an apology to start 2018.

Sorry that I told you to fuck off in 2017.

Sorry that I told you to go to hell.

Sorry that I told you that you were a good-for-nothing idiot, that you were not even worth my while listening to, and that I told you all that and more out of my own twisted frustration with myself.

Sorry for not being able to see the good in you or anybody. And sorry for playing stone, never emotional enough for you to realize that my fucked-up obsession with perfection goes even harder on myself, that this faulty walnut of a brain turns inward too often to only see the flaws of its own proprietor in exhaustive detail to the point where I can’t bear but hurt myself and would more than thank whatever merciful being would come and put an end to this flawed existence.

Sorry that I would rather bear the hatred, the rejection of every living being than the self-hatred of my one self. And I’m sorry to be willing to go to great lengths to be hurtfully honest at least once in a while in order to please my own perverse obsession, almost sadistic, and be sometimes so honest that my bluntness has hurt you. And I’m sorry that at the heart of all this bullshit lies the fact that I, the true, depressed Sukanya, must emerge at least once every so often from underneath the leaden, suffocating mask of the eternally sarcastically jovial Suk to breathe in order to not asphyxiate and perish forever, forgotten as a mere punctuation mark in the history of me.

Sorry, mother, for being such a bitch to you. Sorry for not having been a better daughter, sorry for pissing you off, sorry for not acknowledging often enough the sacrifices you make without which I would not be here today…

Sorry, father, for not having forgiven you sooner. Sorry for not having realized that you are human too, and that yes you fuck up, and that yes you have emotions too.

And I’m sorry to the empty void in my chest that people would call a heart. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, for dragging you over whatever jagged rocks I could find just so that I could feel something for once. And yes, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry for not having realized sooner that I was just dragging over rugged terrain an airy cavity whose leaden contents had so long ago been emptied out over the Mid-Atlantic Ridge.

And I’m sorry to my empty tear ducts. I remember in my eternal numbness having used you once, maybe twice, this entire past year.

And I’m sorry to my body. I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you instead of taking care of you as I should.

And I’m sorry to all of my readers for not being able to be more positive, not being able to share happy stories of butterflies and unicorns or even deeply revitalizing ones of human redemption. I’m sorry that reading my writing has depressed you and probably made you question your existence.

And I’m trying to change in 2018, but I’ve tried so hard to constantly change and reinvent myself over the past year that I’m tired, fatigued that my efforts have borne no fruit, exhausted at faking a smile, a laugh, a pointless conversation when my true mind is twenty thousand miles away in Hades.

And I will keep trying, I will keep torturing myself through false extraversion and my cursed mask of jovialness just out of self-defense, just so that people don’t think I’m as socially inept and antisocial as I truly am.

And so I shall trudge on, on, on, with every year deeper into the mired, incomprehensible labyrinth that is life, farther into my self-inflicted torture, farther, farther, farther…

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No Time to Write?

If you haven’t realized, I have been posting a lot less frequently as of late. Again, school has started, and I may not be able to post as often. I’ve got too many hard classes and extracurriculars. Also, my posts may not be as high-quality as usual…which I personally despise, but whatevs. But I try to keep posting at least once a month, just to force myself to write something.

But, also, a reason I have not been posting is that I have been working on a potential play, so…there’s that too. It will be growing up. Hopefully I’ll be able to post that soon.

So, yeah, here’s sort of an update on what I’ve been doing for the past couple of months, and…see you next time???

 

Summertime Sadness

NOT.

I love the summertime. Maybe it’s the lack of stress and the ability for me to do whatever the fuck I want in these 3 months, or because I don’t have to deal with the annoying kids at my school, or it’s the weather and how it’s always so pretty outside, but the result is that for the past couple of years summer has been the only time when I’m not suicidally depressed. Seriously. Stress, anxiety, and depression build up inside me during the 9 months of the school year, and over the summer, I slowly get better. But by the time I’m 87-ish percent healed, school restarts. Every time. So then I start school in a decent mood, but every year this mood at the start of the school year also gets just a little bit worse, because 3 months is obviously not enough for me to become thoroughly fine again, and my sadness just builds up off of that remainder 13% of sad me.

Also, if you’ve made it thus far, you are a genius. I post this sort of stuff on an anonymous blog mainly because people think I’m fucking insane when I say this to them, and I don’t blame them for it – I’m not very descriptive. And, just for the record, I’m not complaining – I know that I’m extremely privileged, especially compared to, say, the starving kids in rural Ghana.

But anyway, I don’t know if it’s just me, but every single summer I have this dread in the back of my head of school restarting. It’s like an hourglass or a “progress bar” of good times, if you will – you hope to manipulate gravity so that the sand moves more slowly, or even reverses itself, or you hope to somehow hack the computer so that the progress bar stays at 10% instead of inching toward 99%.

And I don’t know about you, but usually after, say, 2-3 weeks of the summer, my life starts going back into a routine. And then the days pass as quickly as the pages in a good novel.

And then school starts back up again.

But, this time, I swear, it’s going to be different…

I Used to Actually Give a Shit [Rant Version]

I can’t anymore.

