I would say that the previous post was emo bullpies, but then again I tend to get like that when someone I know gets emo (family). Sucks, but man up yeah?
Looks like social psychology is the area in which I hold vast amounts of experience and motivation to learn in; I learned this today in my Psych college class (gen ed) and realized that I knew a lot of the material being taught. Perhaps I can apply that to my wanted Naval Intelligence Officer career.
Just gotta keep on working I suppose.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
The Beginning
Intro
No one will read this. I don't expect people to read this. If someone sees this, and wishes to read this, I don't mind. Input is naturally replied to; to me though, silence is golden. Certainly, not all of my secrets will be revealed. Out of the people I know, only 4 Know of what I will say. Of those, 2 understand it. Of those, 1 caused it, and that one cannot change it. Do not think this will be dreary all the time, nor think that this will be cheerful. I only wish to tell what I remember.
I won't post this type of stuff all the time. Most of the time, it will just be thoughts about semantic/general things. It will be fun I hope. Either way, lets start off.
Me
I am, on the outside, your average going to college teenager. I like to hang out with my friends; I go to the movies, cause misdemeanors now and then (nothing big; even graffiti is big in my mind) and play games. I like Green Day, for they can play live well and are good at writing a variety of songs. I like any song that has a good rhythm to it, and Green Day has so many that they are my favorite; I do like several other genres though. I play games, at least 2-3 hours a day. Reading is fun, and I often run out of books like sci-fi or drama. I learned how to ride a motorbike, and am trying to get one. I love to read manga, and am absorbed by it for hours on end. I personally like Tragedy, Drama, Seinen, and Slice of Life; what can I say? I am a realist.
On the inside, I guess I am your average teenager. I hate authority but obey it because it is to my advantage. I argue with what I believe does not make sense. I am respectful to others until I gather enough info on another person to show my distaste for them; former friends took a couple years. Certain family took at least a decade (out of obligation, I do not hate them, but I do not respect or ador them as I did as a child). Maybe I will change when I grow older and experience more life. Acting upon that, I have made it so that, after I get my first degree, I will join the Navy and learn what I need to learn, do what I want to do, and contribute without any shame or regret.
Maybe I am average; though, at my age, I would think that I am unique, invincible, always right until proven wrong. Others are worse off; I have really no right to complain. Still, I will talk.
Up to First Grade
My parents were average in my eyes, in the beginning of my life. Our family was well off; my father had a good management job and my mother had started a law career. Ignorance is bliss; I was ignorant. I had no care to learn, no care to ask. I only cared to be happy. Of course, when I learned something knew, I would try to understand it; my innocence brought me no barriers in life. Both of my parents seemed loving enough. My dad would only twist my ear to punish me and my mom would once in a while spank me if I did something wrong; I did not like it back then but I can understand it now. It did not change my affection for my parents. They would praise my accomplishments, hang out with me and my brother when we wanted to, and gave us attention. My dad tried to teach me hard work; my mom tried to bribe me to do good work, and still does. My brother did not care for me as one would expect, and still does not; he, grown up, chooses ignorance, to be out of sight as much as possible to avoid what I endure. As a child though, I did not mind; we were in our own worlds, only to enjoy each others' company when desired, even if it was small. He was a slight bully, hitting me for such and such reasons for some kids fight. I was still ignorant, and saw that doing bad meant bad things; doing good meant good things. This was clear to me, and I as I grew, so did my belief that goodness was right. With my family situation, this became blurred.
My grandmother who lived with us would sometimes lock me outside our house; this, I did not understand why, and still do not. We get along now, but I do not harbor large feelings for her except for the obligation that I feel is required for one to have towards close relatives. I would cry for what seemed an eternity as I pounded on the doors, begging to be let back in. And I would be let back in, fearful once again of ever rousing her wrath. These are just an example of what happened to me when I was punished; I do not think of them as the worst life punishments. I simply recall it.
