My day started in a good mood. Manic, almost. I went to the shop and of course R and Kenny were in bad moods. Ha! It never fails, even with my beloved Bex, ass trash . And while she gets it, the others around me think I am being a mocking bitch, as if to say, “Look, you’re down and I’m happy about it.” Can’t get it right.
After I came home (I only stayed an hour because that’s as much human contact as I can stomach) I got a knock on the door that sent my anxiety soaring and my OCD into hyperdrive. My place with cited by the code inspector for too many cats and a messy yard. Ass Trash.
I’ve picked it up three times. The kids just bring their trash and leave it in the yard. The cats, well, I have gotten rid of three, ffs, and I put mine inside. I can’t do shit about the ferals. And the maintenance man/devil incarnate said, “Well, I’ve been setting traps and I’ll bring my dog over here to tear ‘em to shreds.” IDIOT motherfucker. Hate people like that. You’re fine with a dog, but you have issues with cats? You’re okay with animal cruelty? Waste of oxygen, as far as I am concerned.
So now I am jumpy and paranoid and my brain is obsessing about it non stop. I TRY so fucking hard. I can’t get it right.Reminds me of my old apartment, after my near death from a med interaction and week in the hospital. My idiot landlord said my housekeeping was bad. DUH, I have lower standards than someone who lives on the ritzy side with a fucking maid. He made me get an independent living advisor to keep an eye on the place. She, and her boss, came in over and over and said it looked fine to them. He evicted me.
Can’t get it right.
I try. I fail. I wonder why I bother.
And the kicker is all these people who are so willing to pass judgment refuse to acknowledge my illness is legit and I might occasionally need some help during the depressions so things don’t get out of control. I’m willing to admit I am in over my head sometimes. I even offered my sister money back in August to come help me and she refused. She’s too tired.
This is the stuff that leads me to despair. I am willing to ask for help, no one is willing to lend it. But they are sooo fast to judge and criticize. Weird thing is, if I purposely walked into a tree chipper, I’d have visible wounds and they’d all clamor to help. But mental illness isn’t real in their world, it’s a character flaw.
Is it any wonder I prefer the company of cats and kids? They don’t judge.
Another irritation…Now that I am on the mood upswing, suddenly R wants me around the shop. Cos Kenny is working and he has no company, and my current mood amuses him. Yet during my darkest hour…He didn’t want anything to do with me. Kinda like when we lived together.I’m good as long as I’m not sick, then it’s time to shun me.
I sometimes wish I could sue them all for the emotional trauma they inflict. They’re clueless as to the damage they do. Intentional or not. I mean, how the fuck do you think you get damaged and have personality disorders and unsavory traits? Usually because something has happened often enough to brainwash or traumatize you. Or people ostracize and fail you over and over again. THEY do the damage and I am the one stuck with all the dysfunctional labels and it’s me who has to clean up THEIR mess.
I am not absolving my own faults. But I sure as hell didn’t give myself an inferiority complex or fear of people. That would be nine years of being called names, spit on, and bullied for no reason other than I didn’t fit the redneck mold. You move on, but you never get over it. I am the posterchild for “bullying is not “kids will be kids”. It is NOT harmless.
Nor is being rejected for having an illness.
****Did I link to you enough, Rebecca? :p