If my blog is about "things worth thinking (and complaining) about", why do I write so much about myself?

It's likely someone's thought this about this lovely blog of mine. If nobody has, then you're not doing enough thinking. Think, people, it's not illegal yet.

Now, if you've been following me for a decent amount of time, you'd know that one of the things I tend to write about is myself. My narcissism, frustration, desire, I've been writing about what I feel, what I think, how I feel, how I think, it's just about me (now, you could blame this on my narcissism, but bear with me here). First, however, we'd need to go into why I write.

We all have our way of venting, releasing, getting it out, whatever 'it' may be. Writing is my way of doing so. I get home, I overload myself with the primary emotion I felt that day, and I get it out with my fingers (well that just sounds wrong). I tap the keys, and I feel my emotions drain into the keyboard and into the post. The posts are memories, how I felt at certain times, and they are moments frozen in time, that I can look back at and remember, like photos.

Yes, it is possible that Gallifrey is frozen in one of my blog posts. 

I write about what I feel because it helps me let out my emotions. There are days when even the distraction of a cell phone doesn't help. I feel sad, or angry, and I have no idea why, and I need to let it out. I enjoy writing about other things: If the Serenity encountered the Destiny, if Loki was banished to earth to live as a human with Steve Rogers (sitcom style), and even if Pinkie Pie guided Dante through hell. I write about quite a lot, although none are as emotionally cleansing as my blog is. However, just the idea of saying something and getting it out there is uplifting for me.

Have you ever felt like you had something so important on your mind you just needed to say it? I feel that way, sometimes, and it's how George Carlin did his specials. (I do recommend watching the videos in this post)

Basically, Louis CK wrote a shit comedy routine when he first started out, then, inspired by George Carlin, he chucked it out onstage 15 years later and just said what he felt, and thus began his road to fame as a successful comedian. This in turn has inspired me to say and write what I feel, usually without regard for any possible consequences. When I mentioned in my previous blog post that Mikayla was my crush (I seriously doubt she likes me back, but I really want to at least tell her and get it out, just in case she's been given shitty romantic advice and is playing hard to get), my thinking was basically, "fuck it, why not?"

My honesty basically stems from how annoyed/exasperated I am, although I will attempt to be honest even when I'm feeling great. When I was writing that blog post about my narcissism, it was midnight, or close to midnight, I was pretty annoyed, mind you, and that's when I thought "fuck it", and I wrote her name in there, and it's pretty obvious she hasn't read it yet because I know her, and she doesn't like to bullshit people, which is something we have in common. If she found out that I had feelings for her, if she didn't like me back, no matter how close we could be, she'd still tell me that she didn't like me back, and I appreciate that in a person, not just a romantic partner. (One other thing is I'm kinda doubting how well of a boyfriend I could be to her, as being friendly and loving online is a lot easier than being friendly and loving in real life. Sure, I seem epic, and I kind of am, but real life me is a piece of shit)

It is now that I realize I might've gone too far off topic, then again, perhaps not.

I feel nothing about my parents' divorce. My dad divorced my mother, it's been found he was likely having an affair (FYI if my dad is reading this, no hard feelings), and now we're moving from the house I grew up in because my dad apparently has ceased to care about us. My sister's being battered pretty hard by these events, while I've just stood there as she came to me for comfort, and I've had to give more hugs than I've needed for myself. I haven't felt a single thing towards this. It's just something that's happening. Just because I've said this, I now feel better about it.

I have, however, felt this...emptiness that I feel. I'll be lying around, not doing anything, and I'll just feel sad, with no idea why. It's why I wrote this blog post, because I felt sad, and I needed to cleanse my emotions. Louis CK mentions this about cell phones, how electronics are our way of shutting out the sadness of life, despite the happiness that follows, just so we don't have to feel the preliminary sadness of it. I know this, and I do try to be on my phone less, but I don't just be online because of Reddit. I'm online because I have friends here, and I like to check in on how they're doing. Just because I've gotten this out, I now feel better about it.

I feel this way, and when I write about this, I feel like I have a heavy heart. I always feel it when I write about this, then once I submit the post, the weight dissipates, leaving me awake and aware. I then feel conscious, that I am free once more, my burden finally shed with the latest blog entry. I can now fly once again.

This is such a pain in my heart

I also feel about the comments of my blog posts. Whenever I post something, I always get praise (which I'm certainly not complaining about), but I want more than that. I opened this post telling you to think, and when you comment, I want to hear what You think. The internet isn't here so that I can preach to you what I think, I also want you to preach to me. What do you think? How does this make you feel? I felt a certain way about this, how do you feel about me feeling that way? I want you to lecture to me, just as I lecture to you. Got it? Good, now if you would please follow my blog so I can get a sense of how many people actually read it.

This shit that I write about myself and how I feel is much more than just something worth thinking about. I'm giving everyone who reads my posts insight into who I am, how I feel, and how I see everything around me. This isn't just something worth thinking or complaining about. This is something more than that.

This is the world in the eyes of a visionary.

Summer: A Time of Peace and Self-Reflection on My Ever-Increasing Narcissism

My first blog entry in a while, and it's in the middle of summer. Happy fourth of July, fuckers. 

Freedom, motherfuckers!

I'm feeling much better than I was at school. I know I went through my metamorphosis a month or two back, and I know I'm a changed man. I feel much happier, now that, despite going through a month of stress free school, I have nothing to occupy my head. I had stressfully and painstakingly kept my grades high enough the rest of the year that, when my productivity ceased, I merely coasted in just above the mark. I now continue to go to my high school. Yay me, especially considering sophomore year is the hardest at my school ("oh, you're completely stressed out with complicated homework? lol, have a menial art project!"). 

Now nothing occupies my head. All I do is relax, relaxation that is well earned, in my opinion. I'm doing so much yet so little. I feel great. The only problems I do face is the stress of moving. (come on! I was planning on getting shit done this summer!) As a result of my parents' divorce, my mother has to move house to sustain us, given we can no longer afford the huge awesome house we have now. I'm perfectly fine with it, but I had plans, and moving's gonna set them back. 

I feel nothing concerning the divorce, but I do feel something. See, I don't normally feel. 10th Doctor regenerating? I listen to the music to help me sleep. [SPOILER] dying at the end of Allegiant? Didn't shed a single tear. Ponds getting sent back in time? I smiled. The Fault in Our Stars? Better love story than twilight.

Bottom line is, I don't normally feel shit. Others at least feel sad. I don't. (yes, I know, I'm inhuman) and yet, I feel something. Unrelated to my school stress, unrelated to my familial situation. I don't know what it is. I'll just be watching a YouTube series, it'll end, and I'll be left alone with my thoughts for 20 minutes, and that's when I start to feel sad. I don't know why, I just randomly become depressed.

Scratch that, I think I may know why. Fuck, I may just know for certain why. Because I'm reflecting upon myself. I see myself because when I'm at home and I have nothing to occupy my mind with, I have nothing to distract me with but myself. I'm self absorbed, and pretty much everyone knows this who bothers to get to know me. I view myself as so awesome you should have permission to even touch me (not permission to look at me, that'd be a crime against humanity to restrict that). I'm vain, and pompous, and I view myself as better than everyone I know, even everyone within 100 miles of me (I'm in Texas, I'm better than at least 75% of those people). I am utterly amazing, and there is no possible reason why my crush shouldn't already adore me; Mikayla should feel privileged that I've taken a liking to her (yes, I finally said her name). All of my friends should feel privileged to be liked by a person as epic as me.

I mean, come on, don't I look like a supremely epic badass?

Oh fuck I am definitely pushing it.

