WARNING: Nasty Ass Rant

Warning: If you don’t like bad language I’d suggest you don’t look at this.

This is not going to be one of my normal posts

I’ve been posting often and they’ve been long because I can’t shut my mouth up–err, the mouth in my head–and here comes another one so bare with me through this week people.

This one won’t be as long as the one earlier today or the one before that or the one before that, because I’ve only got a few things to say.

I don’t know what I’ve been rambling about the last few days–I mean I know the content but did I really have a revelation about myself, I don’t think so.

I can’t distinguish the emotion I’m feeling at the moment–I haven’t been able to for the last four days. But tonight is especially bad. I’m pissed off, I’m sad, I’m frustrated, I’m happy, I’m anxious, and I want to be social but I want to be in my little corner and I don’t know how to juggle it all.

People. Don’t. Get. It.

It’s not a joke. I’m not sitting here trying to sound dramatic and loopy and stupid. It’s fucking hard.

I want to cry and laugh at the same time and how the fuck does that make sense?

If I could leave the stupid fucking house without someone screaming about it (it’s 11:22pm) I would, but I can’t. I wouldn’t have anywhere to go. A drive maybe, but then I’d need to put gas in the car. I can’t walk down the street at this time of night, I’d be paranoid of shadows and the last fucking emotion I need right now is paranoia. 

I’m listening to music now. I was watching some funny YouTube videos because sometimes the laughter helps, but it hasn’t this time.

So now I’m ranting because maybe this will help. Feel free to completely ignore this post.

But all my other ones you better fucking read.

Just kidding.

Then I get into arguments with people about society and the value (or non-value) of money and the concept of human nature and how I need to get out of the house and explore the world or whatever the fuck. Wrong time to pick a goddamn argument with me. It’s only frustrating me more.

I want to talk to someone about it but what’s the point when no one understands it anyway? We’ve all been emotional right? That’s what they suppose it feels like.

This doesn’t feel like I’m emotional. This is like a trap. It’s a fucking trap. The slightest noise makes my heart race and my skin flinch and my mother smiling at me and telling me there’s food on the stove pisses me off because I want to be alone and no one fucking gets it but at the same time I don’t want to be left alone but I do because . . .

I don’t fucking get it. I don’t! I don’t get it.

In the middle of my text argument my phone keeps freezing and I can’t fucking take it and I want to throw the piece of shit out the window but I’m the one with the expert mask who probably shouldn’t loose her shit and wake the whole house up because I’m normal, I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong with me.

So I suppress it.

If it was day light I would have launched it into the closet door and punched something already.

The videos are so funny and I was enjoying them but not really. They kept me distracted.

I want to cry. About what? I have no idea. Everything is painful. I think about everything I’ve wasted this semester and all the time that’s passed and how fucking stupid I am and the depression hits–but only for a few seconds, then I’m back to seething anger and arguments and frustration because I can’t control it. I can suppress it, but it’s not controlled. It builds and builds and I know I won’t get to sleep early tonight.

Then I feel a little better. And I think maybe it’s passed. And then it starts all over again and I say FUCK!

NO IT’S NOT PMS. I WOULD KNOW.

I just don’t give a shit right now. I’m done answering messages on my phone. I don’t give a shit about money being necessary for the economy, I don’t give a shit about the economy, I could give a flying fuck about society right now and I don’t even remember what my argument was and I honestly don’t care what it was. I’m thirsty as fuck and there’s nothing to drink and no I don’t give a shit if any of this makes sense to you right now.

Yes I have a history of self-harm and yes, these are the moments I revert into that mindset. I don’t want to “punish myself” or “Get attention” or “feel something because I’m numb”. I’m the exact opposite of numb.

No, I need it to focus on just to bring me back down to earth.

I don’t do that anymore because it’s too noticeable and I’m the perfect one, right? I’ve got my shit together, right? I’ve got to make it look like I just have a little bit of social anxiety and maybe a little bit of occasional depression just so my parents don’t freak out. My father doesn’t even know I go to therapy–he wouldn’t remember anyway.

