WebKittyn Warbles

Having to write this post is killing me. Putting it up here is scaring me but I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't post something this serious because I'm worried what the occasional asshat might think. It's really hard to admit to what's ugly about ourselves, what's ugly and flawed and wrong.

When I was in Albany Med. last year I went through a phase. Come to think of it, it was probably right around now but I can't say for sure. It was a two week phase and it was a bad one. I was pissed off at the world and over-flowing with self-pity. Pissed at the doctors for sending me to a hospital 2 hours from home and 4 hours from my best friend. Pissed that I spent so much time alone watching other people have visitors. Pissed that I had a catheter in my chest and had to go to dialysis three times a week. Pissed that I was so far from my dad who was going through his own Hell.

I took all that pissed and reacted badly. First I withdrew into myself. Wouldn't get on the computer, unplugged the phone. I'd stay up all night watching tv and listening to the nursing station right across the hall and sleep the day away. I was resentful and hurting and I got mean. I actually threw my mother out of my room after she drove 2 hours to get there because she came late and told me she could only stay an hour as she wouldn't drive it alone and the people she came with had to be back. I knew I was hurting her and I didn't care, it felt good. It made me feel better seeing her hurt and then after she left it hit me and made me feel like an even bigger piece of shit, increasing the pissed off/resentful/self-piteous side.

For two weeks I did this, I told my mother not to bother coming up and wouldn't take calls either. They kept trying to feed me xanax and they even had the head of the psych dept. come down to talk to me but finally I pulled myself out of it. No epiphany, no defining moment, it just happened. I think I was standing outside in the rain smoking my nightly cigarette. I hadn't known it was raining when I made the trek downstairs to go smoke and being the weakling I am who needed her nightly cig, I walked outside in the rain in my socks and my hospital robe and puffed my ass off. I felt like a loser and a dumbass and I must have been quite the sight to the people who saw me. It was so pathetic it was darkly funny and I found myself simply tired of the way I had been acting. It wasn't going to change the kidney failure and what the fuck was I doing being mean to my mother? It was that simple, I plugged the phone back in and called my mother and spoke to the friends who called and started sort of enjoying being stuck in a hospital as much as anyone can.

Now I find myself in a similar situation and it's sickening me that I'm doing it again and it's got to fucking stop. Tonight I was really mean to my mother and I knew I was being a serious bitch. I knew I was saying things for the sole purpose of hurting her and the more I said, the more I kept going.

She's been going to a grief counselour the past few weeks and she told me she had been thinking about doing herself in because it was that hard to be without my dad. She claims it was only the first few days after he died but it was like a sledgehammer to my skull and it pissed me off. On a purely selfish level, I can't fucking take anymore, it's been a year like few ever have to endure and if she offed herself that would be the end of what's left of my sanity.

This house is depressing, it's like a prison. I don't have a car yet and it's too far to walk or use any other mode of transportation to get anywhere so I'm stuck here alone all day in a house that I never wanted to live in and moved to because of my dad. She took down all the little keepsakes and crap that were around the house that were his, it's cold and empty and sad.

My stupid birthday made it all even worse. The only voice I wanted to hear say happy birthday I couldn't hear and it intensified the loss a hundred times.

I had a rooster, I've written about him and posted pictures. It may sound silly but I had bonded with the thing. My dad used to laugh when I would run out to give it bread and it would take it from my hand. Whenever it got hungry it would jump on the rail outside my window and make his noise and I'd throw some bread out the window. He was a distraction from the sad and the empty and I couldn't wait for it to get warm to go sit outside and talk to him.

He disappeared. Hasn't been seen or heard from in too many days and I miss him. Enough fucken loss. I know it's only a rooster and it wasn't even really mine but he was one of the few things that actually got me to smile these days.

I'm deeply sunk in a phase like I was in the hospital. I was talking to Jen on the phone the other night (a very good friend for a long time) and we were talking about just wanting to be left alone. How hard it is to even do a simple thing like put 'I'm okay' on facebook or twitter so I know I'm not totally crazy, there are people out there who get it.

I'm not sure how to get out of this one though or if I even really want to yet. I've got a truly self-destructive schedule going on and it works for the pity party. A few tylenol PM around midnight so I sleep somewhere around 2-3. No matter what I wake up between 6 and 7. Watch Third Watch and Crossing Jordan and then hopefully Maury is doing paternity tests. I get back to sleep anywhere from 11-1 and wake up again around 3. Sit around and feel sorry for myself and think about my dad and cry and the next thing I know she's on her way home.

She gets home and she carries this air of such sadness with her. There's some form of dinner and she plops herself in here with me in the recliner (the special one she bought for him last summer) and alternates between sleep, tears and watching tv. She goes to bed after the 11PM news and every night I can hear her crying herself to sleep.

And what do I do? Lash out at her like some kind of fucking psycho bitch because I'm sad and miserable and festering and not dealing with it. The only person I've got left in the world who really gives a fuck and the person who is suffering in a way I'll never understand. What the fuck.

We won't discuss my blood pressure, even with the lisinopril and coreg. I'm pushing limits with my kidneys and I know it but do I stop? No. Do I care? Not at the moment, no.

Talking to a professional won't help. I didn't want the damn xanax then and I don't want it now and I don't want to talk to a stranger. Nothing wrong with it but I'd rather talk to Darkstar if I felt like talking.

I don't like what I'm doing, I don't like what I'm feeling, I don't like my day to day. I want my rooster.

I need to stop this shit with my mother. I need to come to terms with the sadness (I hate the word grief) and the loss and the permanence. It's sinking in now that he's really gone and it's the really fucked up stage. I wake up every day waiting for acceptance but so far it eludes me. I do know there are big problems in my head right now and my coping mechanisms are destructive and self-destructive. It's easy to talk the talk though, the walking is the hard part. Why do we take that sick pleasure in making someone weak feel bad? It's fucken psycho. I'm borderline psycho these days.

I hate looking in the mirror right now, I can see inside and I don't like what's there but I've made myself a nice little space in the muck and there I stay curled up in it.

Danger. Will Robinson. Dr. Smith has gone psycho.

No more of this shit with my mother. Fuck the rest of it, I can handle the sadness and the self-destructive part but I will not hurt her for spite anymore. Those tears I heard from her room tonight were partially because of me and that's just too fucken much to own up to but I am.

Someone toss me a lifesaver, I'm fucken drowning.