My point is that, like my father (don't get me wrong, he's a great guy), I'm a narcissist. The difference between me and my father is that he wants everything to go his way, I mean, we all do, but he's kinda hissy about it (again, no offense, dad! you're pretty great!), he's not really adaptable if things don't go his way. While I know that not everything's going to go my way and I should be considerate to others, I carry the same flaw, if not worsened. My father's vanity is inconsideration, while mine is self-infatuation. My father cares mainly for himself out of selfishness, while I view myself as superior based on just plain self-absorption. 

Now to throw a ring into a fiery mountain. Actually, no, that's below me.

People view themselves to be 5 times less ugly than they are? bullshit, I view myself as 15 times that. As a result of my pompousness, my modesty has also adapted to compensate. I claim myself to be the most amazing being on earth, and then I'll self-deprecate by following up with "Jk, I'm a piece of shit" (and that's how I react to my vanity on a good day), and I am. I'm a piece of shit. I know that not everyone is supposed to be utterly perfect, save myself, but should I really be as vain as I am?

I still hate that fact of my modesty as well. I know in my heart that it's true, but somehow I unconsciously began to exploit that knowledge. I began to use my modesty as a sympathy plea. I'll admit I'm stupid when I've bragged of myself and who I am, and when people hear that, they take pity on me and accept me more. Great job utilitarian me, now I feel horrible.

I make an effort to not be vain, to know that even though I am better than those around me, I am also equal. My love for myself still shines through and I seem pretentious (as my crush called my journal entries), mainly because I am pretentious. I fear it overcoming me. It is the monster inside of me, it is my sin: pride (even though I am a fan of all seven). Hubris remains my fatal flaw. I'm badass. I'm awesome. I'm shit. I know I'm shit, yet I view myself as awesome. That's why I'm sad, because I know that I am worse because I seem better in my own eyes.

This is Captain Dirk AJ Yaple of Serenity, and I'm feeling 10 feet tall.

Okay, here's a disclaimer for you, since I obviously need to put one here for certain reasons.

1. I told my doctor about my suicidal thoughts during my regeneration two months back and how I got over them. Instead of congratulating me he was concerned, and I understand why, but let me make this abundantly clear: I will never commit suicide. I'll feel like it at times, but I never will do it. Ever. I've got too much. Too much to do, too much to see, too many books and movies to watch and read. I don't deny that I'll want to. Whenever I'm stressed out, it'll always appeal itself to me, but I'll never appeal to it. I will never kill myself. Even if I do, I'll do it in some epic way. Fuck hanging or cutting, I'm gonna pull an Evil Kinevil stunt that ends in my certain death. I will not go out quietly. Capiche? good.

2. Dad, I hate to admit it, but yes, you are narcissistic. You are inconsiderate. The fact is that you apologize and deflect blame sometimes, but you never really admit your faults like I do. I'm an open book with them, I have nothing to hide. I will gladly go up to some random person on the street and tell them everything that's wrong with me right at the start. Right then and there. I don't want to seem critical, but I don't like to hide shit. Accept responsibility for once, as I learned to do early on. By acknowledging you're broken, you end up fixing yourself, if only slightly. Please take this into consideration, dad, I know you can.

3. Oh gods Mikayla will have words for me. (this isn't a disclaimer)

4. Happy fourth of July, fuckers 

Journal Reflection: No More Fucks to Give

I just realized I never actually reflected on the journal entries I did, even though I'm going to be required to do so for my English final (all I can say is screw the 600 word limit). I still need to go over what my writing strengths and weaknesses were, my improvements, probable and current. I've decided to do it here because I think this is the best place/format for it, not simply on Google docs where it would metaphorically gather dust forever.

My ten journal entries are far more than what I expected them to be. I expected to just write an entry every day and bullshit the whole thing, simple, right? Well, I went above and beyond even what I expected from myself. I didn't write just a handful of journal entries, I didn't just write a bunch of things I had to write for an assignment. I really let myself go with this menial project. I truly upheld the first rule of writing, by William Forrester (Sean Connery). "The first key to writing is to write, not to think. You write your first draft with your heart, and you rewrite with your head." That I did, Mr. Forrester, That I did. Each time I wrote, I imagined the primary emotion of the whole day building up inside me to the point where I had no choice but to let it out, and I did so via the keyboard below my fingertips.

Each one of my journal entries is it's own chapter in a story I write about the two weeks of my own personal metamorphosis, my discovery of my own personal identity. I would've found it eventually, but this assignment really did speed up the process. When I started this assignment, I was stressed as fuck. My depression was hitting me head on, and I found no way to escape. By the middle of the whole thing, I felt ready to kill myself, I felt ready to die. Finally, at the peak of all that, it was as if my body would shut down, each individual cell simultaneously, and in a way, yes, I died.

My final blog post detailed my emergence as a new man. The post about my love life sucking was in the aftermath of my death. The old me died when I ceased to care about school. Stress suddenly found itself unable to afflict me. I was untouched by my paranoia, which without the ability to feed off my stress, slowly decayed. I felt refreshed, I felt anew, I feel confident now. My productivity has almost hit rock bottom, but my self-esteem has skyrocketed. I wrote about my shitty love life because that was the only thing, the only thing, that ever serves to stress me out. I no longer care for the schoolwork, it can't make me nervous, but my crush can, even when I but see her from an entire hallway away. I didn't know then that my love life was the only sorrow I could write about, as the others I was freed from the burden of.

My technique for writing, the one thing I have done to augment the quality of these posts, was not to think, but to feel. I've always bashed emotion, saying it's merely a distraction, but it's so much more. Emotion is my tool, how I write, I don't revise any of these. Everything you see here, if I don't disagree with it in the mere ten seconds I spend on it, it stays. Everything here is what I feel. Ironically, my greatest strength in writing can also serve as my greatest weakness. As I said, emotions are a distraction. Think of the new BBC Sherlock TV show. They were great in the beginning, Moffat really pulled through, but not anymore. My mom described the new series as "good, but they're kinda drunk on their own fame"

I carry the same flaw. My weakness is when I write to outdo myself. Whenever I write, I have to remember to write. I can't think, I can't try and be better than everything I've done, I have to do what I can, and just that. My sin is pride, but hey, I'm actually a fan of all seven.

My current state, my new regeneration, was an accelerated result of the fires I was subjected to. I have become in one year what I would've become in several. I am carefree, unburdened. Whatever I do in school I'm never forced to do, everything I do is of my own accord. If I want to do it, I'll do it. If not, then I won't. The days of my life, in the most stressful time of this year, have been so uplifting, I have discovered inner peace, my own inner peace, and nobody can take me down. Even if my crush were to actively reject me, I would still walk away empowered, knowing that despite my failure, I at least took the initiative and conquered what I've always feared, what I've never been able to cease caring about (speaking of, I'm debating whether to utilize my new-found confidence to say her name right now, as I do know she reads these, and let her put two and two together. What the hell, it's hidden).

I do remember that night, that night of the blog post where I'd gone to bed having enough. I didn't want to live, I wanted to die, despite my own personal disfavor towards ending my own life. I could only sleep. I woke the next morning, not wanting to check my phone for the daily scoop on the front page of Reddit, not wanting to get up, not wanting to even listen to music. All I wanted to do was lie there and stay there. I stayed there, all right, and I realized how much I didn't care. I was in the present, and I wouldn't take any more shit from anyone. I now exist having run out of fucks to give. At any moment I could fly. I live in the present now, I am truly free.



Word count (because it's somehow required): 1026, because as I said, screw the limit

Fear of Judgement: the Phobia of being told you Suck

Of all the things we are afraid of, one of the main things we find ourselves afraid of is other people, more so than any supernatural object that haunts our imaginations. We all find our breathing increase when you get up and present to a group, when you show your friend something new, and especially when you act like yourself, for then you are presenting your liked image to the world, and fear criticism.

