I'm having a shitty day as of the last two hours or so, and I really hate posting depressing journal entries, because I generally like to stay positive, but I think I'm just looking for a quick outlet. If you're looking down at this wall of text and thinking "Fuck this..", I added some humor here and there, and I have a breakdown at one point.
I was having one of the best days I've had in a while, and my mom kinda' ruined it. Inadvertently, but she did. My dad's shift got laid off due to the recession recently, and he was moved to another shift for the first time in about a decade, so his hours have changed substantially and he can't do all the little things around the house that he used to.
My mom asked my brother and I if we could cut the grass for him, and I would have no problem doing that, if we lived somewhere cold, but the thing is, and up until now I've been very vague about this except for with my closest friends, I have a skin condition, one that's very painful and one that a dermatologist has officially diagnosed.
I have good days and bad days, but the summer months are miserable for me. The heat is just really, really painful. I don't say anything about it, though. I deal with my family poking fun at me, as they like to put it, and asking why I never leave my room, but it's because I'm always in fucking pain. I sit in front of the fan and I try to cool myself off.
The doc gave me these meds, and they were helping a little, but he said the only thing that would get rid of it not only costs $800 a month, but it's considered experimental and it's banned in many countries, with wonderful side effects like blindness, deafness, impotence, and in some cases suicide or death by natural causes. Think I'll pass.
So my mom asks us to cut the grass. It's simple, its something I used to do every week when I was twelve years old, and it's something the average person should have no problem doing, but like I said before, I'm sore even when I'm sitting here in front of the fan, so 80+ degree weather with no breeze isn't something I'm fond of. Not to mention the fact that I'm recovering from a sun-burn which gave me second degree burns, one of the side effects of the drug I'm actually on.
Instead of condemning myself to weeks of more pain than usual, I said "I'll do everything else. I'll do the dishes, the clothes, anything you want." Rather than think "That's convenient for me.", she sighs, rolls her beady little eyes and looks around the room angrily, asking me why I'm freaking out about something as simple as cutting the grass. That's why I'm 'freaking out' right there. It's something I should be able to do. I should be able to go out and enjoy the sun, but I can't. My family doesn't get that, and they don't give a shit. I know my dad cares, but he's silent. My mom could come in here and stab me right now, and I think he'd help her hide the body before he'd turn her in.
I used to think this shit was in my head, that my mom favored my brother, or that she didn't like me, but I've talked with both of my uncles about this, and they both said they felt really, really bad for me when I was little. She always put me down and criticized me, and she couldn't hit worth shit, so that's what left a lasting effect on me. She'd ask me to do something, I'd do it exactly the way she wanted, and then she would come in and re-do it herself, with her trademark sighing and eye rolling.
That's not so bad, it's actually kinda' funny to watch her and think "This.. this is a real person. Something made this and it lives." It's funny in that way, but eighteen years, no health insurance, and a fucked up skin condition later, it wears on ya' a bit.
When I said I would do all of that stuff, my brother and my mom took turns looking at me like I was crazy, but I wasn't going to go out there and burn myself again for the sake of shutting her up. So I did the laundry, and about half-way through that, my mom comes down, asks "What are you doing?" because the clothes in my hand next to the open washer isn't enough of a clue for her, or the fact that she just told me to do this. She came over, shook her head, and informed me that I had, in fact, used the wrong soap. Apparently, the soap used for the towels I happened to be washing is made from the tears of a baby unicorn, and should be treated as such, while the soap I
actually used was, rather unfortunately, made from the ball sweat of Satan. Somehow the baby on the light blue bottle and the teddy bear on the dark blue bottle confused me. Never again!
Then I started on the dishes while my brother got dressed and my mom said "I'll go help him. He shouldn't have to do it all." I had to do both yards every week from the age of twelve until it became too painful. Then I would make myself sick so I could stay inside. I've got a really bad cold at the moment, but it's the least of my worries and nowhere near enough reason for my mom to give a shit anymore.
As I'm doing the dishes, my mind starts to wander. I'm getting really frustrated and annoyed, and my family thinks it's because I don't like to work or I don't like this kind of work, I don't mind doing any kind of work. I'm accomplishing something, doing something productive, and it's rewarding in that sense, no matter how small or dull the job is for me.
I'm getting frustrated because I most likely have day after day after day of this to look forward to in my life. Explaining why I can't do basic things, why I would rather do more work from inside than less work outside. I'll have to try to get through the rest of my years like this and I'll have no shred of sympathy or understanding from anyone but the people who are reading this now, the people I actually give a shit about.
I'm getting frustrated because my mom's walking into the room every few minutes, either adding things to the list of chores with "Floor needs mopped," or plopping down on the couch and saying "Ohhh.. it's so hot. I can't take this." By this point, I'd punched myself in the forehead and stabbed myself in the hand, so my filter was gone. I laughed and said, in the most sarcastic voice I could manage, "Yeah, that sounds bad. Can't imagine what that would be like." She said "Yeah, it sucks." so either she has no idea what sarcasm and irony is, or she's just an incredible bitch.
It was around this time that she went to check on my brother for the fourth time and I began talking to myself. I didn't realize I was doing it, but I did it for a good twenty minutes, laughing randomly and holding back the urge to hit something. I was worried, because one of the narratives in my mind was sane, and was thinking "What the hell's wrong with me?" over and over.
After I finished the dishes, I went into the living room and paced back and forth in front of the TV, still talking to myself while the dogs looked on confused. I started going through a conversation as though I were talking to my mom, then I stopped, leaned against the door, said "What the fuck's wrong with me?" and proceeded to break down, sit in the floor, and cry like I was a little kid again. This has happened only twice in the past five years or so, and luckily Milissa was online the other time, because I was a mess and I couldn't form a sentence.
While I was sitting in the floor, Cujo came up to me and gave me the closest thing to a hug that he could manage with those adorable little T-rex arms of his, and that made me smile. Then the other two came over and tried to cheer me up, and it was working.. until the back door swung open and I heard, in keeping with the dinosaur references, "Keeevin!" in the shrill voice of a pterodactyl.
My eyes were red, so I ran to the bathroom and sat down in there to collect myself and try to figure out what the hell was going on with me.
I get it now, though. It was stress, the fact that I'm sick right now, and the idea that I'm going to be stuck in this house with her for a lot longer than I'd like to be, and every day's going to be pretty painful. I actually went up to her while I was mopping a little later and said "When you were younger, did you ever have a breakdown?" and she turned on the TV and said "Why?" I said "I'm all over the place today." Then she stopped talking, watched some TV and said "I'm gonna' go check on your brother and make sure he's alright." They're really lucky I'm not stupid enough to kill myself, because an emo kid wouldn't last long in my "over sized clown shoes." They'd lose their computer repairman.
This house is just getting way too crowded for me and I'm ready to leave. I'm thinking about calling up my uncle soon and looking into finding a place near him for cheap. All I need is four walls and a bed, because the rest doesn't mean shit at this point. Four walls, a bed, and some silence, and I'll be set.
Some Bad News 
Angsty
Lmao
Sociable
Adoration