So instead I sit here bathing in whatever the fuck I’m bathing in wishing I could bang my head against the wall or slice open some skin or burn my skin or at least burn something–or fight. Fighting would be nice. I’d stab a motherfucker right now, I’m not in the mood for bullshit.

How do I hide this? I’ve become an expert at it because I tuck myself away in my room and no one questions it. My parents can go days without seeing me out of my room other than for food and the bathroom and they won’t question it–they’ll just wait until I emerge on my own. No one questions it. That’s how I get away with it. It’s not as if I have friends who would notice something different about me. Like I’ve said over the last few days, I don’t even want friends! 

Someone to vent to? Maybe. Friends? No. You can keep them. They fucking annoying me and that’s the truth. No one is true to their word and I don’t need to deal with that drama. They don’t give two shits if I leap off a cliff and blame them in this suicide note–they probably wouldn’t even believe it.

I don’t trust people. I don’t care if that’s not good, I don’t trust them. I think they’re motives are wrong, I don’t think they believe a word I say and in turn I don’t believe a word they say.

Everyone can stay the hell away from me for all I care.

I have a fucking headache.

I said this wouldn’t be long and it is.

I’m trying to breathe but my mind is spinning in circles thinking about how petty I must look in that argument on my phone, about how angry I am at my anger, about how I need to finish (start) my essay, how I need to stop being fucking stupid, how I need to cry, how I don’t want to cry, how I’m not depressed, how it doesn’t make sense that I feel depressed but I’m not depressed, how I’m going to go eat even though I’m not hungry, how I just wish I could punch someone, anyone, right in the face and just take them to the ground and keep hitting and hitting and hitting until maybe I loose feeling in my hands and then I’ll have something to focus on other than this shit in my head.

Music keeps me in reality right now.

I’ll always love music.

How do I hide this from people? I must be a fucking mastermind.

Jotting that down helped a little. I don’t think I’m going to murder anyone anymore. But damn am I fed up with this shit.

I said I was going to be more truthful to myself and this is about as truthful as it gets. I can’t take this shit. There’s the fucking truth.

That helped a little tiny bit. It did. For the time being.

Nope. Fucking WordPress froze as I was adding tags. Pissed off again. Thanks stupid motherfucker.

I swear to God. I swear. If this computer wasn’t 600 dollars I’d fucking smash it to the ground and jump on it and punch it and then throw it out the window and into someone’s car just so I could have justification to fuck up their car too. If WordPress was a person, they’d be fucked right now.

Is My Phone Gunna Do What? Smack You? Probably

It’s always the not-so important things that bother me the most.

For example, one Thursday afternoon a friend and I wandered through the library looking for an open “study room”. These are rooms in the sides of the library that are almost sound proof (as opposed to the upstairs rooms that are sound proof) and that you’re allowed to talk in (as opposed to the upstairs rooms where you’re not allowed to). They’re specifically for groups of 2 or more.

Well, they fill up pretty quickly. I don’t know people at this school even though I’ve been attending for three years but my friend recognized two women in a far corner room. We asked if we could also study there. One girl had her ear phones in her ear, the other just had her nose in her book. I set my phone on the table. It buzzed once. One time. I hadn’t got a text all day. The chick with her face buried in the book looked up at me and said “is your phone going to do that every time you get a text?”

Bitch, What?

Is your fucking pencil going to sound like nails on a fucking chalkboard every time you write an integral sign? Is your voice going to sound like a fucking bear cub with it’s leg caught in a trap every time you open that gaping mouth of yours? Are you going to keep fucking whispering to your friend every five fucking seconds?

What kind of dumb ass question is that?

My blood boiled, as usual, and I was ready to “Is Wayne Brady Gunna Have To Choke A Bitch?” the shit out of her, as usual.

Instead, I responded, “I’ll put it on silent right now.”

