Ocdbloggergirl's Blog: OCD, Life, and Other Misunderstandings

More Mental Malaise, Less Donald Trump

September Update — September 24, 2017

September Update

Bleeping September, but I’m still here, and as charming as ever. Today is the 5th anniversary of me moving in here. Just me, my mom’s ashes in a plastic box, and a laundry basket with what the fellows allowed me to have. The rest was either confiscated or in my storage unit. Oh how exciting it was to me that at 34 I was finally on my own. No one to threaten and lord over me anymore. When you had been through all I had in the expanse of one year being alone completely lost its sting. I missed my ex-roommate for a long time, but he and his drag queen boyfriend had become menacing monsters to me.

As of the 13th, it’s been six years since my mom died of sepsis. There’s so much I want to tell her, but  I am happy to be on my own as much as I loved her. I really want to tell her about Donald Trump, about everything that’s happened. She wouldn’t believe me.

This December, I will be turning 40. One of the things I regret most in the world, besides being an asshole, is not jumping at the opportunity to land on the dick of my former elementary school crush. At least I wouldn’t be the dreaded 40 year-old virgin then. The only other people who’ve asked for some were pervs that one couldn’t be sure wouldn’t kill me. Thus is my fate for being ugly and shy. It’s truly a shame, because I think given the opportunity, I could’ve been adventurous, and I’ll leave it at that.

My therapist gave me the news that her entire office will  be shutting down, and that they don’t even know why. I’m going to hold out for a while before I look for replacements for my therapist and shrink in the hopes that they will  find another situation. It has nearly taken 3 years for me truly to start trusting Pepper. I am not big on change and I know it will be hard to set up a rapport with someone new.

It didn’t take any act of congress this year to get my new lease signed.  This is really a funny thing because my neighbor across the street had me convinced that management was conspiring to get me. People allegedly think I have 16 cats and that either the cats or me had to go. I feed several strays in my neighborhood, so that is likely how it all started. But , I surely believed my neighbor, especially since the kids of the ‘hood kept picking on “Cat Lady.” I suppose I should have found her suspect when she postulated that someone swimming in the ocean had caused the mold stains on the pool, that it was actually salt water algae. First of all, can salt water algae live in freshwater, let alone chlorinated water? Truly rumors suck, and I must remember not to believe that dotard across the way (thanks, Kim Jong Un). My mind always conjures up scenes of being homeless or in a home. People don’t get how obsessed I am with that, and they can’t understand unless they have been through something similar.

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— September 6, 2017

And in case you weren’t aware, it’s still fucking September. I came out of it a little today, saw the light  at the end of the tunnel, but that flashlight’s battery died. I thought I lost the antibiotics  my friend gave me for a stray cat, and I just knew I was dead until I found them. She’d never have forgave me that one. She’s already said I belonged in an assisted living for not having worried about that cat enough. I am worried about him. But I’m twice s worried for myself. Virtually everyone thinks I’m a piece of shit anyway. Having the dentist declare I needed a root canal didn’t bother me, the thought of a hurricane slamming my town barely causes me unease, but God forbid I mess up with that cat. I will feel a little more at ease when my lease is signed,but I wish I could excise all the anger And Upset I feel. I wish I could feel like I’m worth the space I take up.

Summertime and the Living is Sleazy — July 28, 2017

Summertime and the Living is Sleazy

Everything is going along awesomely adequate. I’m avoiding the elementary school bastards who keep calling me “Cat Lady” by going to my apartment pool earlier in the day. I’m swimming everyday, and while I doubt I’m losing much weight, maybe it will tack on a week or two to my life. I’ve gone to the beach a couple of times and the impressive community pool when our pool wasn’t open. I finally got a reduced bus pass, so that I can go more places and live more life in our redneck paradise. I dread autumn, but hopefully I will get a membership at the YWCA for the winter. I cooked out for the second time in my life and didn’t burn down the joint, so  I’d say that was a win too.

On a sadder note, I lost my Dondee. His health began to go downhill around March and July 5th his heart just stopped. He didn’t even have time to hide and he had been acting as normal as his “new normal” was. He was the closest to my mother and the sweetest cat I ever knew or will ever know. He is buried next to his brother, Phillippe who I lost in May of last year. Both were around age 15.

