Bofa On My Sofa

I doubt most adults remember Dr. Seuss unless they have kids they read to.My kid has fixated on “Wocket In My Pocket”. And I have read it two dozens times.
The line that sticks most for me is, “That Bofa on the sofa, well I wish he wasn’t there.”
That’s how I feel about my mental issues, mood,anxiety,and personality disorders. I don’t want any of it here.
I’ve tried denial, self medication, banishment…
It’s the elephant in the room.
The bofa on the sofa.

I’ve been stressing and pissy and venomous the last few days. Feeling like I might explode if I don’t speak all that is bottled up inside. Because while everyone around me buries their head in the sand and focuses on their issues…I am drowning here. No one seems to care.
I tried to talk to R tonight. He just flung it back in my face. “How do you think I felt when I tried to tell you you were stressing me out and taking money I didn’t have?”
He thinks I am pissed because he told an ugly truth.
I am crying because he only speaks up fifteen years after the fact and I have asked him dozens of times the last three years if I do anything that hurt him. He said no.
NOW he says my sarcasm hurts and pisses him off and I should treat him better.
WTF?????
Seems like deflection to me.
But what do I know.
I tried in the past to do whatever it took to please him.It was never enough.
And surprise, it’s still not enough.
I try to be point blank and get the truth.
He pays lip service then when I am at my most vulnerable…THAT is when he decides to come clean. And rather than my snarky comments designed to be biting… He fixates on the very sarcasm I repeatedly told him was a defense mechanism.
Odd how he gets to remain narcissistic and self absorbed even if it hurts or offends me.
This defines every person around me no matter how well meaning they may be.
I bottle up the truth about how I feel.
They wallow and bury their heads in the sand.
My biggest flaw may well be indulging them and allowing them to feed on my limited mental resources.
R says I can troll but not be trolled. I tried to explain all I have ever known is being criticized so maybe a smirk or sticking out his tongue might clue me in. Even that is too much effort for him. I can be trolled IF I know someone is trolling and not being serious. I mean, I use the sarcastic “tongue out” emoti type thing or say “Trolling You”. I give a clue.
I am ranting. Because I am hurt and angry and irritated and..PISSY.

I suck. I can’t even go watch an ep of Dr. Who without it becoming some stupid drama. Which was never my intent or end game. It’s a defense mechanism and one that has served me well over the years. The bullies at school may not have been silenced by my snarkasm but it definitely slowed them down and confused them. I tend not to argue with something that served me well.

My tears have dried up. Finally.
My apprehension has not lessened.
But I said I would be there to help R in the morning and I will be. It will be a bitter pill to swallow but I have to choke it down. He said he would buy my kid’s Halloween costume if I help him. I am at the point where he could tell me to cut off my arm and I wouldn’t have an option. I have too many people counting on me while they wallow in their self absorption.
I have tried sooo very hard to be patient and sensitive. I am just exhausted from trying and fighting while those around me just…wallow in denial. I am scared because as much as I want to be a good,understanding, compassionate person…
The reality is that I am melting down, exhausted, stressed out, running on fumes and terrified of losing what little I have because I am not, in my quest to be kind, being forthcoming in some stuff. I am the one facing penalties still trying not to be hurtful while surrounded by those who simply seem not to care,
Being honest and talking solves nothing for I am ignored (just like my kid does me).
I am so…lost. Worn down. Feeling alone.
So sick of pasting on the happy face.
Now I am being castigated for my sarcasm, the only weapon I have in my arsenal. Which I have explained ad nauseum to perhaps the ONLY person on Earth who doesn’t get it.
Okay, I visited Mangoritaville and am making no sense.

I get it. I am bad. I am evil. I SUCK.

I just don’t believe it deep down.

Fuck it. I am worn down enough all I want to do now is cuddle up in bed with a cat.

Cats don’t judge or hold grudges or need their quirks tapdanced around. They are simple- meet their needs and they are good.
I want to be a cat.

I know, I am sad, pathetic, and need to get a life.
I am the devil. I suck.
But I am trying to be honest, no matter how untrendy that may be.

The bofa on the sofa… Well, I wish it wasn’t there.

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