Testosterone was not a friend of sir or madam, then he was just a random kid who saw the conversation, went, “ooh! I’ma gonna stert a flam warz!” As if I was going to tolerate that shit. But it still irks me. It’s none of your business, kid! You don’t even know what we’re talking about. Why were you even on my channel? Do you just randomly go to channels to start fights? Better be careful, Hot Rod, you might overwork your tiny brain. I think I can already smell it smoking.

And now here’s angry gibberish.

lrksejtrljetoju9o4t6wurhjinklfdklndklgjnmfdkxzknf;zkljnf;lkhngklnsdegrs;mnklgaze’nkG DE’nkGA;nkGA;nk;hnkrhsznknkrhsznklhfrrhszzrhnkrhznklgzrdnkFUCK.

There.

Alright, I think I got some of it out. You can tip the bottle to try and empty it, but there’s always some residue. I just wish I didn’t have to deal with so many idiots in the career I chose. It sucks when you feel like the only intelligent person left. That’s alright, I just turn to Michael or Sempai, who are also very intelligent, so they are my reminder that there are some of us left. We’re a dying breed because the stupid ones can’t keep it in their pants.

I need to get back to work now. I’m not gonna proofread this post since it was just venting, so I apologize for any typos. I type faster than I think sometimes. XD

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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:

this_is_why_i_m_not_pretty_by_reitanna_seishin-d9ny7aq

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.

Quarter of a Century

Well, in less than a month, I turn twenty-five. I didn’t think it would stress me out this much, but it is. Even though I’m on my medication, I feel really down lately, and I just want November eighth to pass.

You’d think I’d be excited for my birthday, but I’m not. Well, in all honesty, my birthdays stopped being fun after I turned eighteen. But this… I didn’t think I’d make it this far. No, I didn’t want to make it this far. Just because my medication helps keep my brain in check, doesn’t mean I’m not still suicidal. The difference is, I’m not going to go kill myself in a fit of depression. I’m stable, so I can think clearly and make rational decisions.

Still, I don’t want to be twenty-five, I don’t want to be another year older, and I don’t want to be reminded that I’ve spent a quarter of a century in this stupid world. And then there’s the getting older part. I’ve already lost my cuteness that I had as a teenager, but as I get closer to thirty, the wrinkles will start showing up. That means the bags under my eyes are going to be even more alarming. And all that aging cream and wrinkle reducing cream and all that? Expensive face moisturizers. That expensive stuff that claims to reduce signs of aging is the same thing as your everyday moisturizer. Moisture helps reduce the appearance of wrinkles, but as you get older, it can only do so much. So the fact of the matter is, I’M GOING TO GET EVEN UGLIER THAN I ALREADY AM. I’ll probably get fatter, too, even though I’ve been losing weight. NOT ENOUGH.

I’m not worried about grey hair. I’m blonde, have TTM, and like to wear wigs. Big whoop. No, I’m going to get uglier, and I have to spend more time with people around me. I HATE PEOPLE. The only two people I even care about is Michael and Sempai. Sempai was so excited about turning twenty-five, and I honestly couldn’t see why… then again, she actually likes people. She doesn’t have the same thought process I do.

Mike and I are going to Missouri on November ninth, the day after my birthday. I’m hoping the change in scenery will make me feel a little better, plus there are less people in one area, unlike here where all the houses are so close together, we can all hear each other. Can’t even go out at night without passing someone, and each time we do, it freaks me out. While in Missouri, we’re going to check the price of houses. If things look good over there, then in one to two years, we’ll move across the country. Being in a house and not being so surrounded will do me some good. Some people are afraid of change, but god, I need it so badly.

Why do we even celebrate the day we were born?