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Dondee is the smaller black cat The other black cat is Phillippe. The calico is Lil Mookie. Ca. 2014

 

 

I still wonder if all my neighbors and management have it out for me. They might, or they might not, but then again they might. That is my number one obsession now. My second major obsession if you don’t count fear of angering everyone, is what is happening in Washington, DC. I’m afraid the other shoe will drop faster than you can say, “McCain is a douchebag.” I imagine block granted Medicaid, cuts to disability, being homeless and unprepared for life without the dole. I’m being honest. I don’t know if I could hold down a job with my problems, or if I’ll crash and burn.

Speaking of problems and buses, waiting for the bus one day downtown, I met a man with schizophrenia. He asked me when his bus would come and proceeded to tell me he’d just got out of prison after 22 years  for killing a man and that Jesus killed people all the time. I wasn’t really scared of him, though I bet he could have been telling the truth about being locked up. Who knows. I was glad when we went our separate ways.

Hope you’re having a great summer or winter wherever you are!

— June 13, 2017

I can’t keep going on like this. I’m not suicidal, just pathetic. I can think everyone is fine with me and then a text. It happened twice in 24 hours. Two different people. I can’t take this thinking everything is fine and then  angry texts. They happen in such sneaky places. On the bus, by the pool. When you least think you’ve done something wrong. I’m starting to be afraid to look. The last one really did me in though. I’d been over at a friend’s house taking care of her while she was sick. I thought I’d done everything right. I went and checked on her bird and played a game on her PC because her internet wouldn’t connect. She never hot mad at me before for being on her computer when I sat with her bird.

Apparently I left the game running and she blamed me for the internet not working. She enjoined me not to fuck with her computer when I’m over there again. Maybe normal people wouldn’t get as upset as I did, but I thought I’d gone out of my way to help her and this is how she repays me. Not long before, maybe a week ago, she had called me a “fucking idiot” and there’s still a bad taste in my mouth from swallowing that down. I told my therapist that standing up for myself only gets me in worse trouble.

I’m just lying here wishing I’d never wake up. I’m such a failure. I hear teens call me at the pool “the old lady” and and the kids, “the cat lady.” They rarely  talk to me, which is fine, less entanglements less trouble. I don’t think people even see me as a real person.

Dependent Evermore — May 17, 2017

Dependent Evermore

I like to blame my mother for my personality disorder. She’s dead, so she won’t take it personally; besides, it’s traditional in psychiatry. My father, the drunken spermatozoa, no doubt helped, but I never met him.  His absence gives him a free pass, and he is also dead. I suppose I could blame God for making me of a species that desires companionship. The fact that I’m human sometimes makes it hard to distinguish the blur between pathology and normalcy.

If you turn back time to the 2010-2011 me documented on this blog, my life and strife was my mother. I wish she were still with me. I miss her unconditional love very much. There are no substitutions. Everyone else pales in comparison. BUT. She didn’t prepare me for this world. Maybe it was that I was her only child, but she insisted on doing everything for me, and if she didn’t, I probably asked her to do it for me. Maybe it was the two years I completely isolated myself from people my own age, ages 13-15, and I just never caught back up socially.

What’s the point of this post? Besides killing time waiting for the maintenance guy to put some freon in my air conditioner, I guess it’s just to say that I’m miserable, and thought I’d bring everyone along for the kill-joy ride. My main problem, besides it being 85 degrees in my apartment, is my fear of my friend abandoning me. I got really upset over the weekend, she berated me, which made everything far worse, so I stayed in be for a couple of days. I fed the strays by my house, but I didn’t feed the strays by a doctor’s office.. I think those cats get fed everyday, or virtually everyday by the doctor, but it was still bad of me not to go. She won’t forgive me and I feel lost without her. I just feel terrible and weepy. I feel like life is hopeless without  her, and that’s probably my personality disorder. We talked all the time and she’s virtually withdrawn from me. It’s driving me crazy like when my ex-roommate (ca. 2012, for those of you following along at home) would give me the cold shoulder.

