I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long. There were things I wanted to say, but I just didn’t have the motivation.
This year has been a year of ‘worst things I’ve ever done.’ I didn’t mean to be such a useless bitch.
I wanted to help them out of a bad situation, one 50 times worse than I could imagine. Child Called It level shit. And I made it worse. They misread a text I screenshot of someone asking to set an appointment and thought I meant the appointment had been set. A fight over wasted gas money wound them out on the street. I caused my worst fear to happen, but to someone else. They hate me and won’t accept my help.
I vacillate between that being my worse sin, and this one… Someone kept claiming I had made them suicidal, and in my anguished mind, I blurted out wait a few months and if you still feel like it, I’d go with them…It was said impulsively and I figured they would come to their senses by then. I can’t believe I just admitted that. I’m so ashamed. There’s no absolution for that, and while I’m not suicidal, I can’t get over what I said.
I think that’s why everyone’s favorite thot/ Dr. Phil aficionado labelled me a covert narcissist. Maybe that Only Fans skank/anti-vax conspiracy bitch was right. That, and in general I’m a Twitter Trauma Dumper. That could be why. I am mad though. It took a long time to progress to anger. I used to give that whore money to buy Devil’s Lettuce for her anxiety. (It’s legal there). This was before she started her lucrative career as a tatted up Only Fans model. Maybe writing that is narcissistic?
(I’d still take her back as a friend if she wanted me, though. She isn’t a bad person, just a bit warped. Aren’t we all? )
The bird/ rodent mites are still here biting me day and night. I have one dehumidifier and plan to get more to make it as unpleasant for them as possible. I have bifenthrin and neem oil I keep spraying. Have you smelled neem oil before? It’s a smell that’s almost citrus but also putrid.
I went to the landlady with K. who also was bit by this pestilence. Everyone knows I’m a head case, so I brought K. as proof that I wasn’t delusional. The landlady made all sorts of promises, but sent an exterminator who fell off the turnip truck. I don’t expect these folks to be entomologists, but come the fuck on, man. “The only kind of mite that bites is scabies,” he said firmly while checking my couch for bed bugs. I told him to Google it and that the attic crawl space should be checked for birds and rodents.
“Is it easy to get to?”
“I don’t know,” I said, seething.
Missing my entire point about ectoparasites, he told me my cats wouldn’t let them in.
And this is when I knew I was on my own.
K. thinks elderly Cat Man in the next building is smitten with me. He came with a box of cat food K. ordered from Amazon that somehow got placed in his truck. I myself wondered if this was some subterfuge to talk to me also.
During our conversation, Cat Man told me his wife, an agoraphobic, had passed away a year ago, that he worried what would happened to his cats when he died. He let me know he lost $850.00 a month when his wife passed away.
Oh my God, he’s looking for a replacement disabled woman, I thought. Still, I tried to vow to myself that if I ever saw him outside, I would make say hi in case he’s lonely. The thought of talking to any of my neighbors makes me anxious.
OK, that’s about it for now.