It’s been a while since I’ve written anything on here. There’s a good reason. I have a number of ways of venting out bad feelings and emotions, and this, darknessis, is the last resort. It’s like if darknessis doesn’t work, I’ll just pack a little luggage and move to the Mental Hospital. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen. Swallows one pill.

I’m in front of my computer, in my room right now. People say the state of a person’s room reflects the internal emotional state of that person. I don’t really know how true that is, and by God I’m hoping it’s not, cause if it is, I’m one emotionally distabilized murthefucker!

The Roomification of my state of mind!

Maybe it’s not that bad, maybe it is even worse than I think; I don’t know.

I’m Listening to Scary Kids Scaring Kid’s Degenerates. I’ve always wondered how they came up with the Band’s name, Scary Kids Scaring Kids, I guess I’d never know. What I know is that right now, I’m feeling like a fucking Degenerate. I hope it means what I think it does. Let me google it. OK It kinda does. Swallows another pill.

I’m not going to vent or complain just yet. I’m going to work up to it, so be patient. This is going to be long and boring, but it’s necessary, unless you fancy seeing me chained down in bed down at the mental facility. I know what you’re thinking, why would I be chained at a mental facility? Well if you’re like me, you’d probably be thinking that I have a kinky dominatrix of a nurse, at which point you’d close your eyes and hope she’s hot. But if you’re like the rest of the sane and sensible people out there, you’d know that I would be chained for no other reason but for the simple fact that I’m crazy, hence the reason I was in the facility in the first place. 

I have three sliced oranges on my left now. I feel like detoxing. Not that I was ever on drugs. But what even shit I ate, I want that shit out. If I could, I would do away with every thing I have that will remind me of this emotion I’m feeling right now. It’s funny I should say that actually, because I’m not feeling anything. In fact it is the fact that I can’t read the emotion I’m feeling that I call what I’m feeling Emotional Dyslexia. I don’t know what I’m feeling. But I know what I’m not feeling; Happiness, Joy, Content… you get my point.

To my right, there’s a large mug, not of beer, but of some concoction close enough. Well, that’s not exactly true. You see, everyone keeps telling me how thin I’m becoming these past few days. I mean I don’t want to believe them, but there’s nothing more convincing than waking up and finding out that the ring you’ve been wearing for four years had slipped out of your finger in the middle of the night. There are only two reasons why a ring will slip out of your ringer in the middle of the nigh; either the ring is haunted, and it goes for a drink of blood every night and you just happen to wake up before it came back onto your finger, or you’re just becoming unbelievably thin. Both scenarios are very scary! For some reason, I’d rather have a haunted ring, but the truth is, I’m just becoming unbelievably thin.

So about that concoction, it’s powdered milk with calcium + protein powder + 2 eggs + lots of sugar + fresh milk + 2 apples and I blended the shit out of them. Granted it’s not the best recipe in the world, but something tells me it’s gonna make me look like a person again, not like an AIDS exhibit, which is what I look like right now. I take a sip. It’s gross. I can’t taste the apples. That’s why I wanted to put bananas in the first place. Nothing can hide their flavour. But sadly, no bananas. Couldn’t find them anywhere.

And right in front of me; a huge ass monitor, with more than 10 little yellow papers sticking all over it. These are little reminders I post myself, and from the number of them, you’d be right by guessing that throughout the week, I haven’t been getting shut done. Truth is, I’ve been in my room avoiding anybody. People are divided into 3, people in my life of course: Those I don’t want to see cause they’ll just end up pissing me off, those that I want to see in the hopes of cheering me up but won’t solve any of my problems for the simple reason of not having the ability to listen, and finally those I can’t see but have the rare ability of listening (or at least I hope you do).

There’s a small bottle of sleeping pills on the cabinet beside me, not that that matters. I took two so far. Listening to Snow Patrol’s Signal Fire now. You know, the song from Spiderman 3 Soundtrack.

I don’t really get what the lyrics mean, and quite frankly, I don’t care. But there’s the kid who plays the black spider in the video. He looks miserable and depressed. That’s kinds how I’m feeling right now. What does Signal Fire even means? Is it like a light house, signals to you to know when you reach somewhere? Let me google it. Well, as it turned out, I was close. Signal fire is the fire to the smoke signal, which was used by red indians for bla bla bla. This is not a history lesson, so let me spare you the boredom. Swallows another pill.

