Thursday, April 23, 2009

More things I need to get off my head

They're not on my chest, so whatever.  Gratitude.  Charge: I come into someone's house and make demands.  I've never demanded anything of Jt in my life.  I rarely even ask for anything - I just wait until it is offered.  This is almost the most ridiculous thing she said.  What demands? Charges dismissed for lack of evidence.

Jt was so sick she had stopped making jewelry for a long time.  She didn't even want to think about it, the thought of it scared and overwhelmed her.  It was only through my patient, compassionate, tactful encouragement that she started to consider it again.  And my enthusiasm for beadweaving got her interested in it, so one day I sat down and showed her how to do a spiral weave.  I calmed her when she got frustrated, reassured her when she thought she'd screwed up, helped her find ways to make it easier.  And now she is selling spiral weave necklaces for $100 each.  She knew no other people making jewelry, so there was nobody to inspire and encourage her.  She didn't care a whiff for beadweaving until I told her how much I loved it.  She was petrified of even looking at her supplies.  It is safe to say that I am majorly if not entirely responsible for her return to craft and the subsequent money she is now making - though I fully recognize she had built up her own client base on her own.  If it weren't for me, she'd still not be crafting.  There's been no recognition of this whatsoever.  I admit I was envious when I heard she was selling these necklaces, and for so much money, when I was the one who showed her how to do it and prevented her from giving up.  Now I'm just pissed off that she's calling me ungrateful.  I don't know anyone who shows more gratitude to their friends' generosity than I do.  I say thank you more than everyone I know put together.

This is really eating away at me again, when am I going to have had my say?  When can I put it to bed?  I'm starting to think the best thing for me to do would be to walk up to her and actually punch her square in the face, or kick her in the stomach - because kick me in the stomach is what she did to me, that's where and how I felt it when she betrayed and attacked me.  And left me stunned, in real clinical shock.  When can I stop hurting and being angry about this?  I hate being angry, and that just makes me more angry.  Honestly I realize that anger is alerting you to the fact that someone is violating you or your boundaries, that you are being hurt.  But I got the alert, stop beeping already!  Anger is more than an alert.  It's torture.  Torture you don't deserve because you didn't ask for it.  Anger cannot be used productively by someone like me, anger just makes me sick and paralyzed.  And I'm taking it out on everything around me, my poor dog and cat, the people who walk by me on the street (if I have to go outside at all). Her hate makes me have hate, and I do not want hate.  Her hate is contagious and uncontrollable and unjust, it explodes into the world and makes everybody a hater or a hated. Or, like me, both. Hate is completely useless, anger is completely useless - I can be alerted by one kick in the stomach, not recurrent kicks for weeks on end, thank you very much. Hate and anger make me almost convinced its okay to punch people in the face.  Righteous hate (hate that is 'deserved') is no better than bigot-hate.  It's just as damaging to everybody involved.

I went to the library and experienced social anxiety-type thoughts.  I'm annoying people and making them work harder.  I'm disgusting because I'm sweating like a pig (from the medication, but nobody knows that).  People think I'm the weird girl.  What I'm wearing makes me look ridiculous.  The teller is analysing me based on what books I'm borrowing.  I didn't say a sincere or grateful enough thank you to the people who helped me get the prize I won in the customer appreciation draw.  I didn't apologize well enough for not calling ahead so they'd have it ready and not have to bring it up from the basement.  Note that the library was dead and these people weren't really doing much anyway.  Tellers hate me because I always have a lot of holds and they have to take the papers and elastics off them and it takes longer (even though there was nobody in line behind me).  On the way home I'm angry because I feel stupid and ugly and I hate life because it's colder than I want it to be.  I hate Thursdays because it's supposed to be my favourite day of the week, but this week it really let me down.  I'm feeling really down on myself.  I think about the fact that i haven't received an email back from a girl who I thought I might be friends with ever since I told her I'd struggled with mental health and rambled on about the noise around here.  I thought 'it's okay, I shouldn't have friends anyway'.  I think maybe being a selfish bitch is one of those qualities you can't change. 