My first school days were not much of a problem; I would work, have fun, and go home. I was always homesick. My brother was going to the same school as me, but I did not care; he was mean, arrogant, bliss to the point of harm in my childish eyes. My first teacher was kind; she always was calm and caring. I went through first grade without much trouble, at least in school.
I had a friend; Alex was his name. We hung out several times as kids, in or out of school. He was different from me; slightly spoiled, not as well off but still comfortable. He did things as a boy that I did not like sometimes; he was rude to his mother, and hardly listened to others. Still, we got along, and always had adventures. I do not consider him a friend anymore, and we do not see each other (that is why) even if I try to invite him to hang out; we still talk every now and then. But inside the classroom, my friends were few. I did not like any of the other kids, and did not try to get along; I was shy, and could not be outgoing. Troubling though this was, I managed. I pretended to get along, and generally did. We played all the schoolyard games, from hand ball to soccer, from castle building to four square. I was good at handball, and loved to play my best in it. No one played handball in high school, and as I look back, I miss it. I guess growing up makes us think that we are obligated by society to act a certain way, to be in the norm of that society. But that was how others who grew up felt, and others before them. These rules are foolish and yet continue to be obeyed.
Even though it was fine by itself, it was school and home that brought trouble. My mother expected good grades; I suppose every ones' mom expects this. But this was so much so that she would do my work for me. My father sat me down about this; he would say , "you must do your own work, and with that you will then learn how to achieve. Tell your mother to stop helping you.". I did. She yelled at me, and my father found me, ate the age of 6 I believe, crying while my mother did my math. He tells me of how he felt about this memory whenever he gets depressed. He often gets depressed. Second grade is for another time.
Once, when my dad picked us up from school, we went to target to get my mom a present; it was her birthday. I was still a kid, and was bored an unconcerned. Dad asked us as we inspected some jewelery, "what do you think" and "maybe this one will do". I did not care, for I was bored, and simply told him "Yes, that seems nice" or "that one is pretty because of the design"; I am more thoughtful now I guess. When we got home around 5 pm though, my mom was in an outrage. We were "late" and she was "sad that we didn't want to celebrate her birthday". Not true. We tried to explain why we were late. My dad got into a huge fight with her, the only one I can now remember. My brother and I, crying, after we tried to stop them, ran to our separate rooms. We could still hear their shouts through the walls. After around an hour or so they came to us, and calmed us down, and tried to explain why they argued. I think my mom tried to blame my dad; vice versa. I did not like their reasons; personally I though they were both in the wrong. My dad should have been prepared for my moms' birthday, should have told her a reason why we would be late (though from what I learned in the years, my mom always became off the hinges when it came to Valentines, Birthdays, and Christmas if the present or the people weren't thoughtful), and my mom should have not cared if we were there to celebrate her birthday. Such is life. It was a pain to bother with my parents, and I told them that everything was fine to calm them down and make them feel better about themselves. I now regret it; I became the one they depend upon for most emotional problems they now have. Big fights with my mom (issues between me and her, brought up by me, as well as certain words I said to stop her from running to her child for adult issues) have stopped most of this when I turned 17; my dad, being "alone with no friends thanks to [your] mom" and "[your] brother not seeming to care about my feelings" turns to me, even now. I still help my dad, but tell him off more so to try to build him up again (I think he is full of it, and is over dramatic; you life sucks, and you are tired, but at least try to rebuild after "20 years of misery [this is his marriage and after divorce life]). My mom, I tell her why she should not go to me, that I do not like it when she does, and that she should talk to someone, either a Psych or a good friend. It works so far for me with a friend, though I try to limit my words and agree with his decisions so as not to depress him as my parents did to me. Again, the second grade is to come.
All of this was only from my birth to when I was six. It was at six that I can recall the first crack in my life. My parents lives' were already full of cracks. The beginning was simple, easy to understand. I will only state my life occurrences for my sake, to force me to recall and be relieved of the pressures from my memory.