You must have realized that I’m going in circles to avoid telling what’s really wrong. Truth is, I don’t know where to start. Let me start from a few weeks ago, My Ma’s visit.

Swallows two pills.

OK. Mom saw a picture on my computer right, it’s sad that the picture was Shift + Delete-d, I would have put it up here. There was actually more than one pic. But it was the same, because all the pics where taken at the same time in one place. Let me check the net for a similar picture.

Found some really nice pictures, but not quite what I was looking for. Some let the gods of descriptive writing get to work. There were two pictures in particular that “freaked” her out.

The first, It was me sandwiched between two girls. And not that kind of sandwich between girls you dirty dirty… Ewww. Anyways it was I, dressed decently in a black long sleeve sweatshirt. I don’t remember the pants I wore, hell I don’t even remember wearing any pants, but that doesn’t matter cause they don’t appear in the pic. Beside me slightly to the right was a girl in a green long sleeve T-shirt. I know what you’re thinking, what’s with the long sleeves? I don’t know, and I don’t care! Then right in front of me, was another girl. My arms were kind wrapped around her around the belly button area, but that didn’t show either. She was wearing the smallest spaghetti top known to man. And I know its the smallest because most of her breast was showing. She wasn’t wearing any pants… that’s because she’s wearing a mini, Gotcha! But the mini didn’t show either. And why was this not a problem? Because that’s how this girl dresses every single day. The level she exposes her body, sometimes I wonder if she’s too poor to buy big enough clothes to cover properly, but every time I see her rocking her thousand dollar boots in the club, I quickly change my mind about the poor perspective.

Anyways, Mom doesn’t know that’s how that girl dresses all the time, so I’ll give that to her. The other pic was not even me. It was some guy and the thousand dollar boots girl on my bed. But they weren’t even touching. They were on there backs facing the ceiling, or so it seems. They were actually facing me, and I was up there taking the picture.

From this point on, I suggest you don’t try comparing this situation with how your parents will handle it, because every parent is different. That being said, the first question my mom asked me was,

“Are you guys sleeping together?”

OK this question is weird. There were 2 guys and 2 girls total in the pictures. So does “you guys sleeping” means an orgy? Or was she just talking about the picture with the three of us? A threesome isn’t something I should be talking about with my mother also. To that, I said No.

Then came the next question.

“Where you high when you took this picture?”

OK this is just plain stupid. But since it’s my mom, I’d say she just has a wacky sense of humor. I mean if I was high when I took those picks, the first thing I’m gonna do when I get “low” is to get my good for nothing drug dealer and get a refund cause that drug must be a real shitty drug if what I was was high! I’m not sure I made much sense, but the simple answer was No, and that was what I said. But it wasn’t whether or not I was high, it was the question itself that caught me off guard. What the hell does she think I’m doing here? Getting high? I mean if my mom thinks I’m a crackhead, then I guess it’s OK for the rest of the world to think so. I mean my mom, who’s been biologically programmed to love me thinks I’m a crackhead…. you get where I’m doing with this?

Then the next one,

“Aren’t you the guy that said he’s real, What you see is what you get? That you don’t lie to people about who you are, bla bla bla. So you’re definitely lying here, the question is are you lying to them that you’re bad so that you can feel among, or are you lying to me that you’re good?”

OK this question is just fucked up. I didn’t answer her. But what was going through my mind was that I’m realer than ever! Let me explain. I wasn’t lying to them when I took those pictures. In fact the pictures were taken in my room with my phone (R.I.P N73ME). In fact I suggested some of the poses, the more artistic ones, cause I was the artist in the lot. That being said, I clearly wasn’t lying to them. So was I lying to my mom? Which leads me to ask, Am I stupid? Not only am I not stupid, I’m smart! I knew she was coming months before she came. I could have deleted them. I could have hidden them somewhere she can’t find them. I’m a nerd. I could have encrypted them inside a music file or a movie or something and she’d never know they even exist. But I didn’t. Why? Because I have nothing to hide.

“Would you like it when your little sister or younger brother take this kinda pictures?”

