The Narc

My upstairs neighbors have lived up in their apartment a few years. Aside from the occasional fuckfest, where it sounds like they’re coming through the ceiling, and the scent of shitty skunk weed permeating through the entire building everyday, they’ve been model tenants.

Well, someone snitched. I expect it was the new white couple across the hall. There’s something about them. They look snotty, snobby, maybe northern (sorry). I can’t quite describe it. While they look far from cultured, they look like the creme de la creme of white trash Brahmins. I could be wrong. I look, act, and sound intellectually disabled, so people judge accordingly. I should be the first to know there are hidden unseen layers to people.

We all got a letter on our doors. ” If the smoking continues, we will do unannounced inspections and will terminate the lease and file eviction papers.” Paraphrasing.

I’m immensely paranoid that I still smell pot, that management will come and throw me out too for other reasons. If they try to come in on me, I will cite the lease that says reasonable time must be given, that I’m not the one, and that I want my worker to be here if they come in. Lord, give me strength.

I will be afraid every time I go out now that they’re coming in. My worker took me to the store today, and when I came home, my cats were hiding. This made me suspicious that they’d been there. I checked my door at 5pm as I do everyday, paranoid I’ll find something saying they’re getting rid of me. It’s a constant obsession with me. Occasionally, I check more than once. Now that there’s a snitch, how long will it be before they start complaining about me too? I’d never find another apartment. My friend might take me in, but I’d be at her mercy. Considering she called me a lazy retard the other day for mopping my kitchen with pure bleach and then feeling respiratory issues, it would be best not to be with her all the time.

Still Convinced I’m Dying

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.

Fear of a New Decade

Last decade was the worst decade of my life. Highlights in case you don’t feel like flipping through almost 10 years of mediocre writing:

My mom died.

I realized friends, relatives, humanity in general will disappear or downright disown you in your hour of need.

I went into a nursing home for 2 and a half months just because there was nowhere else to go.

I almost got evicted.

I got bed bugs.

Instead of thinking that things will look up for the new decade, I’m certain this will be worse.

I’m scared that I’m dying. I recently had a kidney infection, the second in three months. The hematuria cleared up with antibiotics, but I’m still having stomach and back pain. I keep thinking I am in kidney failure. I am having weird bumps and itching. I used to worry it was bed bugs who had hid out without showing themselves in over two years. Now I think it’s just organ failure. I’m too scared to go to the doctor. If I start pissing blood again, I’ll go. I’ll probably die of sepsis one day just like my mother before me. Yay.

I keep thinking I’m going to lose my apartment, I will have to rely on my best friend, and will never have my own own home again. My friend will grow to hate me, throw me out, and I’ll wind up in a nursing home or on the streets. My dreams are filled with me losing my home. Sometimes, the dreams are that my mom just died again and I wake up in amazement that it’s 9 years later and I’m OK.

Well, thanks for letting me unburden myself. I could go on  about how I’m never going to be loved and my life will be remembered as meaningless if I do  fall dead, but I’ve had enough fun for one day.

An Average Orphan

Generally, I’m content in my solitude. My mother’s ashes are nearby, but mainly disregarded in the discount crematory plastic box. One day, when I have the courage to fulfill her wish to be scattered at sea. I can’t let go yet.

It’s the overt stuff that reminds me I’m alone. My social worker, the most tactful woman on earth said, “Don’t you have any family? Your mother’s gone? Not even cousins?”

No. But it’s not entirely true. I have some second cousins, but they made it clear as my mother lay in the hospital morgue that they wanted nothing to do with me.

And then I made someone mad while he was drunk and he told me I wasn’t his bartender, his mother, and NOT HIS FAMILY. We aren’t even friends, but he knows more or less, an outline of my life. While I can’t be certain, I think he meant to cut me to the core. Perhaps he is trying for my own good to excise the unfortunate feelings that crept up on me. Were I beautiful, an uber socialist SJW, and maybe 12 years younger, maybe I would  have said something to him someday…if he didn’t think of me as an ugly, naive sow.

It’s almost my 42nd birthday, and I’ve found out a few things about myself within the past week. Though the consensus of people I casually meet is that I’ m an imbecile, the truth is I’m average. My psychological evaluation says I have a 96 IQ. When I picture a 96 IQ, I imagine me in a MAGA hat with a Q-anon T-shirt, waiting to get into a Trump rally with some of his more gnarly supporters. But at least I’m not mentally challenged. I probably do have a learning disability, which is super nifty to know now that I haven’t been in school in 20 something years. My vocabulary is high average, my processing speed is borderline MR. Ain’t life a bitch? I guess that neurologist when I was 11 was right about me having mild cerebral palsy.

