PS, wrote some more on the Trump article. Takes me forever to do anything.
My neighbors are arguing again. I long for the days of Danny, boring 50-something year-old Danny. Huge, with no love interest to get into a fight with. These folks are young and loud. From their voices, I believe there’s 3 of them sharing a one bedroom, or at least, someone’s staying with them. The women have got into drag outs before and the one attached to the man, explodes at him. On New Year’s Day, there was an argument between two guys up there, and it sounded as though they would come through my ceiling.
I honestly wouldn’t care as long as they don’t kill each other, but for the miserable fact that I’m paranoid they will say something bad about me and I’ll overhear it. Yes, my head is indeed that much up my own ass. I’m sure being a stereotypical Caucasian cat lady gives them a few guffaws, but I live in perpetual fear that someone’s going to cause me trouble for feeding the stray cats. I’m so scared of losing agency over myself.
The horrible experience of living in that nursing home two months is something I haven’t gotten over. Some things are harder to build bridges over. My family and friends abandoning me, having to beg and throw money at my roommates to make them want to take me back, it just doesn’t go away. I need to transcribe in full my diary I kept when I was in the home. It might be amusing. I started to, and then stopped as my roommate situation grew more volatile -I got over that kind of, though it took me about 4 years to remove the one I cared deeply for off my Facebook friend list. Even though I knew he was evil, there was still a part of me that yearned for the good times. I missed him for so long. I was in love with him even though he was mega gay and had something. The period between February 10th through Easter reminds me of what happened during that time in 2012. I wish I didn’t spend my life obsessing that it will happen again.
I caved and burped for the Burp Perv who follows me on YouTube. If he never comments again, I’m not doing it anymore.
I almost went to an OCD support group today, but I got on the wrong bus. I was almost relieved. You can’t be disliked if no one knows you’re alive. There’s a voice in my head, not an actual hallucination as it comes from me, that tells me “Everyone hates you. You won’t make any friends ever. You’re fat and ugly, and you have a shitty personality.” You know me, always big with the Daily Affirmations.
Even on social media: “People think you’re shit. You’re boring as fuck. Stop pretending you’ll ever amount to anything.” My mind,just gallons of charm. Even when I see neighbors: “They all hope you get evicted. They think you’re ‘special.’ Please step on a land mine.” Fun.
Anyway, in case you weren’t here in 2011, this is me reading posts about the death of my mother.
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