Review
These emotions were only felt due to my age; at this time, I would not so much as bat an eye, but would instead be frustrated at the others' condescension. Back then, I reacted to any family problems with a pure wish to help. I only felt things of the immediate concern; the future was of no importance, for I did not know of it. The past was unrelated, for I was ignorant of it. That is not the case now; the future is bleak, and unpredictable, an enigma that is to be feared and repressed to preserve my own happiness, or what is left of it. The past affects what happens now, for it has grown into a monster, even when my ignorance was destroyed, affecting all things in my life throughout the rest of time. Those that caused this, I do not know if they think as I do; they cannot. Everyone is different; this difference is what confuses me. I am still ignorant; except now, it causes me great harm, not happiness.
I strive to achieve my plan, and I must end any ignorance. Now, I have privacy, am left to my own devices for weeks until someone has another problem. College, though hard, brings fruitfulness to my life even though I still live in my moms' home (JC; it is cheap and, being kind, I do not want to cause any financial problems and pressures. Do not assume that it is something to be ashamed of, or you still need to do some growing up). As a youth, my plans were more simple. I strove for change, to better the lives that were suffering around me. Now my plan is to help myself, perhaps help others if only out of obligation and to guarantee the happiness I endured for by continuing my passive actions. I will change, but I cannot harm others while I do so, for I become upset when I see others in trouble, so I try to help them. I am not a kind martyr; I am not a person who thinks he is a tragic hero, a man who will be rewarded for his deeds. I am a selfish guy, more so now that I am trying to rid myself of my sensitivity. That is my weakness. I always have a heavy emotional reaction (thanks to my practiced poker face, it cannot be seen), and react internally with a struggle. Even though I have been unable to really "feel" any bad emotions, I am told this is called Deadening. Not good, though I don't care; being emotionless doesn't concern me. However, this weakness can only be changed if I am out of the sight. And yet, I still try to help, to ease my mind when I move to some other city or state.
Maybe I'm being over dramatic, like my father. Maybe I care too much about trivial things, like my mother. All I know is, is that things will change, for better or for worse. But to be able to change, I must recall my problems.
Talking has already relieved me a bit for today; I will only talk when I feel it is good for me, like when I am bummed.
No one will read this. I don't expect people to read this. If someone sees this, and wishes to read this, I don't mind. Input is naturally replied to; to me though, silence is golden. Certainly, not all of my secrets will be revealed. Out of the people I know, only 4 Know of what I will say. Of those, 2 understand it. Of those, 1 caused it, and that one cannot change it. Do not think this will be dreary all the time, nor think that this will be cheerful. I only wish to tell what I remember.
I won't post this type of stuff all the time. Most of the time, it will just be thoughts about semantic/general things. It will be fun I hope. Either way, lets start off.
Me
I am, on the outside, your average going to college teenager. I like to hang out with my friends; I go to the movies, cause misdemeanors now and then (nothing big; even graffiti is big in my mind) and play games. I like Green Day, for they can play live well and are good at writing a variety of songs. I like any song that has a good rhythm to it, and Green Day has so many that they are my favorite; I do like several other genres though. I play games, at least 2-3 hours a day. Reading is fun, and I often run out of books like sci-fi or drama. I learned how to ride a motorbike, and am trying to get one. I love to read manga, and am absorbed by it for hours on end. I personally like Tragedy, Drama, Seinen, and Slice of Life; what can I say? I am a realist.
On the inside, I guess I am your average teenager. I hate authority but obey it because it is to my advantage. I argue with what I believe does not make sense. I am respectful to others until I gather enough info on another person to show my distaste for them; former friends took a couple years. Certain family took at least a decade (out of obligation, I do not hate them, but I do not respect or ador them as I did as a child). Maybe I will change when I grow older and experience more life. Acting upon that, I have made it so that, after I get my first degree, I will join the Navy and learn what I need to learn, do what I want to do, and contribute without any shame or regret.