Though the psychologist only put unspecified learning disability, looking around Dr. Google, I think I have “nonverbal learning disorder.” It’s a little bit like being autistic without actually being autistic.

Egads, I also have GAD. Not terribly surprised by this either. I don’t have to obsess on something to be anxious, so I have 2 anxiety disorders.

I don’t have a personality disorder, but I have characteristics of both dependent and avoidant personality disorders. Charming.

Other fun observations include that I’m slightly older looking than I am, that my hygiene is ‘fair,’ and that I’m a troubled and insecure woman. Oh, and a bit of a hypocondriac, I despise myself, and I’m disappointed in my looks. Beautiful, Lisa.

“….but I’m not stupid.” That will be my mantra from now on.

I’m Really Scared

I don’t know why they haven’t sent out a message to renew my lease. My lease expired October 4th, and I’ve read state law prevents landlords from not renewing leases without 30 days notice BEFORE the lease expires. I’m still scared though, and what if they hike it up since last year’s hurricane destroyed cheaper apartments in the region.

They’re rolling out a new form of Medicaid, and one wrong choice could ruin my special assistance I get from Medicaid. I’d call my social worker, but I can’t stand that woman. I called Medicaid and they’re going to send me a form to stay on “direct Medicaid,” because I have “behavioral health issues.” ‘Behavioral Health’ sounds twice as bad to me as ‘mental health, but what do I know?

Then what really upsets me is I get roped in to watching my ‘friend’s’ 4 dogs for 2 weeks while she goes to Nova Scotia.She never bothered to tell me it would be 2 weeks instead of one, how much bus money she’s leaving me, who do I contact in emergency. I doubt unless she gets an international plan, I could contact her, and she doesn’t want me to sully her Facebook with my presence. So yeah, I get 2 weeks of Diverticulitis Poppy shitting up my friend’s house with her loose excrement everywhere and Dudley the smelly shitzu who won’t stop licking my face no matter how many times I push him away. The two other dogs are fine, as is her cat.

OK kids, here’s a helpful hint: If someone used to be your mental health nurse wants to be your friend later, she may be planning on using you. I should have known years ago when this first happened that it’s never my charming personality.

I can’t handle all of this at once. The uncertainty of everything.

Pass

Now that she’s met someone, she’s asking Someone if he knows anyone for me. I told her no thanks. The thought of having to meet said Somebody if she had been successful is terrifying. I’m sure I would fuck everything up. I can’t pass for normal no matter how hard I try and my looks don’t help either. Imagine having to invite someone into my dilapidated apartment if we became that close, or putting up a conversation, or admitting I am on disability. What if he thought I was an idiot, or I thought he was an idiot? I can’t even imagine. While I don’t want to die alone or as a virgin, no. Just no.

Water Leaking Light Bulb

About to have a psychotic break. I had to call maintenance just now because there is a steady stream of water coming down from the light bulb in my bed room closet. This will be the second time in a month I’ve had to call them for a water related issue,the first was air conditioner related. I called about 15 minutes ago. My anxiety is rising to a crescendo. Dammit, why won’t they come? This is kind of an emergency. I’m scared. What if it’s my neighbor’s water heater about to blow? What if my neighbors get upset I didn’t warn them first? My apartment looks OK right now by my standards, but what if they throw me out? There’s a lot of stains on my carpet, walls, everything. Maybe maintenance is on lunch break and fuck everyone. I suppose I should wait until 4 to call back unless my water bucket starts overflowing. My neighbors are talking loudly. Maybe they found the leak. Maybe they’re mad at me. It’s still steady flowing. I think it’s their water heater. Would bath water leak that long?

I guess I’ll keep writing until someone comes or I have a heart attack and die.

Someone’s coming I think. Maybe not.

Keep talking.

I’d text my friend, but I’m trying to only have conversations with her if she texts first. Bad things have been happening between us. Both my therapist and shrink know about it, my therapist knows all about it. My friend, as you may know if you read many a post before I private it, has a problem with verbal abuse. Sometimes after particularly bad blow ups, I overtake my medication a bit. Not trying to die, but trying to sleep a long time. My friend found me like this, allegedly took pics of me passed out, allegedly called the cops (I can find no record of it), and allegedly stayed with me for hours. I think she’s lying about some of it. She wants nothing to do with me except when she has to over the cats. She called my shrink, but so did I. The story gets worse from there, but I feel I best not say more. But be assured, people know what’s going on.

I heard my neighbor on the phone, but I was too scared to listen. I will plug my ears for fear of hearing them say something bad about me. I have an irrational fear of people talking about me or telling on me or anything. I hope to god they know what is going on and don’t get caught smoking pot. I’m listening to Cardi B. to try to drown shit out. It’s still leaking. It’s been an hour. I’ll keep talking.