10 Pointless Pet Peeves

  1. I hate when I just get done taking a shower, only to get covered in towel lint when I dry myself off. Nope, the purpose of the shower wasn’t to get clean at all, it’s just a time waster. T_T
  2. I set down my headphones for just a moment, and when I pick them back up, it’s all tangled.
  3. Some bastard spider came along in the night and bit me like eight times on my left pinky knuckle. What did I ever do to you, spider?
  4. WHY IS IT NINETY-EIGHT DEGREES IN LATE SEPTEMBER?!?!?!
  5. I’m not one to correct spelling or grammar on the internet, but when you spell “animatronic” like “animal tronic,” there’s kind of a problem.
  6. Try to get one thing out of the freezer………… it all falls out.
  7. There’s that moment when you feel you need to exercise, but it’s NINETY-EIGHT DEGREES IN LATE SEPTEMBER!!
  8. Can’t find your cell phone? Well, that’s because you obviously weren’t thinking, and you stuck it in the fridge with the bag of Taco Bell you just brought home.
  9. Anti-Bronies hate Bronies and Bronies hate anyone who is not a Brony and Anti-Bronies hate anyone who is not a Brony but likes the show enough to be a casual fan. BECAUSE FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION!!
  10. People still say Pluto is a planet because “that’s how they learned it.” Well, I learned that being gay was wrong, look how that turned out.

All [BLANK] People Look the Same

“All black people look the same.” “All Asian people look the same.” “All Mexican people look the same.” Blah blah blah. MAN, does that get annoying…

I’m white. I’m white, and racism confuses me. I find it silly when someone claims that someone does something, or is a certain way just because of their skin color. It also bothers me when people say, “you can’t be racist toward white people.” It’s like saying, “men can’t be raped.” What is this “hate crime” bullshit we have? A white man can’t hit a black man, even if the black man hit him first. “Why did you hit him? Because he was black?” “No, it was self defense. I would’ve done the same thing it he were white.” No excuse, it’s a hate crime. However, if a black man hits a white man, even if he hit him because he’s white, it’s simply an assault crime. Makes. No. Sense. Shouldn’t either scenario just be the same crime?

A person cannot be judged for being born a certain way. Do you think we choose our skin color before birth? Do we choose if our brains are healthy? Do we choose if we don’t have deformities? Do we choose what sex we’re attracted to? No, we do not. So why do people discriminate against things we can’t control? If we are to hate another person, it should not be based on their race or sexuality, it should be based on the things they can control, like their personality. Hate someone for being an insensitive asshole, hate someone for being abusive, hate someone for being homophobic, but don’t hate them because of their fucking SKIN. What if you cut someone who is black? What color is their blood? Red. White people have red blood, Asians have red blood, everyone has red blood. Find someone who bleeds blue, and then start asking questions.

I was thinking the other day about when people say, “all [BLANK] people look the same.” I watch a lot of movies, most of them horror, and a good chunk of them are Asian horror. For some reason, I don’t enjoy foreign movies that are in languages other than English or an Asian language. Anyway, the point is, I’ve seen movies where there are more than just white people. IMAGINE THAT. I’ve realized that you can place the word “white” in that [BLANK].

I have short term memory loss, so I can forget new information very quickly. This includes faces, believe it or not. Unless the person has a unique and defining characteristic, I can’t tell one person from the next unless I’ve spent enough time with them to memorize their face. With movies, you only get a short time to become familiar with an assortment of characters, so most of the time, I actually can’t keep track of who is who unless there is something about them that’s different than everyone else. If there’s one black guy in the whole movie, obviously I’m going to recognize him, but say there are two white guys who are around the same age and have blonde hair. Could I tell you who is who? Not unless I watch the movie a few times.

The ironic thing is, when I’m watching an Asian horror movie, I recognize individual faces much quicker. Why is this? Don’t all Asians look the same? How can I tell two Asians apart verses two white people apart? How the hell is that possible? Not sure. Maybe it’s because I don’t see someone as their race, but as another human. But that wouldn’t explain why I have issues discerning white people. I can’t offer a logical explanation to this conflict, but it’s this factor that made me really think about the phrase, “all [BLANK] look the same.” Well, you know what? All white people look the same too.

When looking at it biologically, there are many genes that contribute to human appearance, but because genes are passed down, we share a lot of physical characteristics. If your mom and dad are both blonde, you’re going to be blonde. If both parents are Japanese, you’re going to be Japanese. That’s just a fact. It’s possible to find multiple people that look so similar, you can’t tell them apart unless you’ve had time to become accustomed to their differences. Why do you think we have that moment where we say, “have we met before?” or, “sorry, I thought you looked like someone I knew.” Of course, by the laws of observation, we take in what makes a person unique; their hair color, eye color, and yes, skin color. Concluding that someone is black is not a racist thing to do, because we do the same thing with every other skin color out there, including white. To say that you don’t make a mental note that a person is white is absolute bull.

