A balancing act

I'm angry again. The numbness has worn off. I miss it. It's no wonder that I was such a stellar citizen when I had a drug habit. I needed that shady underbelly as an outlet.

I now understand why I'm so angry. It's empathy that pisses me off. I have ruined every aspect of my life in favor of trying to keep this family together because I love these fucked up dysfunctional people. I feel their pain. I give up everything to try and help them. I'm angry because they don't deserve any of it. They don't deserve my love or empathy or help. They blame me for things that were beyond my control. They blame each other. They are trapped in a cyclical abusive dance, and they push me to dance with them every day. I'm angry with them for not making an effort to change. I'm angry at the system that causes so many like us to repeat the same process. But mostly I'm angry at myself for sacrificing every opportunity I've had to break away from this family. I'm angry at my friends for telling me not to return here, even though they were right. 

I think a lot about the things that are missing from my life, basically everything. I've kept my nose so clean that I have no outlet for these emotions. Albeit delicate, I managed to strike a balance when my former employer rescued me from obscurity and gave me a purpose. It wasn't perfect, and I still had a hole to fill, but it was direction and focus and it kept me busy. There was a way to channel some of this energy into something productive instead of allowing it to fester in my brain the way it is now. Every day is the same exact battle, and I am so tired of fighting it, but I didn't leave myself an out. I burned every bridge to another option. If I can't save it, 'm going down with this ship.

So, I am angry. I am so angry that I could explode. I'm afraid to work on the book. Remembering the past just makes it worse. It makes me hate them. I know that hate is never the answer to anything, but I need to finish the book. I don't know if it will solve any of these problems, but maybe it will free me from this overwhelming guilt and obligation I feel towards these people. I am afraid to feel more anger. I don't know if I can be strong enough to keep myself from being overcome by hatred. It's not the book that scares me; It's me.

Comfort in dark places

I wrote about my first childhood memory. It's the first complete chapter I've ever written, the first time I felt like I didn't need to keep something open for editing. That was three weeks ago. I haven't been able to touch the computer since then. 

I thought I would be weepy, but the more I remembered the less I felt like crying. I just felt numb. I feel numb. Well, sort of. I mostly feel numb. The rest of the time I feel either anger or hopelessness. I fantasize about sitting in front of my family, pulling out my loaded gun (which is funny since I have never actually loaded it) and shooting myself in the face while they watch. That doesn't make me cry either. In fact, it fills me with a satisfaction that feels selfish and naughty like setting something on fire.

Gimme a break.

I have no love for 2016. 

I keep examining the decline of my happiness. I had no delusions about returning home. I knew that this would not improve my emotional state. I also knew that I would be lost and plagued with guilt if I completely severed ties with my family. It was a difficult choice. Not unlike the upcoming election, I had to settle for the lesser evil. That's what I thought I'd done.

The longer I remain here, the less I value my life. Many of the things that brought me joy gradually disappeared. Others lost their magic. I occasionally still play xbox, but I have so little time to myself that I feel like I'm forcing myself to play. It's not fun anymore. What made it fun was the company. Now I have no place to host a group of friends, no time alone or privacy to enjoy a friend's company and no money to go somewhere to hang out. I have been without income for months. I am sick of relying on charity. It's humiliating. 

I have never wanted a job so badly in my life. I thought that keeping my mother healthy would be its own reward, but  I also assumed that I'd be able to at least work part time. I didn't realize that I'd be a full time babysitter and referee for adults who act like children. The arguments and tantrums are so damned silly, and the only way to shut them up is to remind them that I gave up everything to be here. I have a right to be more pissed off than either of them, but I don't bother because it doesn't solve anything. All the fighting is stupid. I'm sick of it. I'm the youngest person here, and I'm always the peacemaker. Does that make any sense at all?

I need a break.

