Thursday, 03/18/04 - 12:38 pm.
There's this guy, a classmate, named Isaac. I think I've already talked about him, some time ago...He gave me a card in december, thanking me for helping him through the entire semester. But as Victoria pointed out, taking psychology of the behavior as the basis, it could be a way for him to say: "ok, thank you...and keep on helping me, ya hear?".
He's a bloodsucker, who takes advantage of my work. He's kind of nice, says hello to me and all, but I'm always trying to avoid him because he's just using me.
Last friday, we were told we needed some photocopies for a laboratory next week. Victoria and I went to the library that same day, on our spare time, looked for the book and photocopied the chapter we needed. It wasn't difficult, but it was my and Victoria's effort (mostly mine, economically, because I was the one who photocopied it in the library, because the book couldn't be taken out, and it was more expensive than in other places).
That same day, I showed the photocopies to Irene. To my misery, Isaac was behind and he asks: hey, are those the photocopies for the lab?. And I knew my mistake, as I said yes, not wanting to. Can I have them, to copy them?. I wanted to tell him that the library wasn't that far away, that it was my effort, and that he should make his own. But, of course, I didn't. I just said ok.
I resisted for a couple of days. I forgot to bring them was my usual excuse. He doesn't know me, so he can't tell I rarely forget. But then I gave up on resisting, five days later. I gave him the photocopies, he got photocopies off them and gave them back to me. I felt somewhat violated. And it's not the first time that's happened.
Of course I have tried to come up with a nice line to let him know I don't want to do his job anymore. I'm determined not to let him suck my blood -literally- again. It's just so hard for me, I've never been the type of person who expresses what she feels, especially when it comes to people who ask for "help". But I don't want to feel like this again, either, it's not fair for me. And my effort is not only taken advantage of by him, but also by all his girlfriends (3 or 4). I know it's horrible, and everybody would say I'm stupid and retarded for letting him do this to me...I feel guilty for that, too. I hate myself, I can't fuckin' believe I'm not capable of telling him to do it by himself.
He's always like a vulture, flying around me. But...it's not going to happen anymore. I don't know how I will tell him next time he says hey, can I borrow your notes?. Perhaps he'll hate me. He's gay (he's like the guys on Queer Eye, minus the wit and cuteness), so I can already picture him turning into a bitch and making my life hell, along with his girlfriends. I'll live through it. I'd rather endure that than feeling like this...used, taken advantage of.
Before I break down, I'm going to change subject. I discovered that one of my neighbors is from Spain. Ok, it might not be a big deal, but when I listen Spain I think of psychology, and then my mind leaps to England...I get kind of excited. This morning I took Frog for a walk, and there was this neighbor (who's relatively new in the neighborhood) trying to start up his car. And it didn't.
I could've helped him, approaching with the George Harrison line on Yellow Submarine: I know something about motahs. But I don't, so I didn't. And I don't know him. Have you seen Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles III? There's a guy with a beard and a mustache (who's the same Casey guy)...that's what the neighbor looks like.
I ran into him when I was coming back home. He was coming my way, along with the neighborhood watchman, going God knows where. I said good morning to the both of them. The watchman said good morning, and then the neighbor looked at me and said morning, whispering. I knew from his accent he was from Spain...and his eyes. Beautiful eyes...gray, green...they were very clear. I wished we were friends. I wanted to ask him if he was a psychologist.
Today I got mad over a certain thing, but instead of exploding and insulting, I felt like crying. And I finally understood, completely, that thing on Prozac Nation, about depression being anger turned inside out. I'm not depressed, but I understood.
Yesterday I saw a poster about the UCA Clinic that opened this year. I saw several, actually: is you friend injured?, bring her to the UCA clinic and such. Well, there was one which question was: are you depressed?. And I thought "ok, maybe I should go to the clinic".
But then I thought that "depressed" is maybe too strong a word for me, to describe me. Besides, what would I say? "hi, I hurt myself sometimes because I'm angry". Self, that doesn't sound like depression to me.
I used to cut out of sadness. Now I cut out of anger, or because of the ghosts of the sad things that happened to me (and they're not THAT sad, once you get technical about them). I wish I could explode, sometimes I wish I could beat someone up, I could engage in a fight. I feel sad sometimes, and annoyed (why does the world keep interrupting me?!), but I don't think my "thing" qualifies as depression, or something worth paying attention to. I learned to cut as an outlet, I liked it, and I do it occassionally. And I'm conscious, I am aware of what I'm doing (except for the time I cut because the printer wasn't working...but hey, I was called ungrateful when I was just upset).
Sometimes I like class, but I'm starting to feel desperate, because I don't understand, and the professors talk a lot, fast. All professors are supposed to talk a lot, fast. I know that. But their language is very technical (oh, of course, all masters or Ph.D), and I'm not able to retain everything and understand at the same time. I can't quite explain. But at least I'm not the only one who doesn't understand. My friends walk out of class confused, too. Maybe I will talk to Mr. Ph.D about that. He seems to be such a nice mister. He dresses in white and brown, is bald and wears glasses and a smile and is funny. I mean, he's a jesuit, what else do you expect?
I taped In His Life: John Lennon yesterday. The poor lad, he had a rough life. There was this scene, not directly related to John, actually, it was about his friend Stu...he died suddenly, of a hemorrhage in the brain. I added that to my list of ways I'd like to die. It's gross of me to be thinking of these things....I'm sick and stupid. I'm terrified to discover I'm becoming a drama queen.
I don't know if there's a word to include all the things I've talked about today, to express how I feel. I don't feel very good, that's for sure.
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