Meet a guy. Be interested. String him on. Get asked out. Run. "What did you say? The traffic's too loud." Pretend to have an ear infection. "I'm sorry, whaddidya say? You're like my brother." Feign idiocy. Run. Uncomfortable.
Meet friends. Be nice. Joke. Laugh. Cannot engage in serious talk. Pretend to be a goof ball. Joke. Laugh. Run. Scared.
Get asked for a sleepover. Say you're tired. Blame the hamster cheeks. Ponder why girls like sleepovers so much. Wonder why you're so scared. Leave early. Terrified. Run.
Impersonal. Unsociable.
Then you wonder why you're still single. Why you don't have any best friends. Why people think you're 'peculiar'. Why the hamster-cheeks-complete-with-oranges-inside look so ugly- can't your face look 20 pounds overweight and still look decent, you ask the mirror, your dog. Why people seem to dismiss you as childish. Intelligent. You can live with that. Why you act so not you around your family. Why you feel to scared shitless to be intimate; of the 29th. Why you're so easy going. So worried. So strange.
And you feel kind of happy. Proper, cheerful people are boring, you realized.
Then you look at the mirror - sees a rectangular round face that will do Shinchan and Doraemon shame.
Then you open the fridge and sees the conellos ice cream. And the recipe books. And KFC.
Then you wonder why you're writing such meaningless post. Oh right, because your face hurts, and you're sure being hit by a hammer would be more forgiving. As long as you hit it gently.
Then you blame god. And scorn people with perfect teeth.
Today was the first time I actually shook in fear.
Yes, I had my two lower wisdom tooth removed since they were both growing perpendicular to the other tooth from lack of space. So basically I had to pay around five hundred dollars to experience an hour full of cutting, drilling, sawing, sewing, and all the teeth operation goodness you can buy with a month's worth of grocery money. Not that I'm paying.
So anyways, there I was, lying on the infamous dreaded dentist chair, staring at a farking huge needle that was about to penetrate the hinge between my jaws and various other gum goodness. I trembled in fear like a baby. After eyeing that thing for around ten seconds (sorry, I'm not fond for the over dramatics. Ten seconds is usually enough to properly ingrain the incoming fear inside my feeble mind), I reluctantly opened my jaw and watched in a wide-eyed terror as the farking huge needle descended into my mouth, disappeared from view... and descended into my gums. It didn't hurt, but oh the horror!
Then the dentist did some twisting motion with it, retracted the syringe, and plunged it again to the dark abyss. I almost fainted. After another twisting motion and a grueling minute later, the syringe was put away safely out of view. Thank god. Then he held up another farking huge needle, this time saying, "it'll hurt a bit, we're gonna inject this directly to the nerves underneath." Great bedside manner, doc. I think I began praying to god to grant me the ability to faint at will. I remained woefully conscious of my torture. Stingy bastard.
All right, the anesthesia's done and accounted for. I thought that was the worst part. But alas, I hath scorned the goddess of suffering, and thus, she gave me the next part: a glinting scalpel. Woohoo. I think I almost shat my pants when the dentist held out this scalpel. Yes, I had to ask again if it'll hurt. Of course not, he said, and thus my journey through a real life gore movie begins. Well, of course it didn't hurt, otherwise Mr. Dentist would've lost his license long ago for breaching humanity rights, but dear god, hearing your gum being cut, later rammified by a huge ass drilling sound of your tooth being cut in half really does take a toll on your mental state.
During the next hour I was subject to various methods of torture. I made a mistake of opening my eyes once, only to be met by the sight of a farking ice pick about to enter my mouth. Yes. Ice pick. You would've think they'd learnt to decorate their tools more harmlessly to avoid a fleeing patient, but noooo, it was a farking ice pick. But wait, next time I braved myself to peek, I was met by something that suspiciously resembled a wrench used to for trucks. I never made the mistake to peek again.
Torture ended after an hour, and I went home a quivering jelly with a bleeding stitched gum, humongously swollen lip and cheeks, and a morbid realization that tonight would hurt. A lot. And it does. Right now I'm thinking of banging my head to the wall to distract myself from the throbbing pain. But sadly, my intelligence is one of the things I value too highly to trade for anything, so my head remains unbanged, and my gum hurts like someone is repeatedly stabbing it with a big farking ass needle.
