have we been blowing up?

HAHAHAHAHA hello i’m about to die laughing because i just walked into our big and beautiful shared bathroom and there was a girl in the middle stall who i literally thought was having an orgasm until i realized she was either puking or forcing herself to puke and. what kind of sick sense of humor does this girl have anyway? you’re probably thinking. not as sick as that girl, sweet cheeks. i half feel like an asshole for walking out but i also don’t have morals so i don’t think i feel too bad.

there’s a discussion we could have. do i have a moral code? let’s see.

theft. if it’s a personal possession, it’s completely wrong to steal it because of mutual “i don’t steal what’s yours, you don’t steal what’s mine” naturally occurring binding trust blah blah blah. if it’s something being sold for money, i have no issue with stealing it, except anxiety. does somebody technically own those things? i guess. do i care? only if it makes me have a panic attack. what if someone is selling their personal possession? well then i guess there are reasons to believe it’s not really that personal to them.

murder. i’d say this is pretty bad, but i’m not really an expert in this area. i think in general, if you’re looking out for yourself, you shouldn’t do it, just because the authorities will care. if it’s a revenge killing, it might be morally acceptable.

cheating on someone. pretty bad, but it gives you depth, sweetheart. would never happen with me because of this thing called LOYALTY which i take far too seriously for this age in which none of us are knights. “cut the toxic people out of your life?” yeah, maybe on my deathbed. poison me, diego.

breaking someone’s heart. necessary evil. will probably still cause you a lot of pain if you haven’t quite evolved into a classically emotional sadist yet. maybe because it was an accident. and even if whatever you’re causing them couldn’t possibly even wrestle with what they caused you. oh, no. you won’t feel like crying when they cry like you always do when someone else cries, but you’ll still let them hold your hand for a minute longer and you’ll still let them kiss you one last time “for old time’s sake” instead of running the fuck away like you’re finally free because you feel bad, maybe not even for hurting them but for how FUCKING TRANSPARENT THEY ARE. (look away, this is a private conversation.)

rape. WOWWW THAT SURE IS A SIN. (want to hear me say something fucked up? there’s nothing i can’t relate to.)

lying. i don’t consider this a sin and i don’t see anything wrong with it morally. i guess it’s kind of a philosophical choice. the only people i really lie to are my parents, and only in self defense. there’s no reason for me to lie to anyone else. unless i’m trying to gain something. in which case, no, i don’t think it’s wrong. the only thing that could be wrong is me not getting what i want.

cheating in general. if it’s a game, i think it ruins the integrity. if it’s academia or the government, then definitely do not hesitate to cheat the system, unless you’re gonna get caught.

lust/gluttony/greed/covetouness. why feel guilty about your desires.

sloth. i don’t see the appeal, therefore, it’s a sin.

wrath. but can you avoid it? no, and really, it’s enlightening, so it’s not a sin. just make sure you apologize and act all sweet again. the people get frightened.

envy. if you feel envy, you’re not being enough of a narcissist, which is a sin.

pride. if you feel pride, you’re not being self-deprecating enough, which is a sin.

blasphemy/false worship. if you’re doing something you don’t believe in and tainting the name of something you do believe in, you better think it’s a fucking sin.

idolatry. whatever makes it feel real, sweetheart.

using the lord’s name in vain. i’d be real happy if you used my name in vain, sweetheart.

profanity. FREE EXPRESSION.

rebellion against parents. you have got to be kidding me.

negligent homicide. you tried.

bestiality. dude what the fuck.

fornication. please call the police.

corruption. oh, definitely a sin, but a very easy and understandable one.

intoxication. give it a shot.

refusing to forgive…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

and then it got too real and we stopped having fun.

bye.

(sin.)

