The good news is my friend needs me to a degree, because she was really upset when I didn’t see a text when she needed moral support. The bad news is everyone I loved in this online friend group I had hates each other and I saw those people as my family. I feel completely alone.
It was 10 years ago today that my mother died. I only had one purpose in life and that was being her daughter. That morning I lost the only person who actually needed me. From that day on, I switched to survival mode. Ten years without a family and the knowledge that I only exist to take up space. It is what it is.
Everyone leaves or dies, or both. This year, the cousin who let me know I was disowned after Mom’s death, died. He lived to be almost 80. Did his conscience ever get to him? I’ll never know because I’m too much of a coward to contact his sister. I don’t want to be rejected again.
Also, this year, the last person who loved me unconditionally, died. Died in an accident with a drunk driver. I feel so guilty.
I can’t believe I’ve made it 10 years and am relatively independent. My life may have little meaning, but I’m still alive. I keep expecting worse things to happen, but I’ve always felt I was on the precipice of fate. One step forward and I could plummet.
Will I catch covid and die in a similar way to my mother? Will I step in front of a bus or will I just collapse one backday? Would anyone notice or care?
My friend is mad again because I didn’t notice a text. I sometimes wonder if she would miss me if I died or if she’d just find someone else. One thing I’ve learned is never to expect the same amount of compassion you give, and in one way or another, everyone leaves in the end.
The holy rollers at my primary school used to say that God strikes down useless people ( more or less) and that God only gives a few chances. It must not be true because I’m still breathing, useless or not. My mediocrity and lack of intelligence or beauty notwithstanding.
I took a nap and woke up disoriented. I asked myself where my mother was, where my friend was. I returned to reality. You’re safe. It’s ten years later.
My mother is dead. It’s not ten years ago. You’re not helpless and desperate anymore. Everyone’s dead or living far away.
I’m starting to wonder if the bites, rash, whatever is covid, kidney failure, fungal infection, cancer, MRSA, or staph. I doubt it’s cancer, MRSA or staph, but who knows. Isn’t MRSA more of a hospital disease? I think it might be fungal or an allergic reaction. Benadryl helps, but so does lotramin.
Everything is going straight to hell anyway. I feel like I’m about to be taken in front of a firing squad, shot, and no one will bury my carrion eaten body. I can’t stop the feeling of impending doom and being completely abandoned. Everything and everyone will die or go away. It’s inevitable. One moment everything is OK and then some Saudis knock your tower down, or a disease creeps up on you, or you say or do something unforgivable. But that’s just me. How are you?
Well, I think I’ve finally done it. Scaled the heights of neurosis and about to go to full blown psychotic. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration…;But only just slightly. My mind keeps flipping channels to see where my anxiety will land. It’s about time to sign a new lease, and per usual, I’m imagining them saying, “we’ve had complaints…we don’t want you.” Then my social worker tried to do some sort of unannounced visit, and I keep wondering why. Instead of asking her, I imagine she’s trying to take me off the program that allows me to be able to live here. But now my mind is convinced I still have bed bugs (it could be fleas, or hives, or disease…and I’d take all of the above before bed bugs). Every year, I think I see a nymph. Last year, I thought I saw a nymph in some apple cider vinegar I sat out to catch gnats. This year I thought I saw one in some dirty laundry as I was about to load the washing machine, but convinced myself it was a a spider, Something is going on with my skin. My back especially, but everywhere is itchy, and delusional parasitosis has come back. Sometimes it feels so real and nothing there (Bed bugs are so light, you probably wouldn’t feel one crawling on you, but my mind is fucking with me). I saw bubbles in my urine today. Take heart, Lisa, I said to myself. Maybe it’s just your kidneys are failing. Or maybe it’s covid, or maybe it’s both.
Part of me can logically trace back every fear to past trauma. Fear of homelessness, fear of being put in a home, fear of losing everyone and everything. I don’t think it will ever end, If I live to grow old, which I kinda doubt since I’m 235 lbs and covid is popping off fatties left and right, I’ll still be paranoid.