Then I thought, I'm selfish because I have nothing.  But here is a belief I'm discovering I have: there is no excuse for selfishness.  So those two thoughts are having it out in my head, in my gut.  You'd be selfish and always looking out for yourself too, if you had nothing.  It doesn't matter what you do or don't have, selfishness is always bad.  And it is really hard to lose that belief because whenever I do assert my needs - just my needs, forget my wants - people don't react very well.  People reject it. People do not want to accomodate me, and it seems like its just me that they resent accomodating.  Why is that?  What is it about me that is so off-putting?

Jt said in her letter that R told her she was sick of me copying her.  I'm guessing she meant how I tried the same crafts as her.  She painted houses, so I gave it a try.  She started sewing, I got excited and wanted to sew.  Geez, sorry for taking an enthusiastic interest in what you're doing, friend.  I guess she thought I was trying to compete with her, and maybe I was.  Her houses were so nice.  But I started painting before or at the same time as R.  I didn't do houses, but I did decorative painting and ceramic figurines, the latter of which is pretty friggen similar to the houses. So that's not really a stretch.  It's my nature to want to learn how to do everything I see.  Look at how many beading techniques I've done, and I'm still planning on the rest.  Did I copy R when I went back to school and got my degree?  Hmmm, no, I seem to recall her taking a few courses after I did that.  It's not copying its general interest, and a desire to SHARE something.  Did I copy R by getting sicker and needed ECT? Nope, I got better as she got worse.  What did I copy so much?  She got married, I stayed single.  She watched television, I can't afford cable. She's into buying clothes, I'm not. Look, I'm not blaming R for this. She never said that to my face, and she was sick when she said it. It doesn't matter because we're no longer friends and I can't copy her anymore.  Does it take something away from a friend if you join in their pleasure?  Not a friend, not a real friend.  If I got into gardening, I don't think Jd would be anything but pleased. I'm not angry that she's taking up geocaching after I started to with my mom. I guess it boils down to how strongly you identify with something, and if you are using it as an attempt to compete and differentiate with me.  And if you do that, you'll probably also assume that I'm trying to steal it from you if I take it up too.  Maybe I should tell Jt that I resent her for 'copying' me and taking up beadweaving.  Of course, she can counter by saying I took up jewelry making to copy her - actually it was my cousin N who encouraged that interest, and she doesn't resent it one bit.  Cuz she's not fucking CRAZY. I guess all my insecure friends wished I could've just stuck to knitting.  That's supposed to be my thing, I guess.  How dare I change?

So if doing and asking for what I need makes me a selfish bitch, I am just going to have to get used to being a selfish bitch.  I don't see any way around it, because I can't continue to spend my energy trying to be selfless and nice. It hasn't gotten me anywhere, saved any friendships - Jd was my friend when I couldn't even pretend not to be a selfish bitch - But the truth is, or what I am afraid is the truth is, that taking care of my needs will leave me nothing whatsoever to give to others.  I know that if you 'fill up your cup' you're supposed to be able to give, but I don't think my cup can get full on what I've got left.  So maybe I can't have friends at all.  Maybe I can't be anything more than a leech or a charity case.  Maybe everyone in my life is going to see me as a selfish bitch and that will be that. Is that kind of life worth it?  Is that all I get to be, a selfish bitch?  Is that all I'm going to amount to?  Well here, here's your answer, D.  If I'm not helping it means I'm a selfish bitch.  Having someone hate me is evidence that I'm a selfish bitch.  Selfish bitch is the default, and I have to work to convince people I'm otherwise.

