Thursday, July 21, 2005
Hi hi! Not at GP lecture at the moment, I mean, what's the point of killing your brain cells? We only have a limited amount of grey matter up there in a lifetime. We should conserve them. XP
Anyway yeah, nothing much to blog about, only that I'm bored and wanna talk crap haha.
Oh ya, Chengwei called last night and we had a fun time poking fun at each other. I think he's the only person whom I can say "Shut up!!" to as forcefully as I want to and not risk ruining our friendship hehe. A possible exception might be Erika, but that kinda depends on her mood really...
Anyway I just had a thought: who is bitchier, Joel (from my class) or Chengwei?
I really don't know hmm...I would LOVE to see the two of them get into an argument. That would be highly entertaining. I think I'll even get Gerald to film it or something...hahaz....
Ok enough random thoughts aside. Wait, what did I want to say? Eeeek...I forgot...I'm going senile!!! Nooooooooo!
What was that again? Never mind that. I'm just nuts. Ignore me. They all do. Well some of them anyway.
Pooh, I just remembered the semi-argument I had with my dad this morning. Why semi? Because I didn't get angry, that's how. I don't consider it a full argument unless I get worked up as well. It takes two hands to clap after all.
{However it only takes one hand to slap, and that makes noise too...}
Anyway, long story short: Dad was grumpy when he woke up, yelled at a groggy and headachy me, me got tired of all the yelling and walked out of the house to go to school on me own. However dad intercepted me and sent me to school anyway...ah well. Hopefully he'll be in a better mood tonight....
Sometimes I get really tired of being yelled at. Wouldn't you? It gets highly aggravating when all your life you get shouted at and verbally put down just because your dad was upset. I know dad gets upset a lot and very easily. The skin on his arms itch a lot and give him lots of pain, so understandably he gets pissed off easily. Add that to a bad day at work, or a bad night of sleep, and you get a very grumpy guy with a terrible temper.
I try to give in sometimes of course. It's the only way to keep the peace. When he starts yelling, I just take a step back and mutely accept whatever he's screaming about because I know he doesn't really mean it. But it's sometimes hard to remember that.
It's really weird sometimes. I know every single line of his speeches by hard, but yet everytime I hear it again it slices deep into me. It really hurts you know. I hate being made to feel guilty or upset and what-not like 80% of the time. I have enough trouble dealing with my own demons; I don't need someone else to add on the load.
Dad says he never beats me, unlike some bad fathers who whack their children for no rhyme or reason. I know dad has sacrificed a lot for me and I appreciate it, and I can accept him grumbling and grouching about as he potters around the house doing chores---some of which are totally pointless and self-invented by him to keep himself busy. I know, dumb right? But dad doesn't know how to just sit down and rest. For him, rest=sleep. And he doesn't sleep until he makes sure all the chores are done...whether they needed to be done or not in the first place.
It's the emotional scars my dad's been inflicting on me that hurt the most. He doesn't HAVE to beat me. Hitting me doesn't do anything. It only makes me angry. It doesn't make me feel remotely guilty at all. My dad says all sorts of hurtful stuff when he's upset, and that hurts me too. Most of the time I just try to shut it out and let him spew out all the excess steam till he runs out of gas and stops automatically. But sometimes it just plain makes me miserable. Pure and simple.
I hate being made to feel like everything is my fault. I can do that well enough of my own. Deep down I'm secretly convinced that everything is already my fault anyway, so I don't need my dad to come along and remind me of them all over again.
That's what I do most of the time really; avoiding what I know is hidden deep inside me. I spend all my time all meaningless things in order to cloud my own senses. I try to escape from myself all the time. That's what I do: run. I just keep running, because I know that if I stumble, all that hate and despair and fear would just catch up with me and just totally overwhelm me.
That would explain why that one night in June, I spent a whole hour screaming my lungs out in my room, with loud Initial D music to mask the sound. I was jsut so miserable that night, because what I had been evading had managed to pounce on me then. I was screaming and crying and pouinding my fists against the wall, even to the point of thudding my head against the wall.
I didn't bleed then, but all the bleeding was internal. I was absolutely crushed, and was seeing things that aren't really there. I mentioned my own internal demons earlier. They were out in full force that night, laughing, mocking, hissing, screaming. Clawing at me, dragging me down.
And I was so alone.
I wrote a short story entitled "And We All Die Alone". That pretty much sums it up.
Blood on my hands it never ends the screaming tears and sweat blood and dirt...
