I sat outside today trying to find a reason to keep going.

It was a nice day out, not cold enough to have a jacket (which from me is a statement indeed, as I’m always cold and don’t go anywhere without a light jacket).  The cable man was taking his sweet time getting here, my brothers were being their normal oblivious selves, and I felt ready to either start screaming or bashing people over the head with hard and heavy things. I sat down in the driveway, trying to forget.

I don’t know if it helped. I don’t feel very much better. Maybe I should bash myself over the head with said hard and heavy things.

I need something. What I’m doing isn’t enough. I have to be doing something wrong, because this is not healthy.

I’m more than a little worried now. I have some work to do.



The deep

Now that I’ve admitted it to myself, I feel like the depression is dragging me down even more. I’m trying to take it easy, but that’s harder than maybe it should be, since there’s always something to do. I should be happy, right? There are outside things to do to distract me from the inner things that are never really quiet.

Except that it’s not that way.

I wonder why I bust my butt every day. For what? Nobody cares. I could clean the house until it sparkles, make the most banging dinner ever and still they’ll look around for more. I feel like I’m drowning in uselessness. I feel like I’m drowning, period.

What’s the point of all this striving and striving? I don’t do anything important. I don’t do anything life-changing. What is it for? What am I for?

I want to cry, but I can’t make the tears come; there’s no point in it.

I feel tired. I feel completely exhausted. I have nothing left. I feel like it will never end, that I will spend the rest of my life in this hell. Everyone I know is moving through their lives, and what am I doing? I’m stuck in this spot. And why am I stuck? Because I’m too stupid to kick the whole of my family to the curb.

Goodnight, folks. I’m going to pray for some courage, since I don’t have any of that either.

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble

I’ve been wondering if I hate the whole lot of them–my family. Even though I’ve tried very hard not to go there, I’ve felt something–resentment, frustration, even hate, maybe–just bubbling under the surface.

I want to love them; some part of me still does, though I think that part is smaller than it used to be. It makes me sad to say that, makes me wonder how far I’ve fallen away from the person I used to be.

Forgiveness should short-circuit the hate, but I have forgiven them, at least I think so. I’m having trouble with holding them accountable, but that shouldn’t make me hate them, should it? Some part of this must be my own fault, so shouldn’t some of the hate be self-directed?

My mother says I’m forever holding on to old things and can’t let them go. I’m working on the letting go part.

This feels like lancing a boil and digging in and squeezing to get all the pus and stuff out.

I don’t want to hate any of them. Maybe I already do, though, and I need to do a stopgap measure, or stop the infection or something. I don’t know how to do it, though. How do you stop something you’re not even sure has started?

Hiding in the pixels

I spent most of Saturday playing the Sims. Why? Not only because I haven’t played in a while, but I was trying to make myself forget that I ache.

Not physically; for once I’m not in physical pain. This is emotional. I figured that if I buried myself in the lives of my pixelated people, I would forget what was going on with me.  I did, for the most part.

I thought I’d be tired enough to sleep right off, but nope. Looks like I’ll be up for a bit longer.

Still trying to work through this lonely feeling. It’s not fun to feel this way, I can tell you. I live with a bunch of people, and I still feel lonely (which the Keeper of the Holograms classifies as strictly my problem).  I’m trying to flow with the feeling, but it spikes with irregularity, so I don’t know when it’ll happen. Friday was a spike, Saturday was a spike. I don’t know what today’ll be like.

I feel like I’ve lost hold of my feelings altogether. This isn’t fun either.

My parents are un-smart :(

Answer this, ladies and gentlemen: if you were getting ready to have a medical procedure done, and the doctor sent you instructions for the day before the procedure, but you couldn’t remember what they were, would you do anything before you re-read the instructions to be sure you did everything correctly down the line?

If you said no, then you are smarter than my father (and my mother by extension).

Volcano is having a medical thing done tomorrow. The doctor sent the instructions via e-mail. I downloaded the attachment and read the instructions to them twice on Sunday, then on Monday, then yesterday.

Today, I find out that Volcano has done things completely wrong and out of order. When I asked him what the deal was he said that he couldn’t remember what he should have done. I asked my mom and she said that she wasn’t listening when I read the instructions.


This is a MEDICAL PROCEDURE. Okay, slim chance of screwing it up, but the doctor sent you instructions to follow and you should follow them to the letter, not guess and hope you did right! If the doctor wanted you to do whatever you wanted to do, he wouldn’t have sent you the instructions.

I’m angry and frustrated, to say the least. Why would you want to take a chance with your health like that?

UPDATE: Now Volcano is asking me just what he’s supposed to do. If he had done that earlier (or listened at any of the times I told him before) he wouldn’t be in doubt. Patience, I must remember to have patience.

Vent and release

I woke up this morning feeling like I didn’t want to be in this house, so I took myself off to the mall.  Some big escape, huh? But I needed to be away.

I came home still feeling those hard, pounding emotional fists inside me. I’ve been trying to examine my life and the things I’ve done, and I’ve found myself on the low end of the “good person” meter. I called a friend who’s known me since childhood, and asked her if she thought I was a good person.

She told me yes in no uncertain terms, and asked me who’s been telling me that I’m not. That’s when everything came out. I told her about everything that’s been happening, and she was shocked and angry for me, though she’s known my family for decades.

She told me that she’d noticed for years that I was marginalized and had pressure put on me that wasn’t put on my siblings. She told me that I am a nicer person than she is; if she’d been in my situation, she said, she’d have told my parents off already and they’d have thrown her out. 🙂

She said it was good that she couldn’t get to where I live, because otherwise she’d be here, kicking ass and taking names.

I don’t know why she loves me, I really don’t.

She told me that I can’t let the bastards get me down, and then her boyfriend piped up on the phone and said that from where he’s sitting, I’m the only one who’s acting like an adult. “Being an adult doesn’t mean having a job,” he said. “A monkey can get and do a job. Being an adult means recognizing problems and handling them. You’re doing your damnedest to help them and hold them up. You’re handling your business–and theirs too. Be proud of yourself, girl–we are.”

I don’t know what I did to get such awesome folks in my life.

You must remember this

I have to remember that, whatever is happening, if I couldn’t handle it, it wouldn’t be happening to me. One of the (only) things my mother has ever said to me that still makes sense is that old standby “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Even though all this stuff I’m going through is painful and sucks majorly, I have to remember that it will end, and I’ll be stronger and better for it.

Hopefully it won’t kill me, though. 🙂