The PH was too high in the Family Pool at the Y. The lifeguard warned me. Maybe they had some kid do something unfortunate in there. So I skipped that and I only had a few minutes anyway, because I thought it was an hour earlier when I left the house. I sat in the hot tub for a hot minute, then took a shower. When I got out, my bus sailed away before I could cross four lanes of traffic. I had to call an Uber. This is the second Tesla I’ve rode in. I much prefer riding in a Hooptie, because I feel like an Untouchable chilling with a Brahman. Nice guy, wanted to hear about all the amenities at the Y as he spends most of his free time swimming and working out. Of course he does. When he isn’t flexing his pretentious car.

Now an hour and a half has gone by. Getting annoyed. Maybe I should see if the bucket is full. No, half full. The water is still flowing pretty well and a nice stain is beginning near the light bulb. At least that’s proof it’s not my fault maybe. Listening to Lana del Rey.

I’ve had the first part of a psychiatric evaluation, IQ included. I got tired of people thinking, or in case of my friend – saying, that I’m mentally challenged. I want to know if it’s true. Pretty sure I have brain damage, but full blown idiot, I think not.

My friend doesn’t understand why I would want this done. Am I trying to compare to her high intelligence, or do I want to have it ‘both ways?’ I just want to prove that I’m not as stupid as she thinks I am and to figure out why I am such a weirdo. I’ll be happy to come in at average.

The psychologist wears a Lurch suit and Converse shoes. I liked him right away. Most PHD’s are stuck up I think. This guy treated me like a normal person, spoke to me like a normal person, and I had a good rapport with him. This comes in handy if he’s giving you an IQ test. I asked him towards the end of the session what he thought so far. So far, I’m AT LEAST average. I got a couple of easy questions wrong in patterns, but then I seemed to right myself and get the harder questions right.

It’s been over two hours now. I think I’ve written well over what I should and I could keep going. Will update if I don’t float away.

Reefer Madness

Sassy the cat and I were walking back from feeding strays at the doctor’s office. What the hell is that, I think as I walk up to a felled street light. It is an old light on a wooden pole. The pole is snapped in half. Not a clean break, splintered everywhere, and the metal bent. Miraculously, the light stays lit even laying in the grass, working like a spotlight on the name of the apartment complex and the 5 mph speed limit. Someone was drunk, or experiencing reefer madness, or just being the average douche flooring it in between speed bumps. The OCD in me keeps whispering, “Somehow this is your fault. You did this. You just don’t know you did.”

someone must have

Bitchfest 2019

Feeling a tad morose. A wee bit lugubrious. A little low. She who usually only contacts me for a favor, hits me up to watch her dogs for the weekend. Mercifully, as bad as this sounds, she’s down from 8 to 4 dogs from the elderly ones passing away. God, that sounds awful, but 8 poorly behaved dogs is a lot to handle. Four dogs, one of whom has diverticulitis and shits up the house, is enough. It won’t be so bad, but as always, I feel she isn’t telling me something. Maybe she’s just having an impromptu beach weekend, but I have the feeling she’s sick physically, emotionally, or both. I wish everything wasn’t a game of having to surmise what is happening.

And the real bitch of the thing is I had her as a reference for me volunteering for Crisis Text Line… and CTL says they never received her reference. Though she says she sent it. I don’t even want to ask. Maybe it was too upsetting for her to do, maybe it’s a mistake. I just really want to be able to say one day I made a difference. If I drop dead tomorrow from one cheeseburger too many, there will be no noble epitaph for my life.

Lisa -Filled a void in her mother’s life. Then her mother died, so she fed some cats.

Oh well, life is what you make it, I guess. I’m up to 60 YouTube subscribers. Three are men into fatties and belching, the rest are people just being nice. Still, that’s more than I thought I’d get. If I get internet famous, who needs a useful life.

Another thing. I’m convinced my upstairs neighbors loathe me. I was sitting outside when the man came out. I said hello. He didn’t say hi back. Not the first time either. Then his significant other game along with their two kids.

“Who is that?” said one kid.

“Someone you don’t need to bother,” said the mother. Maybe she didn’t want the kid bothering me, but I felt dismissed as the crazy cat lady. No other acknowledgement. I once even introduced myself when she brought me back my alarming phone when I lost it. No reply except that she had been trying to go to sleep. Maybe they’re just pot smoking assholes.

But then I also fucked up. I’m pretty sure I did. There was a little pink drawing desk all muddy from being left outside. It was left in the hallway two weeks, so I figured it had been abandoned. Maybe it had not been. I use it as a bedside table since my mattress is on the floor. If I put it back there, it’s an admission of guilt. I feel bad. Maybe they hate me for that too?

Anyway, Happy Memorial Day weekend!

Twitching

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!