The little girl lying crumpled and bleeding on the floor
Broken and torn
She does not weep
She cannot...
Because......
]
Anyway yeah, nothing much to blog about, only that I'm bored and wanna talk crap haha.
Oh ya, Chengwei called last night and we had a fun time poking fun at each other. I think he's the only person whom I can say "Shut up!!" to as forcefully as I want to and not risk ruining our friendship hehe. A possible exception might be Erika, but that kinda depends on her mood really...
Anyway I just had a thought: who is bitchier, Joel (from my class) or Chengwei?
I really don't know hmm...I would LOVE to see the two of them get into an argument. That would be highly entertaining. I think I'll even get Gerald to film it or something...hahaz....
Ok enough random thoughts aside. Wait, what did I want to say? Eeeek...I forgot...I'm going senile!!! Nooooooooo!
What was that again? Never mind that. I'm just nuts. Ignore me. They all do. Well some of them anyway.
Pooh, I just remembered the semi-argument I had with my dad this morning. Why semi? Because I didn't get angry, that's how. I don't consider it a full argument unless I get worked up as well. It takes two hands to clap after all.
{However it only takes one hand to slap, and that makes noise too...}
Anyway, long story short: Dad was grumpy when he woke up, yelled at a groggy and headachy me, me got tired of all the yelling and walked out of the house to go to school on me own. However dad intercepted me and sent me to school anyway...ah well. Hopefully he'll be in a better mood tonight....
Sometimes I get really tired of being yelled at. Wouldn't you? It gets highly aggravating when all your life you get shouted at and verbally put down just because your dad was upset. I know dad gets upset a lot and very easily. The skin on his arms itch a lot and give him lots of pain, so understandably he gets pissed off easily. Add that to a bad day at work, or a bad night of sleep, and you get a very grumpy guy with a terrible temper.
I try to give in sometimes of course. It's the only way to keep the peace. When he starts yelling, I just take a step back and mutely accept whatever he's screaming about because I know he doesn't really mean it. But it's sometimes hard to remember that.
It's really weird sometimes. I know every single line of his speeches by hard, but yet everytime I hear it again it slices deep into me. It really hurts you know. I hate being made to feel guilty or upset and what-not like 80% of the time. I have enough trouble dealing with my own demons; I don't need someone else to add on the load.
Dad says he never beats me, unlike some bad fathers who whack their children for no rhyme or reason. I know dad has sacrificed a lot for me and I appreciate it, and I can accept him grumbling and grouching about as he potters around the house doing chores---some of which are totally pointless and self-invented by him to keep himself busy. I know, dumb right? But dad doesn't know how to just sit down and rest. For him, rest=sleep. And he doesn't sleep until he makes sure all the chores are done...whether they needed to be done or not in the first place.
It's the emotional scars my dad's been inflicting on me that hurt the most. He doesn't HAVE to beat me. Hitting me doesn't do anything. It only makes me angry. It doesn't make me feel remotely guilty at all. My dad says all sorts of hurtful stuff when he's upset, and that hurts me too. Most of the time I just try to shut it out and let him spew out all the excess steam till he runs out of gas and stops automatically. But sometimes it just plain makes me miserable. Pure and simple.
I hate being made to feel like everything is my fault. I can do that well enough of my own. Deep down I'm secretly convinced that everything is already my fault anyway, so I don't need my dad to come along and remind me of them all over again.
That's what I do most of the time really; avoiding what I know is hidden deep inside me. I spend all my time all meaningless things in order to cloud my own senses. I try to escape from myself all the time. That's what I do: run. I just keep running, because I know that if I stumble, all that hate and despair and fear would just catch up with me and just totally overwhelm me.
That would explain why that one night in June, I spent a whole hour screaming my lungs out in my room, with loud Initial D music to mask the sound. I was jsut so miserable that night, because what I had been evading had managed to pounce on me then. I was screaming and crying and pouinding my fists against the wall, even to the point of thudding my head against the wall.
I didn't bleed then, but all the bleeding was internal. I was absolutely crushed, and was seeing things that aren't really there. I mentioned my own internal demons earlier. They were out in full force that night, laughing, mocking, hissing, screaming. Clawing at me, dragging me down.
And I was so alone.
I wrote a short story entitled "And We All Die Alone". That pretty much sums it up.
Blood on my hands it never ends the screaming tears and sweat blood and dirt...
The little girl lying crumpled and bleeding on the floor
Broken and torn
She does not weep
She cannot...
Because......
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