“I Always Feel Like, Somebody’s Watching Me”

And I have no pri-va-cyyy!

Alright! Post two, and since my first was about horror (ish), I thought it would be appropriate to talk about my paranoia next. Strange thing to talk about on the internet, but this is my blog, and I say what I want. That’s why I created it: to say what I want. .___.

First off, let’s explain paranoia. It’s when you experience deep distrust or suspicion about something, usually other humans. Or, in a more common form that everyone knows about, that feeling you get when you think somebody’s watching your every move. Even in the shower (But that’s only if you’re suffering a more…severe…case of paranoia).

I suffer a case of paranoia. I want to say “mild” but I can’t. You’re not a very good judge of your own self, did you know? Like those skinny girls who complain about their “excess fat” and you’re like =__= the whole time. But anyway, I do suffer paranoia. It’s been worsened by the fact that my step-dad decided to put cameras around the house to capture burglars, but it’s actually me they’re getting to. I’ve had dreams about them. (DUN, DUN, DUN!)

Paranoia in my life occurs mostly in objects. Usually things with eyes; posters, pictures, toys. If it has eyes, it’s a suspect. Suspect for what, you say? FOR SPYING. That picture of that hot boy band could have hidden cameras hidden in the flat eye sockets, melded in with super advanced technology! And that teddy bear’s eyes! Just marbles, you say? Bull shit! There are cameras cleverly stuck there instead! Somebody’s watching me, and I have a good idea who.

Suspect #1: the person who gave me the offending object. Suspect #2: the person who sold the object to the person who gave me the object. Suspect #3: that blue face dude who stalked Rockwell in the music video.

That’s right. If you’re nice to me and give me gifts, I will look at you weird for several days. I will stare at you and wonder what you could gain by spying on me. “Oh, loophole,” some of you think. “I’ll just give you a present that doesn’t have any eyes or face-related features.” Nope, sorry, my paranoia is stronger than you think. Even if your gift is just a goddamn pencil, I would stash it somewhere out of sight until I feel that it’s been “neutralized.” In other words, when “new” becomes “old” and I consider the object part of my possession now and not as “a gift from that dude/girl.”

Normally, in a book or TV show, this would cause problems. The gifter comes over and sees his present shoved under a bunch of books like it’s meaningless trash and gets all hurt and huffy about it. Fortunately (?) for me, my parents are freaking tightwads. Friends rarely come over, even for projects. It’s only at the mall, park, library, and school. And so, with the gifter kept at a nice distance from my house, my paranoia is safe to fester and grow. Win for all. -___-

 

Oh yes, I forgot to mention: I’m a teenager. That’s why I’m still with my parents. Just to ease your confusion. :\

Advertisements
Tagged , ,

Dangle Be Dead

What a strange title! Is it the name of a new horror video game? A creepy movie? A zombie book?

No, you idiots! It’s the title of my first post which just happens to be about horror, you can say. The horror of dangling my arm over the edge of my bed. Now I shall explain why.

Imagine an exhausted Suzy stumbling into her room. She’s been working all day, her boss had major PMS (despite being a man), her boyfriend was a total jerk, and she stepped in dog poo. After a furious hour of doing the Running Man on the sidewalk, she’s now ready for an 8 hour nap. Also known as sleep.

In a typical move-that-only-a-TV-actor-can-pull-off, she flops down onto her bed in what is suppose to be a messy fashion, and yet every single lock of her hair is perfectly in place. -___- Stretching out her limbs languidly, she turns to lay her side and starts to close her eyes, hand dangling off the edge of her bed…

SWIP.

Suzy feels the bed moving under her, as if someone’s yanking off the blankets with her on it, and opens her eyes just in time to watch the floor slam into her face. She lays there, the breath knocked out of her, and still paralyzed by the rough impact. She barely had a second to scream before she’s pulled under the bed and out of sight. Thunder cracks outside despite the fact that it wasn’t even cloudy a second ago but you gotta do what you gotta do to make the movie sell.

The End.

So there you have it! I’m afraid of monsters under my bed! I don’t even let my blankets dangle. I’m that scared. Or stupid. But now you know more about me and now I have more reasons to hide from the world in shame.

END FIRST POST.

Tagged , ,
Advertisements
%d bloggers like this: