ymusti: (Default)
and it was morning. and she was gone. it wasn't as if that was a bad thing. it was just cold. she didn't hate the cold. it's just that it was a slap on the face, the cold, the loneliness.
ymusti: (Default)
Forget the dreams and the lucky numbers
Forget the feelings and the desires
Let go now, let go
Give in and settle down
For the ends justify the means
ymusti: (Default)
11:12

I honestly don't want to sleep tonight. Sleep will transport me to tomorrow, and I don't want that to happen.

So things have been pretty rough lately, what with me having to face growing up and all-- college, homework, social impediments, mental hindrances, climate change. I don't know. Things have just been riding on me lately, or so I feel them to be, and I haven't been handling them all too well.

First, my sister's taking a leave from college. Well, that's not the problem, but the problem here is that my parents are pretty darn diddley upset about that, for pretty understandable reasons. But she did leave for pretty damn understandable reasons that dwarf, in my perspective, my parents' reasons (Bias? Probably.).

Second, I'm going to college on August. My parents want me to go to the college my older sister used to attend so that when/if she goes back, I can be there to help her out. (She stopped because she was depressed).

Third, well that didn't happen. I didn't pass the college's entrance test. I may however still sort of make it, supposing the university reconsiders.

Fourth, with the above three riding on me, my emotions, and my ability to handle them have been teetering on the edge. I am currently looking to a possible case of cyclothymia, what with my ego and depression and the swings to and fro.

Fifth and finally, my self-diagnosed cyclothymia and my envy has taken me into the world of isolation, what with my ego splashing around and getting everyone's beautiful clothes soiled. Yes, I am jealous of my friends for some unexplained reason that keeps changing for which I don't know why. And yes, I did get my ego up one time and sort of indirectly bashed them by posting journal snippets on my personal twitter account.

So shit.

I don't know anything anymore.

On the bright side, I passed the college I sort of really want to go to. But I'd probably have to find a scholarship or get a job for this so I can help my family pay off tuition because this university is hella expensive, and not quite the one my parents want. I respect that they don't entirely like it.

But I mean, things aren't winging in any direction wherein there is a foreseeable solution to anything.

It's fucking scary.

The results for the university my parents want me to go to came out just today, without any announcement. I was reviewing for one of my tests tomorrow, so hearing from my parents that the results came out and that I didn't pass, took me by surprise. I mean, I wasn't exactly entirely expecting to get in anyway, but I wasn't expecting it to be that soon and that suddenly.

I went into a shock almost instantly. I was dizzy. My mind was racing. And all I thought of was to appeal for me to get in. I lost my passion for the other school in a heartbeat. Because I knew that I disappointed my parents. I knew that I wouldn't be able to be there for my sister. I knew that nothing was going to wing in the way I subconsciously, despite all odds, thought it would.

I planned out the entire thing in my head. I fantasized it; romanticized it.

I mean, I would be living in a completely different city, studying something I did generally agree with. I wouldn't have my friends follow me after the mess I'm in with them. I wouldn't have to care about much else aside from my studying, my sister, and myself. I could've begun an entirely different life. I mean, man, the possibilities.

But it just didn't happen.

One thing went wrong, and everything else in the pciture just up and left.

I'm sort of disappointed in myself. I'm not sad that I wasn't able to make it to that school. I'm not sad that is shows that I was, for what it's worth, smart or anything. I'm sad that those possibly perfect opportunities for solution are gone. I'm sad because my parents are. I'm darn diddley scared now.

Darn-to-the Diddley scared.

I just don't know what's going to happen anymore.

When I go to school tomorrow, upset, people will think that I have no right to be upset, because I already made it to the second best university. But I can't explain to them this shit, because it's classified family information. Neither can I tell any of them this thing without either crying or being a mess just trying to explain it; as I did right now.

I don't want to sleep.

Because I don't want tomorrow to come. I don't want tomorrow and my problems to come.

11:38
ymusti: (Default)
Life lessons:
>Speak up
>Actually do things
>We confide in the mundane

Reasons

Apr. 28th, 2014 08:41 pm
ymusti: (Default)
I think (and I do that a little too much than healthy) that maybe, just maybe, I was just an angry teenager who just had to release all that pent up anger. That that rather large bottle labeled "anger" in my heart was filled with angst enough to last me a year. So it was just right that I built up walls for myself, surrounded myself with happy things and just became happy. It was alright that I kept to myself and lived in my own world and made myself happy that way.

And now, I think I've used up all that anger and stuff. And I think I might just be ready to get out of here to see what else makes me happy.
ymusti: (Default)
I wore my second year class shirt to sleep today. It just so happened to be conveniently laid out on top of all of my other clothes on the first drawer I opened. Being too lazy to bend down and look for anything else, I just picked it up and used it.

When my dad saw me in it, he was telling me about how I should value the shirt and try not to wear it out since it was something to remember my second year by. Well, I couldn't defend laziness. I said nothing.

Truth be told, I really don't care about this shirt. It's a handsome shirt with a nice print, sure. I could even wear it going out if I wanted to be recognized as it had my last name printed at the back. Just kidding, strangers knowing my last name shouldn't be too much of something. Anyways, the thing about it is that I realized something with what my dad said (I'm really a douche, I tend to listen to my dad and internally twist his words, I might be a nice villain, or at least anti-hero if your prefer). I realized that I didn't tell him a single thing about my second year.