This has been bugging me for the past I don’t know how long, but I feel I finally have to get it out. Long story short, I don’t think I actually give a shit about anything anymore.

Almost all the people I have ever known have turned out to be fakes, and now I’ve lost approximately 99% of my faith in humanity.

I used to try to change my personality so that more people would like me more. Now I simply can’t give a shit – first off, no matter how much I change my personality, people will hate me; and second, no matter how much people smile to your face, half of them will stab you in the back.

And if you didn’t know, that fucking hurts.

But to get to the beginning of all this…

I’ve spent my entire life on the margins of society. At five years old, I was that one kid with whom nobody wanted to play. At ten years old, I was that one kid who talked about things in which nobody in my age group was interested. At fourteen years old, I’ve still never hung out outside of school with a single person.

I’ve always tried to get people to like me, to make friends, to get the people I love to love me back. But I’ve never actually succeeded in any of these attempts – I shit you not when I say that literally everything hates me; I’ve never had an acquaintance you can call a friend until a couple years earlier, and I cannot actually even talk to this aforementioned “friend,” because whenever I talk to her about anything that’s not G-rated, she immediately changes the subject to Disney or something equally innocent; also, I suspect that I’ve never earned the love of anybody.

So here’s my dilemma.

People think I have a perfect life – I get the best grades in class, get medals from what they think are big, important, statewide competitions, have made money from business and stock ventures, am the youngest one in our entire high school, have a seemingly good family, and have lived in and traveled to many different places, so why wouldn’t they think that? To make matters worse, I think I somehow am scared of ripping that mask off and telling them my life isn’t a bed of roses either (b/c some are currently jealous, and I’d rather let them be that way than look down upon me?), which means I can never talk to them about my problems, and which is also exactly why I blog – if I never let this out, I will physically explode in tears. As things are right now, I’ve never cried in public.

What people don’t know, anyways, is that all of my success comes from my insecurity and mental/emotional issues.

They don’t realize that while a small lack of confidence just leads to shy or awkward behavior, its complete nonexistence can make a person accomplish things other people would only associate with successful, confident people at the helm of society. They don’t realize that completely insecure people feel such a strong need to prove to both themselves and the rest of the world that they are actually not worthless and that to do so, they work themselves to the brink of exhaustion if only toward achieving that depthless end.

And to make matters worse, there oftentimes is no ceiling to this sick ambition.

If you have all A’s, you don’t feel adequate until you get all A+’s. If you have all A+’s, you don’t feel adequate until you are the best orator in the class. If you are the best orator in the class, you don’t feel adequate until you are the best orator in the nation. If you are the best orator in the nation, you don’t feel adequate until you make a million dollars. If you have a million dollars, you don’t feel adequate until you have a billion.

So…yeah. Sadly there’s always room for improvement, and that means that there’s always ways of pointing out to myself that I’m not good enough.

Also, on an off note, because I’m so scared of loving him, I’ve noticed I’m pretty mean to the guy I’m crushing on…which is really okay, because 1) he’s more or less a fuckboy, and 2) I am almost positive he hates me.

By the way, the people who really bother me aren’t the ones who say to your face they hate you; instead, the ones that bother me the most are the ones who are nice to your face and stab you in the back. Can’t everyone be at least courageous enough to not be such a multi-faced fake? Moreover, what irritates me is that society tells people to be “polite” ever since they’re young, setting them up for this type of asshole-ish, confusing behavior later on in life.

When some kid in my class tried to kill herself a couple weeks ago, I was sort of shocked, but now, after reflecting on everything, it’s not really a surprise why she decided to do that. I still feel bad for her and would help her if I could, but now I understand why. I think I might really understand why she did it.

But all this doesn’t mean I don’t have a heart – I think I do, it’s just that after certain experiences, you just can’t love anymore, unless if you count that type of twisted love-hate as genuine love.

a [FaILed?] aTTemPt aT sTReaM oF ConSCIouSneSs pOEtrY

THIs iS by FaR thE FUCKiesT thINg i’VE evEr WriTtEn aND yes i bElieVE in RANDOm CaPITALizatioN iT’s JuST tHAT IF I EVEr Do tHIs oN a test TheY wILL dOck ME POintS anD If i EVeR TyPe thIs lIke i’M doING NoW, auTocoRRECT geTs So pISSY I’m IN THE MooD for jENNamarblEs bUT i’M toO buSY doiNG tHIs. ThIS iS thE MoST Fun thinG i’vE DOnE iN MayBE MONths. I’m NOT FUckING KidDInG. wORDPresS iS ActUaLLY NiCE eNOugh to NoT AuTOCOrreCT CapITALizATion, WhICh iS UsUALLY annOYinG BuT GreaT fOR My PurPoseS ToDAY…HaLLoWEen MakES PeoPle Wear eERie costumES, it’S sO GrEAT WatChING thE OthERS AnD I’VE JusT ReaLIZed i HaVE WaSTEd a FrEE & StILL HavE a ShiT ToN of HOmEwoRk.