Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Laments Of A Frayed Mind

I think any moron with half a brain knows that when I come a-posting, something's gone awry in my sad, sad little scenario. This time's no exception.

To say things have gotten shitty would only be the tip of the iceberg. Let us reveal it for the ship-sinking mass it truly is, shall we?

Never got to go to AC. Money was just not there, y'know? My luck just figures like that. Now I have to wait and see if another year's passing improves my odds. Not that this is one of the major things eating away at me, but ... just wanted to clarify that from the last entry.

I'm babysitting two cats at the moment, apart from my own. One (my Velcro's brother, Rubio) I've had already for almost a month, due to a bad run in with some brat's speeding scooter. Cracked his ankle. Now one of his other friends, Leanna, is massively pregnant and literally being eaten alive by large aggressive feral male cats. She's covered in painful-looking open wounds and in several spots, they've pulled out tufts of fur, the sick bastards. *sigh* So for her sake, and that of her unborn children, we need to keep her safe. So she and Rubio are also now with me. Now see, while Rubio adapted quickly and enjoys relaxing indoors for a change, Leanna's in a clausterphobic panic, desperate to get out. But we CAN'T let her out. So it's breaking my heart to see her this way. Most likely, it's because she had already picked a birthing spot and is now unable to get to it, hence the panicking. I feel for her--I really do--but she's really just going to have to look around my house and find a new spot. Which she will eventually. This is only the first day she's here. Also not a major dilemma, but it's not helping the stress factor.

Now for the first whallop--I flunked both motherfucking classes. Which were supposed to be the easiest shit ever: English Composition and Intro to MicroComputers. Why? Because I started skipping classes, back when I had yet ANOTHER horrific toenail infection, and then felt so self-concious and ashamed about my absenses, that I kept procrastinating my return. Until eventually ... it was too late. Again--pissing away two EXTREMELY EASY classes. More angry at myself I could not be. If not for the cats around, I'd be busy cutting. But I just don't want them to see that ... What this big shitty happen-stance means? My dad ain't helping me no more. Lost it all. The car he would have bought me when I finally learned to drive, my medical insurance, my therapist visits, the classes that I need to retake, and any future classes I WAS going to take. It's all gone. All of it. Poof. I was finally going to get to take my major--Intro to Game Developement. I was fucking THERE ... and now it's gone. I'm fucking devestated. I've done nothing but sob and cry all day long. That doozey, alone, would be enough to render me grief-stricken ... but typical of Murphy's Law, it gets MUCH, much worse.

Now my dad--the son of a bitch that was never even THERE for me until he wasn't a fugitive of the law anymore within only the last few years of my life--has the fucking balls to try and give ME an ultimatum. Either I find a job within two months, or I'm being forced to move in with him in Orlando and work for his company. What the fat flying fuck?! What FUCKING white shining horse does this motherfucker assume he rode in on to try and tell ME what to do?! Yes, I understand that I've been mooching his money (again, because he practically begged me oh-so-long ago to accept his help and involvement). But let the fact that he's cutting me off be punishment enough. This is my shit. I made it. From my own bowels, and pinched it out of my puckered asshole. Therefore, I'M the one that needs to clean it up. Me. I know where the mop and bucket are, thank you very fucking much. I can get it myself. I know he just wants to help. Seriously. But he's being no better than my chokehold grandparents. It's not help offered. It's help forced. That's bullshit. And then when I'm crying--PLEADING--for mom to bail me out of this mess as she ALWAYS has done when my dad is getting out of bounds ... guess what? She takes his FUCKING side. Let's him roll with it. And then comes to help impose the law by making sure to punctuate every available moment, that my dad is fucking serious about driving down here, packing up my shit himself, and hauling my ass to Orlando. This is all so fucked up, it doesn't seem real. I feel like this can't be happening. Like some sort of sick sleep deprivation induced nightmare. But it's not. Oh, that should be the worst of it. It's not.

YESTERDAY, I got into a huge scenario where I tried my fucking hardest to wash my mom's car to earn $10. By myself, because Juan didn't show up til extremely late and as badly as I needed the help, I couldn't wait for him. I can't bend over for more than a few seconds at a time. My weight and poor body condition just don't allow. It's painful and exhausting. But I needed that money so bad and I'd been able to do it before. In the end, though, it wasn't up to snuff. So she asks me point-blank, "Why'd you offer to do a job you know you couldn't do?" Whether it was meant to be cruel or not, that hurt me. I really tried my best. Honest to Christ. But the way she said that made me feel like my best wasn't good enough. You'd think she'd at least give me half--or one fucking BUCK--for the effort and stress involved in giving it my all, limited as it was that day. She KNOWS I've been able to do it before. I don't even get a little mercy for a painful body condition. I lose my composure and blurt out something I know I shouldn't have--"What do you want me to do then? Suck some cocks behind Burger King for cash?!" She had a right to be mad about that, I'm sure. But I had just finished putting blood, sweat, and tears (literally) into trying my damndest to do a DECENT carwash with NO sunlight and poor health, only to get no sympathy and my feelings hurt. Granted, I could have chosen something a little less harsh to blurt out ... but who thinks all that clearly at a time like that?! All in all, it lead into a HUGE fight with Juan when he finally showed up about how I had needed him to be here to help me and all of that, so I ended up going to bed angry that night. To then be hit with the previous whammies when I'm woken up the next day? How am I expected to stay sane?

So now on top of the fact that I'm being expected to job-hunt CONSTANTLY, I'm not getting said $10 until I fufill a new task--COMPLETELY clean my bedroom. We're talking vaccuming, dusting, the works. If you were to actually SEE this room, you'd know that such a task will take days. And I need that money for the weekend (Yasumicon is coming--free anime convention). How the hell am I supposed to fufill an ultimatum, accomplish a paid chore, manage to maintain enough gas in Juan's car to be ABLE to go job-hunting, AND look after this spazzing pregnant cat ... ALL with enough self-respect left by the weekend to actually ENJOY my convention on Saturday? I'm feeling like butter spread too thin across to big a piece of bread. I don't fucking need this.

I feel like I'm going to fucking implode. I don't think there are enough words in the English language to convey how I feel. Hurt. Betrayed. Confused. Resentful. Hopeless. Broken.

If my depression felt overwhelming before ... my life just got a whole lot worse.

I don't ... fucking ... need this.

Current Mood: helpless
Current Music: Default - Wasting My Time