Maybe I am average; though, at my age, I would think that I am unique, invincible, always right until proven wrong. Others are worse off; I have really no right to complain. Still, I will talk.
Up to First Grade
My parents were average in my eyes, in the beginning of my life. Our family was well off; my father had a good management job and my mother had started a law career. Ignorance is bliss; I was ignorant. I had no care to learn, no care to ask. I only cared to be happy. Of course, when I learned something knew, I would try to understand it; my innocence brought me no barriers in life. Both of my parents seemed loving enough. My dad would only twist my ear to punish me and my mom would once in a while spank me if I did something wrong; I did not like it back then but I can understand it now. It did not change my affection for my parents. They would praise my accomplishments, hang out with me and my brother when we wanted to, and gave us attention. My dad tried to teach me hard work; my mom tried to bribe me to do good work, and still does. My brother did not care for me as one would expect, and still does not; he, grown up, chooses ignorance, to be out of sight as much as possible to avoid what I endure. As a child though, I did not mind; we were in our own worlds, only to enjoy each others' company when desired, even if it was small. He was a slight bully, hitting me for such and such reasons for some kids fight. I was still ignorant, and saw that doing bad meant bad things; doing good meant good things. This was clear to me, and I as I grew, so did my belief that goodness was right. With my family situation, this became blurred.
My grandmother who lived with us would sometimes lock me outside our house; this, I did not understand why, and still do not. We get along now, but I do not harbor large feelings for her except for the obligation that I feel is required for one to have towards close relatives. I would cry for what seemed an eternity as I pounded on the doors, begging to be let back in. And I would be let back in, fearful once again of ever rousing her wrath. These are just an example of what happened to me when I was punished; I do not think of them as the worst life punishments. I simply recall it.
My first school days were not much of a problem; I would work, have fun, and go home. I was always homesick. My brother was going to the same school as me, but I did not care; he was mean, arrogant, bliss to the point of harm in my childish eyes. My first teacher was kind; she always was calm and caring. I went through first grade without much trouble, at least in school.
I had a friend; Alex was his name. We hung out several times as kids, in or out of school. He was different from me; slightly spoiled, not as well off but still comfortable. He did things as a boy that I did not like sometimes; he was rude to his mother, and hardly listened to others. Still, we got along, and always had adventures. I do not consider him a friend anymore, and we do not see each other (that is why) even if I try to invite him to hang out; we still talk every now and then. But inside the classroom, my friends were few. I did not like any of the other kids, and did not try to get along; I was shy, and could not be outgoing. Troubling though this was, I managed. I pretended to get along, and generally did. We played all the schoolyard games, from hand ball to soccer, from castle building to four square. I was good at handball, and loved to play my best in it. No one played handball in high school, and as I look back, I miss it. I guess growing up makes us think that we are obligated by society to act a certain way, to be in the norm of that society. But that was how others who grew up felt, and others before them. These rules are foolish and yet continue to be obeyed.
Even though it was fine by itself, it was school and home that brought trouble. My mother expected good grades; I suppose every ones' mom expects this. But this was so much so that she would do my work for me. My father sat me down about this; he would say , "you must do your own work, and with that you will then learn how to achieve. Tell your mother to stop helping you.". I did. She yelled at me, and my father found me, ate the age of 6 I believe, crying while my mother did my math. He tells me of how he felt about this memory whenever he gets depressed. He often gets depressed. Second grade is for another time.