So where did I get this idea that I'm a selfish bitch.  Originally, obviously, from my childhood, feeling like asking for anything at all meant I was asking for too much.  Feeling like I really shouldn't want or need more than what I was given, and that even asking for something - not getting it, just asking it, was taking.  My existence, my needs, my presence - all of it was taking from my mother.  Taking energy that either she didn't have, or that she wanted for herself.  Taking what I didn't deserve.  The feeling of taking something that wasn't willingly given is painful.  And I had no control over it - I had to take, I took as little as I could, but it always felt like mountains too much.  And so I spend the rest of my life trying to repay.  I can't repay my mother, because she doesn't need it anymore.  I took it and can never give it back.  So I have to find other people to pay.  Because not paying it back is just plain wrong.  It would turn me into that spoiled, selfish, entitled girl that Jt wants me to be.  And every dime that gets put on those mountain tops is just one more mountain to pay back.  It makes me weary.  I've been made to feel I have to earn my existence, even though I didn't put myself here.  I didn't create me in the first place, but I damn sure am going to pay for it.  Intellectually I believe that parents are responsible for providing their children with everything they need (not want, need), and to give it freely, without resentment or feelings of being owed.  I felt resented, though.  I felt in the way.  I felt that everything I was given was a huge sacrifice for which ever parent gave it, and they let me know it.  Whatever I got came with a side-order of guilt.  And they worked so hard and long to put food on the table and a roof over our heads, that should be enough for the ungrateful brats. They want love now too?  Please.  I've given enough.  I've done enough.  I work hard enough.  They want me to spend time with them and be interested in them and enjoy them and like them?  Gimme a break here, I'm an adult.  I spent all day working for you, the least you can do is let me have an adult life.  Whatever parents don't get from their own folks should NEVER be taken out on their children.  "When I was a child, we'd get beaten" and what is implied is, you should be grateful that I don't hit you and not ask for more than that.  If a parent feels like they are providing a smidgeon more than what they got, they think its good enough, even when it's shit.  You're not supposed to compare yourself to your children and tell them they have it so good because they have food and shelter and something you didn't.  You are supposed to give them everything they need, not just more than you got.  And don't be envious or resentful. You brought them into this world on purpose, you owe them to fulfill your responsibility. Doubtless when you were expecting, you told yourself you were going to give them everything everything!  But then reality sets in, and its not as easy as you'd like, and so rather than do the right thing, you make your children suffer for it. 

Okay this diatribe obviously assumes a lot, and I don't know a damn thing about how my mom was raised, or what she was really thinking when raising me.  And I never will because she's conveiniently forgotten that time.  The only truth in what I've written is that that is how it FEELS to me.  That is what I grew up feeling. Like a burden, like I drained so much life out of her just by needing food and shelter and rides and clothes, that I daren't have asked for love too.  And so I didn't. I tried to earn it by being perfect, but perfect is so far from impossible when you are a child.  You have to make a lot of guesses about what's right and what will make them happy.  And to be unseen and independent and not to ask or take, to be invisible, well, that just makes your failures to keep it up stand out even more.  The guilt, my god, the guilt of being alive and needing.  The guilt of costing money.  The guilt of standing in a place you didn't know they wanted to be, and so being in the way.  The strain of guessing and anticipating and watching and observing and the effort of controlling and holding in and holding back and not talking not expressing not moving.  And the guilt of failing.  They say it takes 5 encouragements to make up for every criticism.  And criticism comes in the form of that devestating look of disappointment, or that one of exhaustion, or the one of annoyance. No words need to be spoken.  What does an encouraging look look like?  What does my mother's face look like when she's proud of me?  I honestly have no fucking idea.  But I can see that disappointed look like its always watching me, its always available in Blu-Ray Hi Def and so much like being there it'll blow you out of your seat, or crush your soul when you're 34 and thinking about it.  And it still comes out all the time in real life.  Even when you prepare for it and ask specifically not to see it, it comes.  Example - I was having a really tough time, something bad had just happened, and I bought a carton of ice cream, and I asked my mom not to say anything please, even if I ate the whole thing.  And boom, there it was. "The Whole Thing?" she said. Somewhere between jaywalking and shoplifting belongs Eating The Whole Thing. 

So apparently, today is not a Thursday, it is a blogday, and this entry is never going to end.  I'll be back when I have some more stuff to get off my head.
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And so it goes

I'm due to have one of those angry 'fuck it' moments and start all over again from scratch.  I'm so frustrated, I used to think my life was ruled by fear, but frustration has taken over the reins.  I should change my name to perpetualfrustration.  I can't do a fucking thing anymore.  I'm that tired.  And here I am just making it worse by trying to ignore it, by comparing myself to everybody, anybody, who are living a different life and not mine.  And just pretending like it's not a big deal.  Pretending that it's not that bad, that I can do more than I really can, I'm just not doing it.  The truth is I haven't done much of anything lately and even that is kicking my ass and making me worse. 

