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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

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

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

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. 

Image from Google Play

 

 

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!

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?

 

Image from photosforclass.com

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I Originally Put This on Facebook

​I went to a Tim Kaine rally the day before the election. This is just a guess, but I think maybe 100 to 200 people showed tops. I’m almost certain they were  in a much better financial class than me (not difficult to  be since I’m on disability, but I surmised most were well off) and I saw maybe 4 minorities in all in a predominately black neighborhood.

 I knew we were going to  lose. 
There were certain variables, however, which made me hope I was wrong:

It was 3 pm on a Monday, when most people are at work or waiting for their kids after school.

Tim Kaine is a very nice person, but about as interesting as paint drying.

Other variables to consider, which made me  believe I was right that we would lose:
Donald Trump came to my town twice campaigning. Twice.  While we aren’t exactly a small town, we aren’t a big metropolis either. He made a lot of people believe he gave a damn about  them, which is laughable but true.

Hillary didn’t come here once this time. Where else didn’t she show up?
Trump rallies are circuses. People like a show and a place where their resentments can be openly displayed.
Hillary had baggage, big baggage. The emails. A huge segment who took their ball and went home when Bernie lost.
Hillary is no Obama. Few people possess the charisma, eloquence, and grace under pressure that Obama has. Likely, there may never be another person quite like him in politics while we are still living.
People underestimated  the hatred a huge population of Americans have for Obama. I didn’t, but a whole lot of people did.  The racism might be hidden under the surface, but  many  people think why am I working, while the ‘other’ gets all these benefits. If you don’t believe me, read any forum where someone mentions a question about her  government phone, food stamps, anything that might keep a poverty-stricken person from  falling through the net. Is it any wonder that Trump can mock a disabled person in front of his masses of supporters.

OK, I’m done. If you actually read this, wow thanks! (Don’t unfriend me)

2016: Blood, Sweat, More Blood

Is it just me, or has 2016 gone down as one of the most awesomely horrendous years in history?  Well, post-plague, post-Hitler, post-mom croaking anyway. It was bad. Can it get any worse? Probably.

I’ve been treated for bed bugs three times, the last time was today. They aren’t all dead. I fully expect a bed bug or two to  outlive me, enjoying the last flowing drops of my lifeblood on my death-bed. #Optimism.

Philippe, my cat of 15 years, died in the early morning hours after Mother’s Day.  A friend kindly offered to allow me to bury him in her yard among her feline deceased. I wrapped Phil’s mortal remains in a sheet, taped him up in a box, placed the box in a vinyl laundry bag, and boarded the bus for her house. No one knew on he bus, but someone was singing  Amazing Grace, a funeral favorite in my family. #Icantmakethiscreepynessup.

And well, Donald Trump  got elected. I just knew he would. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe it will just all be a real hoot. Maybe under the narcissistic, sociopathic facade lies a heart of gold. #Seigheil.

My Mom and I Waited for Calamity

Mother’s dead five years today. The ache is dulled, but there. I feel it should be an eternal darkness over my soul as a justice to her and to atone for my flaws. Why did it end this way?
We worried about each other always. My mom fretted if I stayed at the pool after dark lest someone come molest me. The gazebo they built out at the back of our complex, she begged me not to go lest someone molest me. When I’d talk about how I’d like to have a driver’s license  to go to things at night, like fireworks at the beach…You shouldn’t go alone.
Don’t go too far from the shore. Don’t even taste alcohol. It’s in your genes!

And the big joke was that I was worse than her. If I couldn’t find her in a store, I panicked. If she went out alone, which was rare, I’d warn her to lock her doors and be careful. I was sure she’d die in a car accident. On the rare occasions I went over to a friend’s house overnight, I’d call twice . If she dropped me off for a day somewhere, I’d call to make sure she got home. My greatest obsession was my mom.
I miss her advice. I miss her always on my side. But I’m also glad to be free. Free from her worries, free from mine over her.
I’d give back my liberty though to be with her again , but it’d be nice if we could’ve been less dependent on each other the next time around.