youhavetogotocollege

[youhavetogotocollege]

[youhavetogotocollege]

i am going to write a memoir

it will be 17 chapters long

one for each time i’ve planned an ending.

the number is almost as big as me,

you’d think i started trying as early as

3 years old

i’ve felt this way for so long,

it could’ve started at that age,

but i don’t remember much.

these things don’t tend to have

a real beginning…middle…

20 years is a lot shorter

in the grand scheme of things.

it’s still longer

than i planned.

2 decades is so short

yet so unbearably long.

maybe the length of

my memoir is

a bit too long for my liking.

i think i’ve done

too much writing.

shouldn’t you be excited to turn 20?

[youhavetogotocollege]

i listened to hand covers bruise from the social network while writing this because i thought the plot was relevant to the levels of paranoia that i'm currently experiencing. fuck mark zuckerberg though

i'll be honest, i've kinda been slacking on this. i told myself (and my boyfriend) that i'd actually start doing some writing, but somehow it's impossible for me to keep my word. right now, i just got done laying in my boyfriends arms essentially crying against him, telling him all of my deepest, darkest secrets that he already knows.

so how do i feel, you may be wondering? well, right now i feel like the least interesting and relevant person in anyone's life. i feel like i'm a speck of dust in a galaxy of bright, shiny stars. i feel like i exist for the sole purpose of existing—instead of existing for some other deep, important meaning. like i'm just wasting away instead of y'know...yeah, you know.

see, my boyfriend has all of these talented artist friends that he goes to school with or that he knows over the internet or through other people and whatnot. but he doesn't really tell me about them, y'know? apparently he hangs out with them and talks to them over discord and texts them constantly, but i don't even know about it because he doesn't tell me about it. i know that it's because he's genuinely just forgetful and stupid, but it kinda feels like there's something that i'm missing out on. like there's this whole part of my boyfriend's life that he just...doesn't tell me about. maybe it's my borderline personality disorder talking, but it feels like he's keeping things from me for the sake of keeping things from me. the rational part of my brain knows that he isn't doing these things and that he wants me to be included, but when you've been excluded and hidden and talked about negatively it's hard to believe that people aren't doing things on purpose. it's really hard to believe that people don't have some sort of secret agenda against you when that's what you've experienced your entire life. my therapist calls it paranoia and insecure, anxious attachment. i just think it's called being me and living in my brain. i will never not feel like the entire world is against me. i will never not feel like everyone secretly hates me. i will never not be looking over my shoulder, expecting someone to pop out and surprise me with a julius caesar-esque stab in the back.

maybe i'm paranoid. maybe i'm just myself. maybe it's my wiring. maybe it's just who i'll always be. maybe maybe maybe maybe.

[youhavetogotocollege]

information superhighway

i don't think i should be allowed to have access to the internet. it allows me to stalk profiles of people i dislike or people that make me anxious or people i could potentially be jealous of or people that i've convinced myself my boyfriend likes more than me or...well, y'know. i can't not use the internet, of course. how would i ever talk to my dearly beloved audience of four (me, my boyfriend, my new follower, and the porn bot)? how would i complete assignments for classes that i'm most likely going to fail? how would i be able to gasp stalk all of the social media profiles that i've decided that i Need To Look At because i Need To Know What Is Happening or i Need To Know Who This Person That My Boyfriend Just Followed (i don't recognize them) Is? see, i can't just quit the internet. i have to have access to it. i just have to. maybe that's the "i was given completely unsupervised access to the internet at 8 years old and now i don't know what my life would look like had i not been groomed on Kik in 2014, thus creating this idea in my head that without the internet (and the validation of 25 year olds (but switch the 5 and the 2)) i am literally no one" in me talking, but it's something that i genuinely believe. i don't know what i would do without the information superhighway at my disposal.

when i was 8, my dad decided that i needed to have a phone. he said that, because i was traveling across the country for the sole purpose of seeing him, it was an absolute must for safety. my mom agreed, reluctantly. she clearly didn't think i needed it. i was 8, for christ's sake. she was most definitely right. the minute my father bought me that bright blue samsung intensity 2 sch-u460 (the type that slid to the side to reveal a miniature qwerty keyboard), i was a completely different person. (my dad was also the person who bought me my first ever computer, but we'll get to that later.) i was absolutely hooked on this phone. i loved taking pictures and sending texts in 8-year-old english to my parents who most definitely had something better to be doing than looking at what their kid sent them. this phone did not have access to the internet unless you wanted to spend $1.99/month—which was more money than 8-year-old me ever could've imagined—but it was my First Ever Device and i wanted to do everything i could with it, with or without internet. that was, of course, until my dad bought me my first ever computer.