I hate crying.  I hate it with a passion.  Not because it's weak.  It hurts.  It hurts my body and my soul to cry and let all those feelings move around, even if it is up and out.  Lately when I cry I sound like a really little kid.  I sound just like my nephew when he was about 1 1/2 years old.  What happened to me then?  Was I not allowed to cry then?  I'm this infant trying to make it as a grown-up, trying to act even more mature than I have to, because my soul is old enough for that.  My psyche can't catch up with my soul, I guess.  I'm trying really hard here.  That was another charge.

Charge:  I say that I'm working on myself, but how?  I blame my mother for everything that happened to me, but I still use her.  Jt wrote that she hoped I shared this email with my therapist since I pay her (barely) to be nice to me.  First of all I think my therapist has too much integrity to lie to me, to pretend she likes me when she doesn't.  I don't even think she'd take a client if she didn't really want to help them, if she didn't genuinely feel like she could relate.  And she certainly wouldn't lower her prices for someone she just pretended to be nice to.  It wasn't my idea to give me cheap phone sessions.  She felt it was worth it to work with me despite the fact that I can barely pay.  Jt is directly disrespecting  my therapist here, never having even met the woman, and that is just fucking shitty manners.  Furthermore, Jt doesn't know what my relationship with my mom is like now.  She makes it sound like I don't even like my mother and only spend time with her so I can get stuff.  I don't get nearly as much from her as everybody seems to think I do.  Plus, I actually like spending time with her, hello? and am working to make our relationship better.  I can't do that if I disown her.  Just because Jt didn't get to make amends with her mother before she died doesn't mean my attempts to work this through is lame or wrong.  Jt could be very jealous that I even have a mother in my life and have the opportunity to create a better relationship.  But don't take that crap out on me.  My mother is not like your mother, and me having a relationship with my mother doesn't mean anything about you and your mother.  Its like she thinks that since I can be with my mother, I'm judging her for not being able to be with hers.  But my mother wasn't a viscious fiend like hers.  She didn't do things to me on purpose, she didn't beat me or tell me I was ugly or send me to live with other people.  She didn't single me out for abuse among all my siblings.  My mother now is my mother now.  Most of my issues are with who she was 20  years ago.  Jt must think I hate my mother, just like she hates hers.  The point is she has no idea what really goes on between my mom and I and its none of her business.  It's not my fault your mom was a crazy bitch.

All of Jt's paragraphs in that hate-mail started with "You think". How does she know what I think?  Is she psychic?  She can read my mind?  How f*ckin' dare she tell me what goes on in my own head.  Lady, this is all about what YOU think. And most of it is what you think about yourself.  It sickens me that you have these thoughts about me, that you can be so wrong and blind and hateful.  It scares me and sickens me and angers me.  You've been added to the list of people (now 2 people long) that I enjoy imagining punching straight in the face.  Because you are so fucking wrong. 