When I was watching the Saw movies, I had this familiar problem where I didn’t recognize a couple of the white characters. I don’t remember which one it was, I think it was the third one, and toward the end, it showed a face of a character we had supposedly met earlier in the movie, you know, one of those, “here’s the twist! It was this guy!” sort of deals. Whereas most would go, “OH SNAP! It was that guy!” I was sitting here going, “wait, who is that? The music gives you the feeling that this is significant…” The same thing happened with the two victims, I had no idea that they had appeared in the earlier movies until repeated flashbacks showed how certain past plot points connected the stories together. It doesn’t help that I can’t remember names either. In the later movies, I was able to recognize the guy who survived, but that was because his screen time was increased.

I’m not saying I never have a problem telling one person from the other in Asian movies, but I’ve noticed that it happens a lot less. It tends to happen more in movies that show a bunch of students in school because they all have the same uniform, unless of course they wear their hair a certain way. But in movies where the cast is composed mostly of white people, I do experience the “who is that?” thought a lot unless the character has a defining feature that’s unlike the others; unique hair or eye color, different body shape, fashion style, voice, or sometimes eye shape. Take Elijah Wood, for instance. He has very big eyes, and that’s his defining feature. I’m going to be able to recognize him among all the other white characters. Or actors that I am more familiar with because I’ve seen a lot of their movies, like Jim Carry. He’s going to stick out because I’ve had time to memorize his face.

The point is, “all [BLANK] people look the same” is absolute crap because of the obvious fact that all PEOPLE look the same, even if we don’t look the same. It all comes down to the fact that people need to just stop being racist. Haven’t we moved passed this? No, and why? It’s the same with homosexuality. It seems like society is progressing, so why aren’t we passed this? Why do people feel the need to hate people for what they can’t control? How can people possibly say things like, “black people rob banks,” “Asians eat cats,” “Mexicans are lazy,” et cetera? Yeah, there have been cases where a black person robbed a bank, but so have white people. Do you think there isn’t some sick white guy out there who likes to eat cats? And what about laziness? I’m fucking lazy as hell! I’ve met tons of lazy ass white people! Humans have different personalities and make different choices that do not depend solely on their skin color, but depend on their environment in which they grew up.

Even if everything I say is true, will that change anything? No. Because the idiots of the world are going to raise their kids with the same beliefs, and we’ll be lucky if that kid eventually learns that their parents were the idiots that they were. I hate as strongly as I love, but I hate people for their character, not their skin color. For me, that’s just the obvious, and racism, sexism, homophobia, et cetera does not make sense to me. It’s abnormal.

And of course, everything I just said was racist because I’m white.

Sweet, Sweet Salvation from Myself

This is sort of a different blog post than the stuff I have posted more recently. I honestly don’t write enough on WordPress just because I never really think about it. I mean, I don’t have nearly as many followers on here as I do on Deviant Art and YouTube, but my right mind suddenly says to me, “wait a minute, that’s not why you write here. Your mindset of ‘nobody is reading this’ just sounds like another blogger trying to gain popularity for no reason.” My right mind is… RIGHT… as usual, and my unstable mind is always wrong.

Youtube and DA are different because they are ways to express doing what I love, and the mild popularity I have obtained over time was accidental. Now making videos on YouTube is my job, I get paid every month for it, it pays my bills, buys me food, buys food and bedding for my beloved rats. Sure, I don’t make enough to buy things for enjoyment, or help my boyfriend and I buy a house instead of living in this shitty apartment that’s too expensive for what it is, but it’s only a matter of time before I get there. We need to make money in this world to live, and it SUCKS because everything is so damn expensive!