My sister is at most 10. No she’s 9. If I saw a 9 year old take this, I’d be like, WTF has this world turned to. But I’d sit with her, talk and LISTEN (Which is what mom should have done with me). LISTEN. My bro? I’d say way to go Bro, and give him a high five! He’s 14 I think, and at 14 I could barely talk to girls, so he deserves the high five! Hell maybe I’d even take him for ice cream and ask him to tell me the story behind the pictures, and I’ll listen. LISTEN!

Swallows one more pill.

“Anything good can be done anywhere, why did you have to hide in your room for this one?”

Another wacky sense of humor question. It wasn’t like we secretly SMSd each other to secretly meet in my room for a picture session. I mean we can be lame sometimes, but not that lame. It just happened. I was in my room minding my own business, and 1 by one they each came. It just happened. I mean pictures now are not like they were in the 60s or 70s. Anyways more on that later. We could have taken this anywhere on earth, we just happened to be in my room then. But I didn’t answer this either. I bet she didn’t notice that I wasn’t answering her questions for the simple fact that she wasn’t LISTENING. She went on…

“For you to keep this pictures, you really must treasure the memories”

Does someone smell something? I think it’s bullshit. Pictures now are not like they were in the 60s and 70s. Then pictures meant something. Don’t get me wrong, they still do. But if a picture was worth a thousand words then, it’s worth a little less than a hundred now. Granted that’s something, but not like it did before. We’re in the digital age. Everything is now a camera. Every one has a digicam, every phone’s got one and every goddamn laptop’s got one too. Hell even the blender I bought yesterday’s got a webcam. The last one was a lie, but you get my point. That being said, people take pictures everywhere now. Out with friends, CLICK! At home alone, CLICK! In the toilet taking a dump, CLICK! CLICK!! So back to the question, do I treasure those memories? What memories? Oh those pictures? Their existence was out of my memory, thanks for bringing it back. And now that you have, they suck! That’s why they’re not on facebook or myspace. Cause I didn’t like them. But I keep them cause I have abundant memory, why waste it? I didn’t answer this either. Notice a trend?

And then the question that totally blew me away and almost made me say “What tha fuck?”

“You should stop seeing them, they’re a bad influence”

I know the thing about show me your friends and I’ll tell you who you are. That only applies to people you hang around with everyday all the time. And even then, it only applies half the time. That being said, I don’t have those kind of friends. More than half of my friends back in high school smoked pot since maybe out 3rd year or so. I’ve only tried it once, out last night at school, and that was just so I could write this. Haven’t tried it ever since! All my cousins from my mother’s side ride on Eid cause they’re royalties or royalties by association, I could ride if I wanted too, but I don’t. I go to watch when I feel like, but that’s about it. That being said, I’m only influenced by things I like. And even if not, then it’s totally my fault, not the guys that influenced me. I mean I know for a fact that a lot of my mom’s friends drink, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but she doesn’t. My dad didn’t tell her to stop seeing them or something. The fact is that I’ll keep whatever kinda friends I feel like keeping because I believe everyone is important and I wouldn’t know when I’d need that crackhead friend of mine. To this I answered OK, because it seemed to be the end and if I didn’t answer, she’d notice I wasn’t answering, and if I said no, I’ll just drag the conversation longer than I want it to.

After that, there was a small chit chat about how I should treat people. Like she didn’t like how I spoke to one of my housemates. The problem with my mom is that she tries fixing things that aren’t broken. The housemate in question has always been like that, and nothing is wrong. Everything is fucking perfect!

OK, the next day, I sent her off to the airport and talked to her a day after she arrived home. Haven’t heard from her ever since. But I didn’t care cause she left me some money thats a little over what I was used to getting so I went out and bought myself a couple of nice things and forgot totally about everything… until…

Four days ago, I had a dream of the incident. Not exactly the incident, but something that had to do with me and mom fighting. I was disturbed when I woke up, and I’ve been disrupted ever since. Haven’t been going to classes and haven’t been myself. Loosing more weight and feeling shitty all over again.

But writing this actually feels a lot better. My head is spinning from all those sleeping pills. I think I should sleep.

Takes two more pills.

I hope I wake up tomorrow, I don’t want to go like Heath.

