I said, "I'm depressed."
Pause.
I added, "I'm taking pills."
And I think, why is it that taking those two tiny, round, chalky pilules verify my mental state? That being dropped to and picked up from South Wimbledon each week, where I read OK! magazine and then talk rubbish for an hour justifies my telling strangers that I am unbalanced, slowly getting into a self-induced schizophrenia?
I wrote, "Don't say sorry. You can't deal with this. I don't expect you to imagine the pain I am going through."
And I think, isn't this slightly too dramatic, even for me? Isn't this too much of a cry screaming 'please, save me, love me, my only guy friend on whom I am projecting all my desires?' Isn't this just too sad for words? Sad. Disgusting. Dependent. Clingy. Ah ha. There we go. That word fits my actions once again. Damn you. Why couldn't I have developed an ESTJ personality? Me and dad would have gotten on just fine. Or maybe not.
I looked down at my $13 blue shoes. I wasn't going to buy them. Because they were blue. My mother's or father's or aunt's conformity blaring inside my head. Their selling point to me? They were blue corduroy, they looked completely old-school, they had a rubber sole with a cool grip, they fit me (though 1/2 a size big) and were $13, original price $45. And the fact that I wanted to do something crazy, completely unlike me.
These shoes define me. Wanting to be different, screaming to be different and doing almost anything to be it. Even if it doesn't fit. Wearing shoes 1/2 a size bigger even after I realise it. Wearing them in the rain and snow, when they obviously got soaked. Playing football with them, till I realised the irreparable damage to my shoes and stop for the day. Not chucking them out. I'll wear them till they have holes. I will cry when I see the first hole.
My dad is such a bastard. He wrote an email to my mum telling her to ring me everyday. So that is why she rang me last night. No wonder it felt completely surreal. And then I had to burst out crying, after the trauma of the father-daughter row we had yesterday. Talking about Hussain and Ginger. Talk about regression. I'm a bloody 5 year-old. And a 13 year-old. And a 16 year-old.
I found my piece of heaven yesterday. God has probably never heard me praise Him and love Him as much as I did yesterday. The sun was shining, I found the bench ensconced (the word feels right in this context) in this shrubbery and it was respite from all the poncey cyclists and dog-walkers. No one passed me there, I am pretty sure only God and his birds were aware I was there. I have marked it as my territory. With my aura. I saw two birds scavenging in the bushes a way away and I cried. Does walking for 2 1/2 hours make up for 2 weeks of not walking? I doubt it. But my legs are knackered.
I don't think I am an INFP, nor a 4w5. Jung, please define me. The Luscher test is frequently saying that I am repressing my physical and sexual needs, which are causing stress. Well, tell me, dear Luscher, how on Earth do I relieve it, then? My bloody lover is holed up somewhere or shacked up with someone or dead or just ain't bothered. He doesn't believe in a soul mate and he sure as heck doesn't want me for one. So. I shall die a virgin. Unloved. The two are mutually exclusive, by the way.
She said, "Don't you think sex is over-rated?"
I think, she's just 19 years-old and most definitely a virgin. How on Earth would you or I know? Since we've never been made love to. Ever. Anyway, I define sexual giving as the closest thing one can do to merge souls together. Since we can't do that on this plane, at least, we settle for the next best thing.
So I have found the females who are INFJ and INFP. Now for the males. It should be interesting. Since I don't know any boy intimately, I can't say if I have ever met any in the past.
I found this. I wrote it on 19th Oct 2007
It seems like the perfect starting job on paper. Unfortunately I just don’t fit. Face to face interaction and what not. God, I can barely talk to anyone while looking him or her in the eye. I can't get myself up in the morning. I just can’t/don’t do anything. It makes me wonder how the millions of people who suffer from depression but haven’t a choice but to go to work how on earth do they COPE? And how long exactly will I be able to remain like this before I need money?
So, where are you now?
I sing, "Am I where I wanted to be?/ Did I get there easily?/ Did I make a sacrifice?/ Did I make a sharp left when I should have turned right?/ Did I sell off all of my gold?/ Did I wait for love or settle for somebody to hold?"
I am so glad I am not in love. I have been listening to all these songs and the lyrics and boy, they have a shit time; these unrequited lovers, these jilted lovers, these star-crossed lovers. I mean, I have enough drama in my life being myself, without any 'real problems'. Imagine how crazy I would make myself if I ever fell in love? How crazy I would make him, if he fell in love with me as well? Some of these singers just hit you. They know what they are saying. Like Evanescence and 'My Immortal'.
I hate people who feel obliged to say stupid things like "I'll write to you every day, even get a phone card if I have to." Or "Tell me what's up with you. Generally." And then, when I pour out all of my feelings to them, they get frigging scared and back away.
Fuck off and tell the truth, tarts. I don't need you. God takes care of me, even if I don't take care of myself. If you are just feeling guilty or feeling self-important or feeling like you need to fulfil an obligation, don't. I'd rather you insult me and tell me I am a drama queen, a shit bag, a loser, an oxygen thief - especially if you really think I am like that.
There. Now fuck off, all of ya. I am once again deconstructing myself. It's useless being human or 'normal'. Maybe I could become a Sufi. Without the spirituality. So, basically, a hermit. Or a hermitised fucker. God knows why he likes writing stuff like that. Stop it, stop it. Stop it.
I should have guessed that he would want to watch The Darjeeling Limited. The fact that I wanted to watch it was solely because Adrian Brody was in it. And that it was based in India. He's such an artsy fartsy tart. That's my new word. Instead of bastard. But I will still use wanker. And tosspot. And tosser.
Does everyone think life sucks? Then why the hell do we think life will ever get better? Or that we should remain here? Are we doing anyone any favours? No.