And I can't eat anything besides milk. And probably noodles. I can't even ingest hot substances. So it's probably cold, soggly noodles. And no hot chocolate.
I suppose all the deities above are snickering at my torment right now.
14-16: Dark age. Everything was shit, everything in my life was wrong. We weren't doing good financially, mom was crippled, *I* started cutting myself to relieve the pain. But I did lose 14 kg, making my weight 54 kg at the end of age 14 - though still somewhat chubby. That fact made me feel better, probably look better, and I began dressing up better, and at least a cause of my depression went away.
I went to Australia at January, and was actually quite happy - but spiraled into depression again, this time reason unknown. I did badly at school due to not caring, and did pretty bad socially too. But the few friends I made, they were good. My depression continued, and I even received counseling and was prescribed medication. My cutting was at an all time worse - I still have the scars to remind me of this. But 1 thing I was happy off is that I wasn't fat anymore. People weren't teasing me, and clothes actually fit decently. No, all my problems didn't magically melt away, but at least *some* did. I still thought I was ugly, though - and I probably was.
16-17: I got shipped back to Indonesia since things just got worse and I had a fight with my sister in law. At first my depression lessened as I enjoyed my few months of holiday before school starts, and later, my new school. And I changed again. My weight shot up to 68 - from eating canned and fast food every day in Sydney - and I went on a diet again to lower it to 64. Though perilously close to my original weight back when I was 13, it was quite strange that I was much, much thinner. I guess I just grew up. I was not fat, and I looked better than when I was in Australia. But my depression still lingered. And at this point I had given up on pinpointing the cause, besides my mom's condition, and focused on blaming puberty. I still cut at this point.
My depression attack lessened, but it was quite severe, up to the point I had to see a psychologist and took medications again - which I promptly quit because it made me stupid, indifferent, and most of all, I read that I makes you fat.
This, however, also passed, but a few months later I was hit by a wave of anger in exchange of depression. This was near my 17th birthday. I would spend everyday throwing and wrecking things; it was just generally hell. But it also passed. And come my 17th birthday, I had stopped being depressed, and even now I haven't had a particularly low day that made me want to try suicide again. This is the end of the dark age.
Life is peaceful. I guess this is the Light Age? Or perhaps the Shining Age. Anyways, that's it. That's how I changed. And reading this, you'd realise that the recurring theme is weight. Yes, because no matter how nonchalant I may try to act about it, I still had the trauma from my childhood, and I guess it'll never go away, and my happiness is directly proportional to my weight.
...To a certain extent. My childish delusions of being happy when I'm finally thin was simply that, a delusion. Just fixing the outside doesn't change what's inside, nor does it make all the problems in the world go away. It never did. And, though at some point in the dark age I'm happy to say that I look everything like how I had wished myself to look when I was 13 - the insecurity lingers, the depression was still eating me inside, and I found out that weight does not equal happiness. And I'm sure money isn't too.
I'm not sure if I will ever be truly happy, but at least I'm working on it. And I'm proud, very proud of my newfound change now.
On a completely related note: I STILL NEED TO LOSE THIS ARM FAT TO BE HAPPY.
Why are you looking at me like that? What? Just pretend I never wrote anything with morals in it, mmkay?
I think I'm becoming a better person every passing year. I really do. I think I became more mature, a little less depressed, a little less insecure (still gotta work on this), a little less of a control freak, and not only mentally, I also noticed that I look better as I grow up. This is by no means any form of narcissism, just that I genuinely do feel that I'm slowly improving, and I really am happy with the development.
I'm trying to go through the changes, both positive and negative, throughout my short 17 years. This won't exactly be happy, and probably quite sad, but it's me. I had to get it out of my system, just to remember again.
Birth - 5: Happiest days of my life. My memory only goes to when I was 2, but from the short snippets I managed to piece together, it really was just the most fulfilling, best period of my life. I attribute that to the simplicity of childhood, blissful ignorance, and my excellent parents. Bless my mom.
6-12: Also quite happy, but generally just 'meh'. I don't remember much, but I do remember being teased a lot due to my weight. I remembering having a weight day at the 3rd grade, and coming on top of the class at a whooping 42 kilograms, and that's *a lot* for a 9 year old kid. I didn't think of it much, then. Again, the blessing of childhood ignorance.