So why then?  Why does it bother me so much that she hates me?  The simple answer is that because it means I'm hateable.  Now, with people like her in the world, i.e. with BPD and other distorting illnesses, anyone is hateable.  Apparently anyone who doesn't worship science as the only way of looking at the world is hateable.  But just in general, if someone hates me, it means I'm hateable.  And I'm already unconvinced I'm loveable, or even really likeable.  I know she hates me, she's demonstrated that undeniably, so I'm definitely hateable.  Not only that, but I'm contemptable, pitiable, and disgusting. Nobody's ever looked at me with a mixture of anything and disgust before.  It is shocking, to say the least, since hours before that I was golden, pristine, and untouchable.  No one has ever been able to convince me they love me as clearly as she has convinced me she hates me.  Or what she sees as me, because she stopped seeing me the moment she was triggered.  It doesn't matter that it is not really me, because she's out there, hate-directing my way.  She's out there, possibly thinking about how much more she wants to hurt me, possibly conniving ways to do that.  If I bump into her, what is going to happen?  Tuesday I was at College Park Dollarama - a place she frequents, and I kept preparing for her to come up to me and snarl "nice pants" - because I'd put on the hot pink comfy pants I bought on Spadina at Dr. Saul's office after my appointment.  I was tired and wanted to be comfy and didn't care.  So I was ready with "Nice attitude", or "thank you God bless you" which would have tore her up because, well, she hates God, and she hates me because she's convinced herself that I love God.  Yeah, I think she really hates God, despite adamantly insisting he doesn't exist.  I didn't bump into her, but next time I might.  I'm not going to let the threat of her stop me from going wherever the hell I want.  Part of me even wanted a confrontation with her, so I could maybe finally score one back at her, since I let her say whatever horrible things she said to me without fighting back.  I even imagined gushing at her "Oh, you were so right, you are so smart and perfect and successful and happy, I should never have said what I said.  You are far far better than me."  Fuck her.  And I think she enjoys having people hate her.  It serves a few of her purposes.  Poor me.  People are dumb ignorant assholes.  I'm superior.  She's happy about that.  Me, I mourn every reminder of stupidity and ignorance.  I'm embarrassed to death of the less intelligent and humane and polite and self-aware members of the human race.  I can't watch.  It's the real reason I've never watched Trailer Park Boys.  It's embarrassing.  I guess that means I have some pretty unrealistic idea(l)s about humans, and maybe it contributes to my being unable to believe people can be so warped and cruel.

It's just wrong that someone out there hates me.  I don't deserve it.  I guess it mucks up my 'belief in a just world'.  It taints the earth.  It's a black spot on what I considered the world of possibilities.  A do-not enter, a you-don't-qualify, a never-gonna-happen.  The door has been closed and there's no chance of it being opened - that would require her examining and realizing and taking responsibility for what she's done, not just to me, but to everyone who's been a victim of her rage.  She's never going to be well enough for that, not in this lifetime.  And so, because of it, my own world is not quite as pure and free. I have a real reason to watch my back, a pin-point for my usually generalized anxiety.  That's the only way I can answer this question right now. 
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Perfectionism 2.0 & Thoroughly Embarrassing Self-Pity and Bitterness

Too much to write about, I just can't remember it all, so let me start with some more of the charges laid against me, cuz they are still pissing me off. I talked to my therapist about finding the new hate-mail, and she sympathized with my inability to believe that anyone can be so ... pick your adjective. Unbelieveable!

Charge: I am a bad Buddhist because I'm 'supposed' to love everyone equally, but I admit that sometimes I hate people. Ok, I'm a Buddhist, not a Buddha. Loving unconditionally is a goal of buddhism but I defy anyone to say they can actually accomplish this. I'm working on it, and the first step is recognizing there's a problem. I'm not proud of hating people, it bothers me a lot, but at least I admit it. I have to start where I am. Geez, Jt, you read one book about Buddhism and you think you know everything. Well, you are wrong. If loving everybody was a requirement to call yourself a Buddhist, there would be no buddhists, am I right? F*ckn-A. Charges can't be dismissed because they don't make sense in the first place.

Did I talk about the one where I have this grandiose sense of entitlement? I think I did, talked about that one with my therapist too. How I spent my whole life feeling like I didn't have the right to take up space, had to apologize for my existence and take only what nobody else wanted. That sound like entitlement to anybody? Charges ridiculous.

Crap I can't remember the others I wanted to mention. Fibrofog...too much other stuff running around in my head. Maybe they'll come back to me when i write the next piece, Perfectionism 2.0. My therapist left me with this question this week: Why can't I stand to have anyone hate me?

