I’m thinking this is my last post for a while.
I’m hurting. Every day there’s a new situation that just drives home how little I matter. How abnormal and unfit to be around others I am. Meds didn’t help. Missle hates me. She vents to That Geek all about it. Then he shares the choice bits – in the hopes that I will fix things – and I stew. I obsess. I self analyze and realize I’m the problem.
My brothers wrote me off. People that I think are my friends are just people I happen to know. Or they have so much going on in their own lives that I feel like I really don’t have a right to add to their load.
I say stupid things. Over and over and over. I’ll get told this, so I’ll just stop talking. Which makes others uncomfortable. If I separate myself so that people aren’t uncomfortable and I can catch a breath – and I don’t say “excuse me, I am overwhelmed, I’m taking a time out” – than I’m “hiding.” Never mind that IF I excuse myself there’s probing nosy questions. Never mind that I always feel like the outsider. I’m breaking rules that have been set for me that I didn’t know existed.
That Geek doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want to kiss or be kissed. He doesn’t hug me. Or talk to me. I feel like a barely tolerated room mate. We haven’t been physical in over six months. When he does talk, he wants it to be about his classes, at home. So he can dig out his notes and it’s easier for him to process what they’re teaching.
I’ve scratched the skin on my arms open. It looks like I’ve got chicken pox. I can’t stop digging. I start projects, find a mistake and start over again and again and again.
The people I might have a chance to be friends live 45 minutes away. I’ve seen them twice. Missle HATES me. That Geek says hate is all consuming. Silly me. To hate me, they’d actually have to think about me. A lot. My own husband can’t be bothered to think about me, why should anyone else?
I think I may be done, Hellions. I will never be as witty, cutting edge, or interesting as everyone else. I’m not worthy of anyone or thing. I’m just another dog in the pack, barking for some sort of acknowledgement that will never come.
I guess I feel like the only time anyone’s been excited that I’m actually going to be around in my mom while she was pregnant with me, my kids, and my dog. I feel like the kids and the dog are the only ones that would be sad if I were gone. Can’t destroy my kids. Can’t hurt my dog.
So here I am. No hospital. That’s for people that have more support than I do. I get to stay right where I am. On my stationary bicycle, pedaling as fast as I can, while watching the everyone leave me behind.