ignoremepls's Things

It was late at night. His office door was locked and he was sitting by the window.

The winter months of Snezhnaya almost always left them in darkness for a good part of the day. The sun would come and leave within a few hours, no regard for the time or place. It was easy then, to lie and complain of poor weather and eyesight to hide within his office from most excursions even if he was asked to leave. It was even easier to convince freezing merchants to give up their wares in the chilling weather.

After all, there were very few people who were willing to stay too long in the bitter winter storm. A cold wind would sneak through the corners of a jacket or a coat, slipping in and freezing the very person until they were unable to do anything else but stand and die.

The windows were covered in some permafrost, a quirk of her Highness’ creations - they simply didn’t melt. Even the Knave found herself unable to melt the structure, merely capable of breaking it into fragments (for it could be quite brittle). When he looked out, the thinnest lining of frost grew on his glasses as he took them off and set them down on a nearby desk.

The skies were covered in stars, clouds distancing themselves from the sight as the faint glow of lights came out from the ground below. There was the slightest chance of celebration since the return of the newest harbinger from his adventures, Childe. A fanfare was played and even the Captain was waiting for him.

The first mission that the Regrator came back from had the entrance cold and silent. The Doctor was waiting by a nearby statue and in some off-good mood, he had taken off the other’s coat, folding it nicely as he smiled and took him to his office.

Later, the Regrator learned that the good Doctor had been in his hole for the week that he was gone.

He didn’t know what to make of a smiling Dottore.

The Regrator was still seated by his window as he sighed, head resting on the wall. There was a single painting hanging from the wall in front of him, a painting of a maiden holding looking into a mirror as she brushed her hair. It had cost a small fortune and would sell for an even larger one. He had bought it off of a small boy, dripping wet, eyes downcast.

A boy that sent messages in pigeons that would often freeze to death in the Regrator’s hands.

The painting was light and sweet, something seemingly without much thought. A nice painting for a relatively desolate office. His desk was devoid of work having finally finished after a week of wrangling with the Qixing after the mix-up that Childe caused.

The lock on his door creaked and dropped to the floor as the handle was forcefully turned and the door opened.

“I’m off right now, come back later… Dottore,” The Regrator glanced to see a figure that did seem like the Doctor.

Doctor had become Dottore, sir had become you, and the Doctor had laughed.

He was not quite sure when and why it changed.

He was dressed poorly for the season, dressed in simply a dress shirt and pants that were tied loosely with a belt. He had once asked him if his senses had dulled to the point of being unable to feel the cold and the Doctor hadn’t answered, sitting underneath a gazebo somewhere in the frozen garden of the Zapolyarny Palace as he drew up some sort of design for another new mechanic. It had taken him around four hundred years to be able to poke fun at the other’s ideas, and even now, he hardly was able to scowl when he recognised something as being impractical.

The mask he was wearing was one that the Regrator had once ordered for him.

“Is my presence unwelcome?” The Doctor asked.

If it had been anyone else, the Regrator was sure that the answer would be yes and the response would be a chair pulled up and tea poured into a cup that was spill from the shaking of hands as they looked down, avoiding the Doctor.

The Regrator had far more guts than them.

“Yes, but you will stay anyway.”

And when he took a seat, his legs were crossed, one on top of the other as he rested his head on one hand.

The Regrator still did not put his glasses on.

“I was speaking to the Captain,” He started, “It seems that we will be once again split up.”

The Doctor enjoyed his missions. It was the only time he could adequately come up with an excuse to leave the ever-so-dull Snezhnaya. A trip to Mondstadt was merely another way around the world, another path he could extend his reach to, a new source of information for him to exploit. And what a plan he had placed then. Even the Regrator upon seeing the wreckage that was the debt that the nation held towards a single man had him despising the Doctor in that moment.

A sharp glance headed towards him, a slight twitch of his mouth as the Doctor, at the time, had sat down to steal the small cakes he had set out for others.

The Doctor had, once noticing his gaze, grinned, sharp teeth pricking his lips, “Complain if you have the strength to do so.”

The Regrator shuddered from where he was seated. His chambers were behind his office, just past a door. It would have been the first time he left the Doctor in his office as he left. Somehow, feeling how the Doctor watched him from his seat, behind his desk, he knew that leaving would not be possible. He widened his eyes and blinked, staring at the blurry ceiling.

“And what are you thinking of now?” The Doctor asked, “Comrade.”

“I am owed something,” He replied easily. He was always owed something, often as much as he owed.

“Well, I must fear for the one who has a debt to be paid.”

“Do you?”

The Regrator asked, he sounded so dull. The Doctor, after all, was in the habit of forgetting and throwing away his debt as though it had little to do with him. He wondered if the Doctor knew that he was his largest investment, having yet to see anything come out of it. Sunk so deep, he hardly wished to imagine the price of the Doctor’s neck if he were to leave it out to be sold.

Even Mondstadt, as poor as it was, would likely be willing to bet its fair share.

“The Balladeer is in Inazuma.”

The Doctor’s voice was suddenly quieter, muter, as though he was speaking of something that others would hear if he had raised his voice any further. The Regrator closed his eyes. It sounded nice, less abrasive.

“Is that-?”

“-How long do you think it will take?”

The Regrator thought. He hardly knew the Balladeer, merely handing him a paycheck whenever he needed it. Hardly a word between them as the Balladeer had found his drivel to be impossible and his anger to be incomprehensible. The Regrator found it amusing to be looked down on by someone whose sole experience with people almost always involved him being cheated in some way.

Condescendingly stupid was how the Balladeer had thought of him, sneered at him.

“Anyone who chooses to work with the Doctor is sure to meet a nasty end.”

“Are you concerned for me, Balladeer?”

“... After the Lady has been exterminated.”

The Doctor clapped slowly as he stood to walk over, sidestepping his desk and a small stack of books to the side. He leaned against the wall, watching him. His glasses were still off. The Doctor was in some blurry mess as his face seemed to be of one colour and the fine details of his clothes were lost to the squiggly lines of poor eyesight. The Regrator wondered what the Doctor saw of him, reclined on a chair, lazily resting his head on the back as he blanked and drifted away from the room he was in.

The Doctor seemed instead to be in thought for a moment.

The Regrator sighed and pulled his glasses back on and he could clearly see the lines of thought on the Doctor’s face.

The Doctor’s smile was too sharp to be pleasant.

“You certainly are cruel, Regrator. Two harbingers missing in one mission? Haha, even I wouldn’t have the will to predict such a fate. Certainly a fine bet… It is no wonder why She left you the ‘heart’ of Snezhnaya.”

Any praise from the Doctor was similar to having been handed a drink so lethally poisoned that one wondered if it was in good will at all.

“... You exaggerate when you want something,” He responded as monotonously as possible, “What are you here for… except to stare at me?”

The Doctor's lips were dry. He must have spent the day in the laboratory without caring for time or date. Though, he supposed, this time he had the decency to change out of his coat before walking over. He was dressed for a night out, though the lack of anything to keep warm suggested that he was merely being decent. Words tumbled out of his mouth and the Doctor’s voice was a low cradle in the evening. It was too late for the Regrator to feel alert, even though he wished for it.

“Is it a crime to do so? You are hardly unpleasant to watch.”

The Regrator sunk into his seat. The moon was still rising.

The last time the Doctor had offered his compliments to him, he had found himself being easily pushed against his desk, face being held too close to the other. The mask was close enough that he saw the red pupils of his comrade. His breath was cold but the hands on his waist were warm. His hands were on his shoulders, shoulders dressed so poorly he wondered how the other didn’t freeze. The thin layer of summer sweaters helped nothing as he felt his ears burn, but in the end, his hand was pressed onto the Doctor’s mouth as he pushed him away. The pinpricks of his teeth tickled his hand, but he hardly made the effort to bite him.

“I’m not interested.”

“Mmpfh.”

Afterwards, the Doctor didn’t come for a week.

But that was the summer where the weather was merely frosty.

Now it was winter, and the bone chilling temperatures had the Regrator’s fingertips cold and blue. He finally turned to the Doctor who was still staring at him.

“If you wish to find someone to sleep with, there is a line of people who are willing and if there is not, there is a line of people you are willing to convince.”

The Doctor laughed, in the same insane manner that he always did so, a high pitched intake of breath that had him seemingly gasping. The uncontrolled giggles eventually stopped, with the Regrator nearly nodding off before the Doctor was too quiet for him to fall asleep. Even silence was its own curse. His legs were bent oddly, he noted, and if he fell asleep in this position then he would wake up sore and disgruntled.

“I’m not here for that.”

“If you aren’t here for that, and you aren’t here for work, then let me retire for the evening.”

“My comrade,” He laughed, “Do you intend to become as cold as Her Majesty…? Haha… I have weaker feelings than what you imagine ahaha… Retire for the evening if you wish. Do not wait for me. I merely find your presence amusing.”

The Doctor was less than a metre away from him, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His shirt was too fine of a quality to be wasted in a room that never saw the saw. His shoes were too clean to be the ones that he normally used. His lips were turned up, but the Regrator could hardly tell if he was merely doing it out of reflex or if he was truly grinning. The mask that he wore scarcely prevented the strength of his gaze as he stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared-

-And stared and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared.

The Regrator took off his glasses.

He laughed again.

It was too light.

The Doctor stood from the wall, suddenly walking over into the other’s space as he looked down, mask still on. The Regrator looked up to see an outline of his face, mask, nose, and mouth becoming apparent, but the fine details of his youthfulness remained absent as his eyes failed to see the creases forming as they faded. The Regrator watched him too warily to be polite anymore, but the Doctor took care to keep his hands off of him, hands resting behind his back.

He felt like a child. And he supposed, in the face of the Doctor’s own age he was a child.

“Today I had the oddest awakening,” He spoke, slowly, “Around three hundred years ago, you had come to my office asking for my audience. I had one of the earlier versions of my segments outside to take in the visitors that would come. He had rebuffed you and sent you elsewhere at the time. Later when I had heard of it…”

The Regrator wished he had lost his hearing. He was staring at the Doctor as well.

“... I had his eyes pulled out and sewn shut. At the time, I wasn’t quite as sure as to why I was so upset by the matter. Ahaha… It had bothered- Hahaha-! It had bothered me for some time, you know? He was bound to the table and I hardly registered myself. I sewed my own eyes shut, his eyes, my eyes-! Then I had his mouth cut and burned, his lips are tied… with a… ahahahaha! A string! Those strings that you had given me-! Four hundred years ago, those strings… Yes, those strings. I kept them.”

The Doctor stilled for a moment.

“I kept them. Something you gave me in the moment, seeing that I was missing the end needed to tie… to tie… something. Yes, it was an arm I believe. You looked so sick at the time haha… It was honestly quite pathetic. But-! I kept it. That string. And I used it to tie his mouth shut, sew his mouth shut… Hah… And I had wondered for some time why I was so upset. Bothered me.”

The tip of the Doctor’s finger pressed his glasses, correcting them.

“Then I saw you tonight,” He frowned, “Always complaining about how cold your room was until I made something to have it warm enough to have you in this… With a coat, tie half-off… Your sleeves are too breezy. Cold… You - You said you were cold… And you were sitting, curled up in your armchair. I thought you were drunk but now that I see, you are quite level headed now. Merely tired. So tired… Hardly five hundred years and you are already so tired.”

The Doctor was silent.

“Merely five hundred years have passed since, Regrator,” His lips pursed for a moment, “Does it feel long? I feel as though it had flown by. I turn and the world is dead to me once again. As it was then, and as it is now. Ah, but time flies, it does… So many things to do… so many things to continue… And you are already tired?”

“Are you worried I will leave you?”

The Doctor scowled.

“Your boldness in words,” He muttered, “Truly incomparable… Ah, I am concerned.”

His hand took the Regrater’s glasses off, hand grazing his cheek.

“That you will fade before it is complete.”

The Regrator watched him impassively as he continued.

“There is nothing in you… You laugh at the Lady… Because of course only soot will laugh at itself in the mirror. It is almost endearing if it weren’t so difficult to handle. How ironic for me to- The shirt… Yes, the shirt, the shirt was quite… it is, was, quite nice. I like the shirt you are wearing… As I like seeing you waste your money on baubles that you argue have value. It is amusing, interesting. It is- Haha… Now that is endearing.”

The Doctor tilted his head to the size, the Regrator’s eyes were wide open, gazing wildly.

Of all the moods the Doctor had, sentimentality was always the worst to see him in.

“Seeing you sit in that oversized chair of yours, it is endearing. But seeing you in it- I understood why then… Why I had torn his eyes out of their sockets. He screamed, you know? So loudly… I sewed his mouth shut afterwards. Tore his vocal cords. He was stuck there, bleeding and sobbing… haha… he tried to cough! Only to find there was nothing in him that could cough! Hahaha-! Then- Then, he slipped off the table and dragged himself away after I left. Hah…! But I did it… BECAUSE YOU WERE ENDEARING-! Hahaha!”

The Doctor’s laugh filled the room as the Regrator stayed silent.

“Hahaha-! Ha! Ah… But sitting here, I feel as though you are missing. Or will become missing.”

The Doctor muttered, his hands now wrapped around the Regrator’s face as he pulled himself closer, back bending enough that even in his blindness, the Regrator could see him clearly.

“You have already thrown yourself away to me. And yet, all I work with is a pile of misery. Haha… I see you and you look as though you intend to drop off the towers of the palace. And even I… for all my skill, would not be able to remedy you if your skull decides to snap and crack along the ground into the snow. Our contract… wherein you are my faithful client does not stipulate your living life.”

The Doctor's hands were warm on his face, a cloud passing the moon made the room dark.

“I want to change our contract,” He said softly, trying to sound reasonable. He always did when he wanted something from the Regrator. He always sounded so logical.

