I don't recall when I last posted, and I'm not going to bother looking it up. Years ago, I'm sure.
In the time since, I've created a life that looks a little like this: I am a student at VCU in the strategic advertising concentration of mass communications. I've been married to Cat for about a year. I work at a Barnes & Noble on my campus. I work on the side at anime conventions where I sell Cat and Deirdre's artwork, and contribute a little to the table in other small ways. I have written short stories for pleasure, but nothing that I really share with anyone. My family is largely out of my hair and appropriately distant and loving.
A thriving and successful life.
Here's how I feel: I am hollow and hopeless and disgusted with my whininess. I've just gotten the advice from a friend who is far more capable and thriving that myself that I should get over myself and cheer up. I hate that my writing isn't as good as I want it to be, and it never progresses. I hate that the best job I've ever had is working for The Man in a corporate bookstore taking over the world. I hate my major. The only reason I enrolled in it at all was to learn enough Photoshop to help bring Cat's artwork to better quality. I hate that my first year of marriage has been full of insecurity and fights and no money. I hate my spending habits, and that I can't seem to control them. I hate that I'm on Prozac. I hate that I'm in counseling. I hate that I wonder when I'm having a bad day, people who know about the anti-depressants just ask if I've taken my medicine. I hate that I was burgled recently. I hate that I've spent too much money on items that if I'd researched a bit more I could have gotten better quality and spent less of a dear enough resource. I hate that I whine about how much my life sucks when I know I'm supposed to be thankful enough to have legs and food and so on. I hate that I'm fat and ugly. I hate that I care that I'm fat and ugly. I hate that Cat keeps trying to call me pretty anyway, even though I ask him not to. I hate that Cat keeps telling that that he won't pressure me, then he has a fight with me about sex. I hate that I don't want to sleep with him. I hate that I still get horny. I hate my genitalia. I hate my fingers. I hate not having skills even when I study. I hate that I forget processes if I don't do them consistently. I hate that I still want to sleep with people other that Cat too. I hate that I can satisfy questions for others with tarot cards but don't have a sense of spirit in my own heart. I hate that I'm not as smart as I used to think I was. I hate that I'm jealous of my friends. I hate having so many possessions that I can't just leave whenever I want. I hate being a slave to stuff. I hate the smell of my city. I hate where I live. I hate feeling racism in my head when I make assumptions because of the neighborhood in which I live. I hate not being worthy of respect. I hate not being strong other than just heavy and weighty. I hate sucking at art. I hate being boring. I hate listening to other people who think they're awesome because NO ONE is awesome. I hate being female. I hate being human. I hate being alive.
I think I'm cursed. Or maybe I'm just a waste of skin. Or lazy. Here are things that have happened to me that I consider very bad things in my life:
In middle school, my family was evicted for failing to pay rent. I had to go live with my abusive grandmother for several years in a tiny town of scary-hood.
In high school, I was suspended from school because the bipolar girlfriend of a friend lied to the school counselors and claimed I was going to bring a gun to school.
After the previous incident, I dual-enrolled in community college. Halfway through the year, my mother found out that I was talking to one of my former friends and trying to patch up problems. She removed me from college and I had to finish my diploma at night school with the druggies and pregnant girls.
In my first attempt at college, I maintained a long distance relationship with Cat. Because I wasn't dating at VCU, my family started telling me to "test drive and trade up". This eventually led to the assumption that Cat was somehow BDSM mind-controlling me. I lost love and support there.
I failed a class in my first semester at university. Because of my bad grades, my family pulled me out of school. I broke down and went to live with Cat's family.
Eventually, Cat and I lived on our own in Blacksburg. I lost my job for being gay.
While we were unemployed and then later working for Burger King, Cat fell grievously ill. He spent two weeks in a coma, and a year or so recovery. Due to injuries sustained while IN THE HOSPITAL, he has never been able to run or be without pain since. No one has been willing to help us bring suit to the hospital, and now the statute of limitations has run out.
We moved back to the hick town with my family in order to try to recover my scholastic career. I went to community college. No huge problems there, except constant fighting with Cat, who was trapped in the house and not allowed to leave (did I mention an abusive grandmother?)
Since moving to Richmond and attending VCU, I've seemingly been perpetually in poor health. Our house has been filled with roaches and ants like out of a horror movie. No, more so. I took pictures that perhaps I should post in a more social mood. They smell really bad.
I've lost a friend due to a respect issue.
I've become progressively more insecure as I fall further and further behind the people around me.
I've had perpetual car trouble that saps my financial resources.
I've started doing more conventions on the theory of making money, but have perpetually lost more and more money.
This semester, I became very very ill for two weeks, and have lost part of the hearing in my right ear.
My house was burgled while I was asleep in it. No, I didn't have renter's insurance. It had JUST run out from when I last purchased.
My mother has been in and out of hospitals, physical and mental, for the past two years. Periodically I'll get a call after the fact: "Oh, the reason that when you called home and couldn't get anyone is that your mother was about to kill herself and we didn't want you to worry so we didn't tell you until she came back."
My mother has turned into an alcoholic.
Cat keeps drinking, sneaking-like, around me.
I feel stupid and tired and angry and disgusting all the time. I feel insecure and hated by everyone around me. There are these amazing people I know, and I always feel like they are withholding from judging me just because they are kind people. I hear how they talk about other people with kind, sympathetic irritation. I'm quite sure they use that same voice about me when I'm not around, or simply don't say what they really think.
I want to die. I've wanted to die so much this year. I keep thinking it, feeling it.
I keep thinking about who should have what from my possessions. I want to give people things constantly, wrap things up tidily. I keep fantasizing about stepping in front of a Richmond city bus. They've already killed a couple pedestrians, right? But the chances of living are still too high. I don't have access to truly murderous drugs. And bleeding to death is so over-dramatic. I wish there was a death clinic that I could pay to clean up the body. But even countries that permit suicide require that you have some deathly disease. What about "failed at life and doesn't contribute to the world in a meaningful way"? Isn't that bad enough?
I'm tired all the time. I don't sleep much, except when all I want to do is sleep. I'm so tired and I wish I could die. I wish that Cat at least saw me as something other than an irritant, or full of myself, or stupid, or whatever it is. I wish he would cuddle me and tell me he loves me and would take care of me like I took care of him. I wish I had taken enough care of him when he needed it. Maybe he wouldn't feel this way about me now if I had.
Damn, but Trotsky had some intense eyes. Maybe that was the crazy leaking out.