My Krazy Kandies

When We Move, huh?

I’m sure the majority of you folks already know that Dad has developed this saying of his. It came about shortly after he and Mom got divorced. It’s usually something like this;

“I can’t wait until you guys are gone/out of here… *snap snarl growl*”

So, I’m sitting at the dinner table today, eating dinner with David and Ricky, and I’m bouncing my leg like I usually do. This really irritates David, but I don’t especially care because I’m just a bitch.

So, eventually, David says this;

“I don’t know if I should be sad or glad when you guys move.”

I am so mad right now, I could blow a fucking gasket. At the same time, I’m really upset. I mean, seriously, David? Since when are you as much of an asshole as Dad?

Fuck it. I won’t have to live with them anyway, and I am in no place to say anything anyway, because David’s not my son, and this isn’t my house. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be pissed to all hell at Dad for making this worse than it already is. I really hate him. He should consider DYING.

You Don’t Care About My Opinion, But…

I fucking hate my family. They don’t understand me at all. It kinda hurts my feelings when they assume that I can just “solve my problems” in the blink of a fucking eye. I mean, seriously? I have a learning disability and a mood disorder. I’ve been mind-raped by everyone I fucking know. My life is a mess of disorder and agony, and I believe everything about myself that I jokingly tell you. Do you understand that? When I say, “I’m such a moron,” I FUCKING MEAN IT. I AM A FUCKING MORON! You know how I know this? Well, you lot are always FUCKING TELLING ME SO.

I’m THE MOST screwed up kid I know, in ways I can’t even tell or describe. How the hell do you expect me to be able to get up every morning with a big fucking smile on my face and say, “Gee, I’m gonna have a great day today,” When I can barely get myself to open my FUCKING EYES.

Every time I start basically screaming at the top of my lungs for some help in my figurative language, I get called a whiny bitch and told that I should stop moaning and maybe do something about it. What the fuck do I do? I don’t know what there is to be done! I don’t know why I’m depressed, why I can’t get myself to stop being depressed… I can’t even always tell you why I haven’t fucking killed myself yet!

It’s clear to me that nobody gets this, but you know, it really SUCKS when nobody can understand that it just hurts.

I’m so sick of living. I’m sick of people, and school, and not being able to sleep, and not wanting to eat, and not being able to function… I’m sick of being awake, and I’m sick of sleeping. I’m going to fucking DIE if I keep treating myself like this, but at this stage in the game I so totally don’t give a shit that I can’t even describe it to you.

I’m tired of this whole “living” bullshit..

Supaaaah Lame

I fail my math regents… again.
61. That’s exactly 4 points away from a 65, which is the passing grade. I got exactly 9 more points than the first time I took it. Woo-fuckin’-hoo.
Yes, this is about the time when everyone and their fucking mother tells me “I told you that you should’ve studied.” Ya’ know what? Suck it. I know that it was pretty stupid for me to pass up a better grade on a silver platter, but it’s a bit on the late side to fix that. Besides, Mom already got the honors.
I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming. It’s not like my life is kind enough to me to let me get away with simple pleasures like passing a stupid fucking Math Regents. I may as well give it a rest and get a high school diploma. Oh wait, I can’t do that, because I have (other people’s) EXPECTATIONS to live up to. I can’t possibly let them down. That’d be like killing them with a wooden stake. Then again, killing them with a wooden stake might be a good way to make people let me fail at life peacefully.
So there’s my story. Wonderful way to end the Summer, don’t you think? Sarcasm, sarcasm, sarcasm.

I should seriously consider getting rid of all my categories and just putting all my posts under “Stuff.” It’d make my blog and my life a little less messy. :/

Dear Anyone Who Can’t Handre It

If I were so inclined, I would be apologizing for being stupid, and for not being able to stop myself, and all of that other crap that you seem to think about me. But, since I’m not so inclined, I won’t apologize. There are a lot of things about Kimmie, and if you can’t handle any one of them, then maybe you and I shouldn’t be in any kind of relationship.

It seems that, as I’m getting older, more people are expecting things of me. It’s stressful when someone asks you “what wrong?” and you absolutely cannot answer them, because you absolutely don’t know. Very stressful indeed, but it seems that everyone and their mother expects me to know what’s wrong even when it’s obvious that I don’t. I mean, think about it; if I knew what was wrong, wouldn’t I tell you? Well, maybe I wouldn’t tell you, but I would at least try to do something about it on my own, right? After all, I am 15 years old and have a mind of my own at this point. I know it wasn’t quite so obvious a couple of years ago, but me and my mind have been getting to know each other slowly. And when I say slowly, I really mean slowly.

Getting to know the mind of a mood disorder is hard. I’ve been hanging around her for all of my 15 years, and I still know very little. She’s secretive, and quiet, and doesn’t like to talk, so getting her to open up is proving to be the hardest thing I’ll ever do in all my life.

Now, you might be wondering what the point of this rambling is, but I’m not going to tell you yet. Patience is a virtue, and while I seem to be the only person who can apply patience to myself at a given moment in time, I will have to ask that you try to apply this same kind of self-control. At least try to refrain from hitting the little red ‘x’ on the tab.

I have a mood disorder. I’m pretty sure it’s Cyclothymia, but I don’t have an official diagnosis, so I’m labeled by the mental health professionals as an “Undiagnosed Mood Disorder.” It actually wouldn’t surprise me all that much if I had a Histrionic personality disorder, too. I mean, Tempestuous sounds like me, doesn’t it? Total nymphomaniac, yea, I fit the title.

But that’s off topic, isn’t it? I have a mood disorder, undiagnosed, unknown, untreated really, and apparently “uncontrollable.” But we all know that the fact that I “can’t control myself” is a load of crap, right? Especially that whole “you’re addicted to hurting yourself”. That’s utter bullshit, and I think everyone reading this knows that very well.

I don’t really care what you think the reason behind my self-injurious behavior is, but it’s definitely not an addiction. I have thought about it off and on for all the months since January, and every time I decided “Nah, I don’t wanna.”

Anyway, I guess this post is long enough by now, right? I’ll get straight to the point from here on out.

If you can’t handle my self-injurious behavior, my depression, my ADHD, my mood disorder, my emotional instability, and the fact that all of these come together to make KIMMIE 1.5, then go away and don’t talk to me anymore.

And if this post pissed you off, then maybe we really shouldn’t hang out/talk/be a part of each other any more. I’m getting to be sick and tired of having to be in a good mood to have friends. It’s rather miserable when your friends will only be your friends when you’re happy with the world. It’s tiring after a while, especially when they get pissed off at me for having issues with things like self-esteem and whatever the fuck else is wrong with me. Yes, I’m talking about you, Princess.

There’s only one more thing for me to say: don’t stick up for yourself in the comments, because I know better than to listen to the one who says they didn’t do it.

The Worst Person In The Whole World

It has to be me.

So, I send David an email a little while ago, telling him that I was cutting off all ties because I didn’t want to hurt him anymore than I knew I already had.

I deserve to die. And don’t even TRY to tell me otherwise, because we all know its true at this point. No, actually, you lot of idiots should’ve realized that I deserved to die when I was about six or seven.

I think I’m going to skip school for about a week.