Abandoned

It sometimes hits me so hard that I have little to live for. I’ve done nothing with my life, and if I die, no one will mourn me deeply. I’ve accomplished nothing, I’ll never amount to anything, and everyone would be better off if I met with a fatal accident.

I didn’t go fast enough for my friend and she abandoned me where we were feeding strays. It’s only a few minutes to my house and only 10:30, but that feeling of being tossed aside is so distressing. She’s rode off on me before, once threatened to leave me in a remote area at Christmas, or leave me at a grocery store once.

No one needs me.

Two Deaths

The First

From time to time, I google my second cousin Charles. Charles, my maternal grandmother’s sister’s son. Charles, who grew up next door to my mom. Charles, who let me know ever so tactfully, that I had no more family when my mother died. There was his obituary. He lived to a reasonable 79 and died sometime in March. I don’t know how he died, but dead he is. I’m ambivalent. Was he the bad guy in this story, or was my mom, and Charles did what any reasonable person would do under the circumstances?

My mom had died that morning. That afternoon I found the old phone book with his number written in it by my long gone grandmother. I called and got his wife, who was really kind, and she got Charles. I swear, he must’ve been rehearsing for the day I’d call, that my mom was already some dead stranger in his mind. I told him how my mom died of sepsis and that could I have the number of his sister, Diane, who I knew a bit better than him. His voice was sickeningly sweet, patronizing, as though he were talking to a dim child. It went something like, “Ohhh” when I told him of her death, and said equally saccharine, that Diane had gotten remarried and he didn’t know her new number. It might have been true, but he acted as though he had no clue about my mother or me either. I couldn’t accept that I had been disowned, so I tried calling again the next day just in case he really was ignorant of who I was. Same saccharine tone, but no sorry for your loss. I kept hoping he’d tell Diane, that he’d remember he was a “good Christian” and that I was family.

I look back on that time of my life, and I still grow anxious, wondering how I managed to survive, my mom in the hospital morgue and I facing the loss of our home. All I know is, there must be a God, but I’m still ever vigilant that my luck might run out any day now, and that I will lose everything.

Here is the possible vindication of Charles. Straight out of high school, at the age of 17, my mom got the hell out of that tiny mountain community, trained to be a registered nurse, and joined the air force. She came back, , but she didn’t feel like she belonged there. We visited as long as my grandparents lived there, and we saw family who visited as long as my grandparents were alive. But the moment my grandparents were both gone, my mom didn’t keep in touch with the rest of the family. Out of sight, out of mind was my mother’s mindset. I remember vividly at various times asking my mom to call relatives, so that we weren’t totally alone.

We ended up selling the house we had lived in with our grandparents after they died. We couldn’t afford the upkeep. Mom didn’t bother to tell them where we lived now, but Diane searched for us. She found out I was on disability for “my nerves.” I didn’t want to go into my full mental health issues. We were told to keep in touch. Mom didn’t and I was too shy.

So you see, my mom asked for it, and after she died, they gave it to her through me. Maybe it was deserved, but someone once asked me would I have done that to a mentally ill family member. Honestly, no I would not.

Second Death

I’m scrolling through Facebook and suddenly I see my first grade teacher, with ‘Remembering’ over her photo. She’s dead, but not naturally. She was driving one Sunday night and a young drunk guy hit her head on. She died at the scene. I still can’t fathom it. No one is saying whether she died instantly or lingered a short while. I unfortunately have a wild imagination, something she could have attested to when I was a little girl. I pray she didn’t know what happened.

I’m struck with massive amounts of guilt. Guilt that I tried to limit our interactions because she would beg me to come stay with her. She had wanted to adopt me when I was little and she still wanted me some 35 years or so later. I was such an unremarkable, ugly little girl that the principal and previous teacher wrote me off as too dumb to learn to read. It was probably my lack of luster, funny way of walking, and withdrawn way that made her determined to teach me and love me. My own mother couldn’t even understand why she liked me so much, and was afraid she was going to kidnap me. Mom thought maybe she couldn’t have children. That was definitely not the case, because she went on to have six children! Yet after all these years, she still saw me as her favorite student ever. Me of all people. She wanted to come see me in February , while her brother was recovering from a covid related amputation. I don’t know what happened. Did she not come? Did she sense I was more than a bit concerned that I’d catch covid? I wish she understood why I didn’t want to move far away and become beholden on someone ever again. I cuss, while she marked curses out of books. She believed liberalism was against God and that one should turn from it. I would have been miserable hiding my thoughts all the time. I hope she forgives me wherever she is now. Still, I yearn to be as kind and giving as her. She was loved by virtually everyone who knew her. She was probably the last person on earth who loved me unconditionally.

The Narc

My upstairs neighbors have lived up in their apartment a few years. Aside from the occasional fuckfest, where it sounds like they’re coming through the ceiling, and the scent of shitty skunk weed permeating through the entire building everyday, they’ve been model tenants.

Well, someone snitched. I expect it was the new white couple across the hall. There’s something about them. They look snotty, snobby, maybe northern (sorry). I can’t quite describe it. While they look far from cultured, they look like the creme de la creme of white trash Brahmins. I could be wrong. I look, act, and sound intellectually disabled, so people judge accordingly. I should be the first to know there are hidden unseen layers to people.

