Welcome to Rantsville

"Mother of all problems"

It's an interesting phrase. It suggests that a certain thing that happened to you spawned all of the problems that occurred to you subsequently.

My mother is the mother of all my problems.

I have issues. Trust issues, anxiety and paranoia issues. I get panicky very easily and I need a lot of attention at times, while I abhorr socialising and human company at other times. I am a pessimist and I always assume the worst out of every situation, unless it has been clearly stated to me otherwise. 

In short, I am a hot mess. But I get good grades, so why does it matter?

This is my way of dealing with my feelings in a healthy way, instead of going to stabbytown on a poor, innocent mattress or pillow. Because, despite my anti-social behaviour, I enjoy talking about feelings. Mine, and everyone else's. It's the only way I can deal with something, other than inserting it in my book, like I did with my panic/anxiety/asthma/heart/I am not sure what it was attack a few months ago.

How is this related to my mother? one might ask. And why am I acting like a dramatic teenager?

It is because I am a dramatic teenager. And it is related to my mother because she caused two out of three of those attacks.

As any (in)sane, (ir)rational, overdramatic teenager might tell you, my mother sucks. But not in the normal 'she won't let me go out with my friends' kind of way. 

She sucks in the 'she's mentally and physically abusive' kind of way. She's a stereotypical Asian mom in that case. She believes hitting kids is normal, even necessary, despite her parents having never hit her, deprecated her, or held her back in any way.

Take math for example.

I hate it. But I understand why it's important for me and my grades.

But, but.

I made a mistake.

I decided to talk to my mother like I talk to other people. Like, literally anyone on the face of this Earth that I interact with.

I was complaining about a question in math that asked me to solve the same sum thrice while using a different value for the variable each time instead of just solving the equation. Math is annoying, yes, very annoying. Especially for me, and I don't even know why, I'm good at it.

At first, she was listening to me and she was supportive. If this was how the story had ended, however, neither of us would be here right now- I would not have a blog and you would not be reading it.

She said, "Give me the phone. I will ask your teacher why this is like that, there's no need to solve it thrice." 

There was. The textbook demanded I solve it thrice. I made it abundantly clear to my mother that I was just venting and it was not a problem that needed solving, because the teacher was just teaching us how to do the thing that the question was asking us to do.

I was just venting. Didn't need to solve it. I wanted to talk about it so I was talking. Probably should have picked another person to talk to, though.

Like I said, I understand why math exists and why it's important. But I'm only human, and a very picky human who believes that alphabets have no business being in math. It's completely normal if you want to rant about something, to anyone, by the way. Humans talk. Humans gossip. Humans complain. If someone says otherwise, they're probably not human. Just be appropriate about it. You probably shouldn't moan about a sunburn at the funeral of someone who died from melanoma.

Back to Rantsville. She flips it on me by saying that I should have done it thrice from the beginning (I did not do that because A. I did not know that I was supposed to, and B. I did not think I needed to, I just solved the equation and my answer was right.) 

Mother said that since I didn't obey the teacher, I shouldn't be complaining or venting. 

I was like, "Mother, I'm just talking. I didn't say I was right or the teacher was wrong. I wanted to vent about this needlessly long sum so I'm talking to you." 

She said, "You shouldn't vent. You always do this, never obey the teacher and then complain like you're the only one that's all knowing and everyone else is stupid." She said I was thankless and useless. She said I was no good. She made me feel like a piccolla merde.

While I just sat there, hurt, because she refused to listen to me as I said that it was just a meaningless vent. Nothing less or more. Just me, trying to talk to my mother and warm up to her. 

And she went ahead and proved that she wasn't worthy of my warmth. She went ahead and proved that I should never share things with her, for I was always wrong. She went ahead and showed that I wasn't supposed to act human in front of her, that I was supposed to sit in my place, mum, and never voice my thoughts.

That's why I made this blog. I needed a place for my thoughts, because otherwise, I'd get so lost in their tangled webs that I would never get out. They're good and bad. Happy and sad. Joyful and suicidal. But they're my thoughts, and they don't deserve to be compressed, or suppressed, or oppressed.

And what does the self preservation part mean, then? How do I protect myself from all that happens?

I do it with the power of 

It helps. Mostly. 

Sometimes, my thoughts get so bad that even distraction doesn't help. All I can do on those days is feel every feeling that my mother triggers in me, and wait the pain out. 

As one can see from the title of the blog, I am a nerd. I score good grades, I'm in maths club, I read a lot and I write. I finished writing a 115K words long book in 2020, along with a short story. I read over 75 (?) books in 2020. And I enjoy the activities of reading and writing much more than I enjoy existing, which isn't really saying much, but it matters.

Many of my characters are self inserts who have my flaws and insecurities and issues, along with some of the very few things that I consider good about myself.  I deal with my emotions by talking about them or writing about them. Another reason for this blog to exist, other than a way of shameless self promotion. 

What I want to say is, I'm here if you'd like an ear to talk to. It's hard sometimes, and stuff feels extremely unliveable and overwhelming, when all you want to do is cease to exist.

 Firstly, I would like for you to call a suicide hotline, and if it isn't that bad, I'll lend an ear to whatever problems you want to vent about, because your issues might seem minor to you. Maybe you know people who are going through worse, but know that no matter what someone else is going through; it does not negate you, your feelings, or your emotions.

They are just as important as anyone else's.

You are just as important as anyone else. 

I will throw a dictionary at your head if you even try to insist otherwise.

Unless you're homophobic, racist or sexist. In which case, to hell with you, says a queer Indian girl.