“It is already signed.”

The Regrator always responded with such unfeelingness that he was surprised at his own voice.

The Doctor’s mask revealed nothing about him as his mouth was set into a hard line. The tips of his fingers had calluses from years of working with metal components, ruin guard circuits coming apart in his hands. Years of swinging a sword across his enemies with such force that a ruin guard fell, cut as though it was paper. Such strength was gripped around his face, with the gentleness he used when cutting open his ‘patients’.

He let go and stood, turning around to face the window. The moon was once again shining.

“It is late,” He said, “You should rest for the evening.”

The Regrator stood slowly, slipping his glasses on as his footsteps resounded on the floor. The Doctor was still watching the snow drift across the scenery. It was the winter, and the windows would grow frost in the mornings and at night and during the day. The door to his private room was just behind a curtain, unlocked as he turned the knob. He shuddered, the room was still chilly even with devices laid around the room to stay warm.

The door knob was so cold against his fingers. His coat was still outside on his chair.

The Doctor was standing by the window, but the Regrator couldn’t see him anymore.

-And he only accepted a fair contract.

“There is nothing else for me to offer you except for that… hate.”

The Doctor barked a laugh.

“Then hate me.”

His words trembled in such anger that the Regrator had already shut the door.

“... Better I have you trying to kill me… than have you try something foolish, Regrator.”

----

if this doesn't stop the h posts, I'm going to spam my works until it's gone.

and I get feedback.

I can't speak to people. As in, I don't want to see or be around other people. I can't relate to anyone around me either. People tell me they have all these issues in their life and I just go, "So what?". I have a lot of personal family issues in my life ranging from being raised in an abusive environment and some degree of sexual misconduct from older people and whenever I speak to other people, I'm always hovering between diminishing my own struggles and looking down at what other people define as struggles. I don't hate that they are more fortunate, I hate how they complain whilst still being more fortunate. And people like say, "you can't compare suffering", and like idk whenever I hear that I just get annoyed and it makes me want to ignore people more. It's reached a point where someone can say hi to me and I just wish they didn't. I don't really want to go outside, I don't want to go watch movies with other people, and I don't want to make friends or speak to anyone irl anymore. I'd rather write fanfiction, play games, study, and live by myself in a small apartment. idk what to do, and I don't really want to find a therapist because that's just another person to handle. idk if I should get this cured, but my mom has been asking me if need a therapist for such a long time (since six years ago when I was 11-12 because that's when this sort of started). I don't really see the point to getting 'cured' honestly.

like I can talk to be ppl and get happy about it and stuff, but like, after a while I just get sick of them and want to leave but it's rude and yeah.

idk what to do about it.

I got a call from him two days ago. My parents are divorced but we live very close to each other and he called me to talk about his netflix subscription asking if I wanted it to be cancelled.

He earns over 7000/month after tax and he gives me and my mum 1500/month in child support. That support ended when I became 18 but he “promised” to give 1000/month. He didn't for the last three months.

My mum has chronic depression and severe anxiety, is old and cannot work without breaking down. We're living on money she got from saving all these years from the government and my grandmother. I have to go to university, but it'll be ok after two years because I'll get a good coop and earn the tuition off. Trust.

And I just felt so annoyed by how he was pretending to be generous when he called. He sent me a wechat and I just didn't want to talk to him. I'm working now and it's tiring and I study right after and so I'm doubly tired. So I reply with one sticker and he sends a barrage of messages. I don't respond because I want to take a nap... He starts calling.

He's ignored me for the past few weeks. I don't know why he's so insistent on calling me.

But he calls me and I go zombie mode and hang up. He then calls my mum and I pick up (I take his phone calls because my mum gets high blood pressure and basically ptsd from speaking to him) and I tell him I want to nap.

And idk why this particular interaction suddenly made me realize that the reason why I feel sick when I speak to him is because he molests me whenever he sees me irl. But it did.

Since I was fourteen, he would slap my butt or hug me from the front in that “I can feel your boobs way”. I didn't think of anything at the time and because my mum thought that I should have a “father” figure in my life as well as living arrangement issues (our apartment wasn't built yet at the time), we lived with him for some time.

At the time, I would just get a little annoyed in that childish way and kick him away and he would laugh. And for the longest time, up until recently, I didn't think much of it.

It was when I was in my last year of high school that my mum told me to not let nyself be touched by him because she's seen the way he touches me and it's not because he loves me.

But the thing was, I knew. Already. For a long time. I just refused to admit it. He is sharp. He knows exactly how much is too much and he knows when to stop.

And he knows that my fourteen year old self's permittance made it so that now it's hard for me to not pretend that everything is ok.

That and my mum and I hope to at least get something out of him.

And idk why last night I just felt like that made me a prostitute. In reality, I know how to get him to stop, I know that if I told my mum this she would stop him, and I know that she would never let me see him again.

Because once my uncle flashed his dick at me and harrassed me, and she never let me see him again even at the cost of avoiding my grandma who lived with him.

On a side note, my grandma died in the last year of my high school right before I got aby university offers. At the time, she was in ICU but I was in the busiest time and my mum took care of her. I thought she'd be okay or at least, I pretended she would be fine. She passed away and I never got to say anything to her. Not even thank you for helping me and my mum.

I never really liked her when I was young. But I remember her saying she would see me get into university. It's funny how I had to skip her funeral for a test, and didn't feel anything for months until one day, while in the dorm room of my university at 3 am, I started crying after reading Act Age because I suddenly realized that she was gone like that director. She didn't even get to see me get into university. But that's besides the issue.

My dad molests me.

And I let it happen because I can't afford to choose and neither me nor my mum have the mental capacity or willingness to sue him.

And somehow to me, I end up feeling like I'm selling my body to him.

He signed a divorce agreement that said he'd split everything 50/50 and more until my mum's lawyer thought my mum was a golddigger but in the end, because he knew I was too young and she was too unstable, we'd never actually fight for it.

So he never lived by that deal.

So when I stare at my tuition, I think... ah... if I can get a little bit more... that's less stress monetarily for my mum and I.

And I can't bring myself to say anything about it.

Even when he slaps my butt and his hans stays there. Or he stares at my boobs. Or he stares at where my vagina is.

I used to make the excuse that the only crime is rape and that there were plenty of people who get raped by their dad. I would pretend that the majority of people have dads that sexually harrass them. And so I was just being whiny.

To this day, I still feel ashamed to think that he treats me poorly. I don't know why. My mum regrets having let him stay in our life, because he acts like a dad.

He acts like he cares about you or he says he does and it makes me confused. He says that I'm a rich girl when I'm poor. He says that we're a family as he hugs me and uses me to get a fix for his perversion.

And somehow, I let it happen.

And I want it to happen.

Because he ignores me for months or years at a time, and he comes back and suddenly it's all cozy and I just let him do what he wants.

I don't like being touched by men anymore. Someone in my class once accidentally stopped and I nearly bumped into him and I screamed and jumped back. Another accidentally brushed my hand and I whipped it away like it was diseased. A guy helps me carry a desk and I feel sick.

I went to a toastmaster and this old man shook my hand and I just want him to stop touching me already. I can't look at guys irl anymore because it feels perverted and disgusting. Someome said I looked cute in my pajamas and I'm not even sure how to describe it, I felt happy because it was a compliment, but I also felt like why is he looking at me, where is he looking at me, why does he want to look at me, when did he start to look at me, where is he looking at me, and I just want to shake him and ask WHERE ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME JUST DON'T ANYMORE.

My physics teacher stuck a ruler in my face as a joke once and I felt so uncomfortable I wanted to leave the classroom.

I don't know if this is caused by my dad.

Or if I'm naturally this skittish.

I still read bl and so on.

I'm not even sure what it is.

But I just. I have a feeling, when I see a man, if they are perverted or not.

Funny enough, my driving instructor was a guy, but idk he just... sometimes he would have to correct my steering wheel and he'd brush against my arm but idk it just didn't feel weird. I didn't mind.

But sometimes, I just know especially when they look at you, I just know they're being perverted or rather I think they are.

Some people say, ah you should go to a psychiatrist or communicate with you mum. I can't talk to my mum. She already is skittish about this and blames herself. She literally says, the only crime she has commited in her life is giving birth to me, knowing what kind of persom my dad is.

Please don't misconstrue her, she never meant it that way.

But I can't. I've only ever once cried to her about my dad, but it was when I was maybe fourteen and I was sobbing asking how anyone could even like me if even my dad doesn't love me.

So it's the psychiatrist or psychologist, the mental help person - I hate, hate, hate, hate them. So much.

They're paid to listen to you.

I don't want to talk to them.

I think I'd break down if I had to say this to them.

I'm already crying typing this.

I don't want another person in this.

And besides, I'm too tired and lazy to find a good one because most of them are people who just want to be paid and don't guve a fuck about you. I don't need to hear people tell me they're not all like that.

What? Maybe 10% of them are useful caring people - listening to people's problems every day, day in and day out desensitizes you.

So then it's what do you even want.

I don't know.

I feel like I've been groomed to accept whatever my dad does to me. But I know in reality, he doesn't care that much about me, it's just a coincidence that I groomed myself into this. He probably just knew how far he could touch me on an individual case by case basis and his erratic and inconsistent happenstance appearances ended up leading me on.