Depression — April 7, 2017

Depression

In the principle of  maintaining truth on this blog, I will describe the world as I see it at the moment. Spring is trying to wrestle  the last unkind vestiges of  her sister Winter. The sun laboriously tries to pierce through the thickening clouds. The harsh wind smacks bare skin.

I hide inside the Taco Bell across from  my therapists office,  copping from the dollar menu. My mom’s ghost no longer follows me in this restaurant. The  garish uncomfortable booths have been toned down to more earth tones, wood color. Is she watching hr almost entranced  daughter. Not good enough, mom. Never ever. I almost cried at the therapist. She never hears me, but I’m sure my neighbor  hears. Loud, child tears. Everything  is wrong and as long as I avert my eyes people may not see the worthless mass of life that continues breathing within me.

Food Bankrupt — March 27, 2017

Food Bankrupt

Among my greatest vices is gluttony. Though I’m a picky eater, I will eat what I do like to excess. Pray, remember this as I confess what a piece of scum I am.

Last Monday, aware that I had 17 dollars between me and the end of the month, my hands got a little too sticky at the food bank I go to. I took two packs of turkey cold cuts (first bad) and I tried to take two pizzas, seeing as no one else had grabbed it, which made the curator of the edibles go off on me. “We’re supposed to share. If you need something else, get some fruit outside.”

So yes, I was totally in the wrong, but my pride keeps saying, she shouldn’t go off on me because there was plenty of food for everyone. Needless to say, i feel much chastened, and horribly embarrassed. I almost wish to eschew going for a long time, but I would like more food than what I have on hand. If I don’t go, it’s turkey sandwiches and ramen noodles until Friday, which are very edible,  but, they have such good fare there. I will just be humble and wait until everyone has cleared out of the section, so hopefully I will not get too much.

The food comes from area stores, and the food bank started mainly for homeless people, but they let people from my therapist’s office go. Truthfully, I don’t think any of the people are actively homeless, but what do I know? Not all homeless people look like Lloyd from Black Jesus.  I think, however, all of them are from worse circumstances than my  situation. I overheard one woman say to another, “I’d take these apples if my oven was working.” So yes, I suck. As long as I have something to eat, and more importantly, my cats have something to eat, I’m straight. But I do crave all those desserts and delicacies that they have, so I will swallow my pride. Ugh, I sometimes act like I grew up in a barn. Sorry, Mom. 

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Image from Google Play

 

 

Blogoversary the 7th — March 24, 2017

Blogoversary the 7th

Still here. Though not prolific,  I’ve been at this for 7 years now. God willing, I will keep at this blog until incapacity or death takes me out. I was 33 when I started, and will be 40 in December. I sometimes read back on my old posts. Lisa, circa 2010, was such a different person from Lisa 2017. In some ways, I truly feel my writing reached its apex in the first two years here (while my mom was still around, my biggest supporter). I sometimes find myself writing stuff worthy of Lisa 2011, but it is what it is. Had you told me during the course of this novel , that my mom would croak, I’d end up living with a drag queen and a pathological liar, end up in a mental  hospital, live in a nursing home for a couple of months, and finally come to living alone in an apartment complex I had lived in when I was 8 years-old… Well, I’d have been horrified to say the least. If you had told me that Donald Trump would be president one day, I’d have believed you were the greatest bullshitter.

I still feel as though I stand on the precipice of disaster at all times, especially now, with Trump and Paul Ryan trying to butcher the dangling safety net. I owe my apartment, medicine,  and healthcare to Medicaid. While I doubt Trump’s “fix” to Obamacare will pass, it’s terrifying to think of block grants. What if taking care of people on disability becomes superfluous? What if one day I’m blogging homeless?

  Here’s to a new blog year that happens to not be catastrophic. Thanks for hanging in there with me!

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Crap Satire and Thoughts at 3am — March 2, 2017

Crap Satire and Thoughts at 3am

Is it just  me, or have we devolved in the past couple of months into something akin to our Neanderthal forebears? Has the noble WASP strayed too far from his isolated cluster and caught the bee virus? Whether we are Casper ghost pale,  a  delicate pearl  pink,  or a subtle tangerine hue, white people are devolving.  Our Trailer Park Titanic, which spurred on our glorious exalted orange 70 year-old Adolf  Adonis, has sprung a leak and is sinking faster than you can whistle ‘Dixie.’

