A wild beast has a certain splendour which it loses when it is tamed.

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What’s more important than the goal?

Okay, I will try to be as unnarcissistic as possible. It’s not that writing about myself is the problem; I just don’t want to get carried away like the thousands of tumblogs by well off good looking people who are all depressed and what not. By the way, depression is a serious disorder that can manifest itself regardless of how well one is doing; correct me if I’m wrong, but the best treatment in those cases is probably a psychiatric drug. Speaking of drugs, I’ve never tried those – absolutely uninterested. It’s not something my parents told me. It’s all because of these bad associations they have out there, and I think they protect me. And not because I’m resilient for resisting peer pressure (there isn’t much anyway, I already drink, and I’ll probably try cigarettes at some point, but I hope I don’t). I guess I have had some, though, but I have to tell them: don’t tell me that everyone else my age is doing it – you have a distorted view of the normal range of people your age. And maybe that gets you places, but that’s your reality so stop overlapping it with mine and pointing out where the gaps are. For the record, anybody who says that sounds really dumb. Don’t tell me, how do you know you haven’t liked it if you never tried? Because it probably feels amazing. Well you know what? So does being fucked in the ass. Prostate stimulation can lead to some of the intense orgasms for some men. Not all, apparently, though maybe they’re too hung up over the fact that something is up their ass and how gay that is. There’s no guarantee that I won’t be like that too. There’s also no guarantee that you won’t like it up the butt.

What was I going to right about? Working out, and caving in to some expectations in one way. If you don’t have strength, create them somehow. Something like that. But I gave up on trying on that. As soon as you gave me your attention, I gave up. You make me fall. You keep me going, on and on.

And who are you?

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I believe that no matter how deeply you think you can understand something, you will be wrong. Or at the very least, I’ll be wrong. Psychoanalytic perspectives. Social perspectives. What is man, what is woman. Who is who, what is what. Why.

Those phenomena that various perspectives don’t focus on and emotionally charged and very real phenomena that you might never have expected or predicted if you took the insightful yet narrow look.

The implications for your theory of who you are are real.

That scientific method, the hypothetico-deductive way of doing things, leads me to believe

I have the heart of a woman and a child.

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School’s all fun and games until you have to write a paper

Then it because a cynicism-inducing torture of an activity. I don’t know if I can ever look onto history of psychology again with the same enthusiasm. Just as the right professor or right experience can be a source of inspiration, so does paper-writing discourage…

I am trying to distance myself from perfectionism. I suppose most people forget a lot of study material, and some, I’m thinking, can only regurgitate the material when prompted on an exam. I know my understanding of the material can be imperfect. I know people pass courses without needing to be sent back to correct their errors. Somehow I can’t get over the thought that these things matter to me. It’s one of the reasons I keep my books, go to exam reviews to see what I did wrong (as well as going through the questions to see what I got right).

The truth is they probably don’t. They are findings contextualized in time and there are parts of them that are going to change. When they change, I’ll know if I am actively working in the field. Otherwise… blee bloo blah blah blah blee bloo bluh bluh!

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I always used to post during exams for some reason. I haven’t posted anything anywhere recently but I am trying again, partly because of a desire to write.


I have to… read 3 chapters a day and listen to 2 lectures recordings a day.

I have…. 20 days in total for me to do this.

I have no idea what’s going on in half my courses…


….this was going to be a lot more meaningful. Boo.

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What am I doing

Where am I going

Why am I this way


I realize the gap between the world and my world is very, very… large.

“Mundane shock”.

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Please don’t let me be a zealot

I just hope he who knows feels that way about himself too.

Enthralled by the the possibility of your judgment, I’d only step if I saw the stair

My loneliness is not because of this or that. It’s everything

If you only attended to my ascent…

My narcissism is not because of this or that–

I give up. I have no interests and no hobbies. I clearly don’t write poetry… I clearly don’t write. I tried because I was inspired by this one person’s works. He is an intellectual. He knows, and yet he lives and walks and knows who I know… he is like me, yet so much higher. I want to be liked by them all, I want to be them, and I want to have them. I want everything. I am greedy.

I am a zealot of my own grandiosity, or my own fragility. I prefer the former, but either way will do. A romanticized image of me!

But I still don’t know. He does.

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Living, Part 1

Everyone’s homes have always looked better than mine. It’s true that our house is old. There are two bathrooms. The rooms are small. I suppose, back then you’d be expected to go outside. Before, we didn’t have an electric meter outside and the person who’s supposed to drop by and check it always left notes instead that had to be filled in. We also had carpets upstairs and downstairs before, but the first thing that my parents did was remove them to reveal the old and creaky wood. Downstairs, the grey carpets were eventually removed and the floor was tiled up. It makes it less comfortable and more unattractive. Also, my dad painted the room blue. I’m ambivalent about it.

The rooms are often full of clutter as well. I am trying to work my way through the messes on top of my drawers and bookshelves, trying not to worry about the disorganized state of their contents.

My parents bought a couple of things recently. The couches have been replaced with leather ones. My parents have new beds with large bedframes and dressers. The day before they moved them in, which was incidentally before my birthday, we had to remove everything in my room and my dad’s room. My mattress was moved to my mom’s room. When the bed came, I found it to be ridiculously big. For now, I sleep in my mom’s room with my old mattress. It’s a very cluttered room though, which makes me feel like my earlier efforts of cleaning my original room were in vain.

I had emptied half the papers in my closet, took out the noisy and (to me) pointless metal headboard to reveal the empty wall, which makes the room seemed less cluttered. I’d move back in but the bed takes up the majority of the room.

A passing thought: it feels almost like my parents are trying to not look poor. We aren’t, but this looks like overcompensation.