i'll be honest, dearest audience, i do not remember much about this computer. what i do remember was seeing p-o-r-n at 10 years old and being completely scarred (i've developed a slight addiction to it now though so like y'know it worked out alright i guess), and discovering youtube, but honestly it wasn't that bad. i'm gonna skip around in time to being like 13 now because i literally can't remember anything about my computers or social media presences and whatnot from before then so imagine me fucking around on tumblr at 10 years old and discovering masturbation or something i dunno.

when i was like 13 or so i developed an obsession with musical theatre, tumblr, and being gay. eighth grade was a horrible, horrible time. i used instagram, twitter, kik, google hangouts, google+, tumblr, ao3, wattpad, quotev, you fuckin' name it. it was honestly out of control. i wasn't allowed to use my phone at home, so i did all of my social media-ing at school or when i was out with what little friends i had. i also used our home computer a lot because i had homework and things and i wasn't allowed to have my own after The Incident (i don't even remember what it was or if it actually happened, i'm just trying to be ominous). i have this one specific memory of my mom finding out i was self harming because she opened my google hangouts logs and saw me talking about it with my then "girlfriend" (we were 13, it literally doesn't count). she freaked the fuck out and told me that i wasn't allowed to use the computer or else she'd send me to the psych ward. i don't really know where i was going with this story, but it felt relevant in showing how my internet addiction impacted my mental health and my relationships with everyone in my life. my parents didn't really support my phone usage.

now at 20, my family still thinks i use my phone too much. they think that it stunted my growth and ability to communicate with people in the outside world. they think that all of my online friends aren't real people and that my boyfriend that i met on discord in 2020 isn't worth my time because we met online. i don't know if i agree with all of that, but i definitely think that my relationship with the internet and social media isn't the healthiest ever. i don't really know why i started writing this. maybe it's me telling myself that i absolutely need to quit the internet or else? maybe it's me warning you all about the dangers of raising your child with the internet? maybe i'm just reaching out to see who relates to me about being too damn old to be this obsessed with their phone. who knows, who knows. i really am just using tumblr as a diary and making 3 people (excluding the porn bot) read it. whatever the case, i don't know how to feel about the internet. i think we're in an abusive relationship but one where we're both abusing each other and it's gonna get impossible for us to quit it any time soon because we find comfort in the madness.

that's all for now, dearest audience. love you porn bot.

[youhavetogotocollege]

this is an experiment

my boyfriend—whom i have written quite fondly about—has given me a challenge: write 200 words a day about how i feel every single day. he says it'll help me get better at writing and hopefully calm my insecurities around "not creating enough", i think he's a dumbass. legally, that's a joke. but anyway. 200 words a day about how i feel at any given moment. sounds easy enough, i guess. i don't really know where to begin. hell, i don't even know what 200 words looks like. should i start counting manually? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6—this is fucking stupid. anyway.

i'd like to think that i'm a good person (maybe it's embarrassing, but every single time is say something like that i think about the opening number from heather's the musical (theatre kid alert)), but i don't think i know what a good person even is. kindness? empathy? love? compassion? everything that my father is not? (haha, daddy issues joke, please give me validation in the form of relatability points.) i think my boyfriend is a good person. i think my friends are good people. i think my roommates are good people. i think most of my professors are good people. honestly, i think that everyone has potential to be a good person. i just don't know if i'm a good person. i think i am. i experience empathy. i'm kind. i love. i'm both passionate and compassionate. i'm decidedly not my father—even though we share DNA and all of that shit (i dunno how genetics works, science side of tumblr hmu (i think i just aged myself)). so maybe i am a good person. maybe by my own definition, i am a good person. i just wish there was a dictionary definition to really solidify my beliefs. i like cold, hard co—facts.

anyway, dear audience, please tell me if this looks like 200 words to you. i really hope it is. maybe i'll go over 200 next time. maybe i already have. should i start counting again? 1, 2, 3, 4—get it (haha, FOURget it? get it?). anyway, see ya tomorrow.

