Pain for a Reason

the main reason behind this stupid blog is hoping that i can rant without being interrupted.the chances of someone i kno stumbling across this is less than them finding my leatherbound journal in my bedroom.

so.

i want to be normal, i do not want to be homosexual. i want to be one of those yelling testosteronic straight boys playing football downstairs, oogling after girls in jeans and tight cotton pants with no visible panty line. straight guys can't even say visible panty line.
i want all that. i want to be a racist, sexist, grunting old man with his woman by his side and with a spew of children produced every year in and out.

i want to know how it is to be in love and be loved by someone i really like who is like really hot. i want to be happy and wake up and be able to put my hand in the bigger palm of the boy next to me.

i want to be able to be okay around that guy i told i had a crush on. ideally, i wanted him to be so into me that all those hints i thought were hints were real. i want him to be the one i breakup with horribly because we discover that we have nothing in common. i want us to be friends still. i want him to not feel awkward around me and not avoid hanging around me.

i want to finish a 5k race under an hour. i do not want to carry around a tyre, or flabby arms.
i want to look so good, men get jealous and when i run those testosteronic boys don't scream obscenities my way anymore.

i want to fit in 33 inch waist jeans again.

i want to finish my thesis and be done with it.

i want to be in a relationship.

so many wishes.
many of which are impossible.
However those which are under my control, i shall. it's a struggle uphill, every day. for everybody. the reason why mine are so important to me is because they're mine.

so i deserve the right to rant.

:clown:

Argh why is this like going up a hill ive zoomed past before? I'm not resorting to easy weight loss anymore. I'm losing weight, but i'm making sure it lasts. It's a crazy evil struggle. I'm overcoming it.

Blegh. The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog!
just finished crazy trip to sp. Make sure i sleep from now on!

There's a card in my tarot deck that keeps popping up, one indicating thanatos or a preoccupation with the darker side of death. That did occur to me for that very flash of a second between the asphalt and the skies. If last thursday were my deathday, what have i gained out of this life? I wanted so much to change the world, to lessen the s.types, to leave a notable mark.

So here i am, at 22, struggling effortlessly to finish a degree that i don't really care for.
I'm not going to die, o can I die hen i'm already rotting within?

They call it drama, over exaggerating every single thing that challenges this life. If so, then i am nothing but a mere irritant.

Suicidal intentions are such a cliche nowadays, but they're on the rise. Every struggling God knows what who knows how to blog is talking about their drama...

I wish i were different, for no other reason but to give myself hope.
Optimism works. It just has to.

I was playing around with figures in my head. Percentages instead of absolute values. My lecturer says that absolute values are redundant because they don't provide us with what's actually happenning.

Numbers and probabilities are like wires of this lattice we call life. Are they?
It's like they suggest limits and predict certain things to a certain degree. When we most ant them to work for us though, there's a chance they won't. Even if it's a slight chance.

Like "98% of what we fear will happen never does". That's the sort of thing they tell paranoid dumbasses like yours truly so that I can find my balls somewhere don there and go see my supervisor tomorrow and tell him that

"I'm 60% nearing the due date of my thesis but I'm barely even ten percent prepared."

In a case such as this, that docile 2% gnaws at you.

I was stuffing my waist into a pair of black jeans which were grossly loose less than two months ago.
"95% of people who lose weight via a diet programme are doomed to gain all the weight back, and then some."

i keep affirmations on my wall saying that I want to be that 5%. I am that 5%, the five pervent that manages to keep it all off, like Yoanna House of the second cycle of America's Next Top Model.

But my waistline begs to differ.

When i started on this diet regime late last year, I was 98kgs and depressed. By July, I had lost 18% of that weight and my jeans waist went down from 38 to 33, about 13% decrease.
It was great.

It is now a year, and two rayas and two christmases later, I am now 92kgs.
I'm bad at maths, but you get the picture.

I am at the bottom of the barrel. I don't want to see whether it goes even any lower than this, I just want to get back to the top, or at least try to be moving towards something better.

Tomorrow's going to be bad.

I'm feeling defeated and unhappy and self-suicidal because. I. can.

There's a blade of beration and self-degradation that slices near my neck everytime, and no it's just getting that much closer to really hurting me again.

I don't want to be mopey lasagna me.

I want to be happy me.

I don't really know what happy me looks like anymore because i barely even know myself.

People say that all the time, but i really feel it now. I do not identify with this persona.

I imagine myself to be something and someone who i am not.

Bridging that gap between the person you are right now, at present and the person you just see yourself being is what i want to call my aspirations.

I'm changed. thank God i changed. I am grateful that I am now a person who fights hard to finish his thesis on time, and try to get an a for it.

Positive reinforcement.

Why doesn't this feel right.

I am a vacuous ocean of vaccilation, running from one end of the spectrum to the next. Sometimes i am optimistic and at others i paint it all black.


I am going to get through this.

I am losing body fat.

I am healing my knee.

I am becoming who I see myself to be.

The better me.

The one who doesn't rant.

the pain is there for a reason. every time.
it's been a very rough week last week, and i sometimes feel ineligible to say that because i'm on an allowance and on holiday.

Before he died, last Monday at 2pm, my late uncle said that pain is part of pleasure. If so, then slow, prolonged suffering would be almost tintillating foreplay, when it's not.

Pain, the flinching thing you feel as you fly off your bike unto the tar and the bike slams on your bad knee. You get up and your cringing so bad that you don't even register the blood, the watch you broke, the jeans you tore, the bike just there, flailing tyres spinning around like a stupid mindless dying fish.

I cannot recall what hurts more, getting my wounds scrubbed by some masochistic nurse with hydrogen peroxide, or knowing that i cannot run again for a very long time, or that I'm going to have to peel off this stupid bandage that's fused with my scar.

The pain is there as an indicator. It tells you something is not right. That some damage which might bring you that much closer to wonderful Death is occurring. And that it should stop. It is the self which wants you to live, survive so that you can suffer that much longer. It is a self-sabotaging mechanism.

Then there's confusing hurt, the type where you get called on stage to be awarded class geek, or when the only time the person whom you like actually acknowledges you is when their making fun of you and when friends only want to be with you so that your petty foibles and your suffering becomes a form of entertainment.

I can deal with peroxide, i can deal with 32km bike rides with open wounds, i can deal with this swollen knee. I can deal with the stares and the laughs from strangers, really, i can. I'm so used to name-calling that i don't expect much more than that, even from friends, when they ridicule me. Maybe that's why i crave for some form of respect i don't ever get.

It just hurts that much more when the laughs and the teasing comes from people you care.Just a bit more painful than peroxide cleaning.

I can handle it.

I'm just sick of it all. really. you want poetry? try the pretty people's blogs.