The point is, I write these blogs because I just need to get it out. Even if only a couple of people read it, it doesn’t matter, because the point of most of these senseless banters is a form of therapy. I have a bad habit of bottling things up because it’s become a fad to accuse people of “wanting attention” for expressing the way they feel, and the reason for this is because there are some little shits out there who think it’s okay to pretend to be feeling something they’re not just to get people to pay attention to them. What people don’t understand is that there is a difference between “crying out for attention” and “needing to vent.” For anyone that has a problem expressing their feelings and bottling it all up, you know it builds and builds until you eventually burst into a fit of anger or a traumatizing panic attack. It’s unhealthy, especially for people who already suffer from psychological disorders. I honestly feel that sometimes people accuse others of wanting attention because they want attention. When it comes down to it, they are not my problem. I am my problem. I always have been.

If you keep up with my activity, you’ll know that I suffer from a mental disorder known as Manic Depression, AKA Bipolar Disorder. I was diagnosed when I was a preteen, but I displayed signs of it much earlier according to family members who actually gave a crap but could do nothing about it because the woman who birthed me was an insane whore that didn’t give a shit about her children. I could’ve gotten help a lot sooner if she had just stopped fucking strange men who beat her and paid attention to her daughter. I was put on medication that made things worse, so I was afraid to take medication until I was twenty. Unfortunately, Manic Depression gets worse as you get older, so when things got really bad into my adulthood, I decided it was time to help myself.

It was a very good decision. I told the psychiatrist about my bad experiences with medication, and he put me on some meds that made me feel normal. It was the best I had felt in my entire life. Finally, I didn’t want to die, finally, I’d stop hurting myself, and finally, I stopped sobbing for hours for no apparent reason. Of course, this meant that I’d have to be on medication for the rest of my life, and doses would have to be adjusted accordingly.

A few years later, my most recent doctor decided to put me on Paxil, which is an SSRI. The two medications I had had bad experiences with were also SSRIs, so I’m sure you can tell where this is going. It seemed like the Paxil was doing a good job at keeping me stable, but the price I paid was uncontrollable shaking, twitching, and increased anxiety. It didn’t help that I accidentally took double the dose my first time because of a misunderstanding, and I was vomiting for a few days. However, the shaking and twitching never stopped. People noticed it; even on my videos it was noticeable. It worried my friends, my boyfriend, my coworkers at the time… and then I quit my job. The reason for this was because for the three years I had been working there, one of the assistant managers was harassing me to the point where the company actually required me to attend therapy, which did not help. Therapy has never helped me. So finally, I couldn’t take it. I quit my job and went home.

My boyfriend was supposed to be in Vegas with his family the day I quit. If he had gone, I’d be dead. The trip was cancelled at the last minute, so he was home to stop me from trying to kill myself. After that, I started to develop very aggressive Agoraphobia, which is fear of leaving the house. It doesn’t help that I am also a Sociophobe, and that escalated as well. I am currently in the recovery process, but I didn’t leave the house for two years, and I gained a lot of weight. Because of my Agoraphobia, I could not go to the doctor, so my medication ran out, and I suffered very extreme withdrawal symptoms from quitting Paxil cold turkey. I couldn’t leave my bed for a few months because I was dizzy, I was always throwing up, and yet I could not eat, so nothing but bile came out. Water and bread were all that I could stomach, and I slept sixteen hours a day, which made me feel even more lethargic.

Finally, the symptoms subsided, and eventually, I stopped shaking and twitching. I was off my medication for six months, so in that period, I was depressed most of the time with very few manic episodes, I got angry at the smallest things, I cried constantly for hours on end, and every single fucking day, I just wanted to kill myself. I also could not sleep because I have insomnia that requires medication as well. My fear of death disappeared, my pain tolerance increased (which made cutting myself so easy, it was like nothing more than a stubbed toe), and my extreme fear of needles that I’ve had all my life was GONE. That last one surprised me very much; I have always been terrified of needles, so much that a simple IV would send me into a panic attack. But no, all of that was gone. Why? Absolutely no idea.

Again, for those who follow me, you’ll know about Annatier. She is a character I created many years ago to help better understand and cope with my disorder. Note that hallucinations are NOT part of my disorder, so no, I do not see her, and no, I do not hear her. She is simply a metaphor, but she as a person does not exist. However, when unstable, my thoughts start to get out of control. They don’t become an outside voice, I simply cannot control them. They will tell me things like, “you’re worthless,” “no one loves you,” “mommy didn’t love you,” “you should kill yourself,” et cetera. Suppressed memories are dug up, all positive thoughts are drowned out, and the bad thoughts overlap each other. They don’t need to be a voice to be loud.