[youhavetogotocollege]

dating, etc

dating an artist with genuine talent might be one of the most infuriating things in the world. not because he's entitled or because he's snobby, but because he's better than me. in nearly every sense of the world he is better than me and that fucking sucks. he's smart, talented, funny, artistic, has sort of okay social skills, is reassuring...need i go on. he's currently listening to me write this and butting in every five seconds saying "you're all of those things" and "you really, really are" and "you're fantastic" and everything under the sun that could be related to that sentiment. maybe he's right, but i will never be able to admit that to myself. if i were to, you'd have to torture it out of me. now, dear audience, why am i breaking my three day silence to complain about my relationship, you ask? well, because i can. sorry, that was bitchy. or maybe it wasn't, who really cares at this point? i think my brain actually hates me. my boyfriend just said that he thinks that i'm a genius. who's gonna tell him that i want to stab myself repeatedly in the eyes and ears and mouth and nose (head, shoulders, knees, and toes, if you will) until my brain—and all other related aspects of my anatomy—turns into mush.

"do you really think that dating me is infuriating?" "well, you're better than me so..." "no i'm not." "well i can't draw for shit so yknow." "well i can't write." "well kill yourself."

that last part did not happen, but it would be funny if it did. i think dryly telling people to kill themselves is peak comedy, i guess. anyway. love my boyfriend to death, but i wish that when i looked at the things that i do in comparison to the things that he does, i could say that i have as many accomplishments as him. how many times has this motherfucker had his work published in a (school) newspaper? many more times than me, that's for sure. i guess you could count my "poem" that i wrote in junior year that was later put into a book that was sold on amazon exclusively by my school's 2020 valedictorian published, but i honestly don't know if that counts. it's something, i suppose. i just wish that i could use the power that i have as a microcelebrity in the chicano journalism community's nepotism grandchild to my advantage when it came to writing and putting myself out there, but i honestly don't think the chicano journalism community wants to hear my depressing, disorder, dystopian bullshit. i don't even write about being chicano anymore because i don't even know if i count.

my boyfriend has been silent for some time, dearest audience. i think it's because i've been droning on and on and on about my shitty, boring life. i don't think that me reading my own fucking diary entry out loud is his idea of a good date. honestly, i think it sounds like a nightmare for all parties involved. too bad, so sad, my name is not brad, whatever whatever whatever. i'm going to go back to actually communicating with my boyfriend now, because i'm bored of writing and of thinking and of breathing and i want him to shower me in compliments that i will brush off while hiding my face in my hands because god forbid he knows i appreciate the words that he says to me. haha, that's a joke. i hope you guys don't think that i'm a total cunt to my boyfriend, i'm just autistic and have a personality disorder. maybe that will be the death of me and they can write on my gravestone "rip [redacted], the biggest cunt in southern california's sweaty ass crack". anyway. that's all i have to say now. goodbye, audience of very few.

[youhavetogotocollege]

i hope my brain will work this time

the day i allow myself to write something genuinely interesting about my life (that doesn't have to do with my self proclaimed mommy issues and/or my eating disorder and/or my personality disorder) is the day that everyone on this god forsaken earth feels at peace. that's a joke. clearly. i think. no but actually, i don't think there is anything really interesting about me. but at the end of the day, is there anything really interesting about anyone? my boyfriend is some hot shot animator who goes to school with all of these other hot shot animators and i'm just this person who goes to public college because that's all i applied to pretending to be a writer. he's the one who said i should do this whole tumblr dot com thing (because "you are genuinely talented and you have stories to tell. it might be helpful to get it out somewhere"). of course, i took his advice. i will always take his advice, even if it annoys the fuck out of me and makes me angry because he's always fucking right (he's not actually always right, but it really feels that way sometimes). maybe it's silly, but he also told me that he'd have notifications on for when i post so he'd be able to read everything that i have to say and i really, really like the attention that comes with that. i'm sure that you—yes you, the reader—thinks that i'm some bitter, annoying, depressing asshole who thinks very lowly of myself and honestly, you are 100% right. at least i'm self aware, right? at least, that's what my therapist says. anyway. this is just gonna become a brain dump account, i guess. maybe someone will find me relatable or interesting. that'd be pretty fucking cool.