The longest day

This alternating between seething anger and semi-suicidal depression is starting to seep into my core. I can no longer distinguish whether this is a mood or who I am anymore. I live only to serve. I subject myself to constant scrutiny at home every day, and now it also comes from the outside. Friends I have lost contact with are now hurt by my inability to keep the lines of communication open. I don't feel capable of doing anything about it. I have absolutely no desire to talk about any of this, anything going on in my life with anyone. I don't want to hear anyone's opinion. I don't want anyone's criticism. I get enough of that already, more than my fair share. It seems that the hopes I've locked away for safekeeping aren't buried deep enough. I'm not sure why I feel like everyone wants to attack me. Maybe it's life trying to shake me awake. Maybe I'm just going crazy.

I am not a fighter. Fighting has never served me. I withdraw. When one is surrounded by people who know nothing but fighting (and who are so much better at it than me), one learns to absorb the blows. Eventually they will get tired of attacking. Then, there will be a moment of peace to try and reach them... followed by more attacks once they've rested. I know what historically happens to people who don't fight. Yes, they are eliminated. Fine. At least then I can finally have  peace. 

I always believed that if I just loved people they would eventually be kind to me. It doesn't appear to be true most of the time, but there are occasional moments when I think I've broken through. They think that I am weak because I won't fight. Well, I say it is them who are weak because they can't see what's right in front of them. They fight without knowing what it is they're fighting for or against. In the end, nobody wins a war - both sides are damaged. No matter how this all turns out, I want to know in my heart that I did what was right and good. Perhaps that will be enough to keep me going as long as I am needed. I will not fight. It is pointless. My family is constantly arguing about who is to blame for the current state of affairs. Duh. We all are. My mother's health and finances are her fault. My brother's finances and unresolved anger are his fault. My finances and depression are my fault. I could've stayed away and held on to the tiny bit of peace I had. Yes, I blame myself for coming back here every damn day, but that was my choice. I'm stuck here taking care of her because I chose to do it. It's not that I wanted this specifically, but I cannot live with myself if she goes to a home. I spent many years witnessing what happens in those places, and I would feel like a cold and heartless, self-centered spoiled brat if I didn't at least try to help. My discomfort is the consequence of that decision. Whatever ruin I am subjected to is a consequence of that decision. I am no stranger to bad decisions. I don't fear them. I don't fear much these days. This is my duty. Of that I am certain. That is all I have. The rest be damned. And it is.

Dear Lottery Fairy,

Mom's bored. She is trying to figure out a way to get back to the Philippines and carry on with the McCoy-Hatfield style family rivalry they've got going on there. She's got some money stashed in a bank there, but not enough to justify the inconvenience of travel abroad for someone in her condition. She keeps talking about the money as though it's more than what we've already confirmed is there. In fact, there is only enough in the account to cover the trip. 

The biggest problem with that is we have no way of getting there. I can't drive for any of the rideshare services until my registration is brought current, and we've had no money for that. The cost keeps increasing the longer it's past due, but I have no way of making money until it is paid. Mom's got a bunch of overdue shit that I have been working on bringing current, and therefore all of my bills are unpaid and most in collections. My credit is shit. Now she's talking about taking this trip for some reason she's not revealing, which I am certain has to do with the rivalry, and I am sooooooo fucking done with the whole conversation. We've already completed the cycle twice this morning. She brought my brother into the conversation a few minutes ago, and it didn't take him long to see that she's got a hidden agenda.

My brother volunteered to go in her place of she buys his ticket, which she initially agreed to do. Now she wants to go herself. She mentioned to me a few days ago that she was afraid he'd get shot if he goes to the farm. I told her that he wasn't going to the farm. She never mentioned anything about going to the farm until that day. She went on to say that the rival family was squatting on a parcel of land that she wanted to get back. I asked her if she considered selling it to them, and she protested. She said that she's waiting for the other family's patriarch to die so she could end the rivalry by removing them for good. I just stood there and looked at her for a minute. I wasn't sure if I was disappointed in myself for believing that she could stop being a greedy, mean-spirited gossip and clean up her act before she meets her maker or disappointed in her for completely disregarding the sacrifices I made to be here taking care of her and continuing with this crazy ass rivalry when it's so fucking obvious that we're drowning in bills and I am walking so close to my edge that I'm practically insane already.

I told her that the patriarch would likely outlive her, so she needed to think of another way to end the rivalry, preferably selling the other family the parcel of land they wanted so it could be done quickly and easily. Then it was her turn to be quiet, which is a rarity. She won't consider another option. She wants them off the land - the land that no one is using and hasn't been used by our family for decades. She doesn't have any plans to do anything with the land ; She just doesn't want them to have it. Seriously...

This is bullshit. I should've never come back here. If you are listening, Lottery Fairy, please get me the hell away from this crazy ass woman. I want to go back to school and get on witha a calm, relatively normal, pleasant life and let this crazy old bat go and chase her silly family rivalry to the grave. She needs a new caregiver who will travel because I will not be joining her.

Count the Days

I'm a good kid. You're a terrible parent.

There. My anger has a name. It does me no good, of course, to be angry with a person so helpless about things that happened so long ago. I cannot bring myself to speak the words because I know that it's cruel. I am not her. I believe that cruelty is unnecessary. However, I am still angry. That anger festers in my brain and my heart is shrouded in a sooty darkness. With every criticism, I feel it thickening. I look at ambitious people with an envy so deep that it makes me wonder what is happening to me. Once I have served my time as caregiver, I am not sure who I will be. 

Each day that passes chips away at the optimistic and hopeful girl I once was. I see no future. I see no reason to believe that there is anything good waiting for me. I live in a fantasy world inside my head every minute that I have free. All my creative energy goes into the fantasy. All my hopes and dreams are alive in the fantasy. It is the only place where they are safe. 

I have a few hours free three days a week. I often use them to have pleasant conversation with strangers at the store or play video games. The rest of the time I am an automaton, taking orders and doing the things that are needed to keep the old lady alive and well. It is much easier to be completely detached. If I don't feel anything, I do the job very well. If I don't allow myself to consider how deserving she is of kindness, which she is so apparently incapable of demonstrating, I have no problem with it.

She has no friends. I see why. Whenever she tries to start a conversation, I immediately shut it down. The only things she talks about are other people's shortcomings. She insults people. She gossips. No, I have no interest in participating in any of it. Do not attempt to involve me. If that's the only way you can carry on a conversion, then I guess we won't have any. I often change the channel on TV when she starts bashing celebrities because I just don't want to hear it. And so it goes. I am fulfilling my duties as a daughter, and that is all.

The Beanstalk

When I saw the neighbor's ice cream truck on the way home from mom's dialysis, I pulled over and bought some cheese fries just like the ones I ate for lunch every day in Jr High. He asked about mom, and I told him about her new dialysis port and the convenience it will afford her once the temporary one has been removed and healed. I'm just as excited as she is about getting her back into the pool and hot tub at the gym.

Rudy looked troubled, so I continued talking about the little things that mom and I deal with every day. He told me that I had a good heart. I said that I know this opportunity won't come again, so I must take it. Any other plans I have can wait.

Rudy told me that he lost his mom seven months ago to liver cancer. She was a breast cancer survivor, but the doctors didn't diagnose her liver early enough for treatment. They gave her eight months to live. She died two months later. He misses her; It shows in his eyes. I asked him a few relevant-but-not-prying questions to keep the conversation in motion so he wouldn't cry and feel embarrassed. To clarify, I don't mind if he cries, but he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who would be okay doing it. I understand much better these days that people need a release of these emotions. There's no reason to feel ashamed, but do many of us do. I have no idea what to do with the shame - theirs or my own. I don't know how to comfort someone who feels ashamed of their vulnerability, but I do often find myself in their company often. I suppose we hold space together by "coincidence" (which I do not believe in). We don't recognize anything in particular that is wrong with us, but we just don't feel right... or maybe we are okay and the world around us is broken. Whatever it is, it connects us on a much deeper level than anything that divides us.  At least we can agree on that.

Anyway, I told Rudy that I lost my dad in 1989 to cancer, and I didn't get the chance to care for him or be with him at the end. Although it is difficult to watch someone you love suffer, you want to be there to help in whatever way you can. Despite my intense admiration and adoration, my dad died alone and far away. I wasn't given a choice in the matter. This time it will end differently.