what a horrendous way to end your birthday schoolweek. with your chinese teacher giving out your ca marks and you found out you a) failed, and b) got the lowest in class.
i don't fucking get why people think that i'll do so well. they only see the ca marks, and i don't fucking need them to moon over their results (viz. which they haven't got back yet) and fling handfuls of slime at themselves, because they're under the impression that somehow, thanks to whatever godawful psychic ability they have, that they're going to fail, and "oh my god, this is so sucky, i'm so sucky, i hate you for getting so high!!!!!"
i do not fucking need that.
i'm sorry to whoever is reading this, since you're probably going to be one of those people. i'm sorry for ranting, but i. cannot. take. this.
i can't let you touch me because the voices are screaming too, too loud that all your sympathy is based on the presumed assumption that i'm just throwing a fit because i'm just a brat being anal about results, it's just this little thing that zhiying has and they're so much worse off but they have to pretend to and the voices are screaming over and over and over and over that they're going to want to hurt you, they want to deceive you that they care for real and everything's been a grand charade, a trick orchestrated by them because they don't care, they push me in the face out of the way and leave me to bleed in the pei hwa library, staring fixedly at a page in the book because i'm willing myself to kill the tears, and only leave when the library closes to find them gone and my bag, previously on the bench, on the floor.
because they don't care. they never wanted to care. you're just a toy, a thing to be used and discarded like your own fucking bag across the floor, blackened by the flaking cement, unable to pick itself up. and the library's locked up and the librarian who practically grinned her face open when somebody finally came in and read in earnest has gone and the sound of her court shoes has faded out ages ago and you're all alone in a school you never really liked anyway.
so, the voices say, i have to hurt them back.
and the anger and the hate and the betrayal and the fucking sadness of all those moments just condense into one [where you find out they really don't care about you, all those times you waved to them they only waved back out of decorum, and the realization they never waved first to you] and you just need to lash out at somebody, anybody but you can't. and that just crawls up your throat so you can't breathe, can't do anything, can't think, can't touch, can't move, can't feel, can't see.
because once you let them touch you, once you let them get under your skin and stay there, they're going to whip out the knife they've been hiding all along and carve your heart out again. and my heart, it's so tired of being put back, of being held in my hand because i need to find someone to put it back, i can't do it myself, would someone help me? would someone love me?
and i know there are people who'd do that, and there are people who do, but i'm filled with doubt i know is stupid and useless and redundant because they say they do but voices they're just voices just like the voices in my head and saying words, just words and one of them is lying but i can't tell which one because i'm too confused, too confused, i can't do anything anymore, breathing is a problem, let alone thinking straight. but the voices don't care for me either, they're out to save themselves, to radiate from me and seep into other people's minds and slowly kill them too [you're giving off bad vibes], they're too loud, they drown out everything and everything else is too loud too sharp too bitter too salty too grainy too loud too much and i feel like i'm going to explode.
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.