I had to try and keep myself busy to shut “Annatier” up. The problem is, Manic Depression is notorious for making people unmotivated and uninterested in every day activities and beloved hobbies. So I was left alone with my thoughts, and it drove me mad. I even began feeling homicidal, feeling like I should simply throw away my life, go stab some people, and get tossed in jail. Hell, the only reason I didn’t kill myself was because I promised to my boyfriend and best friend that I wouldn’t, and my code of honor prevents me from breaking promises. I wanted to go to a mental hospital because I felt I should be locked up. Fuck! I thought about killing people! Actually fucking killing random people who didn’t deserve it! Yeah, I love me some horror and gore, and I write plenty of it, but it is meant to be fictional, I am not a murderer. So not only was I a danger to myself, but possibly others. Luckily, I was able to keep these sick fantasies exactly what they were: fantasies. But still, why couldn’t I go to a mental hospital? Well, my boyfriend kept saying I didn’t need to. I just needed my medication back.

Finally, after two years, I decided I didn’t want to be afraid to leave the house. So I started taking small steps and going places, but never alone. I am still working on it, but I am much better than I was. Unfortunately, a recent car crash has regressed me a little, but that’s just another obstacle, right? At long last, I was able to see my doctor, and I told him what the Paxil did to me. He came to the conclusion that my body did not react well to SSRIs, so instead he put me on an SSNI called Effixor (I don’t actually know if that’s how it’s spelled), along with my sleeping medication and my antipsychotic. I had also been on Welbutren (sp?) before, but he didn’t want to give me too much too fast.

After the first week, I started to notice differences in how I felt. The best part was, I had zero side effects. I began to feel sane, my thoughts were more controllable, my disturbing urge to murder innocent people just to be locked up was gone, and for once in what seemed like decades, I didn’t want to kill myself. It was the best fucking feeling ever, and I remembered what it was like to feel sane. Mean comments on YouTube and DA no longer struck me with irrational anger because I was thinking logically, and was able to tell myself that the people who took the time to insult me were idiots that didn’t deserve my time or energy. Little things that usually depressed the hell out of me no longer had such an effect, AND NO MORE PANIC ATTACKS! And the frosting on the cake? SLEEP. GLORIOUS, UNITERRUPTED SLEEP. My best friend has noted that the shadows under my eyes are considerably less noticeable!

For six weeks, I progressively felt mentally healthier than I had been before, but I noticed something odd. Instead of feeling decently happy like I did when I was on my previous medications, I felt… numb. Yeah, I could laugh, smile, and brief periods of joy were not uncommon, but when it came down to it, I felt so neutral, so apathetic, I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or not. Things did not affect me, and not just because of mental stability, but just every day things had no negative or positive effect on me. Of course, I was also not depressed, so I said to my boyfriend, “I’d rather feel numb and apathetic than depressed and suicidal any day.” It’s been like this since I’ve been on the Effixor (sp?), and I think I know why.

The chemical imbalance in my brain causes me to feel angry, depressed, or sometimes the exact opposite side of the emotional spectrum at extreme levels, though my manic episodes used to last way longer when I was a teenager. What it feels like right now is that my brain is trying to fight the medication, trying to tell me to be depressed, but the medication is putting up a very good fight. As a result, I’m stuck smack-dab right in the middle, causing me to feel next to nothing on a regular basis. I have also seen only a small increase of productivity in me, but I still end up losing motivation. However, instead of “what’s the point,” it’s simply a loss in interest. Because of this, I’ve seen almost every horror movie available on Netflix. T_T Some were pretty good, like American Mary, but some SUCKED HARDER THAN SUCKING ITSELF. I considered The ABCs of Death to be a waste of my time, and refuse to watch the sequel. I’ve also watched quite a few “found footage” movies I wasn’t too fond of, though the V/H/S series wasn’t too bad.

