What the fuck do I care

Oh sure, another one of those blue mondays.

Despite the rain I went for tuition but my tutor forgot we had class today. Fuck.

Yesnoyesnoyesnoyesnoyesnofuck-I-don't-care-no
That sums up what I think of couzzie today. I think this is the first time I'm this mad with her. I think this is the first time I'm mad with her, ever. What the fuck what do I care.

So everyone cancelled their appointment with me today and now I've no mood to go for karate even though I always look forward to it. I'm too sedated to study more than a few minutes before fizzing and blanking out, too drowsy to sustain practice on the piano and too fucking apathetic to care.

I'm sorry for my bad language - NOT. Fuck the school and its denial of my rights. Fuck that imposter of a teacher who charges me with academic honesty even though I was just making up for what the school failed to provide. Fuck the hypocrites who teach history in NYJC. Fuck that lit teacher who thinks she's just that damn superior and revels in making us feel like we're never good enough or going anywhere. Fuck the other lit teacher who hardly teaches. Fuck MOE for throwing PW at us. Fuck MOE for implementing the university bidding system. Fuck the system for robbing us of our youth. Fuck Singapore - period.

Fuck them all
fuck them all
the long and the short and the tall
fuck all the posers and principals too
fuck the whole system and their bastard parts

Fuck off.

Drained

I woke up today knowing I was about to bring formal charges against a teacher's competency and negligence. I put on the now-hated school uniform and headed out. I kept on wishing that there was some other way, that everything worked out properly in the first place so that I wouldn't have to fight so many opponents at once. First my circumstances, then myself, and now the establishment.

I'm so tired now that I can't study. I reduced my sedatives but forgot to take my vitamin B complex. My fatigue isn't physical. It's a drugged drowsiness and despondent resignation based on the old paradox: I want to study and give myself a fair chance while knowing full well I'm never going to get the grades I could achieve under better conditions. One could say my efforts are admirable but ultimately limited but neuro-chemistry and situational factors that I'm too tired to reiterate.

If the institution cannot help, then I pray God can. I hope my Member of Parliament will represent my interests even though no one has voted in this constituency for a very long time. No taxation without representation, taxation without representation is tyranny, phrases coined for the American Revolution. I hope my MP will represent me fairly and remedy my grievances. My situation sucks enough as it is, I don't want a half-baked teacher to ruin it even more.

Oh, I met Nicole on the bridge to Thomson Plaza yesterday. She has conveniently forgot the $300 I loaned her but has enough money to ponder going to the University of London on her father-doctor's money. Whatever, I don't care. I have turned into the hippies I studied: drugged, tuned-out, and looking for a happier way of life that isn't paranoid about productivity and wealth.

I'm so tired........................................................

Warded

Sometimes I wonder if I was better off warded. I'm pretending to study, I'm isolated, and I'm sleeping most of the day. My level of activity is commensurate with a warded patient's but socially worse off because there's no one to talk to. I am an island fenced off by high, forbidding cliffs that I actually want to jump off. Of course I can't, I am the island. The water is neck-high but the continental shelf props me up like a conical tripod but all I want is to crumble and sink into the ocean.

"No man is an island". I believe that saying never came across mental insularity. I have withdrawal symptoms after missing out on my dose of optimism and have no ataraxia (Greek for tranquility) despite all my atarax (anti-depressant drug).

The prelims are next month and I don't know when my papers are.

The prelims are next month and I'm taking the larger part of this week off.

The prelims are next month and I'm still drowsy in the morning.

The prelims are next month and I spell   i-n-s-u-l-a-r   a-p-a-t-h-y

Slow Day

It's been a slow day. I woke up at 3pm, studied, went on the piano, studied some more and I'm busted by 8. I'm not too sure what I covered exactly. I'm not too sure what I'm doing either. I try to spread my waking hours evenly among all my subjects but it's not working very well. Productivity remains low because I'm essentially going through motion, with the random insight every now and then.

I don't want to see my psychologist anymore. Going to Woodbridge is a chore because it's so far, costs so much and takes up too much time. It's quite a dreary place as well despite their fountains and what-not. The discerning eye can see that the windows are barred, even though they hid it very well.

And every day is passed alone.

Help me out of this

I'm too tired of this. I can't take it anymore. I tell myself that the 3-4 hours I spend every night watching Stargate or playing Facebook games is justified because I've been working so diligently in the day. What a lie.

The truth is bleaker: my studies are a filler between waking up and going online when darkness falls. I hate studying this way. I hate not having classmates around. I hate the way the chair I sit on for hours warms up and makes me feel so oppressed. I hate the way the sun beats down in the afternoon making it so drowsy and frustrating.

I hate this life. I know I have so much to read, so much to think about, so much to analyse and memorise before THE 'A' levels, that single exam which decides whether the stressful and turgid life all JC students suffer has been worth the fight. In my case, it will also decide if all the pain and pills and the irremovable scars are signs of veteran distinction - a testament of my mettle - or a long gash that I will always see in the fading whites of my eyes.

I grow fat because the medication makes me eat and retain so much weight. I can't exercise much because of a bad foot. The disgusting innards of my drug-dowsed mind take on a new form, and I hate it. I hate this, all of this, I want out. Why do I have to fight anyway? Why DID I have to fight so hard....

I don't want to read anymore, I don't want to write anymore, I don't want to deceive myself anymore. I wish I could let it all out, cry it all out, because I don't have the energy to smash it out anymore. That option was expended last year. All that's left is an insipid, lack-lustre hollow of my previous dynamism. I don't want to live this way.

Someone give me an answer, because the drugs aren't talking to me anymore. I want out. For the first time in months, I actually want to die.

Oddities

Lunch consisted of char siew rice, but the meds are fooling around again. I took

an apple
coffee
a box of biscuits
a bowl of fruit & nut cereal
2 soft-boiled eggs
a mini-mooncake

And I still wanted more. Yes, I'm getting fat and my damn foot is hurting even more. I so wanna go for a jog, or do a variety of other cardio workouts that I used to frequent. Fat black belt - fuck

My head was drowsy for most of the day and study was unproductive, to my mounting distress and consternation. Never mind.

My Happiest Birthday

If we had time enough and life enough, like today