I know I shouldn’t really care about all the attitude in her voice, and I understand we were the ones who entered their room, but she could have kindly asked, “can you turn your phone on silent? Sorry, it gets on my nerves” or something.

I mean, don’t get pissed off at me because you don’t understand your calculus homework. That sounds like a personal problem.

See why it’s just so much easier not  to talk with people? I don’t have to deal with attitudes or stupidity or promises or anything. If you’re only ever with you, the only thing you have to deal with is yourself. I mean, that’s a challenge in itself, but at least if you cop an attitude with yourself, you can slap yourself without some cop charging you with assault.

So maybe I have a slight irritability problem. The smallest things light my very, very short fuse; it’s always been that way. If you do something to piss me off, chances are I’ll remember it even when I shouldn’t. That girl probably couldn’t recall that day in the study room, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

I try not to hold grudges against people. Just because I’m mad at them, doesn’t mean I’m seeking revenge or that I’m obsessing over their stupidity. Regardless, I can’t say with confidence that if the opportunity to fuck with her presented itself, I wouldn’t take it. I probably would. But I’m not planning or waiting for that day. If it comes along that’s when I’ll make my move. I’m sneaky.

I also try not to manipulate people or make them feel bad or make them do what I want them to. But the temptation is great. I mean . . . if you can’t see that I’m messing with you, If you can’t see that the socially awkward, socially inept, socially anxious chick is fucking with you, if you are so blind that I see what’s good for you when you can’t, than you deserve to get fucked with. Does that sound conceited? Probably. Whatever.

There’s a reason why I say it’s a good thing I have social anxiety disorder. If I didn’t, I’d be blurting shit every which way, probably stacking up enemies, and metaphorically pushing people off bridges. I care about people, I really do, and I’m very in tune with myself, with others, with our surroundings, with the universe, but if you piss me off it’s all over; no more feeling, no more anxiety, no more second guessing my words. And you better not catch me in a week where I haven’t gotten very much sleep for the previous five days (A.k.a THIS WEEK) because I’ll lay you flat on the concrete without hesitation. My anger is very freeing.

Sometimes I do feel like I’m better than everyone else. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t. One of my issues with authority, and one of the reasons why I’d still have problems working even without this fucking social anxiety bullshit, is that they’re all idiots. They are! Not one of the seven managers at my last job had a lick of sense in their thick heads. I want my M.D because 1) adolescents deserve better care than a pill-pusher (Everyone does) and 2) because I can’t handle people telling me what to do. I don’t mind it when I’m learning, but once I’ve learned it back the fuck off. I don’t want you over my shoulder, I don’t want you re-telling me things or insinuating I’m stupid and most importantly I don’t want you acting like you have the right to assert your power over me because you have a different title on your name tag. We can take this shit outside, if it’s a problem.

I can’t be an elf. I just can’t. I have to be Santa Claus. Once I nip this social anxiety in the bud, it’s on. Move bitch, get out the way! For real, if you’re standing in my way, I’m going to smack you to the side.

I have a feeling a lot of this is my mindstate talking more than me. No sleep = aggressive, narcissistic, confrontational, and little patience for stupidity.

My eyes might hurt like a bitch but I feel pretty good about myself at this moment. I’d rather be willing to punch someone in the teeth than curled up on my floor ready to blow my head off. Not that I have a gun. I don’t. Guns creep me out. I’d like to go to a shooting range one day though, that’d be fucking awesome!

I also want to invent a dashboard camera for your car that records your speed limit in the tape so that when you get pulled over for being black or brown–oops, I mean speeding–you can prove that you weren’t speeding. If we have google cars driving people around, than what’s so weird about a camera that catches cops being liars? I really want to get a dashboard camera and rear camera for my car. I’m sick of cops fucking with me.

I don’t even know how I got on that topic.

I haven’t eaten yet today: it’s 5pm. Shit, I think I forgot. My stomach isn’t happy. I’m going to go shove something in my face hole.