13-14: I started hitting puberty, and boy, with puberty comes the end of the term 'blissful ignorance'. Body image comes into play, and during this period, I started being all too aware of my classmate's cruel jokes about revolving around me being fat. It was disheartening. I know they meant it as a simple joke, but it really cut deep inside, and the closest friends I had seem to do it the most. Even the simplest, most off-handed comment would hurt so much that I remember those even to this day. There was a case where I said a girl's neck is so thin, a compliment, really, and suddenly this other girl, a really decent person in truth, cut in, saying that, "at least her neck isn't covered with fat like yours."
I remember telling my mom and dad and crying a few times. Now that I think bad, I really felt sorry for that fat girl, but I love her genuinely - because this girl is more honest, more open, more compassionate, and most of all, I love her for her innocence, and her ability to trust and believe. I'm not that girl anymore, regardless of what mask I may use.
I mark this period as the descent to the dark-age-of-adolescence-angst. When I was 14 I started to really feel conscious about my looks. I started being more aware of what I wear; probably stemmed from seeing this skinny, beautiful classmate on the mall one day, where she looked so pretty and so decent, while I looked looked so ugly with my 3/4 trousers, my stomach with its triple fold, and my hair pulled back into a tight ponytail - just an ugly, big fat whale, really. I was around 165-170cm now, and exactly 68 kg, because I still remember how it started very clearly. So I saw this pretty little thing, and suddenly I was all too aware of how disgusting, how so very *fat* I am.
So I began to diet. Method, again, undisclosed, but this time because it was such a crappy and unhealthy thing to do. I wouldn't do that again, ever. But I digress - during this time I had also quit school because I was frankly too tired from the constant tirade of cruel jokes. I cried, I suffered, and pulled out of school with really no plan at all besides the knowledge that I was suffering from severe homesick of Sydney, and that I can't live in Bali anymore. During that time of idleness I began my diet and losing away. Back then I used to fantasize about being thin - how better I'd look, how much better I'd feel, how happy my life would be, how my problems would melt away along with the fat. Yes, I fantasized, and everything went idle and content and hopeful, and the day when, a month after my birthday, my mom got sick, and went into a coma for 2 months. She was stuck in a wheelchair till her death 3 years later. My mental health started collapsing at this point.
First thing first - I've deleted all the emo rants that had somehow slipped out of my intoxicated, depressed mind and into this blog. True to my initial promise, this is now emo-rant free.
I haven't written in a long time, but that was just because I lost any desire to write, so to speak, during my ascension to the 11th grade. I let go of my inner control freak, and was generally attacked by depression, like, only a few weeks at a time. Life is improving, and now, despite my mother's death a week ago, I feel that finally I can break the mold to this ongoing clinical depression that I've experienced for at least 3 years. It feels liberating - free, and that finally, I can think about what I'll do a year in the future and know that I'll have an easygoing, fairly peaceful life. In short, I feel wonderful. I'll blog about mom's death later, because I'm trying not to think about it, and that topic really has nothing with anything.
So anyways, I'm on a diet now. Actually, more of a lifestyle change that I intend to do permanently. Though it's still only a diet now, I'm working to eat healthier and make this a lifestyle. It has been liberating really - but I won't divulge the details on what exactly kind of 'diet' I'm doing because I know that all ignorant folks too much fed on diet myths perpetrated by the food industry would immediately try to lecture me on how unhealthy this diet is. I've had most people do that to me when I told them of my new eating habits, and I guess I must appear dumber than I am, because I do *not* follow random fad diets in hopes to lose ten kilograms and have it rebound back a month later. Not that that's possible, but only for the sake of argument.
I've lost 5 kilograms in 3 weeks with this diet, though during the week where mom was hospitalized and after her death, I ended up eating a truckload amount of food due to family's pressure. Really, every time I'd refuse a bread or any kind of food they offer, they'd look at me, say, "you're on a diet?"
Then I'd say, "yes, I am."
Then they'd proceed to say something along the lines of: "Stop dieting, it's not healthy," or, "you need the energy for times like this," *then* proceed to bugger me until I accept whatever food they give. One time it was the chicken burger from McDonalds - and yes, I was forced to eat that damn thing when I just had a double cheeseburger - without pickles, I hate pickles - *and* a fillet o'fish in one meal (and believe me, I felt like dying after I ate so much). I know that they meant well, but it was just irritating. I had to meet them everyday at the hospital, then the morgue, and so it's only obvious that I end up having to eat food I don't really want to everyday. And worst enough, ending up bingeing on random stuff because I figured that since the diet went out of the window, I'd just stuff myself with anything I like.
