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Dear Mother, I think I may have gazillion psychological disorders.

A few days gone without blogging is fine, as long as I have other outputs like water polo and pool party with the team the past Friday… and if I don’t have too much to stress over. IB stress is normal. Boys stress far from unusual. Family stress though.. as often as it occurs, I can never grow desensitized from it. It makes me feel like the source of the problem is ME, myself, not anything else as the way I categorize it clearly shows. IB stress? IB’s fault. Boys stress? Assholes’ fault. But family stress… probably my fault, because ultimately, I AM part of the family. And obviously, they seem to be functioning fine without me. So if there’s a problem when I’m there, it’s probably me.

Shitty Sundays. I’d cross it out and have 1 day weekends if it’s that’s what it takes to avoid this mental disturbance and self-esteem excavation. Saturday nights may be accountable for a shitty Sunday, but Saturday night itself wasn’t too horribad. So Saturday night, I was with dad at his club’s meeting, shitty cheap-ass hotel dinner. I have no clue why they keep going back to that place just for discussion over trivial matters of the club members. Like someone fighting on the web board and making them look bad. So now they’re meeting up to change a few rules. ‘Tearing’ the old rules just to ‘write’ new ones… As a result, I got home past midnight. A good night’s sleep without showuh.

Sunday morning. I need to buy a book for Spanish class, mom doesn’t want to go to a mall, so they dropped me off at Central World before they went to mass. Sort of.. a good thing because I’d hate to go to the church and feel half-guilty every time I complied and received communion. Half-guilty because I know I don’t deserve the communion, according to Catholic faith. And half-guilty means half-not-guilty and that’s because I don’t really believe, so why the heck care, right? Alright. So saved from one of the horrors of Sundays. Bravo. On the way to Central World we passed the new community mall around Sathorn called ‘The City Viva’ and I thought it’d be a cool place to check out.

Got to Kinokuniya, and I asked if they had the one I was looking for. Nope. And neither do the other 2402950875198 Kinokuniya branches in Thailand. Hah! It’s okay.

Dad said he’d try to persuade mom to come to TK park, a library-ish place on the top floor of Central World after mass ended. Plan failed. Mom called, telling me to go wait across from the mall, dad’s gonna drop her of at Lumpini Park, then pick me up to go for lunch around Sathorn. I asked where we’re going to, she said she doesn’t know, some place dad wants to check out. Oh cool. Plan failed, and I’m not going to be informed what I have to do now, in place of what I wanted. And my shit phone doesn’t vibrate for some reasons. Dad was all pissy by the time he picked me up because I didn’t pick up my calls right away. He knew about the issue but he still insists it’s my fault for not getting it fixed. I only told him about it a few days ago? If I hadn’t been anywhere besides school and home, and he didn’t take me to get my phone fixed, chances are, it’s not going to be fixed yet. Oh hail the genius.

When I got in the car, I told dad mom sounds pissed when she was talking to me. Then he went on about my phone. Umm.. And also that I was questioning too much on the phone when mom told me to come wait for dad outside. If I have to do something that’s not according to plans, I should have the right to know why and WHAT THE HELL I’M GONNA HAVE TO DO RIGHT? Anyway, so dad said we’re going to The City Viva. Cool. But he didn’t stop there. He said he picked the place because he knew I would want to go there, so instead of being grateful I was questioning mom and bugging her. Yeah, right. I wouldn’t know it was THAT place since she didn’t tell me right? And she said DAD picked the place. Hell it was MY place. And dad asked if I knew what ‘trust’ was, since I question so much. Fucking hell, I didn’t ask to go to City Viva today. Thanks for deciding for me what you think I want. Because I actually want to go home and practice piano before I have to waste 45 minutes for nothing in a tiny room. So I am now the ungrateful daughter who pisses parents off.

We drove to Lumpini park first, to pick mom and my little sis up before going to lunch. I wanted to wait in the car, since we’re just picking them up, right? No. We don’t know where they are, mom hasn’t picked up her phone. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE CAR FIRST. Alright. So I was standing there looking grumpy. THE FUCK DO YOU EXPECT FROM ME, A CALM SHITFACE LIKE YOURS? So dad got pissed at my grumpy face and asked if I wanted to go home first. Fuck yeah. Okay, no more lunch at City Viva. We’re going home. He proceeded to call me shit like problematic, idiot, blablabla. Definitely positive criticism right there. I couldn’t tolerate it so I went to stand by the car and wait there. Pathetic thing was I started crying there. In the park. By an old white Mercedes. My lil sis and mom came, we got in the car. That lil female thing won’t shut up and started complaining and ‘teaching’ me stuff. Had she been a year or two older I’d smack her head for being such a sycophant.

Mom said she was hungry and wants lunch. So dad changed the plan yet again. We’re going to City Viva. But oh wait, he promised me home sweet home. So… solution? “Do you want me to drop you off somewhere so that you can catch a bus home first?” Uh. No thanks. Public bus in Bangkok on a Sunday. Takes for-fucking-ever. So we went for lunch at 3. I left the place to go to piano with dad first, because mom and my lil sis were too slow to finish in time. Wasted Sunday; I didn’t practice before lesson, lesson wasted too.

After that long blabbing, which sole reason was for me to vent, I just want to say that I feel like I don’t belong. I know that from my story, it may sound like I’m not wrong AT ALL. But I still feel like I am responsible for all the misery. Not just for today, or any Sundays, but for every fucking day that my parents are not content. Even if I called my lil sis a miniature sycophant, at least she made my parents happy. Even though I was here before her. The way my parents smile and actually sound genuinely happy when talking among the three of them make me feel like I’m actually intruding a perfect family. Like I am the adopted evil sister. Somewhat like an outsider that is not only a burden but also ruins things at every chance possible. Smallest things like not picking up a phone call because my phone doesn’t fucking ring upsets them. But when mom does that, dad doesn’t complain, but instead, tells me to imagine how he feels when I don’t pick up. All that was in my head the whole time I was crying while standing by the car was I am never ever coming out on weekends with my family again. I don’t belong, I just don’t belong.

Dear Mother, I said before that I think I have OCD. But now it’s probably gazillion other things too. Depression, inferiority complex, and on and on. I promise I’ll get the hell out ASAP.





It may seem irrelevant, but something about the contrast speaks to me. Like I'm the shadow that contrasts with the rest of the family. Credits to



About incognitoblogging

IB students looking for an output.

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