Two weeks ago, I saw my doctor again, and told him how I’ve been feeling. He mentioned that I looked a lot better, and was happy to hear I was also feeling better. In the end, he put me back on Welbutren (sp?), and so far I’ve seen minimal improvement, but these things take time. The car crash sort of didn’t help things, so I’ve just got to be patient. But anyone who knows me knows I am very impatient…

Overall, compared to how I was feeling, I feel fan-fucking-tastic. Like I said, I’d rather be apathetic than suicidal any day! The upside is that negative comments over the internet do not affect me in any way, except to shake my head, block the loser, and delete the comment. Of course, it does annoy me that idiots and scum exist out there, but at least I don’t feel like I want to strangle someone after reading, “o my gawd u suk nd r ugly.” I am able to rationalize the reasons the person left the comment and decide it’s literally nothing. Once it’s deleted and the person is blocked, they don’t exist to me anymore. Besides, all they want is attention, right? Well, I get sick satisfaction out of denying them that attention, because nothing gets to a bully more than their victim not reacting to their torment. It’s actually quite hilarious.

Hopefully I will be seeing more improvement over the next few weeks in my ability to feel, as well as my lack of interest in things. My rats help a lot, because at least cute little animals still have the ability to make me happy. I don’t think that’ll ever change, even if I have bouts of unreasonable homicidal thoughts. I’d never hurt an animal, so at least there’s that much. Nevertheless, I don’t want to kill myself, I don’t feel I need to hurt myself or anyone else, and I’m sleeping. I feel healthy, sane, and less of a worthless screw up. When it comes down to it, all I needed was my medication back. Sometimes that’s all it takes to help someone who is mentally ill. We’ve come a long way in medicine, and I’m glad for it. Now keeping my promise is much easier, and Annatier has finally shut up.

Sweet salvation indeed.

YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE AN OPINION!!

I just recently watched a video on ten laws in the USA that no one follows, and one of them was jaywalking, which was the only one on the list that I myself do indeed follow. So I commented on the video explaining that I don’t jaywalk, but that’s not to say I haven’t jaywalked because I used to have friends in high school that were not quite as rule abiding as me, and due to peer pressure, I have jaywalked in my life very few times. (I had to jaywalk last night when walking outside with my boyfriend at twelve o’clock at night because there was a really creepy dude in front of us, but that’s way different.)

There was no harm intended in the comment… in fact, it was simply stating that all of the “friends” who frequently jaywalked never followed any rules, never finished high school, and never did anything with their life. The point of the comment was saying that I was always the good kid in my group of bad friends.

AND I WAS ATTACKED FOR IT.

I had to remove the comment from the video because I was getting so much hate. And for what? For being a good kid? I’ve never done drugs, never drank, never stolen, and never cheated, and I’m the bad person? Am I not allowed to express my opinion because I’m a good person? Is it wrong that I happen to care about my own fucking morals? Is it wrong to even have morals? What the fuck has this stupid world come to? Where someone can’t even express that they follow ONE FUCKING LAW out of a list of ten that no one else follows because they will get the rest of the internet HATING on them? I am SOOO fucking sorry that I’m not the crack smoking, vodka drinking, gun wielding badass that you need to be in order to have any sort of value in this world.

I fucking hate people. I wish I ruled the world, I really did, because then we wouldn’t have so many FUCKING IDIOTS. I shouldn’t have to be afraid of commenting on videos, I shouldn’t be afraid of being judged, and I shouldn’t have to REMOVE the comment just because people are disgusting drug users who need to be erased from this already disgusting, dishonest world. And people wonder why I want to kill myself! BECAUSE OF THIS SHIT! Because every single fucking piece of human shit is just another EYESORE on this fucking planet!

You know, it took me a year to get the courage to comment on other people’s videos again… maybe I made a fucking mistake. Here’s a lesson to all of you: don’t have an opinion, because if you do, you’ll be hated. Don’t speak your mind, don’t tell the truth, don’t be a good person. If you’re a good person, you might as well hide like I have for two years being stuck in my goddamn house with agoraphobia because you know what? People are shit. People are going to hate you, they are going to bully you, and they are going to tell you that you are worthless and should kill yourself. Why? For being smart. For being honest. For being nice.

I would not be upset if every human on the planet dropped dead RIGHT now. If there’s a god, he fucked up making us. We’re bad, and he should feel bad. I HATE THIS WORLD.