In RL, I do better than I probably look

A few months ago I got a comment on an old post.

"Dude your blog is NUTS and that's not a good thing."

Oops.

Hahha. Yeah, oops.

Sorry dude, I really only used this place as a place of wallowing in the muddy depths of depression when I don't have a good person to complain to anymore, and besides the fact that I'm doing much better mentally, if something is minor I do have someone now to get that out to so it doesn't fester.

This place back when I started was a fangirling space because I really wasn't comfortable with any other space I found. That phase came and went and I abandoned it a bit as I found some other fandom spaces I could lurk in. Then I came back and used this as a semi-public place akin to screaming towards the ocean, all the way into a scary time in the mental sinkhole I'm still afraid of falling back into, and all the way out of it.

It looks like chronicle of someone who never got better, but the story is pretty biased, the recent bits are only sporadic potholes in the grand scheme of "doing pretty okay".

Life's far, far from perfect—I'm quite underpaid with a skill no one in the industry respects; I don't know what the loving fuck I'm doing with my life; I'm essentially renting the house I grew up in, burdened by all the things my parents left behind when they moved overseas, unable to move out because of obligations and having no money; My health is sub-optimal and has a handful of daily discomforts and inconveniences; Talking/thinking about jobs and careers and how little I'm earning gives me fucking anxiety and feeling like a disappointment—but I'm 90% functional and not trapped in a depressive spiral. I hate my body, but probably not more than one standard deviation away from the average women. (Having someone to tell me a highly realistic solution every time I try to use that as a springboard to the whirlpool of shit probably helped.)

So yeah, the past several years here is a record of just the cesspool. In regards to health I'm definitely a little desensitized at this point. The rest is pretty okay.

I know I have some escape ropes in my backpack now.

I live on Tumblr now

That is pretty much it.

I think all my page views are from spambots.

Thank you, Blogger, for your free page view stats.

イチ。
I've been thinking that, if I ever get around to making new layouts, I should move this blog to a new address.

Layouts, domain, business, designs...gah! My brain is itching to not study for the two finals tomorrow!

に。
Of course I go hunt for newest chaptres of manga in Japanese, then try to read them with the help of a dictionary, on the nights before finals.

Surprisingly, it wasn't too hard.

Would it be too ambitious to try an itsy bitsy bit on novels now? (Probably, but that's not going to stop me, is it. The finals aren't, so what can?)

Blogs, blogs, blogs

I have been dusting off my web-coding hat all afternoon-evening. The Livejournal/Deadjournal/Insanejournal/JournalFen/commiejournal system finally made enough sense for some starter customization—I will definitely churn out at least one LJcode-based layout by the end of summer. I've finally chanced upon JF opening their accounts after about a year of periodical lurking, and have discovered Commiejournal on the way—so far it has the best free account offer: 100 userpics as well as S1 style creation (S2 style creation seems to be a paid feature across the board with varying degrees of freedom for S1).

I'm learning so damn much looking at LJ: smallwaldo's source code. And the most wonderful thing? Its code is actually very neat and organized unlike some of the disgraces I've seen. Maybe that's my lack of expertise speaking.

Blogger, despite being vastly different, remains my favourite. I will not abandon you, love, never ♥ Wordpress is definitely pretty though; I will look into its coding once I settle the others.

I was fiddling with this blog's template and itched to click the "randomize blog colors" link, and after a couple of clicks and some minor adjusting, this new color scheme is the result. I still cannot figure where the code for the top (now dark gray) bar is. This requires moar research.

Ah, so yes, I've rediscovered the passion that is website coding.

The difference between pressing the "save" button and the "publish" button.

For three years and 364 days this place has been an all-understanding dummy of an outlet for everything I have not said, should have said, and would not have said. Through the years blogger has changed and grew (and taken over by Google); I have changed and grew and experienced and understood (and seduced by Google).

I came to understand much about myself, from both looking back at my old, angsty, childish, crazy entries and just from "thinking out loud" like this. What struck me recently is the big difference between keeping something as a draft, safe from public eyes, and published rants that nobody should care about. Pushing the "publish" button releases me from anything that were bubbling inside, no matter its content and emotion hidden beneath. Keeping a draft lacks that release, because I have not said everything, because there is still an unfinished thought, a promise to finish. It is not a burden released. It is not something I have let go, put down, got over (or not), said something about.

It was a rather...freeing experience that I feel I cannot accomplish through this archive alone anymore. The promise, the goal, that I made when I began this thing is something I cannot hold up any longer. Too many things that begs to be said cannot be said here anymore, because I have become less physically, emotionally isolated from others; no longer is there a buffer zone called home between me, what I write, and those who read it.

Everything has become heavier.

ETA: Come to think of it, perhaps this is why I no longer find Kakeru to be a suitable name anymore. It has become a spot on the enormous internet where I spout a little of my own words, leave a little mark, rather than a place to free myself from me. I can't free myself anymore. Maybe the Buddhists were onto something when they spoke of the things one must be disconnected from...

Looking Back Years and Years, Feeling Old and Young At the Same Time.

There was a girl, not a long time ago, who made few friends and was quiet. She made friends slowly; mingling was difficult with children who had a different background, not that she was particularly outgoing, either. She wanted others to like her, because she thought nobody would like her and be friends with her otherwise. She bluffed and lied and pretended, as best she could, to be perfect. She was scared. Scared that anything she did would be repulsive, disgusting. Afraid that being too friendly would be too bothersome.

So she restrained herself from giving a classmate a pat on the back, declined invitations to go to movies and hang out and have dinner. No, she said, I have something to do. Her friends left her alone after a while. And she became more standoffish until it became a habit. Having a parent to drive her home became part of her excuse.