I regard criticism as a good thing, something to help me perfect my technique and/or methods, but it still enervates me, as it does most everyone else, just another one of my many personal conflicts between emotion and reason (I know nothing can go wrong, but my body will react as if everything will, which sucks because I know nothing will go wrong but it might and therefore I worry against the will of my own logic). We aren't afraid of the criticism, criticism can be good or bad, depending on how it's worded. As I said just now, I enjoy criticism as it provides me with a direction to go (I also enjoy feedback, especially on my blog posts, because I rarely ever get proper feedback on them in the comments. Hint hint, everyone). That being said, I like hearing other people's opinions on my work because I know how to work on it further. I'm not afraid of being told how my stuff is, but then again, that's not what anyone is really afraid of. What we are really afraid of is being told that we suck.

Imagine this: You work on something for over a month, you invest all your time into imbuing detail into it and making it as perfect as you can imagine. Finally you take it and show it to your friends and ask them what they think, and they all tell you that it sucks. Pretty heartbreaking, ain't it?

That's what you're afraid of. You're afraid of being put down for other people for what you've done. You have an urge to be accepted. I know, I do too. Ever shown your friend funny pictures from your phone? You want to show them the humor you think they might like in order to get them to accept you. You even show them random things you like in order to evaluate them and see what they like. You have the urge to be accepted. Why else would you want to stand out? Why else are you nervous around people rather than being yourself? Because you're afraid they won't accept you, that they'll reject you.

That's why you're afraid of being yourself, of talking to people, of showing your stuff, it's because you fear rejection, we all do, some less than others. You fear going up on stage because people might not like you, you fear asking your crush out because (not to be repetitive) she'll reject you. You fear being shot down. I don't blame you, I do, too, it's only natural.

My mother wants me to delete this blog and to instead write everything under a fake name. Why? Because colleges may not like me and thus reject me. She continues to push this opinion onto me, despite the fact that I've made it clear I don't care. I'm repeatedly told I'll get hate for my opinions, posted publicly onto the internet, but if I get hated on, fine, I don't give a fuck. Even if a college refuses me for something I write, I won't feel bad about it so long as you tell me why (yes, I'm talking to you, future college background-checkers)

Instead of simply hating me, tell me why. If you hate me, I want to know exactly what I'm doing wrong, I want feedback. I'm okay with being told that my writing sucks, so long as you provide a decent rationale for why it does, so that I might be able to perfect it in the future, I'm okay with it. What I don't want you to do, what I don't want anyone to do, is to hate my work and remain silent. Critique me, critique everyone. We all want to know how we do, so tell your friends how they can do what they do better (not to the point of being pretentious, but you get the idea).

I want feedback, and from now on, I ask you this: if you read my blog posts, critique them. As I've said, I don't want to be here simply lecturing to you, the comments section is your battleground. Tell me what the hell you think of this! I hate silence from you guys, the crushing silence that ensues when you +1 this entry and nothing else. No feedback, whatsoever, I never know what you think, and thus I never get to know what kind of person you are, on top of everything. So please, if nothing else, even if you hate me (which you probably don't but there's someone who does, most likely), tell me what you think!

JotMotW: Entry 10: Freedom in Carelessness

All of this is bullshit. That's what I've realized over the past few days. I have nothing to fear, no reason to be stressed, because none of this really effects me.

In the past I felt suicidal, losing my will to live because of all the stress laid down on me, all the worthless crap piled onto my back, and all I could think of was me ending it all. As a matter of fact, I planned to have my last journal entry be a suicide note (but you know, not really), to be 'accidentally' sent to all my teachers to send them a message that I am stressed out, and when someone is stressed out as much as I am, what are they going to turn to? What will they do to cope? And I wanted to write a moving suicide note in order to send that message, that one with no likelihood of ever taking a knife and ending their lives can be driven to do exactly that, driven to something that would earn quite a few lawsuits, some educational reform. I know if I killed myself, over half my school would gasp in shock, all my friends would drop their pencils in horror, that guy. That one guy. The guy who always made everyone laugh, the guy who was a friend to all and eager to spread wisdom wherever appreciated and could cheer everyone up, couldn't do so for himself. It was too much, and though he always preached against suicide, eventually that was his only alternative. He had nowhere else to turn, and so my suicide note, my oh so moving suicide note, might attract attention, my cold dead voice would be heard, and change would occur, the curriculum being made a little bit less stressful in order to prevent future suicides (because AISD naturally rolls over on command), "all the cash, all the fame, and social change".

