a fuck you very much, world.

Lately, everything has been tiring me. The past two weeks have taken their toll on me, and the only person who tried to cheer me up was Thienson.

Well, yes. AP testing slaughtered my morale and pretty much sucked the life out of me, but that's expected. Other little, agitating things sum up. Ridiculous thoughts which I can't control sum up. People's ignorance sum up.

Taking my SAT II's a few days ago, I experienced this literally, heartbreaking feeling of estrangement. Filing to get into my room for the tests, I saw so many of my classmates from middle school, some of whom I have known for over 9 years. It really hurt me when no one remembered who I was, whereas deep inside of me, I knew every single bit of their idiosyncrasies. It made me upset, but rationally, time changes everything. People move on. I am just so addicted to the past that I forget how terrible most of it really was. I am so addicted to having long talks with Cindy about culture and life and so engrossed with remembering how giggly and stupid I used to be with Ampy that I completely neglected the fact that Cindy resents me now and that Ampy has a girlfriend now. I used to me impervious to the allure of the past, but recently, the issue has just fuckin' reignited. The last time the issue of crumbling middle school friendships affected me was, ha, 7 months ago when I saw Cindy at an Interact event. She literally ignored me and failed to acknowledge me as a known person, even if she has been the person who ushered me into my love for creative writing and even if she was my first true close friend. I remember crying so much that day. But I am a fucking wetbag.

My view on human nature is inherently positive. I believe that everyone has a good heart, and if they don't, that there's always an underlying reason for their rough exterior. Although I keep most friendships at a comfortable distance, I am pretty good at befriending people because of my personable nature. I don't think much (or maybe I think too much) about doing small, kind favors. I relate to The Great Gatsby's Nick, an inherent listener. People generally enjoy my company because although I am painfully awkward, I do listen to them 90% of the time. These past few weeks, I have just felt like a sponge, listening to everyone's worries. Days after days, people tell me their personal stories. The stress accumulates for me. And this accumulation makes me reconsider the value and functionality of my friendships. All of my friendships are polar. I am the listener. I wonder if anyone actually listens when I have something to say because sometimes, passionate, inextinguishable conflicts (vague and inconcrete subject, I knowww) take place in my head. I am so ridiculously sensitive.

A few days ago, Kevin and I argued over the impact of humanities in the world. Kevin, the obdurate scientist he is, believed that the humanities have a very indirect impact on the world we live in. Although I have a similar fascination for science, I disagreed. The world thrives upon the humanities. They help us keep, communicate, assess, and strengthen our ideas. I believe our world would benefit from more people who took an interest in the arts and humanities. And even when that happened, our world would not fail to stimulate us with problems. Our conversation bitterly ended with Kevin replying, "I would not like to live in a world where our only problem is deciding which shirt to wear."

I stopped feeling upset the day after because of my forgiving nature, but going back to the point, arguments burst into flames over the silliest of things and people are just so stubborn, preferring an argument over conceding to preserve a friendship. I am guilty as well.

Also, I hate authority.Yesterday at Gear Up, Mr. Dobrenz yelled at me twice for helping a girl with a variable problem in a method which did not fit his style of teaching, though still yielding the same result and following similar steps. People can be so annoyingly demanding and incredibly narrow-minded. I stood up for myself, but he was too much of an oafish, self-righteous prick to listen, so I decided to stop helping her.

Today in calculus, Jason read out loud the handbook I grabbed a few days earlier about loneliness. The subject became a travesty, and its satire, to be honest, was funny as hell. (The booklet turned out to be come-to-Jesus propaganda.) But there are some people who are truly lonely. Personally, although there are times at which I would prefer solitude, I do feel trapped by my own means, and I wonder if anyone can see or hear me. I have spent three years failing to fit into a social mosaic, and that is truly disheartening sometimes. Because of these failure-provoked feelings, there have been several times, in this year alone, in which I have truly considered suicide. I have also tried self-mutilation. Not true cutting, but I have purposely hurt myself, clouded by the belief that immediate pain would help me repress my unpleasant experiences. (Pain releases endorphins, but I digress.)

A fuck you very much to the world. I am just so tired.

STACEY

PS Just let me die alone, you fucking anthropomorphic entity everyone believes in. I do not even like anyone right now.