They call me Rin, and I’m obsessively in love with my own stories. I’m a compulsive writer, and, according to SCIENCE and 8 years of EXTREME MENTAL HEALTH STUDY, Say Faceface, I’m also a Schizophrenic. Meaning I can’t tell which reality is the reality for everyone else. That’s fine, I don’t really mind, because I’m to happy with how my life is and the fact that my characters talk to me. Sometimes even Piccolo. Or the cash register at my job.
Right then, I’m18 at the moment, and a Buddhist. I’m originally Jewish, and I keep the whole ‘Star of David’ thing proudly just for my roots, meanwhile I am attending Youth Group for those Christians. It’s all interesting.
My favorite years of all time are: 1943; 1482; 1726. Victor Hugo is my hero, and I wouldn’t deny that if I had a chance, I’d love to meet Hitler. Not because he murdered, merely because he’s a bloody genius and something that I can’t figure out. I also pity him, rather than hate him. Poor mad man. Stalin, hands down, is my favorite Communist murdering bastard of all time–and I’d die for the chance to be best mates with De Vince.
I don’t believe in Heaven, Hell or even Death. I do believe my soul goes on and reincarnates–
I actually believe I’ll go to Hogwarts when I die, I can’t lie.
I love Disney movies… even if they took Victor Hugo’s Notre Dame De Paris and made into this acid trip of crack. I haven’t a clue as to how they twisted that one around.
My friends understand and sometimes mock me.
Cap. Snarf: Ah Rin’s freakin out because she’s schizophrenic.
Kami: Tell her I said hi, and that I’m real. And I think we owe her a trip to Ruby Tuesday’s.
Oh, Ruby Tuesdays. Look at it reminds that I LOVE that place. And I tend to hang around bisexual/gay boys rather than straight. I have no idea why.
I don’t think a single close friend of mine is sane. Birds of a feather, they bloody flock together.
My mother comes from high class rich society. She isn’t wealthy… well, sort of she is. She’s a doctor. And I grew up in the hospital, but never because I was sick. A midwife, actually, she catches babies, and I grew up half my life without a mother, and a drunk father in Alaska.
So, according to a therapist, I have “issues” which leads me to stray away from–well, I have no idea.
And for some odd reason, rich high class society makes me feel sick. I hate their hand made chocolates and their gossipy talk of others standing behind them. :’D But they’re the family I never see, so its all good.
I have big plans for myself. I want to become a writer, but not with all that ugly fame and money… however, I want Harry Potter to BOW to my power. He’ll be nothing when I get through with him. That’s right, I HATE Harry Potter. Not because he’s the cliched hero with the over-used plot-line history and past and Gary Stu abilities… or for the fact that I’m Pro-Voldemort (LAWLS -Muggle-)… its merely because he STOLE my IMMORTALITY! Through writing, of course.
And I only want the world to love Elizabeth as much as I do. I want her to become famous.
Righty then.
Yellow and lime green are my favorite colors, I hate apologies–please, don’t say you’re sorry to me, because when I’m done being angry, I don’t want to be reminded, and I forgive the moment you do me wrong (even as I’m throwing chairs across the room) though I’m rarely angry. I also love Sunflowers–but I can’t stand the idea of getting flowers as presents… because what the hell am I going to do with it? Watch my gift die? I’m so easily amused, that I’m a whore for laughter, and either you’ll be embarrassed to be around me…
or you’ll end up saying, “My sanity went out the door with Sarah!”
Like Jessica did.
I don’t like jewelry… and I won’t wear any… unless, well. The only jewelry I wear is things Venny steals for me. Because people want what they don’t have or own–and since its stolen, it’s not actually mine, so I’ll want it forever.
However, I can’t steal. Karma, you know.
I’m very… nonjudgmental. Almost too much. And they say I see the good in what shouldn’t be there. But I think a lot of people are like that. I just don’t care what people do with their lives. I don’t care what they wear, or who they date, or what they do, or who they do.
I’m friends with “drug dealers”, “whores”, “sociopaths”, “spell-casters”, “nerds”–people who are gay, people who hate gays, people who even hate jews (I don’t think they know I’m Jewish), racists, normal people, mentally ill people–and so on and so forth. If you want to befriend me, than I’m more than welcoming.
And for those who aren’t my friends, I really don’t know you exist. And I don’t know why other people, like my friends, focus in on what you do. It’s your business, and whatever it is, is awesome, because its you’re existence.
:’D