Once, when my dad picked us up from school, we went to target to get my mom a present; it was her birthday. I was still a kid, and was bored an unconcerned. Dad asked us as we inspected some jewelery, "what do you think" and "maybe this one will do". I did not care, for I was bored, and simply told him "Yes, that seems nice" or "that one is pretty because of the design"; I am more thoughtful now I guess. When we got home around 5 pm though, my mom was in an outrage. We were "late" and she was "sad that we didn't want to celebrate her birthday". Not true. We tried to explain why we were late. My dad got into a huge fight with her, the only one I can now remember. My brother and I, crying, after we tried to stop them, ran to our separate rooms. We could still hear their shouts through the walls. After around an hour or so they came to us, and calmed us down, and tried to explain why they argued. I think my mom tried to blame my dad; vice versa. I did not like their reasons; personally I though they were both in the wrong. My dad should have been prepared for my moms' birthday, should have told her a reason why we would be late (though from what I learned in the years, my mom always became off the hinges when it came to Valentines, Birthdays, and Christmas if the present or the people weren't thoughtful), and my mom should have not cared if we were there to celebrate her birthday. Such is life. It was a pain to bother with my parents, and I told them that everything was fine to calm them down and make them feel better about themselves. I now regret it; I became the one they depend upon for most emotional problems they now have. Big fights with my mom (issues between me and her, brought up by me, as well as certain words I said to stop her from running to her child for adult issues) have stopped most of this when I turned 17; my dad, being "alone with no friends thanks to [your] mom" and "[your] brother not seeming to care about my feelings" turns to me, even now. I still help my dad, but tell him off more so to try to build him up again (I think he is full of it, and is over dramatic; you life sucks, and you are tired, but at least try to rebuild after "20 years of misery [this is his marriage and after divorce life]). My mom, I tell her why she should not go to me, that I do not like it when she does, and that she should talk to someone, either a Psych or a good friend. It works so far for me with a friend, though I try to limit my words and agree with his decisions so as not to depress him as my parents did to me. Again, the second grade is to come.
All of this was only from my birth to when I was six. It was at six that I can recall the first crack in my life. My parents lives' were already full of cracks. The beginning was simple, easy to understand. I will only state my life occurrences for my sake, to force me to recall and be relieved of the pressures from my memory.
Review
These emotions were only felt due to my age; at this time, I would not so much as bat an eye, but would instead be frustrated at the others' condescension. Back then, I reacted to any family problems with a pure wish to help. I only felt things of the immediate concern; the future was of no importance, for I did not know of it. The past was unrelated, for I was ignorant of it. That is not the case now; the future is bleak, and unpredictable, an enigma that is to be feared and repressed to preserve my own happiness, or what is left of it. The past affects what happens now, for it has grown into a monster, even when my ignorance was destroyed, affecting all things in my life throughout the rest of time. Those that caused this, I do not know if they think as I do; they cannot. Everyone is different; this difference is what confuses me. I am still ignorant; except now, it causes me great harm, not happiness.
I strive to achieve my plan, and I must end any ignorance. Now, I have privacy, am left to my own devices for weeks until someone has another problem. College, though hard, brings fruitfulness to my life even though I still live in my moms' home (JC; it is cheap and, being kind, I do not want to cause any financial problems and pressures. Do not assume that it is something to be ashamed of, or you still need to do some growing up). As a youth, my plans were more simple. I strove for change, to better the lives that were suffering around me. Now my plan is to help myself, perhaps help others if only out of obligation and to guarantee the happiness I endured for by continuing my passive actions. I will change, but I cannot harm others while I do so, for I become upset when I see others in trouble, so I try to help them. I am not a kind martyr; I am not a person who thinks he is a tragic hero, a man who will be rewarded for his deeds. I am a selfish guy, more so now that I am trying to rid myself of my sensitivity. That is my weakness. I always have a heavy emotional reaction (thanks to my practiced poker face, it cannot be seen), and react internally with a struggle. Even though I have been unable to really "feel" any bad emotions, I am told this is called Deadening. Not good, though I don't care; being emotionless doesn't concern me. However, this weakness can only be changed if I am out of the sight. And yet, I still try to help, to ease my mind when I move to some other city or state.
Maybe I'm being over dramatic, like my father. Maybe I care too much about trivial things, like my mother. All I know is, is that things will change, for better or for worse. But to be able to change, I must recall my problems.
Talking has already relieved me a bit for today; I will only talk when I feel it is good for me, like when I am bummed.
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