shold be researching
I should be researching but I’m not. Gargh…
I just somehow lost my interest in serotonin? That’s not true. I just… lost my train of thought, I guess.
ANd it’s hard to get started again.
That, and my dad’s in town, the tv is on, farmville is addictive and… gargh.. I can’t concentrate…
tired
I’m tired. I’m so tired these days. I’m not exactly sure why, maybe it’s… I don’t know… I feel like I’m about to fall sick but I’m really not sick which sucks because I’m too tired to work but not sick to get an MC. I am, also, cold. But that’s besides the point I suppose.
parent teacher thing today. All my friends seem so stressed that their parents are going to come. Me, I barely care. And this is when I know that my mum’s the bestest mum in the whole wide world.
I love her. =)
I’m not going to like what my math teacher will have to say about me though, but then again, I’m certain if he heard what I had to say about him, he wouldn’t be all too pleased either.
From a critical and unbiased point of view, he’s racist against Indians, extremely politically incorrect, has a god-complex and is extremely discrimnatory, insulting, hurting, insensitive, arrogant, proud, shortsighted, small minded, blind… gargh…
He’s the kind of person who says things like, “wah, you ar, you so stupid. can’t even draw straight line”; “you got correct answer? but you so stupid, who you copy from?”
ok, no ranting.
I’m just bored, really. Can’t sleep because I’m in school. I should get some work done, I have a research assignment due on Monday which I’ve barely started.
Don’t tell anyone, but I think I’m PMSing again. Which sucks because I did say, rather stupidly, last month that my goal was to stay alive until at least end of this year. I really don’t feel like being alive until then… Blech.
Maybe it’s the tiredness talking. As if the tiredness isn’t a part of me.
Whatever la, ok? Just whatever…
snippets with the psycho
He asked me what medication I am on and I start the list with fluoxetine and he nods his head and says ok only to have me continue on my list with the everything else.
That he knows the medications gives me that much more belief in him.
“I have longer legs than you and even I take smaller steps than you.”
In relation to what I would consider my “first step” towards completing my research project. My idea as a first step was to have most of the body of the project completed.
“What would your Yun say?”
that he even bothered to find out Yun’s name.
“Wow, that’s a lot of confidence. You just gave three big words and…”
When he asked me on a scale of one to ten, how confident I was that I could achieve dream of lawyer-theologian-writer if I wasn’t held back by my fears and all the other things and I told him 8. The three big words refer to depression, OCD and ADHD. He wasn’t being sarcastic, he was truly impressed.
“Wow, you really like to learn don’t you?”
me: I drive, but I don’t park.
him: so how does that work? You just stop in the middle of the road and get out?
crazy again
I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but there’s this thing on youtube (originally from newgrounds) called Charlie the Unicorn.
It’s… about three unicorns. One of them has a perpetual frown and only one kidney. The other two have the most annoying voices on the planet.
It’s a video which either requires a genius’ IQ to understand or an imbecile’s IQ. Either way, I don’t get it. It’s random stuff, and to some extent, I will solemnly admit that I did laugh at some parts.
Most of the parts just left me with this WTF expression on my face but…
I don’t get it. I’m still trying to wrap my thoughts and feelings about it.
It’s funny in a really really unfunny way. It’s not like Mr Bean funny or comedian-insulting-people funny. It’s just… “huh what?” funny which is really not funny at all even though it’s funny.
With that said, the songs in there are rather catchy, annoyingly so. And I now have “put the banana in your ear” from Charlie the Unicorn II ringing in my head.
On another level of crazy…
Sigh, how do I say this?
You know how I’m seeing a psychiatrist? Yeah, now I’m kinda sorta seeing a psychologist as well.
He’s a Christian counsellor whom a very very good friend of mine, Cl, recommended him. Can we call this new addition the psycho? pleasepleasepleaselol?
So the psycho is actually pretty good. I’ve only seen him once, this morning. And I like him.
There’s just something about him that makes him easy to talk to. He’s very soft spoken and gentle. He… idk. There’s something about him that drags me back to this world. He also gives out an air of non-judgmental ness which makes him… easy to talk to.
My mum was in there with me but somehow, I still said many of the things I would not have admitted out loud.
Things like my obsessiveness. My fear of failure. My knowledge of God. My hope in God. My logical belief that I am incapable of virtually nothing despite the fear of failure stopping me from everything.
I don’t know what it is about him but I like him.
I originally didn’t want to go because. I mean, there should be a limit to how much professional help one tiny little troubled adolescent girl is allowed to so as to not waste precious resources or something. But I’m glad I did.
I’m going to get a million “I told you so”s from Cl but I’m thankful for it anyway.
spiders and other things
So there was a spider in physics class the other day, on my table. and i freaked out, yanked my file off the table, stood up, cursing, “Damn fucking it. fuck fuck fuck.” and left the classroom. Leaving all my classmates and my teacher bewildered except my friend who was seated beside me.
Toilet. I didn’t want to go into a stall because it was cramped in there and not the cleanest place in the world and I had nothing to hold on in there, so I stayed outside in the common area of the toilet hoping that nobody would come in. A whole string of people came in but thankfully none I knew.
