People-ing Is Draining

I’ve not left the house since a quick trip to the mini mart Friday and yet, I still feel people’d out. My dad’s incessant calls then a surprise visit from a friend (to his credit, he called first) and my brother tromping into my house this morning to take my kid to church, then text messages…I am not in the mental state necessary for all of this interaction. It’s weird because I can write half a dozen posts a day, read twice that many, click, swap comments, exchange emails-none of that bothers me, it feels nourishing to my soul and psyche. But when I am forced to deal with the mental health muggles-those who do not have our magical mental disorders therefore they can’t understand it- it sucks the life out of me.

But, yeah, R visited last night and brought my birthday gift. I was fucking blown away. I asked for a $30 optical sound bar for my TV. He brought me this huge set with a sub woofer and blue tooth and it was no $30. My immediate instinct was to say, “Oh, no, this is too much, take it back.” Because that’s who I am. Cheap and I feel undeserving. But honestly, it meant a lot that he remembered even if it was a few days late. He even brought me a 12 pack of baby Mangoritas. I am grateful but hey, he’s making $17 an hour so it’s not like being nice to me is gonna break him. I just know with him, strings usually apply and I never know when they might appear. And he absolutely gives zero fucks about what state my mental health is in, if he feels he is owed, then…I do it or there is a shitstorm and I have to go into hiding to avoid the onslaught of insults.

He stayed a couple of hours, mostly yakking about Trump and stupid democrats and all the money he is making while loudly playing Angry Birds on his phone. Sitting in the living room, putting on smiles I did not feel, rolling my eyes when I was really feeling that (You ever seen those K-pop fan girls? He is like that for politics and I just…can’t.) I just do don’t do this social thing and frankly when people are always on their fucking phones, what is the bloody point? Not to mention one of the main reasons I moved from the living room to my bedroom crypt is because of the noisy fucking trains. I counted TEN of them in less than an hour last night and every time, I’d jump a little at the whistle thing. We’ve been here two years and when it is one or two trains, it’s annoying but you stop noticing. But that many trains in such a short time span emitting such noise? I just remember feeling jarred, unsafe, and hoping he’d leave soon so I could return to my safe bedroom crypt. Away from all the noise.

I finally slept. Horrible nightmares but based totally on shit that has happened with people I know so…Give me a good chase with a knife wielding maniac over backstabbing gaslighting friends any day. I kept waking up, scared to go back to sleep, but too cold to get up and get a drink or something, maybe restart my heart from ricocheting off the walls of my chest. This repeated right up til dawn and I nodded off again, only for the alarm to wake me to get my kid up for church. And I still hit snooze three times, banged on the wall to wake her, and stayed under my cover, awake, unmoving. Not ready to face another day in shitty mental space. After she left I had every intention of just curling up under the covers and pretending the world out there forgot I exist. Then my brother stomped in and my dad called and it’s like GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK. And I am still supposed to get to town to get the veggie soup I half paid for that my sister cooked and I…The thought of driving all the way to town when I just have to do it again Tuesday for my shrink appointment seems like too much fuss. It’s like, yeah, I want that soup, but it sure would be nice if like since they are gonna be in town anyway, dad and stepmom would stop and fetch it for me. They’re always reminding how many miles my car has on it, after all, saving me a trip would be both kind and wise.

Kind and wise are not words I use in reference to them. Even on the phone stepmonster was in the background listening to our call and I said something to dad about always being cold and she’s mooing in the background STOP YOUR WHINING! Then dad made a comment about me being closer to 50 than 40 and I said, what they never tell you is that even if your body is that age, in your mind you’re pretty much the same as 20 year old with more wisdom. And again that fucking cow is mooing in the background about me growing up and stop crying. HUH? I can’t make a simple statement- even a positive one- and that bitch has to butt in. Yet in the last 5 months she’s seen 6 different doctors, had upper GI, colonoscopy, a Gyno, a ton of bloodwork cos her iron is low and her diabetes numbers are off….If anyone needs to stop whining and being a big wussy, it’s her. She’s two years younger than me, for fuck’s sake. Sometimes I swear she is just competing with dad to see who is in poorer health and the sad thing is, he’s 73 and still not at the doctor’s as often as her. We have all tried to tolerate her for the last 20 some odd years but honestly, she needs a fucking mute button. I can’t have a simple phone conversation with my dad without her insulting me and I am just burned out. Shut the fuck up, you fucking redneck TRrump loving cow. Oops, sorry to bovine kind. Kinda hard for me to find an animal I dislike enough to liken her to. Maybe a maggot or a slug.

See, all this people-ing has me ready to implode. When it feels like my doors are being stormed and I am under attack, I become quite like a cornered animal ready to attack. Except I am too damn tired. And cold. Yet sweaty. I have no idea what is going on with my body anymore. But I sure as hell am not gonna run up a $20,000 insurance bill for ten different doctors and dozens of tests because I’m hormonal and can’t get comfortable in my own skin. It doesn’t matter if insurance would cover it all, it’s the fucking principle. If you’re that fucking sick, go into the hospital and shut the fuck up, you hypochondriac. See, I am giving her all the empathy and respect she gives me. Which is none.

I know the point of this should be, hey, the witch brought you some sweatshirts so you won’t freeze and R brought you that kick ass speaker rig. People care about you, shut up, Niki.

I’d give up all monies and material gain if they’d validate my mental health issues instead of treating me like I imagine them.

Yes, I got more lectures from dad about the job thing. Yep, haven’t bathed in days, house is biohazard four, I lose my shit when people crowd me even by phone, and I can’t string two coherent thoughts together. I sound like an awesome, reliable employee for sure. WTF? Oh, right, he doesn’t want to validate that my mind ain’t right because somehow that would make it about his genetic code being flawed and that only applies to the males on his side of the family. My brother ‘has problems’. I am just lazy. Well, my brother may sweep the floors 15 hours a week at a burger joint, but he’s under their gaurdianship at age 24, can barely sign his paycheck, and has the emotional IQ of a third grader. I, on the other hand, maintain a household, keep the power and water on, the car licensed and insured, I am raising a kid, caring for pets, budgeting, banking, driving in town, shopping for groceries and making sure my daughter and I both have our meds refilled on time and make doctor appointments. Who seems more capable there?

Guess that is his point, if I can manage this much, then a job would be no big deal. They never are until about a month in when I start losing my shit from the pressure. Manic-dream employee- Depressed-resign or be fired. I am in no hurry to get back on that merry go round. When I go back to work, I want it to stick. Sadly, the only things I seem any good at are ranting, writing, spelling, and sarcasm. Not a big job market for those skills.

This turned into a disjointed clusterfuck real fast.

I am going back to Fort Blankie. My mind is racing too much to find any peace but sometimes just the ritual of staring blankly at the TV can slow things down in my head. Quell the rage. Dull the anger and hatred toward cruel people. Give me more time to think up reasons why I suck and am a terrible person. The usual.

Hopefully this hormonal hell ride will pass in the next day or two and I won’t be so…vitriolic.

And pray to the sacred pegacorn my shrink appointment goes well and something is done about my med regime because the Cymbalta ain’t doing shit. Oh, how I dread that glance down at my file, pages turning, and that resigned, “Well, Niki, you have tried so many…” As if I am not painfully aware of my medication resistance.

My goal for this week: get the house cleaned up, my new sound bar set up, bathe, and oh, write a semi positive rainbow spewing post. The latter is probably gonna be the hardest thing of all to do. Debbie Downer is kind of my writing brand, positivity is going against everything I stand for.

Challenge accepted.

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