I thought I was making real progress with my perfectionism. I don't get mad at myself when I screw up stuff - I let it slide, or just get mad at my life situation (being ill, no energy, poor, alone) instead of myself. I don't blame myself for things that aren't my fault anymore. Except. Except when it comes to people. I still have to be perfect. I have to be a perfect friend, perfectly polite, perfectly chipper and positive. I am convinced I have a tendency to be self-absorbed, so I make a herculean effort to compensate for that in my friendships. I feel like I 'owe' my friends that have been generous to me. I can't do enough for them. Well, really it's only Jd left that I feel this way about - she feeds me, pays for movies sometimes, buys me coffee most of the time, spends her gas picking me up from Kitchener and driving me all the way back to Cambridge. What do I do for her? Babysit occasionally. So in a way, maybe this is one more reason why I feel I can't unload or vent my problems to her - I'm already enough of a burden. I already take more than I give. She denies this of course, and I believe her. I do believe she does not feel like I drain her, take too much or owe her. But I can't help it, and I'm constantly anxious and on the lookout for ways I can pay her back, to restore some kind of equilibrium. The problem is, how do I know when I get there? Is it possible to ever get there? In two ways - in terms of resources, am I ever going to have enough to give to make up for what I've been given? And psychologically, is there any guarentee that its possible for me to feel like things are even if I can give enough? What is enough? So here I go pretending again. I'm terrified that I don't care enough, to I fake it til I make it - I watch myself and push myself to be more patient, a better listener, less negative, more helpful...and honestly I never questioned whether this was a good thing to do or not until now. Because what is it taking from me? I can't relax. I'm not allowed to be myself, self-absorbed or no. I can't be completely honest, I can't take the rest I need. Here is guilt motivating me still. Jd never sits down, she's always cleaning or folding laundry or making dinner, and I feel like I should help more, but the truth is I came over there to relax. I've always had this struggle defining the difference between laziness and the need to rest. (there's another charge - I don't clean my apartment properly because I'm lazy. Has nothing to do with how sick I am and the fact that, oh, I don't have a partner to help me out with the housework). Is it weird that she never really sits down to hang out with me? Sometimes I'm following her around the house just to talk to her. I know her temperment is different, she's an active person, she's not sick, and she feels she has to do that stuff. And after the kids go to bed she does sit down with me. But most of the time she's doing stuff and I feel like a lazy couch potato. She says she doesn't mind me hanging out while she's doing stuff around the house or in the yard. But hanging out while she's doing stuff isn't the same as hanging out with her. So I force myself to try to help even if I'm totally exhausted and really should be laying down, just so I'm with her, or, often, because I think if I help it will give her more time to spend with me. But she always has more to do - it never ends. A woman's work is never done. And honestly she likes it. She doesn't complain. And maybe that makes me jealous. Anyway, I feel like I can never be a good enough friend.

My cousins are also very generous to me - when I visit them they pay for everything - all my meals, and we are always eating out. Once again, they say they think nothing of it, but god, how much do I owe them? And sometimes I start to feel obligated to acquiesce to K's opinion because of that. I'm not allowed to disagree because how ungrateful that is.

I can't screw up, I can't be selfish, because people will only put up with so much and then they dump you. That's the belief behind Perfectionism 2.0. It's about people, and keeping them happy with me. I don't have to be a high acheiver or be good at everything, just a perfect friend. I have this nagging feeling all the time that people have just about had it up to here with me, and one more thing will be the straw that broke the camel's back. And that's a misunderstanding, in a way. All the things that I assume people find annoying about me aren't really what I'm meaning. Maybe I talk like a know-it-all, but I don't feel that way, and I don't mean to sound like that. Maybe I'm too sarcastic, but it doesn't mean I think I'm any better - I say the same sorts of things about myself, and I'm well aware of my own faults. Do I come of as arrogant anyway? So here I am, thinking I'm being genuinely me, when actually my efforts to 'be a better friend' are leading me back into pretending. Is anybody going to accept me the way I am, self-absorbed and impatient and sometimes just too tired to care about little things in life that people complain about? I try so hard to muster up compassion for that stuff even when I have no energy for it. I've got to say, being a better friend is a worthy thing to shoot for, but there is such a thing as trying too hard - when it costs me so much. When it interferes with my health and my enjoyment of our friendship. But I'm so afraid of being seen as a selfish, difficult person, and no matter what I do I'll probably be seen that way anyway because it's just the truth. Is it? I don't know. I'm afraid I don't care enough about other people. I care about humanity in general but individually and in the moment, well lets just be honest. I have my own worldview, and my own ideas about what's really important, and the things that most people bitch about most of the time are not on my list. So I really don't care a lot of the time. And I feel like that makes me a bad person, a bad friend.