He once told me that I was like a white bunny. I don't know what he meant by that, or rather, I don't want to know what he meant by that.

He calls me stupid because I can pretend and lie to myself nothing wrong is happening so well, that even he's fooled into thinking I have no idea about anything. Let alone him, even my mum is misled.

I've been lying like this since grade one.

I was told by so many teachers that I'm a stable child with a happy family.

I don't remember much of anything good about my childhood.

I remember my 12th birthday where my dad spent the whole day yelling at me, calling mw pathetic in Chinese thinking I couldn't understand until my mum broke down and they fought.

By that age, they had fought so many times I knew that there was a risk my mum would go insane and try to kill him so I had to hold the dooe shut as they screamed and banged across a single wooden door until the wood broke.

My dad refused to change the door until we moved out when I was in grade seven left.

I think I should win an oscar.

My friend of seven years, someone who knew me in middle school, was shocked to know that my family was divorced. Idk why I told, I played it off. I wanted to see if she knew.

Or rather, I wanted to see if I was successful.

In my deception.

My mum had depression and would fall to a fury and sometimes hit me (I deserved it lol but not as hard she said so herself) and so I would be crying right before entering the school.

By the time I was in my classroom, I was laughing or rather I would force myself to smile.

I don't know if it's my teachers who were negligent or if I was an excellent actor but ykw no one ever asked me if I was ok.

I once couldn't hold it in and sobbed during class in middle school.

They gave me tissues, but no one ever asked if I was okay.

I once was sent a slew of messages from my mum saying how much she loved me, and for some reason it sounded like she wanted to commit suicide and it was the last day before Christmas.

I was crying in Chemistry. I stepped outside, but I came back in and I still couldn't stop crying. It was humiliating.

They gave me a tissue box and ignored me.

All of them.

My high school years were marked by the complete indifference of my classmates. They would always try to put me down or pretend I didn't exist.

By the end, this one girl actively bullied me and kept on making me uncomfortable and harrassed me in front of everyone by calling out my name and so on. And I told her to stop once.

She was smiling as she leaned into my space and asked my why I was so rude.

By that time, I had been in her class for four years and was properly trained to be a dog so I stared at her.

Even my English teacher, who disliked me had to tell everyone to stop talking when I was asking a question because if she continued to let it happen it'd ruin her image of the cool teacher.

I was called a dog by someone in my class aa everyone agreed.

My math teacher looked down on me. I had a flat one hundred on the equivalent of AP math on every test we had for the hardest part of the course and when he told me he looked so... disturbed. Like I had done something wrong.

I told a teacher I thought who liked me that I got into the hardest program to get into where I live.

She told me that program tends to let girls in easily becausse they want gender equality.

I was so well trained by this point I didn't even think about what she was saying.

She was saying I didn't deserve my offer.

I told my mum and she was livid.

Told me to never speak to her again.

But I would tell myself that this was nothing. Because they aren't hitting me. They weren't insulting me. They didn't really do anything. I was overreacting.

My first time over at a friend's house just for that one friend was when I was in fourth grade and I was to eat dinner with them.

I got a phone call from my mum losing her mind because my dad hit her again.

I went to a birthday party, my first birthday party for someone else and I came home and my mum was trying to jump out of the window.

I don't remember what I did at that birthday party.

I remember the furniture in the room and which window my mum was trying to climb out of. I even remember the curtains.

Later, I would torture myself whenever I left the house and pretend my mum was killing herself so that when I came home, I'd be prepared. I would dream that she had hung herself.

But at the time I told myself that there were people whose parents hung themselves so who cares. My life was great compared to them.

That first birthday party? That was for a friend whose mum died from cancer. I hated her. Because my mum would say that her life was worse than mine. Her dad loves her. She has a stepmum who loves her. She has friends. People hear the words cancer and they bend and they can't even see how someone in my class in sixth grade beat me up. I hated her.

But I conceded and admitted her life was worse than mine. Even if her dad spoiled her.

My dad went to China. He skipped over my birthday. I don't know what's weirder that I'm upset he would book flights over my birthday cause it's cheap or that he molested me for six and more years and I'm only just realizing that the word is molested and that not all sexual crimes need to be rape when it comes to me personally.

Anyway, I have a cousin. She asks my dad for stuff. he gives it to her. She asks him to buy her things, he gives it to her.

And yk at the time, I didn't think much about it. But then I realized, even as young as six, whenever he took me to the grocery store, I didn't have the guts to ask him for two dollar candy until he picked it out for me.

I was elated with two dollar candy.

