What People Don’t Understand About Being a Mental Midget.

I feel things more than ‘normal’ people do. You might think it’s hilarious to pick on said person, to block them on social media for the laughs, and enjoy their subsequent meltdown. When you’re by turns dependent and avoidant, the rejection is overwhelming. The avoidant side is telling me , ‘See no one really likes you’ while the dependent wonders what I’ll do without them. I feel like this is what will happen anytime I start to love people, that my imperfections and toxicity are too much. I ask the God who took away my family, gave me one friend who half the time puts me down, and now makes me suffer at the hands of people I thought cared about me, why?

I’d have done anything for them.

My only friend hates me. I wish I was with you. She even said because of my psych issues they would never have let me give you part of my liver. That I was all talk. How will I ever live that down? I won’t kill myself but there’s nothing left on this earth for me. You know how much I prayed for you, how I begged. You know everything.


If God were merciful,

it would be me in your stead.

Your GED study book lays

unopened on your bed.

Your mother prays over

your body,

Your beautiful mind and soul

part from earth evermore.

Thirty-four, you won’t grow old;

It’s not fair, but life seldom is.

Comforting you gave me some

purpose, now I’m empty.

You were so close to turning your

life around from the cliff that

you strayed too close.

Say hello to my mother for me.


Why was I born this way,

to be society’s burden?

To be a blight on life,

and a disappointment

to everyone’s path I cross.

To feel like a human,

though just barely.

To love meaning well,

but it all becomes hell.

Tenth Blogiversary: Plague Year Edition

So yeah, I’ve been here 10 years on the 25th. Who knew when I hit ‘publish’ that day that 10 years later I’d be writing this. My biggest fears were realized, I began living alone, and now I’m living through a plague. Good times.

There are things I intend to do this year if I’m not taken by pestilence or misadventure. I want to finally type out my journal from 2012 written in that nursing home. Maybe I’ll see if my journal from my early 20s has anything I should share too. I want to write more blogs and maybe see if some publications will publish something I write for fun. I want to do more Youtube, maybe eventually even stream on Twitch just to pass time and make a few friends. I really wanted to edit writing for someone to give me some purpose, but the one time I did it, I didn’t do it right. It’s doubtful I will ever get to do that, but maybe. I want to do something meaningful for someone. Good luck.

Someone actually likes me romantically. Now I’m sure the world is ending! I expect if he was ever in the same room as me, he would be repulsed, but who knows? I’m enjoying being liked. I’m afraid everyone will dislike or become annoyed at me and hate me.

i’m going to be writing something about going out during the plague. Stay tuned. God willing, we will see 2021 together.

It’s 3 am. I am perfectly, painfully sober now. I don’t have a headache mercifully, but now my mind has jumped from deserving to die from Plague to the fear that everyone I care about probably dislikes me secretly or at least finds me annoying. This fear is always low key there, but it’s becoming magnified.

As you may know, I try to keep away from my neighbors as much as possible. I fear they hate me for being a cat lady, or a freak , or something to that effect. It can’t be logical. Otherwise, they would be launching complaints about me. But I still stay away. I worry stores think I’m going to shoplift. I worry people passing on the street are thinking terrible things about me. It’s nothing new. But I keep thinking everyone now dislikes me.

The last time my friend got mad at me , she said “You’re going to have no friends now, and you’ll be completely alone.” She sent me into an utter panic. She also let “retard ” slip for good measure. Everyone does think I’m mentally challenged, that’s true. She forgave me, though. It was when the strays didn’t show one day.

I feel like I should stay away from people in general, lest I anger everyone. I need to go back to sleep before I completely drive myself insane. I wonder if my dad felt this way and that’s why he annihilated himself with booze. My kind of mental is heritable for sure.

I remember being 9 or 10 and having to be reassured by my grandmother that I wasn’t a bad person. This happens a lot, the urge to be reassured that I’m not a bad person. Do bad people worry about being bad? Probably not.