Let's be more honest. I feel so deprived that the concerns of people that have enough money and enough love and enough health just piss me right off. You tell me about a real loss - you get sick or are in pain, somebody you love dies, etc. I'll give you so much compassion, I'll cry with you, because I feel that. I get that. But I really don't give a shit about the other stuff, the petty annoyances. Everybody has that, it's just life. Suck it up. I understand that you are all busy and stressed out, but you've chosen to say yes to all those things, to take them on. Don't keep complaining and not do anything about it - take responsibility for your limits and have the courage to say no. I can't pity you when you've got too many lunch dates to find any time to yourself. I can't say 'poor you' when you've bought something that's defective and have to jump in your car to return it. Is it wrong of me to get pissed off about these things because I can't even go out for lunch once a month, and when it takes a whole day's energy for me to return something that is broken? I don't want pity or to be felt sorry for. I just want people to recognize that these things that you get so frustrated about are actually not that big of a deal. That it could be so much worse. That you shouldn't look to me for sympathy about it because I can't even feed myself properly, and you want me to feel bad because your $100 haircut isn't quite right, or took too long? Know what I mean?

Ok, call me bitter, judging mind. Inner critic. Whatever it is in my head that is telling me I'm a bad bad person for this. This is where I'm at. It's easy for people who have their basic needs covered to say "want what you have". We aren't talking about want here, I'm talking about need. There are a lot of women out there who think it's essential to good self-care to get manicures and pedicures and buy some nice clothes every month. There are a lot of people out there who think spending $7 on a piece of salmon is par for the course, and healthy, and just do it. It is not until recently that I started thinking they might be right. That maybe I deserve to eat salmon and have some clothes too. That maybe it is just good self-care and healthy. But that just makes the fact that I can't have those things even worse. It makes me miserable. It makes me hopeless. People tell me, oh, you must have to budget really well on your income, and I tell them, I don't have enough to budget with, and that is the truth. If I spent what an average healthy eater spent on food in a month, including meals out, that would be all I could buy. No shampoo or soap, no toilet paper, no phone bill, no dog food. No bus tickets. No therapist.

So I'm fucking whining. So I'm a hypocrite, complaining and doing nothing abou t it. What can I do? Can't get better and work. Can't figure out how to live on pittance. Can't find a sugar daddy to pimp myself out to so I'll be taken care of. Can't lower myself to beg on the street. I'm trapped here people. So maybe being a good friend shouldn't be a priority right now. Except everybody needs to feel like they are loved and belong. Except even though I do have friends I still don't feel that way, so what is the point of working so hard to keep them? And if I'm trying too hard, isn't that going to make them go away too? God I make myself sick sometimes. I hate this blog entry and I hate myself for writing it. I hate the noise outside that is driving me nuts and I hate that I'm hot and sweating even though my feet are so cold they hurt, and I hate that I'm cramped with too much shit in my apartment and no fresh air and no direct sunlight and the NOISE, and I hate that my apartment is so dirty and that i have no energy to clean it and no energy to make healthy food that might make me feel a little better and am wallowing in my own fucking filth because I'm sick and have no help. Fuck being a good friend. I've got to just give that shit up and start being a good friend to ME first. Bring on the devastating loneliness then. I guess it's unavoidable. I might as well face it. What the hell did I do wrong? I don't deserve this life. And now I'm ashamed of my...everything.


I sometimes write things that I don't really mean or believe. These are not to be taken literally, nor as definitive statements about me or my beliefs. Thoughts and emotions are transient, and I reserve the right to change my mind, generalize, exaggerate, give strong opinions, or write other possibly offensive statements. I don't lie, but I may say something that's not true to check whether I believe it or not, or to make a point. Call it creative license. This is my blog, and do have the right to say what I want. I'm using it in creatively therapeutic ways. Whatever the reader may think of me and my words, please believe that my core intentions are always good and I never willingly hurt anyone.