Pause.
I added, "I'm taking pills."
And I think, why is it that taking those two tiny, round, chalky pilules verify my mental state? That being dropped to and picked up from South Wimbledon each week, where I read OK! magazine and then talk rubbish for an hour justifies my telling strangers that I am unbalanced, slowly getting into a self-induced schizophrenia?
I wrote, "Don't say sorry. You can't deal with this. I don't expect you to imagine the pain I am going through."
And I think, isn't this slightly too dramatic, even for me? Isn't this too much of a cry screaming 'please, save me, love me, my only guy friend on whom I am projecting all my desires?' Isn't this just too sad for words? Sad. Disgusting. Dependent. Clingy. Ah ha. There we go. That word fits my actions once again. Damn you. Why couldn't I have developed an ESTJ personality? Me and dad would have gotten on just fine. Or maybe not.
I looked down at my $13 blue shoes. I wasn't going to buy them. Because they were blue. My mother's or father's or aunt's conformity blaring inside my head. Their selling point to me? They were blue corduroy, they looked completely old-school, they had a rubber sole with a cool grip, they fit me (though 1/2 a size big) and were $13, original price $45. And the fact that I wanted to do something crazy, completely unlike me.
These shoes define me. Wanting to be different, screaming to be different and doing almost anything to be it. Even if it doesn't fit. Wearing shoes 1/2 a size bigger even after I realise it. Wearing them in the rain and snow, when they obviously got soaked. Playing football with them, till I realised the irreparable damage to my shoes and stop for the day. Not chucking them out. I'll wear them till they have holes. I will cry when I see the first hole.
My dad is such a bastard. He wrote an email to my mum telling her to ring me everyday. So that is why she rang me last night. No wonder it felt completely surreal. And then I had to burst out crying, after the trauma of the father-daughter row we had yesterday. Talking about Hussain and Ginger. Talk about regression. I'm a bloody 5 year-old. And a 13 year-old. And a 16 year-old.
I found my piece of heaven yesterday. God has probably never heard me praise Him and love Him as much as I did yesterday. The sun was shining, I found the bench ensconced (the word feels right in this context) in this shrubbery and it was respite from all the poncey cyclists and dog-walkers. No one passed me there, I am pretty sure only God and his birds were aware I was there. I have marked it as my territory. With my aura. I saw two birds scavenging in the bushes a way away and I cried. Does walking for 2 1/2 hours make up for 2 weeks of not walking? I doubt it. But my legs are knackered.
I don't think I am an INFP, nor a 4w5. Jung, please define me. The Luscher test is frequently saying that I am repressing my physical and sexual needs, which are causing stress. Well, tell me, dear Luscher, how on Earth do I relieve it, then? My bloody lover is holed up somewhere or shacked up with someone or dead or just ain't bothered. He doesn't believe in a soul mate and he sure as heck doesn't want me for one. So. I shall die a virgin. Unloved. The two are mutually exclusive, by the way.
She said, "Don't you think sex is over-rated?"
I think, she's just 19 years-old and most definitely a virgin. How on Earth would you or I know? Since we've never been made love to. Ever. Anyway, I define sexual giving as the closest thing one can do to merge souls together. Since we can't do that on this plane, at least, we settle for the next best thing.
So I have found the females who are INFJ and INFP. Now for the males. It should be interesting. Since I don't know any boy intimately, I can't say if I have ever met any in the past.
I found this. I wrote it on 19th Oct 2007
It seems like the perfect starting job on paper. Unfortunately I just don’t fit. Face to face interaction and what not. God, I can barely talk to anyone while looking him or her in the eye. I can't get myself up in the morning. I just can’t/don’t do anything. It makes me wonder how the millions of people who suffer from depression but haven’t a choice but to go to work how on earth do they COPE? And how long exactly will I be able to remain like this before I need money?
So, where are you now?
I sing, "Am I where I wanted to be?/ Did I get there easily?/ Did I make a sacrifice?/ Did I make a sharp left when I should have turned right?/ Did I sell off all of my gold?/ Did I wait for love or settle for somebody to hold?"
I am so glad I am not in love. I have been listening to all these songs and the lyrics and boy, they have a shit time; these unrequited lovers, these jilted lovers, these star-crossed lovers. I mean, I have enough drama in my life being myself, without any 'real problems'. Imagine how crazy I would make myself if I ever fell in love? How crazy I would make him, if he fell in love with me as well? Some of these singers just hit you. They know what they are saying. Like Evanescence and 'My Immortal'.
I hate people who feel obliged to say stupid things like "I'll write to you every day, even get a phone card if I have to." Or "Tell me what's up with you. Generally." And then, when I pour out all of my feelings to them, they get frigging scared and back away.
Fuck off and tell the truth, tarts. I don't need you. God takes care of me, even if I don't take care of myself. If you are just feeling guilty or feeling self-important or feeling like you need to fulfil an obligation, don't. I'd rather you insult me and tell me I am a drama queen, a shit bag, a loser, an oxygen thief - especially if you really think I am like that.
There. Now fuck off, all of ya. I am once again deconstructing myself. It's useless being human or 'normal'. Maybe I could become a Sufi. Without the spirituality. So, basically, a hermit. Or a hermitised fucker. God knows why he likes writing stuff like that. Stop it, stop it. Stop it.
I should have guessed that he would want to watch The Darjeeling Limited. The fact that I wanted to watch it was solely because Adrian Brody was in it. And that it was based in India. He's such an artsy fartsy tart. That's my new word. Instead of bastard. But I will still use wanker. And tosspot. And tosser.
Does everyone think life sucks? Then why the hell do we think life will ever get better? Or that we should remain here? Are we doing anyone any favours? No.