~Kasia

let’s have a vote of confidence.

i stopped smoking for about a month but SURPRISE a few days ago i just had to start back up again because that’s how much i’ve fucking missed it. i was doing so well. what fucking ever. it’s not a lot and it’s on and off so i don’t concern myself. i don’t even need it for any kind of ounce of gratification except smelling like smoke everywhere i go, which was probably psychologically instilled in me by all the secondhand smoke from my childhood that my mom always warned me against but didn’t realize everyone else was warming me up to it.

she can’t possibly care enough anyway because she knows i smoke. i even admitted it to her. then again, i also told her i quit and maybe she believed me. and i wasn’t lying. and i really don’t smoke all too much, not even when i’m in a mood. it’s not that fact that bothers me, it’s the fact that for such explosive people, my parents are…just that. they explode, alright. and then in the aftermath, everybody forgets it. i bet if i literally overdosed on heroin in front of them, my parents wouldn’t even send me to rehab or anything. they’d just explode, show me a documentary on the dangers of heroin, and then forget it. not enough not to bring it back into conversation as backlash every once in a while. but enough for exploding once to be enough of an event not to warrant any more action. i bet if i broke my brother’s leg, my mom would come to my bedside threatening to break my arm and my dad threatening to break my other arm, and i’d scream in fear and then they’d crawl away and we’d all just get on with our lives. i don’t know why i’m connecting these dots now because it’s all happened a million times before.

if i were to write myself a self-help book directed specifically at me, it would maybe be titled “how to stop feeling mildly (or wildly) betrayed when people go to bed” or “a surprising revelation: lying down and shutting your eyes may directly lead to falling asleep: a memoir.”

it makes me fucking mad when other people get “concerned” about me, because first of all, it feels patronizing, second of all, i can fucking take care of myself and i always feel like i’m doing a pretty good job at taking care of myself, bare evidence of which to me is just the bare minimum that i am alive and not maimed and not in the hospital and not deranged to the max. however, i also really hate it when someone i deeply want to be concerned about me just never is in a way that would lead to them confronting me about it no matter what i do, maybe because the things i do are also the norm for them, and then i get it into my mind that i have to do even more and more drastic things to get them to pay attention to me, maybe like, say, make a suicide attempt that i know will only ever be an attempt. however, i know by now that that’s never going to happen because in order to attempt a suicide that i know will only ever amount to that, i will have to be confident that i will be okay, and if i end up in the hospital, that really sinks my levels of confidence, and because my body knows i must survive and my mind is part of my body, that is never going to happen.

so i’m thinking all of this and i’m making all of these mad connections until i can basically sum up every motive i’ve ever had in my life as “PLEASE NOTICE HOW MISERABLE I AM. PLEASE NOTICE HOW WRONG I AM” and i can tell you it’s worked exactly a sub zero amount of times at least in the way i would define success. to you, if you’re reading this, you know by now that everything i say is completely delusional, because i’ve just contradicted the last paragraph, but the only way i judge things is by feeling i’m just feeling my way through the dark here.

i got this whole “summing up my motives” idea from this book i’m reading that’s sort of an autobiography of one of my idols, which is kind of funny, cause the first time i skimmed it (which apparently means reading for me, because out of the 50-something pages i read today, i can definitely attest that i’ve read most of them already but i read them again), all i was thinking was 1) i wish i could be that cool, and the second time i actually went back to read it, i was now thinking 2) i am definitely cooler than you. and my autobiography that i’ll never write, because it’s better to keep secrets and clearly i’m too modest, is gonna be way prettier than yours. do i love myself now?

maybe i’ll let you live now, girl, but i’m coming for your soul, your walls better be sky-high by the time i get back around to you because i will topple them no matter what and all you can do against me is maybe stall.

i’d maybe end this with a passive aggressive comment about how i’m too much, but the truth is, i love being too much. i love knowing nobody can handle me, except me, and that makes me feel like a real fucking strong and special snowflake. sometimes, it’s kind of a shame, but i get over it by making myself into the chosen one again.

i urge all of you to just think of life as a fun video game. as a rule, you have to suffer before you can really get anywhere, so don’t let this discourage you. things you need will just pop up all around you and it’s so exciting, so try to read into everything as much as possible or you’ll miss the signs. dying is stupid, because the point is to keep fucking playing and don’t be a loser, and remember, if you end up homeless, it’s all okay because nothing’s real.

i don’t know why i’m delving into these deep dark levels of caffeine at deep dark night but they’re gonna stop my heart.

~Kasia