We all got a letter on our doors. ” If the smoking continues, we will do unannounced inspections and will terminate the lease and file eviction papers.” Paraphrasing.

I’m immensely paranoid that I still smell pot, that management will come and throw me out too for other reasons. If they try to come in on me, I will cite the lease that says reasonable time must be given, that I’m not the one, and that I want my worker to be here if they come in. Lord, give me strength.

I will be afraid every time I go out now that they’re coming in. My worker took me to the store today, and when I came home, my cats were hiding. This made me suspicious that they’d been there. I checked my door at 5pm as I do everyday, paranoid I’ll find something saying they’re getting rid of me. It’s a constant obsession with me. Occasionally, I check more than once. Now that there’s a snitch, how long will it be before they start complaining about me too? I’d never find another apartment. My friend might take me in, but I’d be at her mercy. Considering she called me a lazy retard the other day for mopping my kitchen with pure bleach and then feeling respiratory issues, it would be best not to be with her all the time.

11th Blogoversary

So yeah, it’s 11 years since I published my first barely coherent blog post, and I’m here. Mood : Ambient pessimism.

Can’t say I’ve progressed much since 2020 blogoversary, except maybe in weight gain, but I’m here.

This place, heavens, is my ‘safe space.’

When I told him the truth, I knew he wouldn’t want me. I don’t know why I hadn’t been able to steel myself for the inevitable rejection that came about 24 hours ago.

All my life, I’ve carefully been able to hide from being rejected outright by just not saying anything to anyone I crushed on. I knew I was too hideous, and that my personality was too drab to overcome the ugliness. In fact, my personality just underscores the ugly.   Plus I act like an idiot, walk like an idiot, and dress like an idiot. If it quacks like a duck, then it must be a duck.

When I look back on my life, there were clues that I’d always play the roll of the reject. The man who laughed as I choked when I was 5, then yelled at me when I was able to bring up the candy and spit it out on the ground. My kindergarten teacher who never failed to let me know she despised me. The other teachers talking about me when my first grade teacher fawned over me. “I don’t know what she sees in her. She just stays to herself.” They thought I was too stupid to know. The fact is, I was just bright enough to understand.

I wish my mother had miscarried me, like she did the baby before me. I should never have been born. I will never be a positive to society, no one will ever need me, and most certainly no one will ever want me.

To think I was lulled into believing someone could care about me.  It looks like I didn’t remember the lessons I learned in 2012 when I fled from the guys I roomed with. I’ll just fucking never learn.

He has zero interest in me, none. Zilch. I will always be the punchline in people’s jokes.

Parasocial Activity

So I kept mulling over my letter to Anonymous Crush, and it came to me that I would not be satisfied until I told him personally. Now, unless you’re avoidant like me, you might not realize what a step this was. I have never in my life told someone I was in love with him because of the inevitable rejection. But I did even though I knew he wouldn’t be interested, because it was burning me up inside. He could’ve been mean about it, told me I made him projectile vomit, or that I was too dumb to find my way out of a Dollar Store plastic bag, but he didn’t. Instead, he ignored me and won’t talk to me at all. I think he told me why he won’t speak to me in a Tweet today. I guess I deserve it. I should’ve bottled it up, as I’ve always done. Nothing will ever change for someone like me.

Am I sorry I told him? Yes and no, Yes, because I feel more alone now than I did before. No, because I proved to myself I actually could ‘fess up like a normal person, and maybe it will serve him well somehow. I imagine, though, he could do far better, and gets other hussies throwing themselves at him. It is what it is.

A Note to Anonymous

Not that it matters even if you were to believe me, but yes, I am in love with you. If I had the chance to be with anyone on the planet, it would be you. Even if you are kind of sexist and a Trumper…I’m sure you have your reasons, especially for the former thing. I’d listen to you, even if it would be a snow day in a hell full of Rush Limbaughs before I could see myself feeling nothing but contempt for Trump and a tiny bit of pity.

I’ve always thought highly of you, but never allowed myself to go there until she left. It hit me like bricks, then. I try to hide it, pretend it’s platonic love, because I know you would reject me. And then when you were so kind to me on Thanksgiving, I knew there was no going back.

I’m assuming there’s a good 60 or more IQ point advantage over my paltry 96 IQ, but I’m fascinated how much brilliance and talent are in one vessel of humanity.

I’m in no way a positive to you: Irksome, dim, childish, a poser at writing, too avoidant, and ugly. But, unlike beautiful people, I have enough capacity within me to love you deeply. I’d be willing to be just your friend if you would let me. I want to be with you in any capacity you would let me.

Yours,

Lisa

In the Evenings, I Really Start to Despair

I’ve noticed the last few nights, my anxiety and depression worsen at night…and don’t forget the paranoia. I think every overheard conversation is about me, that everyone around me dislikes me and are out to get me some way. I haven’t quite hit the delusional train yet, because I’m aware it’s at least partially untrue. All my fears are exacerbated by the knowledge I have no one to turn to now.

I’m afraid every phone call is going to be the death knell, that someone is going to tell me something awful that I won’t be able to bounce back from.

And I desperately want someone to love me, but it’s never going to happen.