Oh, she was amiable enough to talk to anyone who initiated the conversation. But she didn't make many more friends, and the ones she had she became less familiar with.
____________________________

After a little while, I got fed up with the cognitive dissonance between what I think and what I do. I was also pretty fed up with mindlessly listing what I did from day to day. Originally I thought I should keep all my angst and boy-squealing to another blog that I will hide from the world (or at least from people I know personally). Then on 07 July, 2005, I said, "[t]he last time I posted it was almost a year ago, for the sake of people who don't care about my angst. But then I was like, screw this, and went for putting everything, from anime reviews and afterthoughts to funny links to daily angst on there. 'Cus there's nothing to hide from."

The very first reason for a blog was to record my thoughts, since I've never successfully kept a diary/journal of any sorts before. Its second purpose was to make myself let go of trying to keep my reputation. To open up, and be true. To make myself accept the imperfect, not quite stoic enough self and be happy with it. I've talked about a mask more than once during these years, and I still use this horribly common metaphor. It improved my sociability, and to a much smaller degree, my self confidence and self esteem.

It was partly because I made myself talk about things that didn't make me look good, but more importantly, because the little comments let me know that people will still associate with me even when I had all these faults and imperfections and different pastimes. I'm still working on it.

I once vouched to not censor anything, but of course, it only worked to a certain degree. I especially refrained from talking about my love life, for good reason.

Now, I don't know what I'm doing with Kakeru. I post interesting articles, gives random one line updates sparingly, and comments on things when they come up. It's as if I stopped talking about myself. Perhaps I have more things that fall in the censored material category now. And because I have a person to, uh, listen to me rant now...though the only thing that's changed about that is getting more direct, immediate responses...sorry, Larry =p

I was getting somewhere with this, but, as usual, I've lost my focus. Ah, oh well, this is what the blog is for =)

Hello, World.

I feel restless,
but I'm not cleaning
and packing?

Just found another downside to Blogger beta: no BlogThis function. Maybe I need to update the plugin or something.

Restless.
Restless.
Pace the private "living" room.
Pace the family living room.
Pace the house.
Looks for the cat.
Pace.
Pace.
Restless.
Restless.
Tired.
Confused?
Overwhelmed?
Restless.

Biked in circles today afternoon.
Must do that again.

Must Clean.
Must Pack.
Doing neither.

Restless.
Wander.

Got a new phone. *pink* RAZR V3m.
Incompetent representatives.
Wasted an hour, waiting.
Defective phone.
Stupid phone that can't connect with other phones. Even with bluetooth.
Cheaters.
Worse than my Ericsson T616.
Unsatisfied.
Phone numbers messed up.

...

I don't think I can say I'm 'happy' at this moment.
I think I'm kinda numb.
I think I'm kinda scared.
I think I don't want to go.
I feel like I'm stuck in something.
Am I still trying to go in circles, thinking it'd be alright if I pretend to not see the street just off to the side? Not see the world outside?

Stuck.
Restless.

Torn

When I began this blog 3 years ago (has it really been three years?), I didn't want it to be a xanga-typed 'look guys, I'm so important that you'd want to know every little thing I did today' journal. I thought it was silly and ego-centric. Too many censors that kept me from knowing what's really going on in their minds. I didn't like reading those "superficial" posts, and strived to steer away from that.

I wanted some place where I can let some steam off. Some place where I can express myself to my content. Some place to record my thoughts. Some place to let others decide whether they are interested in what I have to say. Some place to open myself as if I would to a...I don't know. A place to throw my image and face and whatever I've built around myself away for a bit. It worked, for a while.

Without even going back on the entries, I know I've shed some of that "I-must-not-show-weaknesses" layer, if only just a bit. Perhaps whether I made myself open up or not made no difference in these three years (afterall, I did became more involved with other activities and grew more comfortable to this setting with these people), but the growth is there, as minimal as it may be.

I still dislike being "not good enough", "not better", and "faulty." It still plagues me. But I've stopped mentioning it and other darker stuff that I used to expose. I stopped writing when I really should. Censored.

Perhaps I felt I exposed myself too much and too little. Perhaps I felt my thoughts worry others.

But me just having a fine, fine life was—is—definately not the case.

I can blame it on the comments thing. I realized, whether I want to or not, I care what these readers feel after the post. I don't want them to think I'm inbalanced, chronically depressed, perpetually unhappy, or that I need cuddling. Becoming aware of these readers...scared me. I don't want them (you) to see me at my worst, at my ugliest. I don't want them (you) to see how selfish, how disgusting, how queer, how...imperfect I am.

I laugh and make fun of my own faults, but it's a strike to myself every time I do it. I hated every time I see myself being ugly.

Nonetheless, I am grateful for the comments. They make me feel just a little more important.

I have a frighteningly low self-esteem.
I am afraid, deathly afraid, of being forgotten.

I wanted to fix this.
I still want to fix this.

I thought this writing would help.
I still think this writing can help. A little.

I don't know what else I can do.
I don't know how else I can stop using the word "I" and stop being so selfish and ego-centric and disgusting.

I'm fucking pathetic.

...

...

...

I know this is treated like a keep-in-touch blog. Even I'm treating it like so now. Things that I want people to know, things that I think are interesting go into these posts. I still refuse to detail my life in this, but that's only because I'm easily bored by having to repeat my day all over. Just a matter of taste, I guess.

And this is the way it should remain.

But too much I leave unsaid. So I will dump the darkstuffs somewhere else. I can't bring myself to not let anyone read it, nor, I've realized, should I force them to choke on the poison I threw up. Not out. Just up. For the same reason I can't bring myself to disable comments. I made the decision to let it out. They (you) have the right/choice to respond. I like the silence just as I like the attention.

Things will change a bit. In the future.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.