Good Night!

Hi, call me Darknessis. I think it means the genesis of darkness. I don’t know how to start my story, but I can sure as hell summarize it in one depressing sentence:

My life Sucks BIG TIME!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to say I have the worst life ever, or even remotely close, all I’m saying is that alot of people who think they suck, in comparison to me, sure have it good. But before you go all mad at me, hear me out…

I was at the library this morning studying for my final papers when I remembered that for some reason, I haven’t checked my coursework and assessment for the said course. Let’s call the said course DC-1.

Well, I left my books and walked to the lecturer’s office, and there, just outside his office was everyone’s total score. I scrolled through the list of 300+ students twice, but couldn’t find my name. So I knocked and entered. I told him my name wasn’t on the list because I checked twice. He asked what my name was and glanced through his list. He looked up at me and said “Check again”.

From there I knew something was wrong. I mean, If he saw my name he could just as well have told me my score.

So I checked again, and this time I saw it… with a Big Bad Red “F” printed next to it! He was ashamed of telling me!

But I think I’m going a little ahead of myself here. It’s only fair that you know my background…

I’m an exceptional student. If that is not blunt enough for you, I’ve never had an F grade in my life, and my aggregate result has never been anything less that an A! To some people that isn’t much, but I’m not a nerd or something, I have all kinds of friends in all sizes and character, and actually get invited to cool parties with really hot chicks… I was happy, and so were the people around me.

So what turned an exceptionally happy fun loving guy into a depressing pack of emotional baggage?

Well that’s not an easy question, not even to someone as smart as me. But if I had to guess, I will start by my coming to this country nearly two years ago.

I was the first person in my university to come from my country, so it goes without saying that I knew everyone who came after me from my country whether willingly or unwillingly.

The problem started with numbers. Yes, Damn numbers! Let me elaborate…

Being an above average student from birth, common sense tells you that I skipped through preschool, primary, all the way to high school faster than average. I got admission to the university barely 2 months after finishing high school. So when people started coming, I realized I was going to be the youngest damn student around. Most of them were in their 20’s, very few 19’s and No 18’s that I know of. So when asked my age, I lied. To the 21’s, I told ‘em 20, and the 19’s, I told ‘em we mates. The problem about lying is you have to keep doing it to cover the more lies you make. I lied so much about my age that am not exactly sure what it is right now.

Problem is, I tried to act different ages with different groups. Yes, You guessed right, I became totally fake, I lost myself!

In the beginning, it was all good. I lived my fake life of lies, with real good grades, surrounded by my fake friends and a 22 year old girl friend who thinks I’m 21.

Fast forward to this semester…

I broke up with my 22 year old girl friend who still thinks I’m 21, and my network has grown ten fold. This would have been a good thing, but it also means more lies. I retreated to my shell, and tried to make less contact with people. It didn’t work, people followed me home. I became the defacto psychologist for many people. I guess I’m a good talking emotional sponge. Problem is, good talking emotional sponges make good friends, not boyfriends. So I was a friend to many, but still single as hell. It didn’t bother me though… until recently.

Recently, a close family friend came to my university from my country who would be about my age. But due to my reputation, he thinks I’m much older, which was fine with me.

So this guy came… 2 weeks and he has a girl friend. To make it worst, we rent the same apartment. So very soon, I became the joke of the university. At least to my friends and people to my country. Actually it would have been funny if I was standing anywhere but where I was. It goes like, I’m d first here, but everyone including the last person has a girlfriend but me. Although its not entirely true, it still pains.

Having been having exceptional grades, it goes without saying that my parents would just keep expecting more.

This semester, with all the ups and downs and somethings I can’t even write despite being anonymous, I didn’t do so well. And to make bad things even worse, I’m taking only 1 course, DC-1 this semester, so I have no other course to counter balance the grades and make me look good again.

So now I hope you understand why I was really depressed seeing that F against my name in that lecturer’s office and having no real friends to talk to being that I’m a fake to almost everyone I know. I’m not suicidal, don’t worry, but that don’t mean I didn’t contemplate it at one time.

All I want to say is that we’re not so much in the inside as we are on the outside. I just want someone out there to know, while I move on to next year being the happy fake guy I used to be to all my fake friends….

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