I could've channeled my inner depression and wrote an emotional suicide note, able to bring tears in some, as I would simply break my poetic style, talking in simple honest words, no more bullshit, just a plain suicide note, describing exactly why I was driven to it, and what I want to be done in my absence (also a declaration of love to my crush, identifying her by name, something I deliberately haven't done).

Such could've been an emotional weapon, such could've been a mighty cry for attention that couldn't be ignored, even by people who might not even know me. I could've written that, and immediately been paid attention to (because adults in the education system seem to have an interesting fascination with the topic of teen suicide). In fact, I still want to write it, but I know I can't now, not because I'm no longer in the situation to be depressed, but because I'm no longer depressed, even though I have every reason to be.

As you all surely know by now, I don't write with my mind, but with my heart. I surround myself with my specific emotion as dictated by the tone of the day, I let it overcome me, build up inside me, until there's only one way I can release it: writing. I can't write my suicide note, even if just for shits and giggles, because I can't overload myself with depression. All I figure I am is lovesick, not enough to merit depression, let alone suicide. I no longer am depressed, and cannot write about depression as a result, all I do feel is blatant carelessness.

I care nothing for my stressful sophomore curriculum, I am who I want to be. I cannot be pushed down by my school, because I'm no longer afraid to voice my opinions publicly. I cannot be depressed by assignments that I'll openly say that I don't have because I didn't give a shit about them. I am Meursault, my indifference resulting in my depression, my slow transition through my hellish, dismal state until finally, finally, I have lashed out at the chaplain within my mind, I have slept and awoken a new man, begotten a new Meursault, one who accepts the pitiful reality of my world. I scare myself somewhat, knowing I care not about my future, that I could flunk out of school, given if I fail two classes, I would get kicked out of my magnet school, one of the places I know I belong. I don't care still. My apathy strengthens itself every day, maybe in a short while to the point where I can ask my crush out, but that won't be for a week or so. I am paranoid about the consequences of my apathy, even though deep down I no longer care what whiplash befalls me. I know it is too late for me to get any sort of help, perhaps I could've back when I was depressed, but not anymore. Surprisingly, I was comfortable back when I was depressed, even though now when I no longer care I feel content. I can still put on the act, the illusion of caring, for I find it easy to feign interest in anything. I am something I always wanted to be, and yet feared to become, and my very rational fear is dying by the day, fear of what I now am and that I no longer care for certain things I once deemed crucial. I don't care for this bullshit anymore. Life is mine, and though I fear the results of my new-found confidence, I care not.

I say to anyone who may be listening, be comfortable with this new me, because I doubt I shall regress to my previous self. I am a new Meursault, and I can only hope that I shall be greeted with cries of hate.

JotMotW: Entry #9: Love Sucks.

Love is one of the most exhilarating feelings, lifting one up out of darkness and keeping one from slipping off an edge, love can be the most beautiful thing one can ever envision, and yet, love can also be the harshest hell one can be in.

When you fall in love, you try to act upon that love, your desire seemingly within arm's reach, and you find yourself confident enough to do so, allowing that love to be explored. May I say to these people, good for you, I'm happy for you, I wish you nothing but the best (is that too much condescension?). For these people, love is a blessing, for they are confident enough to follow through. For others, love can be a curse. Others find themselves less capable of approaching the object of their affection, their nervousness overcoming them and forcing them to withdraw. Love can lift a person from death and also force another to fall to their knees. The object of your affection may not love you, or worse, they already love another, who's succeeded in being confident enough to ask them out before you do. Love may be amazing for them, but it can be dismal for you.

