Radia ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ+

im just posting writing here she/he — NPD/BPD I like math, might write about it a bit, too. I won't check this often

[writinginradians]

its literally so embarrassing to be narcissist because wdym im not upset for any good reason and just because i was wrong about something minor and im gonna make it a massive deal?

like i get jealous over the smallest fucking thing and then i get over it but how do i say that? how do i tell people that im jealous of just the truth? about my friends being friends with each other for longer? how do i begin to say that i feel like an outsider while literally isolating myself

i have zero social battery and then get upset when im not being talked to. its so frustrating. i wanna do things! i wanna talk to people. and then i just cant find it in me to. i cant find it in me to, and whats the point if i genuinely cant connect with them anyways? i only want to talk to people to fill that void in my stupid head when my ego dwindles enough that i actually have space for something other than it

its so lame

[writinginradians]

there's something so delicate about handling something old and dying. a digital clock with a flickering face that glitches when a floor fan is on. a monitor that ghosts when the pixels change colour too fast.

i can never get behind being too trend-forward. i'll be into new things, yeah, but never the newest thing. being a part of the hottest thing is never my interest, i prefer to follow from behind until something's proven worthy enough by holding others' attention for long enough.

[writinginradians]

you will always have time. you can always be yourself. you can always change. you will go through things you never imagined. you will grow from those unimaginable moments. you will keep moving forward. you can always start again. you just need to keep moving. you will survive. you will learn. you will fail. you will learn how to fail, fall, and get back up again. you can always do better. you will do worse. you always deserve patience. you will lose, and gain, and lose it all. over and over again. you will forget. you will remember. you will forgive. you will grieve. you are free to live however you please. the only thing to remember is that you are doing it for yourself, and that you are human

[writinginradians]

I can't help but notice what people do with the freedom given in my house. or, presence

my perspective on things is a bit... odd. I don't conform to a lot of norms, and get told ″can you do something normal?″

I'll bring in whatever food to class, or do my hair for no reason, or dress eccentrically for no reason either. it's just how I think.

if I ever get a new piercing, or hair colour— something that takes lots of consideration for others— I can just explain it in

″I just felt like it, y'know? didn't plan it.″

with this, I find it interesting in the freedoms some people aren't given, compared to my neglectful parents. I get complete freedom, so I never notice the little things that may be odd.

whenever we make a pizza, my girlfriend is hesitant to put in the effort to make it all. shes used to complaining and getting people to do it for her. she then makes use of the freedom and puts an absurd amount of toppings.

or, how my ex-best friend would always buy me stuffed animals, or would look at the piles of them in my room in wonder. she was never allowed them, but clearly wants them, though her mother says they're ″childish.″

I would argue I'm much more mature than her. I wasn't developmentally delayed by cotton-filled toys...

it's kinda fun to observe what people really want

my best friend didn't buy me them because I needed another stuffed toy. I think she might've just wanted to buy and hold onto one for a bit, before inevitably giving it to me

[writinginradians]

I appreciate characters like Ruan Mei so much. it's absurd

seeing people debate about her being a sociopath and all that stuff is whatever. what she really seems like, to me, is schizoid, plus maybe some other stuff.

I say this because I truly feel represented in her. the only thing stopping me from acting so morally questionable like her is because there's no benefit to it

she does everything for her research

she's literally trying to find out what love is.

she's trying to figure out what makes a person a person, if I recall correctly. and maybe, just maybe if she can do well enough, she can bring back the only two people she loved.

just maybe if she can learn enough about people, she can fix a mistake that she never even caused to begin with

maybe she'll finally stop chasing after a bottomless pit of questions with no fixed answers

maybe she will stop looking at herself like another species wearing the skin of a human

or maybe I'm just talking about myself. sorry

[writinginradians]

″I don't mind″ is probably my most-used phrase

I don't mind a lot of things. and when i say that, i mean that i don't really care. people don't seem to get it through their heads that i don't really care about ANYTHING

if it was ripped from my hands? eventually, this will pass. it's a mindset that's helped me quite a bit, but its also the source of my woes

why don't i care? how do i care? i've never figured out how to really care about anyone or anything that isn't me myself and i.

i don't understand how people care enough about things to be anxious. talking to people like that are honestly so interesting; i just wanna poke and prod and ask a million questions.

but people get overwhelmed.

so i shouldn't do that.

that's the logic i work off of for most things.