Personally, I blame that black guy. Oh, it was all fun and games until all those Mexican Muslims infiltrated our electoral college and universities and got him  elected. Eight years of Kumbaya, Kenya, and free phones, it was time for change. We fashioned a golden calf from a golden man and commenced to worship him, chanting our mantra, “Make America Great Again!” America is great, now, but something is missing. That black guy was nice. This guy, his magnificence is too bright, an amber wave of grain knocking against our collective blue eyes. I can’t see anymore.

 

The above was a vain attempt at satire. Seriously though, my fellow white Americans, what the freaking hell? Is this hell? Maybe in an alternate universe, this is the liberal version of the Left Behind series. Our messiah left us for Hawaii and only David Bowie, Prince, and Carrie Fisher got raptured.  Guess who is the Anti-Christ?

My family hails from Appalachia. They are a homogenous group (inbred?), Republican all the way back to Lincoln, and had they known my mom and I were democrats, that was a disownable offense. My grandparents knew, but what can you do? Just don’t let my second cousins find out! It was bad enough knowing that my otherwise gentle grandfather would rather be “a knot on a dog’s dick than be a democrat.” Since I’m already disowned because of my mom not keeping in contact with them, my second cousins do not know whether I’m alive or dead. Good riddance, they said in ever such a kind way after Mom died, not rude, just evasive (it’s the southern way). Do they ever think of me? Like when members of their family croak? Oh wonder what happened to Pat’s mentally deficient daughter?

Anyway, I had a point to this last part. Because being abandoned even by people who barely know you sucks, that is why I don’t unfriend people on Facebook for different points of view, microaggressions, macroaggressions,  racist remarks, homophobic, Islamophobic ,phobicphobic remarks. I think what does it feel like to be tossed away even online? What if you’re my second cousin fallen off the turnip truck and you just don’t know any better?

 

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Image from photosforclass.com

Club R — January 7, 2017

Club R

What fool said that the unexamined life isn’t worth living? I think I prefer not thinking about some things. I spoke to my  beloved first grade teacher today on the phone today and she basically affirmed what I already knew: Everyone thought I was the ‘R’ word, and I don’t mean republican. My teacher didn’t believe I was retarded. I think she might think I have autism, though. I’d rather be in Club Autism than Club’ R.’

What she said was that they doubted I could learn to read at that school.  It wasn’t  true. I began to learn under the tutelage of Ms. S, who hated me, but perfected phonics under Ms. H, who loved me. First off, Ms. S used to verbally abuse me, lie, threaten, and one time paddled me. Second,  the principal really, really, really  shouldn’t be talking about ‘slow. ‘ Her own son seemed dumb as a brick to me and still pissed himself at age 7. I looked him up and he still looks like trailer trash.What is worse is the principal there also beat me with a paddle a few times for not getting math in 3rd grade before before my mother took me out of that godforsaken Christian school. Thirty years ago and I’m still angry. 

Ms. H. wanted to know if I was OK and if I wanted to come live with her. I was extremely touched that even after 30 years she still loves me that much. I let her know that I was fine and that I was content in my life as a cat lady. I also  let her know that while I have psych issues, I’m not intellectually disabled.

A neurologist my mom took me to when I was 11 believed I suffered from  mild cerebral palsy, which explains my unusual gait. I may broach this subject with a doctor sometime because my back, legs and ankles are sore when I begin to walk these days. Ms. H commented that I would come into class walking like an octopus, my hair and backpack in disarray.  I later in life forced myself to stop walking tiptoe, but my person will always be disordered.

If I do have autism, I’m either at the very edge of the spectrum or I’ve learned to adapt. My emotions are normal…I think. I get jokes. I get social cues. I have empathy. But I’m missing something, or people wouldn’t  all the  time be thinking I’m “special.”

Maybe if my mom hadn’t gone fishing for a husband in the drunk tank and I was sired by someone else, or she had not waited until she was 35, maybe me genes would fit me better. There were enough undiagnosed anxiety disorders running amuck in my mom’s genes as well as hoarding cousins on Grandpa’s side that I really could’ve done just as well with another pop.  If I do have autism I wish it was confirmed, so I could get a reduced price bus pass.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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