He has an annual salary of over one hundred thousand dollars a year.

I'm quite sure, I once caught him saying he liked my cousin (in a nonsexual manner I know that for sure).

I don't remember any instance of him ever complimenting me.

I had to beg him once to say that I was cute.

And even then, he was so hesitant like, “oh yes... uh... you're cute because you're my child”

I don't want think that hard about what he means by “because you're my child.”

My mum (who loves me very much) says I'm objectively pretty. Not awestruck pretty but adorable in a doll-like way and she refuses to lie.

Haha take that anons, I'm objectively adorable.

That is kind of embarrassing to say as someone eighteen...

She's also an art major so like, she knows her stuff. Even if I look at the mirror and am confused why anyone would think I was cute at all.

I say that my mum's love makes up for everything and I would say, well most kids parents don't love them as much as my mum loves me so I basically loved equally if not.more than them.

idk if that makes me a bad person for thinking that. Well, actually I know it doesn't.

See. I'm verh self aware.

Most people don't realize, but I'm quite capable of completely rationalizing what is going on and why it's going on.

I just want to write it out for once.

I feel slightly bad for making you anons think I'm in desperate need of help because I'm spiralling. I don't.

My mum says she thinks the luckiest part if her life is how... not necessarily mature, but more of wise I am. I am a wise man. Woman.

Ahhh... I say I don't know in reality, I know. I'm just pretending for the sake of sounding sadder? I just want someone to for once stop talking about how sad their life is and listen to mine.

That does, I realize, make an attention whore.

And I hate it.

Anyway, It's funny cause, you see, I hate pictures of myself when I was young. They don't remind me of the bad times or whatever, the issue is they remind me of the good times that I don't remember. And I hate it.

Because I want someone to pity me. But I also don't want people to pity me. All humans seek validation and yet the idea of seeking the greatest validation (psychologists)... disgusts me.

Though objectively, I'm quite sure it's because I find the entire matter fake.

Don't tell me it's hard or you're in a bad place.

It's fake.

I don't like it.

I've lived around my dad long enough to know what a distanced sort of uncaring comment sounds like. I don't want concern even though I want pity.

I don't want anyone to know, but somehow I want everyone to know.

I don't tell my friends family anyone anything.

I have low self esteem.

I am selfish.

I am a pretty cold person or rather, I'm a bit of an idiot.

I just want a headpat.

Or a hug.

But I also don't want one. Not from people who want to give me one because they feel bad or some other stupid reason I refuse to accept.

I write depressing fanfiction. I don't want to see people anymore. I hate going outside. I want to lie down all day.

I don't want to see or hear my dad.

It makes me depressed.

It was just one phone call.

I used to pretend that I had a cousin that lived with me and hugged me. Funny enough, he was a boy.

Maybe I am just a massive pervert.

I like being hugged by my mum.

I have anxiety. Well, I have my mum self-diagnosing me with it. I hate loud noises now. And I hate people who are coarse. Nowadays everyone just “speaks like that”. It's disgusting.

I once called the police on mu dad.

The police took my dad to the washroom and me in the living room and my mum in the bedroom. The police officer asked me a bunch of random miscellaneous stuff. Then went to my dad.

I don't think I was supposed to hear them ask my dad the same set of questions only for him to say that he didn't know anything about me.

He knows what my cousin in China likes.

She cosplays.

He buys her stuff whenever she asks him when he goes there.

Once my mum bought me a pair of nice headphones. Like really nice. I love them... He kept l. Well my dad kept on asking why did she buy it, why did she buy it, that I didn't need it.

And in the end he said someone like me doesn't deserve to use good things.

I think there is a misconception in my household that my Chinese is poor and that I'm an idiot. My Chinese is basically fluent except for technical words.

夏以昼。。。生日。。。回家。。。

Go figure.

Anyway, so my Chinese comprehension is basically fluent except for some technical gammer stuff that doesn't matter. So ny dad has no idea I understand everything he says about me.

That reminds me of that one time during covid that I didn't sanitize my hand and called me a murderer for half an hour. I joked about it at home and then cried to sleep about it.

Oh... right... The insurance.

His company has insruance. It costs him nothing to add me to his insurance. One day, the insurance stops working... because when he renewed something... he wrote ny name in wrong. I think he did once actually forget my name. Anyway, so he needed to like contact the insurance company.

Well, we (my mum and I) learned making two phone calls is too much work for him to do to fix the insurance. He gets pissed and swears on wechat at me. Now, listen, he doesn't swear ever. Like... only online in forums where he thinks no one can see. So him dropping the f bomb made me panic.

Anyway, so now whenever I need medication, of which I actually do... I need to go through him. We buy it, send the receipt and cross his fingers he feels good enough to send the cheque back.

