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“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?

WRONG.

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?

BECAUSE EVERYTHING YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO EAT TO KEEP YOU REGULAR CAUSES KIDNEY STONES.

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:

nature-girl

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.)

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WE ARE THE END

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.

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

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.

GOD DAMN THIEVING BASTARD!!!

GRRR!!! Whenever I say, “oh, that’s never gonna happen to me,” it eventuall happens. So I get a phone call yesterday saying there was some suspicious purchases from my debit card. Oh yes, I was thrilled. Turns out, some bastard somehow got ahold of my debit card number and used it in three different transactions at a gas station, consisting of only $1.00 each. They’re all like, “were these your purchases?” and I was like, “no, I don’t even have a car.” They’re like, “oh dear…” I told them I have my card on me at all times, and you know, it’s sitting here RIGHT in front of me as I type this. They said they have no idea how they may’ve gotten my card info, but they said that means someone is running around with a fake card with my number. Dunno how it happened. They could’ve just pulled a random number out of their ass. I use PayPal, which is supposed to be secure, and I wanna hope it wasn’t from there that they got it. Either way, I closed my account and got a new one, which I will use when the bank sends me a new debit card. But it’s like… why? Why are some humans like this? Greedy, thieving bastards that have no life of their own, can’t hold down a job because they’re pathetic lazy pigs, and they feel the need to steal from innocent people. Oh, if only I was able to hunt this person down, I would kick his ass and make him think twice about stealing other people’s money in the future. Yes, it was only $3.00, but it could’ve been more. I wanna take people who steal, whether it’s money, jewlery, or even a simple toy or candy bar, and throw them into a windowless room together locked behind a 3 foot thick steel door until they go mad. I have NO TOLERANCE for people who are that stupid. I find out one of my friends stole something, I’d turn them in in a heartbeat, and then I’d drop them like a lead balloon. It’s as bad as lying. I don’t take well to people who lie either. Ooooh, I’m so angry. I can’t even buy anything until monday when i go to my bank to take out a little cash, and I usually have to buy a water at work every day, or sometimes a snack. And then, if something’s on sale, I’ll pick that up too. Water is the most important thing though, cause I get dehydrated easily.

My manager says I should open a second account linked to my main bank account to use strictly for online purchases, and only put in enough money to buy what I need, so that if someone gains access to it, there will be no money to take. She said I could also set it so it’s not allowed to go in the negative, so it should be declined if there’s nothing there to take. Monday, I’ll talk to the people at my bank about, who are always really helpful and nice. I chose a good bank.

MAN I’M GONNA KICK YOUR ARSE!!!

Old People…

I’ve always known that I don’t enjoy the company of old people. Call me intolerant if you want. Just remember, YOU chose to read this. Ever since I was a young girl, I thought old people were slow, boring, and nasty looking. Of course, I didn’t know the half of it. Later I found everything that happens to people when they age. I went to the Bodies Exhibit a few years back, and they were showing a chart of brain development. The reason for old people being unintelligent was finally aparent. As an infant, the brain is growing and developing rather quickly, taking in information and such. This is why it is crucial to make sure your child is getting as much education as possible. Not just in childhood though, because the brain continues to grow up until about age twenty. When a teenager thinks they know everything, they are wrong because they haven’t reached their full mental capacity. At age twenty, most intelligent people will realize they don’t know everything, and they never will know EVERYTHING. However, they are aware of their maturity level, their strengths and weaknessess, and their limitations. When I was eighteen, I used to laugh at all who were not “adults” yet because I was the smartest person in the world. Well, I learned two years later that you are only legally an adult at eighteen, and you’re biologically an adult at twenty.

So, at twenty our brains are swollen with knowlege, assuming you didn’t fuck yourself up by doing drugs, drinking, smoking, or just plain sleeping in school and refusing to do homework. We get to enjoy this vast, swollen brain for maybe… guessing about fifteen to twenty years… MAYBE. Then it starts to shrink, to shrivel, to DIE. This is maybe my worst fear. We start to lose brain cells. We grow… there’s no other word for it… stupid. I value my intelligence, even though I am not a genius. I feel like I’m one of the few smart people left… I mean, compared to a lot of idiots I see in this world, I AM a fucking genius. (If you could hear the kind of conversations Lauren and I get into, you’d be like, “what the fuck?” Because they are all deep and scientific, questioning the way our bodies and minds work, or how nature works, etc.) Part of me feels guilty about hating old people because they are slow, ugly, and stupid… I know they can’t help it. But I’m scared. Not only do I value my intelligence, I also value my looks. I know I’m not ugly, so I try my best to keep my skin looking as great as I can without harming it, hoping that I can delay the wrinkling process as long as I can. I don’t want to be ugly, but I’m against plastic surgery. A fragment of my being secretly hopes I die at forty, but god knows I don’t actually want to die. I just hope god keeps me pretty for as long as possible… but he has more important things to do than worry about me. I don’t blame him. This world has gone to utter crap.