When the Delta variant takes me in her warm embrace, phlegm filling my lungs;
Don’t pretend any of you really cared. Don’t let them put me on life support.
Let me feel myself drowning. Let me slip into sepsis, so that I know how my mother felt all those years ago.
I’ve wandered this world alone, my friends are transactions. I was not meant for normalcy. Life is meaningless.
I would gladly oblige his not so subtle hint, but that dentist is working today, and he’s threatened to call the cops on us at least thrice. So the woods it was. Really, cat ladies can’t catch a break. Fortunately, Homeless Guy is never in residence in the day. Just in case, I fed them away from his home.
If my friend ever comes across him, she will give him hell. I’ve seen her several times pick fights with people she shouldn’t, and I would definitely number this disturbed fellow as someone not to anger.
She once almost stole a can of tuna from his stash and fed it to the cats for spite, but mercifully, she reconsidered. He wouldn’t know if it was me who did it, and unlike her, I don’t have a car to leave quickly in.
To be fair, he moved the cat food station two or three times before he destroyed it. But whenever she’s here, she’d put it back. Perhaps this is commonplace in homeless encampments when territory disputes erupt. The offended party destroys the other person’s property or picks a fight?
My friend was feeling charitable last night, especially since the woman she’s trying to befriend keeps standing her up. She actually came down to get me.
I felt familiar dread. If things go badly she’ll take it out on me. The first Waffle House we tried to get in, they were only doing take out due to their lack of staffing. We tried another: 30 minute wait. Cook Out: Too many people waiting in the drive thru. The McDonald’s by her house: closed. She launched into how nothing is ever open late in the south speech. She decided we probably shouldn’t go to the beach since there’s a lot of drunks at this time of night: midnight.
We went to her house and had watered down tequila. O. used to raid the liquor cabinet and refill with water what he drank. She went on about when I drank I was a drunk and about the times I took too much Ativan.
“I had my shrink reduce my pills by half the last time I did it,” I said, but she wouldn’t give me credit for that. Why even invite me for a drink if you’re going to moan at me, right?
I paced myself, taking about an hour to drink the glass of tequila and didn’t ask for seconds even though she had 2. After a bit, she decided she was OK and we went back to my apartment. She was pretty much sober, but was nervous, and told me not to let her do this again.
She decided we should feed the strays again. She asked me where I fed them earlier and I admitted to feeding them on this elevated meter. I’m supposed to feed on the porch at night to keep the ants off the food, especially since the crazy homeless guy who sleeps in the woods made it certain that he didn’t want the feeding station near his sleeping place. He had moved it a couple times before he destroyed it. He finallysmashed to pieces the plastic feeding station and bashed in the metal bowls. While we’ve never seen him, we see where he sleeps due to all the trash, blanket, etc.
“If I had a sharpie, I’d have written ‘I hope you die,’ on a piece of plastic. Probably a good thing I didn’t.”
“Yes, he might not realize it wasn’t me who wrote it,” I replied.
“Typical. Always putting yourself first. I was worried about him hurting the cats.”
By now it was 4am. She had put some food on the meter and I didn’t realize she was going to the porch. I should’ve gotten out and followed. She berated me for getting back in the car, that she could’ve used the support of me following her, that she had killed a 5 inch water bug. I had kept looking in the woods, knowing that a disturbed person wouldn’t be happy if someone woke him up.
She berated me until we got to my apartment. And that was my Saturday night.
And I’m sure people don’t like me, but that’s all for now.
I had to call maintenance to come fix my air conditioner. Per usual, I’m terrified. What if my apartment isn’t up to par or it smells bad? What if my bedroom door opens?
My worst fear is losing my home, but summer can be extremely brutal without air conditioning. They just put new HVACs in a couple years ago. What if they blame me for it going bad?
Everyday, sometimes twice a day, I look on my door for a note from management or worse. It’s an obsession of mine. I forgot to check the hallway for the odor of marijuana, so what if my tolerant neighbors get evicted and someone who will tell on me for every little thing replaces them?
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.