″i shouldn't do that because its not good.″

i don't really have emotional ties to a lot of morality stuff because i don't really feel bad for people.

i feel like a scientist poking bugs in a jar, like i shouldn't hurt them because they're also living creatures... but... but no. i can't be rude. that would cause problems for me later. if i cause problems then i need to deal with people even more! that's awful!!

[writinginradians]

I wish I could be upset about it, but… I don’t know. living as I do is being told that it’s completely fine as I’m on a roller coaster with a break in the track.

can’t you see that the ride is going to fall? there’s no track there. I have to get on. no, that seat belt isn’t going to help me, the cart is still going to crash into the ground. as long as I survive, that’s what matters right? as long as I don’t fall off and it’s not fatal, right? but what about when it is fatal?

I know myself better than anyone, so why would anyone else have the right to dismiss this? nobody can tell me otherwise— I prioritize myself over anyone else. above anyone else’s opinions, beliefs, projections onto me; I don’t care what anyone else will say when I can literally see it happening in real time.

[writinginradians]

″I believe that love looks different for everyone″

it's finding the matching bracelets you two used to buy after going to the mall every weekend

it's remembering the way to her house and purposely avoiding its sightline

it's wondering why the one who understands has to be someone that you grew apart from because of your own mistake

it's trying to hang out, but every word coming out awkwardly, like she'd already given up on you

it's giving up on her, too.

and, a year later, deciding that you might take the risk to get to know her again, because she already tore down your sanctuary once before. she'll either be the only one to sit down for tea, or she'll tear it down again, and you'll already have the blueprint

[writinginradians]

″Just don't draw me a bunch of couples kissing. That's boring″ is what my art teacher said when I said my theme for this year's pieces was going to be ″love.″

it's funny; my first thought of what ″love″ is didn't even involve people. i can't say that it ever has involved people. i think that choosing this theme was my way of trying to understand that feeling that feels so alien to me

what is love? to me, it's walking to school alone. waking up to an empty house. purposely making it harder for people to reach me. then I won't have to hurt people— it's the best favour I can do for someone

the only real affection i feel towards people is towards my sister, and one friend. this friend is very physically affectionate. she understands my apathy and has never pushed me to feel a certain way, unlike how most people are

...

love is observance, to me.

love is noticing the things that other people don't— making the smallest changes to my behaviour before anyone else can notice it.

love is so subtle that people will never notice it; will never bother me about it

love is caring for people in a way that they won't care about me, because that's the last thing I want; —for them to intrude on my foggy morning walks, accompanied by nothing but math rock spilling from my headphones —or the most basic pop music playing as the sun eventually beams down on me, walking to school, I knowing it'll be the second last year until i graduate.

until it'll all end. as all things do, of course.

[writinginradians]

i feel like i have a love complex of some kind. i think.

the feeling never really sticks with me

everyone’s got some kind of flaw. it’s annoying.

how do you properly love someone?

what even is love? why is it that it seems like everyone else gets it so much better?

i see love in the trees. in a snowy day walking to school, alone.

in an empty classroom at lunch

in a filled notebook, a hundred pages of only homework for my favourite class

I’ve always wanted to know how to love someone.

my version of love is devoid of people

i don’t know if i’ll always be like this, and i don’t know how i feel about it.

i don’t think i can properly say i’ve ever loved someone. only something.

how odd.