I am one of the people who is screwed over by love. Every single time I have a crush, they somehow sense my growing affections for them, and out of intimidation, manifest their discomfort in the form of a boyfriend, who in turn intimidates me, primarily out of respect for the bro code (and also because he appears to be a lot better than me). This appears to be a common trait found in my crushes, perhaps the specific traits I'm attracted to are linked to the gene of boyfriend manifestation. Hmmm....

Anyways, I post this because I am in love yet again, against my very will, with a girl who puts all my other crushes to shame. The sad part is we barely ever see each other, and the rare times when we do manage to encounter each other whilst walking the halls don't coincide with the times I feel most confident in terms of talking to a crush. I try to find confidence, but all I can do is listen to the nearby conversation she partakes in and make the occasional witty remark, inciting even the smallest hint of agreement, if not the smallest bout of laughter. When she is affected by this and laughs openly, I feel confident, and yet I still can't talk to her. Intimidation comes hand in hand with the love I feel, part of the reason why boyfriend manifestation is allowed to occur.

I don't want to lose this one, she seems like the one, we're both pretty damn similar, yet also different enough to prevent monotony. We have like personalities, and her beauty is but an added bonus to me, and yet I'm afraid. Afraid of rejection, afraid of being in second place, afraid of feeling pain, which for anyone is only natural.

I'm seriously trying on this one, but still there is hesitation in my step, in my voice, intimidation disguised as caution. I beseech whatever god of love may exist, give me something. Is it too late, is it a waste of my time? Or should I continue? Is this road worth travelling on? Is this desired by someone other than me? Is this wishful thinking, a figment of my imagination, or is this real?

JotMotW: Entry #8: "Just fuck it"

There's a project due tomorrow. A project for english, but it's not really a project. We have to write fanfiction. A fanfiction about the meeting of J. Alfred Prufrock and Meursault, two separate intriguing characters from separate stories. An easy enough assignment to bullshit, and yet I can't do it. I'm mentally drained, as i might've said before. There are things I don't want to do, and yet I don't have any excuse to not do them other than that i don't want to do them, because I feel as if I can't do them. However, given my mental state, I'm probably not far off from the truth. I have been numbed and eroded by stress, I can't do work. Not even in the environment I feel it's easiest for me to concentrate, I can't do my homework. I don't want to go to school anymore! I don't want to be a part of this environment that produces nothing but stress! All this is pointless as the more stressed the students at my school get, the less they actually learn, and the less they want to do. I can't do anything. When you overlay someone with stress, they become lazy and develop less of a will to do the work. That is me right now. I have reached the point where I do not feel empowered to work, yet all my teachers expect me to work, not because they know I want to work, but because I'm a student at the best high school in the city and that's what good students at that high school do.
Yes, I know, I sound like someone who's just some incompetent lazy person who can't be bothered. Any of my teachers who read this will probably think that, but the truth is, no, I'm not lazy, and I'm sure as hell not incompetent. The truth is, my loving teachers, it isn't me, it's you. You claim to give us the right amount of homework for each class, but we have 7 classes! do you honestly think that's right for anyone? I know a guy who gets home at 8 and has to stay up all night to finish his homework. This isn't just me here, this is everyone. You either don't know what we students go through, or you do and simply don't care. My World History teacher even had the nerve to tell us she was just as, if not more tired than all of us, despite the fact that we were currently working on two projects.

                              

So when my teachers will ask me for the reason why I haven't done my homework, I'll be completely honest with them, no more bullshit. I'm too mentally incapable of doing the homework, especially after the massive load of it I've had to do this entire year. I'm no longer afraid of telling my teachers that I don't care about the assignment they've given to me.

Dear teachers, I no longer give a shit. I will do that which I am passionate about, and find my own direction. You make it seem like I'll be a failure in life if I don't pass your precious classes, and while you have a point, that's still mostly a lie. I will be a success in life, just you wait, I'll prove you wrong, mark my words.