I ended up listening to my other pop culture song. It’s Taylor Swift’s 15, and although I’m a long way past it, coming up on 9000 days alive (OMG POWER LEVEL), I sure don’t feel much like one. When I call myself a /girl/ as opposed to /lady/, I mean it. Nothing much has changed since then. I’ve moved from passive-agressive, to sporadic activism, to full war declaration, but that’s it really. At the end of the day, I’m still the rebellious bitch to her. And my issues still live on, so I train and fight smarter. I was the quiet girl who kept at the side of the class, and now I’m the teacher. Well, on that front it definitely changed. The backend, not so much. I live like Hermione-fucking-Granger, for goodness sake. Thankfully that got-gets you respect and keeps stupid at bay.
Some days, I just want to curl up and fucking die. I’m so tired I can barely think straight, I’ll have piles of work to do. Endless piles… I’ll probably have just dearly insulted somebody like a drunk – and subsequently… have nobody to talk to. After that many cycles of awakeness-fatigue-awakeness-fatigue… again… again… again… again… again…
It just feels like it will never end.
That hope has run out.
The mortal blow has been struck.
WHY? Why, why why why why why WHY WHY FUCKING WHY?
My damn tears start to flow. It feels so fucking hopeless.
I want a hug. Dearly, dearly want one. Chances are there just isn’t somebody who I’ve entrusted about this to care. And I’m alone.
I write this post in and because of fear, yet again. I can’t sleep. I feel alone again.
This phenomenon runs a very close parallel to Tiger parents. I’ve explained last time how much of a knack for concept understanding I have; and pushing it doesn’t fucking work any better, I tried, I worried, I cursed and I mentally beat myself over it. Sooner or later the child becomes too much of a social cripple. It’s like politics, you don’t invest in your businesses and spam flailing welfare, a decade later your economy flips over and recesses. It doesn’t work. The best nation on Earth cannot remain the best with a crippled living standard, nor can it be productive.
Simply put, you can’t artificially push on a person. A child, while not as fully developed as you and I, is like a lowbie. She (or he, I can’t be androgynistic, that would probably be bad for PR) has the same emotional needs as any other, and while excessive discipline is one way of achieving that, parenting doesn’t have to be endless chastising. If it is, they’ll come out on the other end and probably commit matricide. You don’t want that… it’s the fancy way of saying “killing your mum”…
The other part of my experiences with this stretch deeper, and have been more recently revealed. They run deeper, these wounds, and even the newfound spirit cannot quash them.
It’s the need for approval and the superlativity, the leading superiority and the absolute requirement of staying ahead. Not alpha. Just ahead. The why aren’t you doing your best – why didn’t you apply yourself practically moping? All from shit parenting. Let me explain before you become a demonstration of what I mean.
I am reliant on my skill and worth to stay ahead of the pack, out of mocking and failure. I have always been here. It’s ridiculously hard to so much as emulate their thought processes, as I dismiss them as ridiculously inefficient and stupid. Then again, they’d describe mental harm, like this, in the same way as I am now. Plus, it’s the IB mindset that counts when you teach it to others, even those who go around blowing stuff up. It demands that I be the best, always, strive for it, and if there is a problem, resolve it quicksnap.
The problem is not a problem, it’s a political issue about the sourcing of passion, a derivative product of emotional stability. No, you’re not social tools! I refuse manipulation like the devil reincarnate! I’m simplifying your emotional impact for the sake of medical-psychology… and so tired I’m practically dyslexic. I don’t know the symptom of switching the letters, so I can’t say I’m that.
Passion is the single most strong pervasive force in the universe. Not compound interest. It’s the equivalent of gravity – it never runs out, ok, maybe Hawking Radiation, but it’s not like the Earth evaporates… – and as strong as, well, the weak force (misnomer, this thing is nuclear fusion). Now that’s why marriages last a long time… or burn within a couple of months.
Yes, that IS one thing I learnt, like Taylor Swift.
The reason why my job wasn’t going so well was because of the fluctuation of supplies. I can’t remember what economics is supposed to call this, materials or somesort, but without these, my mental economy was buggered. I got there in the end of course, but it was slow. It was chaotic. And there were many, many, many riots in this brain.
Going back to what this sleep-loss and instability was doing, it was causing panic and fear.
Sorry. Didn’t explain the source of the original sleep loss. It was what we would typically class as an addiction. It was gaming in general, of which the history stretches back about 9 years to when I first got a laptop. A couple of years before that I had heard about the Sims from my… uh… father’s colleague’s daughters. I couldn’t understand it, tbqh. I installed it, played the tutorial, and dumped it (like I hear everyone whining about RuneScape at school)… wait, no, actually it was Pokemon Sapphire the year before…
Er, sorry again. I ended up playing into the night to fill a void gaming couldn’t fill. I was worried, and I said that gaming would soothe it. It didn’t. The only thing that did work was making a personality clone of RP-Laana and imagining she was my stepmother. Truefax.
No, I’m honestly not joking. I made an imaginary stepmother. I started crying once I realised how much shit this was. There’s something seriously fucked up about that. Dear friends, that is what the fear is in a short-paraphrased clippity version. That is what happens when you force a person to walk to exhaustion without moral care for them. That is why you only have 1 shot at a marriage. Well, more on that later.
For goodness sake, treat your child with a bit of dignity and respect! They’re people too, even if they’re gingers (PC note, I don’t have anything against them personally, but after hearing “GINGER ALERT!”, believe me, I’m worried). Be open to them. Let them spill their troubles on you; because if not, the results and consequences will be worse. And if you can’t? SORT YOUR SHIT OUT FIRST, M**F*KER.