I privated a bunch of posts, but found this in my comments waiting for approval. I googled her name, and if she really is a therapist, she might not wish to come on as strongly as this. I’ve only had 3 critical comments in 12 years, no doubt because my blog is not widely read, but when they come, they hit. This isn’t the worst one. The worst was when someone said “I pity the people around you.” But this one, oh my… Maybe I am selfish and so off I don’t realize what a bitch I actually am. I really need to double down on trying to be selfless and try not to let my emotions get the better. If it is any consolation to anyone, I do dwell on my mistakes, and they repeat multiple times in my head. My mind could be far from my foibles, and suddenly, bam. I think this person was trying to be helpful, and yes, the person who said I might be a covert narcissist, is also herself mentally unstable, but… She’s not a narcissist, though, so she has that going for her!
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?
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.
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?
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.
I haven’t spoke with my BFF since the 27th. That is, I haven’t spoken to her where she deigned to reply. One day, I felt particularly desperate to not be alone, so I made small talk in messenger: “Hey, they shot an 18 year-old here the other day by the mailboxes.”
Nothing. Not even her regular, “The people living there are animals.” I guess I really messed up if I don’t get to hear her denigrate my apartment complex, the entire southeastern United States, or virtually everyone she ever knew.
I’m actually worried about her. I check Messenger every day to make sure she’s OK. If she needed something/someone, I’m confident she’d let me know.
I worry I will wind up an unattended death, or evicted, or with a life-threatening disease, and no one will be there for me. It’s an overwhelming fear.
I worry about my impulsiveness when I’m really upset, that I get manipulative the more upset I get. I don’t mean to, but it is an extreme character flaw of mine, and I really need to work on that.
I wish she didn’t think I tried to turn her boyfriend against her. I did no such thing. The one time he threatened to leave, he was fucked up, and she had been nasty to both of us on Christmas 2019. The other times, he cried that he thought she didn’t love him, etc, and I would try to convince him otherwise.
Yay! I’m sure now that kidney infection, or whatever it is, wasn’t killed by 5 days on Macrobid. I found blood the other day, but since then, the color has gone back to normal. I know I still have something going on though. I can no longer deny that the ache in my abdomen is my kidneys. If I see blood again this weekend, I’m going back to the urgent care. If not, I will try to force myself to go to my doctor next week. I’m supposed to go to get a yearly form signed anyway, so two for one if I can hold out for the form to get here. I’ll ask for a blood and urine panel.
If I am dying, I’d really just prefer to drop dead suddenly, thanks. I shouldn’t care as much as I do, because my cats will be cared for, and there’s no one left that can’t live without me. Apparently, however, the idea of having death knocking terrifies me. Even though my life is only marginally fulfilling, I’m not ready to give it up yet. It’s funny what little things make me happy: I found a Discord chat that actually finds me funny ( or maybe they’re too nice to tell me I’m annoying). I think I’m the only one there with an IQ less than 130, but every community needs a village idiot. I feel if I made someone somewhere laugh, I did a small service to humanity, and maybe I shouldn’t have been aborted after all.
My best friend has ESP. She hasn’t told me yet that she thinks I’ m dying. I just keep thinking back to the guy who saw my mom’s death 2 weeks before it happened, and who told me if I didn’t change my ways, I’d be dead by 48. I’ve dropped about 50 lbs since then, but I’m still fat, and my major joy in life is overeating. If I changed, he said I’d make it to 78. Maybe at 42 this is the beginning of my end.
My right arm just below my shoulder is pulsating off and on as though it is a separate being. For some reason, the occasional twitches and pulsations of my body are fascinating to me. I think it’s my nerves. Every few seconds comes the twitch, which lasts for a few more seconds. The pulsing is so fast, I can’t count how many times it pulsates. What a thrill.
Sometimes it’s my right eye, rapid like a bird beating her wings. Then I must capture it in the mirror or with my camera, my own private freak show. Fortunately, this twitching happens infrequent enough to be amusing to me and even calming. Look I’m still alive! There’s my brain misfiring again.
Starting in high school, I noticed in my left palm a vein that I could watch pulsate if I rested my hand just so on my desk. This must’ve seemed like a swell parlor trick to me because covertly watching my vein pulse also calmed me.
I twitch my nose also, but this is voluntary. But I’m so used to doing it that it’s more I have to consciously stop myself from doing it. It’s like twiddling your thumbs, except it’s my freaking nose. I also move my mouth too. Match.com here I come!
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.