I skipped my meds today-not on purpose- so I was feeling extra Skippy, jumpy, jittery and impulsive. The software project manager teacher went as far as to call me ‘mental’. I wish all the bad luck in the word befalls her for blatantly labelling me like that. And it’s not just me, she’s that kind of person who doesn’t know jack shit about software, projects, management or software project management, and yet she last week got tenure at our university. I don’t understand on what merits are they hiring teachers these days.
So when I said something to her that wasn’t remotely mental in any way, she said out aloud in the class, which all of the class also acknowledged as ill humor on her part, that I had gone bonkers. Well boohoo ma’am. Only the best people are bonkers. So fuck you for not being able to comprehend where I am coming from, because it is not, my mental illness, a place of weakness, quite the contrary, it is what gives me strength. Here’s how:
When I was thirteen, wet behind the years and had just learnt about this awesome phenomena that I later learnt was called masturbation, I wrote a game review for Burnout Dominator and sent it to a local English magazine. Some time later, I got a check that I spent entirely on Pokémon cards and of course, laffy taffy.
When I was sixteen, and some of the wetness behind my ear had dried, as had the ink on my O’ levels degree, I learnt about this rad thing called breakdancing. Nope, not the one you’re thinking, not that one with the flimsy ass popping locking and Michael Jackson imitating, nope, I mean the actual bboying shit with the headspins and the backflips and the windmills. I was the first person in Faisalabad who had actively spun on his head 5 consecutive times. In public! Later the fad caught on and it stopped being special anymore so bboy-Ibsta hanged his p-cap.
When I was 17 I started a fan fiction blog about LOTR. It, its my opinion, is to this day the best writing I have ever written.
Fast forward to 21-year old me and lookie here folks, he’s gone and become an entrepreneur and that too in a niche that seldom in Pakistan know about and even seldom people dabble in it and of those even seldom people, even even seldom people actually succeed and by God I went there, touched it and succeeded and am still succeeding to this day in that niche called ‘creative ghostwriting’. For clients I weave stories and novels and they pay me a good amount of money for it. Helps me pay my bills, my college fees and everything in between ranging from new pairs of underwear to gaming keyboards.
To actually go out, venture into the world and succeed, one has to be crazy. You know why? Because if it weren’t for us, the creative mad artisans, the world would still have been in the medieval times. Da Vinci. Period.
If I weren’t the psychotic I was and still am, the fears of starting out on an uncharted entrepreneurial venture, and starting up my own writing business would have overwhelmed me and I would have been just like the millions of other college kids, waiting in line, biding my time to get my degree and then get a regular job, regular salary, regular insurance packages, some time later, a wife, some kids, a car, a house, and then retirement. BOOOOOO!
Did I mention I skipped my meds today? And that too not on purpose?
Anyways, so, without the reigns of the mood stabilizers stabilizing my brain, I was left with a lot of uninhibited fear, depression, anger, anxiety and mania to face. And I deal with all that-that is without meds- by making pathetic attempts at humor. Humor no one gets. Why? Because I joke around in English and all around me are people sitting who don’t know the first fucking thing about something as elementary as knock knock jokes.
That’s another thing entirely. Through no fault of my own, I blame my mom and dad, I am so Americanized that its past the point of being cool and has started touching that unhealthy line where its not cool anymore rather, its an obstacle that disallows me to function properly. Allow me to shed some light on that. I like American humor, American tv shows, American movies, American everything, I drink star bucks, I laugh at the memes shared by Donald Trump Dank Meme Stash as if I were an American, I piss American, I eat American, I wake up American, I sleep American, and for the sake of fuck, I earn in dollars. I literally do. All my clients are American, they pay me in American dollars, most of my readers on this very blog are American. And here’s the crème-de-my-cock on top of it all; I live in the world’s biggest village i.e. Faisalabad. To find someone else who understands English, let alone speak it, is a curse more than a blessing because those who do, they cannot speak it for the life of them. And yet they resiliently do so nonetheless. Which grinds my gears. Because, instead of trying to improve it, they continue in their ignorance, speaking and disgracing English. I know I am being a prude and a stuck up conceited person here, but, this is my blog. XD
So when that bitch of a teacher who doesn’t know jack shit about teaching called me out in the class and said that I was mental and that I needed to see a shrink, it took all the willpower I could muster up there and then to stop myself from taking out the lighter in my bag and lighting her hair and later her body on fire.
If our fucking teachers are like that (and I am not talking about the fucking teachers) surely we cannot expect our nation (Pakistan) to prosper. It should crumple and die right now, our nation should. Earlier that day in the same class, that woman actively disgraced another boy’s mother and sister.
Well, she can do anything. She’s got tenure now. She can even strap on a dildo and fuck the bejesus out of everyone in the class and still get away with it, because she’s got tenure, and tenure in Pakistan, means that you’re safe as fuck.
When the zombie apocalypse breaks, and it shall soon, just as surely Trump will get elected president, I shall sic my zombies 0n her, and hell, even join in.
And I did not say a word to her. This was not an isolated incident. I have been called crazy many a times, sometimes by teachers, sometimes by classfellows and sometimes by random people and when I ask them as to why do they call me that, they all say that they don’t get me. That’s why.
I know God exists, just as I know that light exists and so does darkness and that neither can exist without the other’s absence, so if there is evil in this world, then there must be a devil orchestrating all this shit show, and if there is a devil then there must be a God, and well, let’s just not argue about His existence here; I pray to God that whoever has called me mad, crazy, mental, retarded, and various other demeaning words, I pray to God that all those people get to firsthand witness madness-and not the good kind of madness either.
Scratch that last, I don’t pray that. I pray that they remain forever trapped in the sane little sanitorium of their lives, never knowing the thrill of the chase, never knowing anything except the mundaneness of their morbidly cyclic lives. Meanwhile I shall go and venture out into the unknown, try new things, do stuff and actually try to make a difference instead of trying to fit in the societal machinery as just another motherfucking gear/clog.
I deserved this rant because, I skipped my meds and my brain’s going kerflooey.