And I did, boy, I did. I went to a local supermarket and ended up buying 4 bags of Lays, one which I gave my brother, and 3 others which I devoured in two days. The thing about me is that my cravings of all sort of ungodly food are triggered when I start eating normally (bingeing, to put it unkindly), so I end up bingeing on all sorts of junk food for around 8 days until I forced stop myself and went on the diet again - in which the cravings all promptly disappeared.
...It actually occured to me that I shouldn't even write about all this because people usually blog about their diet when they're experiencing hell, are twenty kilograms overweight, have tried every fad diet there is on earth and still not lose weight. And I'm neither of that. I'm the type of person that you can't really consider skinny, but have no problem with losing weight at all. But since I'm constantly eating improper amount of junk food, I never really lost any before; I'm just maintaining it, even during the my 'pizza phase' where I would order pizza up to four times a week.
But now I'm trying to lose since I'm frankly disgusted with my cafeteria lady arms. I mean, good lord, I've never work short sleeves when going out because I'm *that* insecure about my pudgy sausage arms. It sucks. And it'll probably be another five years before I get passably normal arms. My diet results have not been what I was hoping for. First week of dieting, I can literally feel my normally decent jeans start to slip off. I thought I was losing hip fat or pudgy lower stomach fat - or well, *something*. Fast forward to a month later, yesterday. Since I was going to the salon for an estimated time of four hours, I wore extra baggy jeans (which ironically have had to be resized smaller twice to fit me now since I was such a fat kid), and when I got into the car, my dad took a look at me, and said, with utmost nonchalance, "your butt is disappearing."
Oh my god.
What dad says that to their kid anyways?
Since I was so taken in surprise, I did nothing but giggle, and ask, in the midst of unbelieving laughter, "how can you say such thing?!"
And problem is, he's right. My jeans did not slip off because my waist got smaller (and I should've known it wasn't the case because I can see my hip bones already), and definitely not lower stomach fat (because my jeans were always hipsters), but what was getting smaller was my small, flat arse.
And of course, my thighs. Which I'm probably happy about, but not as happy if I'd, say, lose fat on my fricking arms.
Why is it that you always lose fat in areas that are already thin enough and that you're probably already quite happy with? WHY?! Especially when those areas include the butt and the boobs.
Ever heard the Japanese salaryman myth that they're immune to hangover? Yes, after toiling around dramas/animes/mangas for so long, hang over seem to be the taboo word between drunken salaryman. After drinking till they pass out on a bench, they will miraculously recover in less than five hours.
...Yes, I think I might have the same case of hang over immunity. After chugging down a whole bottle of whiskey in one night (no, I didn't die from alcohol poisoning), I woke up feeling hugely refreshed after about four hours of sleep.
Quite miraculous that I didn't die of alcohol poisoning (I felt like I would though, the few minutes before I passed out), but hey, seeing that if I touched just another shot of whiskey I might indeed die, I guess I should be grateful that I didn't unknowingly commit suicide, eh?
Because this blog is vastly becoming a stupid vessel for rants or whatever semi-intelligent (or more often idiotic) thoughts that crossed my mind, I shall rant about the type of people that annoys me most. Because seriously, some people need to die in a fire.
People WhO WRiTe LiEk D1S iN aN AlTernATinG CAsEs. Yes, that's me hitting the shift key randomly. Similarly, People Who Write Like Everything Is A Fucking Title To Their Pathetic Lives.
Blatantly bad grammar. I know, my grammar isn't perfect, but to somehow publish a story on the net with grammar worst than a fifth grader, then your intelligence is an epic fail already.
People who self mutilate. Saying this would make me the biggest asshole-cum-hypocrite ever, but though I know and experienced the whole cutting fiesta, I tend to view others who do it for trivial reasons (there was a guy who did just that due to 'sexual frustration'. Get laid, dumbass), then I can only view them as pathetic. Sexual frustration is NOT a reason to bang your head on wall to near unconsciousness.
People younger than me with their heads in their arse.
Bad, OOC fanfics.
Bad erotica.
Retards who phone early in the morning when I forgot to turn my phone's silent mode on.