Yeah.

It's not a very food situation rn.

Anyway, that reminds me of how recently he sent me a picture of him sitting on the toilet, pants down, edge of underwear in view. Didn't see his dick, but yk shift that camera up just a little bit and it'd be there.

Why did he send me it...? idk I forgot because I freaked out, deleted the wechat message history and yeah. I'm quite sure I do remember, I just don't want to right now.

I'm so cute my dad even wants to do me.

yk it's funny cause I used to joke with my mum that he spends his salary on prostitutes which is why he doesn't give us money but now given that he does this with me and I'm only really being eh about it because I'm conditioned to it and I need the cents he shaves off for us... it's not a joke anymore ig.

I really do feel like a prostitute...

And I mean no shame to prostitutes, I just... I don't want to be one.

He also likes to mention my period... He... He doesn't know my room address at university, but he knows... when... my period... should come... He doesn't know ny favourite food... but he knows... when... my period comes...

I feel like this is a kink.

Of some sort.

I just... idek anymore what to say to that.

I should feel worse about this.

And I do...?

I'm just... it doesn't feel so bad anymore. It just does for like the first 48 hours of him being in contact with me.

I hate it when people tell me that I shouldn't hate that one girl whose mum had cancer and died. They're like it's misdirected anger, yes ik do I look like I give a shit? I'm never seeing her again let me be irrational for once. Why do I always need to be like fair.

I don't want to hear useless advice. I know what I should do, I just refuse to do it. Because I'm cranky and I want to wallow in the despair of this.

I hate it when people talk to me about all these ah social problems.

You have a living breathing cps case right in front of you and you can't even tell.

Or my classmates going on about how hard their lives are.

They're like, you're so hard to get to know. Yes, I'm hard to get to know because I think your mental health crisis is fucking shallow as fuck. The only stressful thing in your life is school and that's because you were stupid enough to sign up to two hundred clubs. But no, I can't say that since everyone has different tolerance levels of stress.

What does that make me then? A superhuman? Why do I need to validate your feelings. I don't want to. I don't think there's anything sucky about your life at all. Your dad doesn't go through your drawers to know where you underwear is.

Oh, but that's too much and suddenly I'm cancelled.

Suddenly everyone has depression. They held therapy stuff in class and I listen to their woes. IT'S GODDAMN GRADES.

What am I supposed to say to that? That I care? I feel bad?

They're like, oh everything is so stressful and that they are so tired because there's so much studying to and so much work and they need some fun time.

MY GRANDMA DIED AND MY MUM BROKE DOWN MENTALLY FOR A WHOLE THREE MONTHS. I had to explain to her how my GRANDMA'S DEATH wasn't her fault over and over again.

Flat. One. Hundred.

I'm sorry I thought my classmate's mental health crisis was the stupidest thing I had ever heard. Like sometimes I wonder what is the percentage chance they'd kill themselves if they were me. Probably is bad thing to think of.

Because I'm sure they'd be drug babies if they had a dad who would hold you down to the bed and try to rub his face into your butt as you very very very aggressively try to kick him but he doesn't let go.

And it makes you want to cry, but you know if you do that he'll retract all funding and you know you just need to live out two more years.

So you let him.

But I digress.

I'm sure all my classmates have parents who sexually harrass them.

It's funny how I'm more mad at my classmates who aren't even my classmates anymore.

My mum tells me that I only think about them so much because they hurt me a lot.

idk what to say to that.

Everyone is like ahhh you have misplaced hate.

Just let me hate instead of using your broken and conditional morals to stand on my head to make it sound like you're better than me. I'm not stupid enough to be actually biased, I'm circumstantially pissed.

It's funny to me how you can get told to treat your classnates better and be more understanding as though nothing else said matters.

I was so nice to them too. They asked me for anything and I was stupid enough to do it.

I think the reason why I hate my classmates so much but not my dad is because I had an irrational feeling that he's my dad and I want to feel like yk I have a dad. But I know that he doesn't actually care enough about me to care about validating me actually the validation that I'm looking for is actually his measure of how useful I am beyond an imaginative sex doll.

But that's not really something on your mind when your dad somehow manages to accidentally through pure negligence and child abandoment cause you to develop a stupid amount of need for attention from him.

But my classmates are random people I don't need so I don't care if I shit on their feelings on an anonymous online forum.

Okay. I didn't sleep tonight again. I want to read fanfiction. I have to go back to university soon and I don't want to. I'm excited for Saturday and I want to figure out how to get winlator to stop being so slow on my phone.

My eyes and head hurt from crying too much but that's not going to stop me from reading fanfiction like the rest of the bad life choices I make on a daily basis.