The room I sleep in now is my mom’s room and previously my grandmother’s room. I don’t remember if my mom started sleeping there when she was hospitalized or moved to a nursing home or died. The room is full of religious objects. In my previous room, there was a picture of Jesus and St. Jude on my nightstand. That had to go, if only because I can’t stand looking at faces in my room, and that I would rather not think of anything at all before I go to sleep (and I also don’t want to be reminded that I’m a sinner before I go to sleep. I know this already!). There are tons of associations in my mind that I don’t want to revisit at night. (See my upcoming post, A Most Strange and Irrational Fear.)

Not to mention, the last thing I cleaned out of my room had a centipede in it, which made me drop everything. I couldn’t kill it, and it crawled somewhere into the baseboards.

Every now and then I wonder if I should have an apartment somewhere downtown, maybe while working and taking courses at the huge downtown campus.

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Thought suppression is bad, both according to traditional folk wisdom and social psychology experiments. Therefore, I will try to end preoccupation with my thoughts.

One thing that bothered me that evening is when answering a question, I said the only thing I could think of, which was like what someone else said. He told me I copied him. Although no one else took it seriously, and him pointing it out was not in ill will, it tortured me. I could justify my answer to be more inline with myself, but it’s true, I did copy him. He seems to me worth copying though. I feel incomplete.

Second is when long after all alcohol was put away. There was one girl with a bottle that was still half-full. I asked her for it, and she told me that I only wanted to ask instead of actually wanting it. Do I look like I’m faking it? This is something that’s never been said to my face, something that I have suspected but would be surprised if it was true. In other words, I considered it to be an irrational fear. Here was the fear poking itself out of the depths on my mind into conscious thought, making me anxious. Turns out she forgot she said that later though.

Third… I think one of them hates me. Only kept me around to tease me. Sometimes I wish she’d tell me what she really thinks.

I’d go on about feeling inferior but there’s too much of that in previous posts so my thoughts are predictable.

Too many things happened, My brain is wrinkling.

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Patry Time

Today I got drunk; I can’t really believe it myself. It was not peer pressure, though if no one had offered me I wouldn’t have taken the initiative. I have to say, for the first few hours I’ve felt the best I could ever feel.

I had a beer and a lemonade until my stomach started to squeeze. It wasn’t like I was going to throw up but it got better when I used the toilet and switched to shots. There was a sensation of a widening gap between my rows of teeth, and as I shook my head I could feel what I thought at the time as a delay in perception. (Actually, it was just me being dizzy.) Soon I picked up their dog (who was well behaved but seemed to dislike me)… at the time I didn’t realize it but I was getting more talkative.

After, I was tackled, and knocked over a couch. I realized then that they were all glorious beings who weren’t hiding anything, and I didn’t need to hide anything either.

I thought a few of them thought I was a huge perv. And at least two thought I was gay.
I thought a few of them were getting annoyed by my shyness and indecisiveness.
I suspected one was blocking me on MSN. And there was one I had honestly never really talked to.

I didn’t care about that anymore. I was happy, and everyone else seemed happy.

Things I did:
– I had slow-danced without music with all of the girls. And asked them to tell me they loved me. And told them I was just succumbed to evolutionary pressures to have as many partners as possible, but I wouldn’t do anything to them. Stupid! (I mean, stupid for doing what I did, not for not doing what I didn’t do.)
– I was unusually eager to touch, to put my arms around shoulders and have them do the same
– my upper lip was tugged on. By a guy. (It was a game of Truth or Dare. I was not responsible!)
– a brief, dry meeting of two lips with a girl. I guess that’s not really considered a kiss either.
– unusually eager to talk, and louder than ever
– unusually eager to say “bitches!” and “shit”.
– unusually eager to sing and dance. Everybody knows I hate doing that. Although it might be regulated by the environment. Perhaps it seemed more appropriate there, where everyone is more expecting it… well, even as I had drifted into a depressive needy state, I had still been singing sad songs.

To put it simply, I was shameless! But as I mentioned, I did have a depressive needy state. Perhaps triggered by both the alchohol’s effect decreasing, and the change in environment to a gossipy environment. Everyone seemed negative. But they were still glorious beings and I was there clinging onto a hope that the happiness would return.

I was still kind of shameless, but I had begun to reveal my insecurities to everyone. I told the girl who’s birthday was today that I wanted to know what happened to the present she got me last year. I left the prom after-party early, and she never gave it to me. I was so afraid of seeing her the Monday after and it made me depressed but when I finally talked it didn’t seem like anything. I also announced that one girl blocked me, and proceeded to ask people if they blocked me.

But one thing that bothers me a lot was, upon asking someone to give me the rest of the only bottle left (everything was taken away), being accused of not actually wanting to drink but only wanting to ask to drink. An attention seeking behaviour, or a phony behaviour. And I am ABSOLUTELY SURE that it was not the case. (I was going to emphasize the Absolut there, but I mean to be serious here.) I was feeling miserable, and I wanted to get back to where I was. I wanted to feel good again. But everyone has all sobered up and I was almost back to where I was.

After talking about my introversion, ___ told me a bunch of things which I can barely remember and showed me a bunch of K-pop videos. And after trying to sleep, that was it. There was no more elation. After remembered what I had done, I was ashamed. I did not sleep. When everyone woke up, I went to cover myself up with a blanket while trying to sleep on the couch. To be honest, I didn’t want to look like a loner, but I was also ashamed, so that was middle ground.

Two things to consider.
One: would it have mattered if initially everyone was not acting so friendly or happy? if everyone was not drinking?
Two: how drunk was I? Did I reach my limits?

I don’t think I can really face them again how I am.

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