My second year of high school was the worst year, by far. It was the year I made real friends (I suppose they are real; they haven't let me down, yet), and, boy, were they the coolest bunch of people I've ever met, and that's the beginning of my downhill descent. I made real friends, became a weirdo, technically got bullied (I suppose you can call it that, but I sort of like to believe, in the other party's defense, that it was a high school thing-- I mean, we were different, so of course they had to make fun of us; if you can't tell, I'm trying my best at the moment to think like the average high school student) , developed social anxiety, and well, just closed myself off from the world. If that doesn't sound like a fun social experiment (I'll call it that to make everything sound good), I don't know what does. 

It was emotionally scarring, definitely, but I suppose it's the best thing a bunch of people can experience together. And, if you have yet to notice, I'M ALIVE! Socially dead, yes, but physically alive. And I suppose that should be a good enough reason to not want to remember my second year, dad.

But it doesn't mean that it was all bad. For one, I got in contact with my inner writer who was wishing to be released from the depths of the icky, squishy stuff inside me (Dad, this may also be the reason why I'm getting too lazy to study, you might as well understand this as well). I developed my creativity and I started self-teaching the craft. I, also, as I said before, got to meet a bunch of cool people-- my immediate circle of friends and the other guys in my outer circle, who I could have big talk with as I would like. And, I should be truly grateful for this last thing, I found who I was. I sort of scratched the top of the riddle of who I am and what this world is. At least I think I did. 

The misanthropic me, my inner guard, would beg to differ. Second year was by almost all means horrible. As much as it pushed me inside the walls of who I am in which I found, understood and love myself, it still pushed me in. It still pushed me in.

And it's because of this people-hating side of me that I don't hold things dear. I don't feel much for things. I do not attach memories to things, because if I did I would just be full of hate. That's why I don't care about this shirt, because if I did, I would hate it. It's just a thing to me; it doesn't quite play a significant role in my history. 

I wonder if I should show this post to my dad. He might want to understand me.
ymusti: (Default)
I hate people.

I don't exactly hate people and I definitely do not generalize them. The only reason why I say I hate people is because it's so much easier to say it. It's easier to say  hate people than to say I fear rejection and be told everyone does. It's just easier to hate people than to explain that I fear reaction and responsibilities I am given by lots of people. It's easier to say I hate people than to say that I'm currently abstaining from social interaction and have to explain why. And it's just easier to end the conversation and be judged as a loner than to stand up for something people won't understand. And it's just easier to go on without people telling you to open up because it's hard to be alone.

I just hate the explaining because I'm going to have to keep doing it over and over and being proven wrong and wrong again rather than to be pat on the back and understood.

I hate people.
ymusti: (Default)
 I'm actually mad at myself at the moment.

I was thinking about this conversation I had with someone.


She said, "So did your views of me change?"

I was actually really happy then that I said what I said, "No, it just gives reason." And I left a deep moment of silence just for the drama before going on and saying, "So, I guess that's why you're so introverted. Like why I had to open you up a little."

And she just nodded silently wiping the tears away from her eyes.


It may have been the best thing I said. I said it like a real book character. But I should have said something stupid like "Smile," seeing  as she was so upset. And if she asked I'd repeat myself and say that she should smile for thirty seconds. I'd then direct my eyes to my watch and tell her not to stop until I say so. And after 30 seconds I'd tell her to stop and I'd ask her how she felt. And then I'd explain to her that forcing to make yourself smile for thirty seconds actually makes you happy and that if she ever just needed to be happy she should do that.

I swear that that would have been more memorable than that stupid line I said.

Medium

Feb. 16th, 2014 02:51 pm
ymusti: (Default)
I know for a fact that people have lately been losing interest in actually listening to me. It's sort of taken a toll on me and I've ended up stressing about it a little too much. When I brought this up to Juliet he told me that I may need to find a way to release my stress (he barely said that, actually, but that's how I take our last conversation). So I've resorted to coming back to writing.

It's actually really stupid how dependent I am on my writing. I gave it a break for about a month since I had so much work to focus on and because of that I am actually starting to have physical manifestations of my stress. I find it really funny because I never knew how much it would actually mean in my life.

Writing, admittedly, was not something I ever thought of as a hobby growing up. I always thought it was a chore even if I did find it something I was fairly good at. It was only last year when I figured I had a chance at it. And thanks to my friends, I was able to develop it. I was able to find the art in it and stuff. 

And the this year, because I wasn't in the same class as my friends I became even more dependent on it as I abstained from human interactions. Maybe because it was trauma, maybe it was because it was just more convenient. I don't know. I haven't found out why yet. I ended up journaling and even through journaling and closing myself up from others, I found someone to consider a friend.

Ahh, writing.

Don't take me too seriously. I'm just ranting here.

Why Her?

Feb. 7th, 2014 08:47 pm
ymusti: (Default)
It's got me wondering; why'd it have to be her? Or them? She didn't deserve this. They did not deserve this.

But it isn't as if, anyone deserved this. But why did it have to be them? Why on earth-- on this earth full of people I don't give a single damn about-- did it have to be them?

They did not deserve it at all. They did nothing wrong. Nothing. An already broken motley of people; they did not deserve it. She did not deserve it. He did not deserve it. I...

It makes me selfish. And it is selfish of me to ask why it had to be them. Why it had to be her. Because it just had to be her. She, of all people, who I absolutely gave at least 90% of my damns;  she who inspired me; she who brought me through the crap load we call high school; she who was there when I was breaking down; she who was a friend; she who was my muse; she who was my love.

And now the world just figured that the broken can be a little more shattered than they already are.

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