All of this asside, I don’t like how MEAN old people are. I mean, I’d be grumpy if I was stupid and ugly too, but they could at least try to treat people nicely. I think they hate everyone. And people are retiring a lot sooner than they should, so they are taking all of our tax money! They are horrible drivers and are slow in line at stores, and they force their family to take care of them as if they were a baby. They are just a huge inconvenience. At least babies are cute, and we know they’ll be intelligent in a few years. I don’t know if you’ve noticed… but seven year olds are freakin smart. Seven, eight, and nine, I’d say. I played checkers with a nine year old who nearly matched my skill. If I decide to have a kid, (and I hope it’s a girl,) she’ll be a genius. I’ll give her everything my mother didn’t give me. When we’re at a store, I want her to get excited about a pretty dress AND a book explaining the complexity of space. I will be honored if she’s more intelligent than me… of course, I wasn’t given the greatest opportunity I could have gotten… thanks mom and dad.

Long story short… I really hate old people. We should have a giant retirement home to send them to… like Alcatraz, only for old people instead of deadly criminals.

I Don’t Want To Be… THEM…

Have you ever devoted an entire segment of your life to NOT being like a certain person or persons? Yes, it’s a task that takes a lot of energy, but we being humans do it without even thinking about it. I sort of just realized the times when I’ve done it. Of course, I was VERY aware of me trying not to be like my parents; I’ve dedicated my entire life to that. But then, when I realized Ariel was going downhill, I saw all the annoying and disgusting slobby things she was doing, I purposefully made sure that my actions were as opposite as hers as possible. Of course you know, when you’re around a person for a long time, you end up adopting some of their traits. So even after I left Ariel’s house for good, I had to work to get all of the quirks she expelled on me out of my system. There was one really bad one… making constant excuses. Whenever I encountered a sort of problem, I would make an excuse, even if what I was saying was true, because I hate lying. I had to realize, no one wants to hear an explanation of what happened, they just want to hear a short “okay” or “it won’t happen again.” The reason being, when you make an excuse, it sounds like an immature teenager not taking responsibility for his/her actions. Thank god I trained myself to please my superiors by offering responsible responses. I also had to make sure I didn’t leave my dishes lying around like she did, or keeping stuff off the floor. Right now it’s hard to do that because since I’m never home, I can’t clean my room.

However, now I have a new person to keep myself from being like. I have to say, Ariel was the way she was because her mom was a horrible parent who didn’t discipline her, and Ariel also was on drugs, and very lazy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m lazy too, but only when it’s appropriate. But this girl, Michael’s current roommate whom we’re trying to get rid of, is completely sober, and as far as I know, had a responsible mother. This girl has a disability that affects her motor skills, but not her mental skills… no. She’s not mentally handicapped, she’s just normal, grade A stupid. I had no idea that a girl with good upbringing and straight edge could possibly be MORE of a slob than Ariel. Michael is the only one who does the dishes, because I have tactile defensive disorder, which makes certain senses of mine sensitive to textures like water, and this girl just plain doesn’t like it. However, when I move in, I will do all other house work; I actually enjoy it. But at least I make it easier on him by RINSING my dishes and putting them in the sink. This THING just leaves non-rinsed pots and pans on the stove, and leaves food out on the counter for days on end. She also doesn’t flush the fucking toilet. Her room is a pig sty, and I haven’t told Mike this, but I found what look horribly like boogers stuck under the bathroom counter…. I am very confused. She’s rude and disgusting, and because of this, I try my best to not do the things she does. She always coughs, but her cough is a ridiculous sounding cough which leads me to believe she’s crying for attention, so I try to actually not even cough, and when I do, I cover my mouth and try to be as silent as humanly possible. I also try my hardest not to talk to myself because she has conversations with herself. I try to be cleaner than usual, and plain not make any noise what so ever. There are other thing that I try not to do, but they’re not worth explaining. Point is, I am now conscious of my actions of trying not to adopt her horrible personality.

I don’t know why we do this. I also don’t know if I’m worse than other when it comes to this. I am a Scorpio, so I know we are meaner than an angry badger with a thorn stuck up its ass. We hold long, horrid grudges full of vengeance… so maybe my hatred for the ways she lives (like a pig) is quite hostile, but I don’t give a fuck. I believe that certain people deserve this kind of treatment, especially if you are a rude person with no respect for other people. How else are they going to learn? I had to learn the hard way. I was punished for these things too. Because of that, I believe that people can only learn by harsh methods. And if this bitch doesn’t learn, she’ll be pushed out of the gene pool… but frankly, she’s uglier than sin, so she probably shouldn’t reproduce anyway… not that anyone would want to fuck her. So those are just a couple of reasons why it would help us all if she didn’t reproduce; her stupidity and ugliness. Lauren keeps telling me that I need to reproduce because we are pretty and intelligent, and so few pretty, intelligent people are reproducing… but frankly, I don’t know if I WANT kids.

I don’t want to be like my mother, and my biggest fear is putting a child through what I had been through.