Stood in front of the mirror, two teardrops rolled. Held on the the sink and tried my best to breathe normally. My whole body was shaking and breathing was a chore.
I then realised that “my spider thing” isn’t just obsessional thoughts, it’s also a phobia.
I was in the toilet for about five minutes, then my friend came to get me. Class was over, she had packed my stuff. She even tried to find the spider but she couldn’t.
And I thank God for friends.
It was humbling, to realise that I too needed friends. That I didn’t live my life solely to be friends to other people but also so that other people could be friends to me.
(it would be interesting to note that Yun doesn’t count as a friend to me. She’s more like… a part of me. Like an arm, or a heart)
I’ve always been known to be proud, and sometimes, I can’t see my own pride. But now, I realise how proud I was to think that friendship was a one way thing where I was the only one capable of giving. Sure, it’s good to give. But I have to remember that I am not perfect and need to receive too.
Separately.
The thing about being OCD is that you come to believe you are god and for most part, you can pass of as one.
Because of my obsessiveness, I am capable of so much that most other normal people aren’t. Like sitting down on the floor and scrubbing the tiles one by one until they are perfectly white. Like doing titration experiments in chemistry lab and getting exactly the same volume each titration. Like cutting my fingernail completely symmetrical. Like doing in one try to turn a boiling tube of water upside down what took your teacher ten tries.
My friend, that flirty one, borrowed a scissors to cut the paper wrapping from his eraser so that more eraser would be exposed. Previously, he had only torn it off so it was a horrid mess. He attempted to cut it without removing the eraser, which I knew would result in a very crooked cut. So I offered to do it for him. I took the eraser out of the paper casing. “Eh, don’t do that. Cannot put back wan,” he said. To which I replied, “Anastasia is demi-god.” I cut the paper casing a little shorter and with barely any effort at all, put the eraser back in. (“omg, you want a kiss?” was his reply but irrelevant to the story)
The reality is that we can, sometimes, be demi-god. I’m not saying we are, but I’m saying it can sometimes seem like we are.
This is perhaps why I never accept it when people say that perfection is impossible. In the big context of things, I can understand it. But in so many other things, I have attempted perfection and gained it. I can accept if I’m not able to solve world famine or global warming or corruption in Malaysia. But I will attempt to get hundred percent for my maths test anyway, because it isn’t something that’s impossible. In fact, it is something that is far from impossible.
Perfection, is far from impossible.
The only reason it is impossible is too many people believe it is.
I’m not saying OCD is good. I’m saying that it isn’t always bad.
It’s perhaps not the best thing in the world when you wash your hands a hundred times to get rid of invisible germs until your hands are raw. Nor when you try to kill yourself when you can’t decide whether or not to quit JC.
But OCD isn’t all bad either.
dash
cannot help but wonder how much longer this will be until i finally can stop and everyone can realise the truth about what really is and stop denying themselves the inevitable has come will come to ruin their lives through all the fault of me though no fault of my own.
Sense has stopped a long time ago logic is challenged beyond comprehension and at soon we will all see reality as it is and not as we perceive it to be not as we want it to be but as the objective truth.
If i have to lie for your own good them perhaps i will.
daily rambles
so the day isn’t really complete if I hadn’t thought up something to blog about. Whether or not I actually get to blog about it is another matter, but at the very least, I must’ve thought of something.
So.
Had a psych appt today. Don’t want to talk about it. His daughters, however, are gorgeous. I don’t get it, I really don’t. Shouldn’t it be illegal to give people brains, looks AND money?
Anyway.
Also wore this shirt to school today. It’s my mum’s shirt really, but it’s big on me so I wore it hippy style with a tube inside and the shirt loosely around me.
My friend commented that she liked it.
The roti canai man commented that it was nice.
Shaddup, I’ll take all the compliments I can get. The roti canai man has eyes and that qualifies him to give a valid compliment.
The shirt, honestly, was very me. I’ve not done hippy in a while. I have so many clothes in my cupboard, flowery, pink, slowy, dresses, skirts. I cannot quite remember when I stopped wearing those and started wearing black.
Don’t get me wrong, I like my black, I do. It makes me look smart and professional. All the easier to get the older men.
But I also like pink and flowery and flowy, I don’t quite know what happened to that girl.
I was looking back at some of my pictures from before. There’s this picture of me with my below-breast length hair in a sleeveless top and flowy trousers which sometimes look like a skirt but it’s not a cullote. My friends from college always comment whenever they see that photo of me, because they aren’t used to seeing me like that. They are used to the me with black top and black pants or straight skirt.
One time, when I went to college wearing a pink top and a flare skirt, what used to be my usual a year ago, my friends were so surprised. (called me candy but that’s besides the point)
I guess this whole paragraph of words is really just harping on the question of what happened to me, when did I change?
Yeah, sure, it’s very adolescent and perfectly normal. But it’s a question all the same.
If I had a choice, which me would I choose?
I honestly don’t see why I can’t be both.
But if I really had to choose, I’d choose black me because I can’t wear short sleeves for the rest of the year. Whoops.
But pink frilly me would have stood a fair chance otherwise.