[writinginradians]

″I'm slowly forgetting your face″ as the restrictions on the playground from covid slowly becomes a distant memory. as i forget passwords to the first email i made with my chosen name. as the people i once called my best friend becomes a passing face in the halls. as the first heartbreak i felt turned into the most valuable lesson ive ever known, since the night i decided i wouldnt end it all right there. as the notebook of equations gets filled, as that first test with a 60% turns into a 98 average. i am slowly forgetting my own face

[writinginradians]

how can home be a place, if it doesn’t exist in this world?

or—maybe, it is a place. a place in my imagination, sure, but still a place.

a field of periwinkle, stretching further than anyone could reach.

a field that nobody could reach you in.

nobody will ever be as close as the flowers beneath your feet, with their dew-drenched petals, as delicate as your heart— with what do you do with this information?

you can’t go back, nor can you share this.

so what do you do?

even if I can’t share this ″place″ in my heart, it surely exists to me. it’s lonely, yes, and if I could, I would do anything to show off what this looks like; what kind of medium would permit me to build this world?

I have to figure it out, or else this feeling will stay locked in my heart forever

nobody will ever reach my place of respite in this field of flowers, but just maybe, if I try hard enough, if I take enough time to perfect every little detail, just maybe someone will understand. or maybe they won’t.

but how much more lonely can someone like me get? I’ve already been in this field of flowers for as long as I can remember. no beginning, no end; as far as the eye can see; as far as the eye will see; and as far as the eye has ever seen.

that is what home feels like. a field where you’re eternally alone. it doesn’t feel much different from real life, other than feeling like you actually belong there.

sometimes I want to invite people to tea in the pavilion, invite them for a seat at the table filled with sweets, everything in this world is curated like the blood vessels of my heart each piece vital to my way of life.

sometimes I wonder whether, —like how surgeons handle your heart so closely— if the only way to get better is to let someone disrupt my display—or, my ″heart.″— to move the strawberries from my left to right, to add a couple oranges and bananas to the fruit bowl, to bring a paper plate instead of fine ceramics.

just maybe that is all it takes. another warm chair and a few pieces out of my complete control.

maybe home is trust. trust that someone will move your belongings, and treat them with respect, rather than assume that every act of vulnerability must be under a guise as you bubble-wrap every fine ceramic you allow anyone to touch.

you’re not a museum exhibit however, at times, it feels more like it than not. a glass separates you from the rest of the world. shattering it will harm everyone involved if done recklessly.

but how else do you escape this crystalline cardhouse, blown over by even the lightest breeze?

whatever happens, at least the flowers will not move.

[writinginradians]

people to try to garner sympathy irritate me to no end. i already know that i struggle with empathy, and it already takes me taking a step back to not sigh and ignore messages. on top of that, when i see someone intentionally try to sympathybait so i respond kindly, it not only makes me question what their intention is, but also wonder why it matters so much that they want my pity, AND why they think it'll make me care. it doesn't. it irritates me, it feels like they're reminding me of that feeling i am already so aware that I lack.

[writinginradians]

how do you tell the people you ″care″ about that you don't really care about them? it's a dilemma i can't exactly tell anyone about.

if i express this, it hurts peoples' feelings, but by not saying it i'm just lying. i don't mind lying, i am, however, interested in how someone would really react. my problems are usually from an excess— too many lies piling on top of each other until i can't take it anymore, that could've been solved if i could just be honest.

i want to be able to tell people that i don't really care about them but i'm not allowed, under ″friendship″ principles. i think that's how it works, right? i've learned how to be a ″friend″ well enough, but it doesn't subtract from the fact that i'm still me. i'm still me and i still only interact with people for entertainment, not necessarily connection's sake.

i don't know if everyone is ″too sensitive″ or if i'm just too ″insensitive.″ it's crazy to me that people genuinely care when people die. from the way i see it, mourning a death is just mourning the loss of opportunity. when someone dies, you are no longer able to create more memories with them; no longer able to learn more about them. that's unfortunate, sure, but... it's not that serious, is it?