hoardinghostage

[hoardinghostage]

This is about how I feel daily about most things right now. Seven years. Seven years and nothing has changed for the better. No closer to a life worth living. No closer to escaping the burden of things and getting to enjoy live, to live instead of survive. I'm still breathing, but I don't think I'm alive anymore. I don't think I have been for a long time.

This jumping, wall climbing sheep is freaking Otis out. 

[hoardinghostage]

It never seems to end...

Every time I try, I get knocked down so hard and worse than my own pain is how the people I love end up getting hurt along the way. I should have died in that accident almost a decade ago. My Mom could've sued the school for failing to close a dangerous road they were not maintaining, and everyone would've been spared the nightmare that was my University experience. No debt over trying to keep me alive and motivated to keep trying to finish my degree then get a job, then a different job, and again yet another job because I can't really do anything well other than consume resources and get in the way. I tell myself that I stayed to help my Mom. The truth is, I also stayed because I knew I'd give up on my own, and some stupid part of me thinks that giving up is unacceptable. I don't know why. Maybe because of years of being told "whewhere there is life, there is hope" or just the guilt of knowing what a mess I'd leave behind. I need to be contributing. I need to be making money, and lots of it to be able to afford my medicine, basic living expenses, and helping my Mom with her increasing needs. But I'm tired all the time. I just want to sleep but for the past three goddamned hours my brain has been going through every mistake I've made and all the things I could and should have done differently. It won't shut off. The chaos in my brain seems to have no end and I just want some sleep. I'm so fucking exhausted. I'm a Dateless Wonders Club local founding member. They'll put "returned unopened, but a few parts missing" on my tombstone at this rate. It doesn't matter what I want: I'll never find a connection so there's no point in looking now; I'm not capable of having children now and just want the malfunctioning parts removed so I'm not constantly dealing with pain and intestinal woes. I'm just so sick of everything. Nothing helps now. Not with the pain or the loneliness or the sense of hopelessness. I have another blog. I used to talk to people fairly regularly, although most of my posts were reblogs. I've been essentially a ghost for three, going on four months; no one has even asked if I'm still alive. That's the reality of "connecting online" - no one is really connected beyond the surface. If I died today, no one I've talked to online would even care. I've cried real tears for some of these people and their families and pets, but not one would notice if they never saw my handle again. I may as well have never existed online in any capacity. I can count on one hand the number of people who would care, and the sad thing is they'd all be better off without me in their lives now. I'm nothing but a drain, financially and emotionally, and they all deserve so much better. Well, weather it's meds or exhaustion or just a long cry, I'm vaguely sleepy. Today won't get any better for functioning off less than 4 hours of sleep, but if its what I can get, I'll be grateful for that much. I'm so sick of this life. Nothing ever gets better.

[hoardinghostage]

Losing my damn mind

It's like that scene from Labyrinth; the girl is being buried by the garbage crone with the things that represent memories, just as the garbage crone is covered in her "precious memories, too good to give up our guide away" (or something like that). That's what my life has become. I've bought things that I have no use for, because in the moment of buying and the first few days after, it brought me happiness. I have mountains of clothes that I almost never wear because I rarely leave the house at this point. The things have overtaken my life, and with half the house unusable due to the remains of the raw sewage back up, I can't figure out how to get it under control. There's no escape here and I have no energy to be anywhere else except when absolutely necessary. If I were being truly honest, if not for the need to take care of my Mom and help her figure out what had caused her aphasia and then get the hell out of this pit, I wouldn't have anything left to live for. My job is not even 10 hours a week, of strictly online, remote work. I get so little material to work with that it's nothing but a constant frustration. My degree is worthless and apparently so is my wifi experience because I can't get more than an automated response from job applications. I live off of Dramamine because no amount of other medications can stop the constant nausea and the only drug that ever worked before has been banned in my country for literally no reason. And I do mean no reason; the FDA even acknowledged than there were no reports of adverse affects that prompted its removal and that thousands of people depended on it, but a synthetic medication was now available, so that's what everyone will just have to accept. Just like that. And I'm a barely functioning zombie whose always just one quick head turn away from throwing up whatever food I've managed to choke down. I know the house is full of various types of mold, and I'm sure that's contributing. Migraines, nightmares, inability to think straight or organize thoughts, inability to sequence things, loss of time from "spacing out", sleep disturbances, mood swings, depression, constant fatigue, constant intestinal distress, and the list goes on. Short of burning this fucker to the ground, I don't think it can be dealt with. I've scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed till the skin on my hands cracked and bled, till so much baking soda and pumice and other scrubbing material was so far up my nails that my nail beds were pulling away from the nail and bleeding. It doesn't do a damn thing. No amount of bleach and vinegar and baking soda and scrubbing bubbles and Mr. Clean and soap of every kind will clean any of this. It all needs to burn and we need to walk away. But that won't happen. Good things don't happen here. Second chances are fairytales at best, flat out lies at worst. Real people don't get second chances. They may get to keep living and try to not repeat their mistakes, but only the bright and shiny celebrity gets the mythical "second chance". Get hooked on drugs, break into homes, steal, sleep with an underage girl, beat on a girlfriend... all acceptable, forgivable acts of done by a celebrity. But for those of us in the real world, whether trapped in The Middle or not, an unforgivable sin here is getting a college degree without having worked two jobs while completing it and heaven forbid it take you longer than four years! You're "lazy and selfish" if you don't have four years exclusive when you get a bachelor degree, and you still had better not expect anything better than $1.50/hr for a 40/wk, but that may include rodent infested "company housing", so be fucking grateful you're getting paid anything for your entry level job, even though you made more after four years in to a big box retail store. Oh, and you won't actually work 40 hours a week of you're getting paid less than $5/hr, you'll be working more line 80 to 90 hours. Of course, the lucky few out there can get as much as $10/hr after a few years, but you won't be working 40 hours then either. Nope. You'll be lucky to get 12 hours at that job. So you'll juggle two or three, and sometimes up to five jobs, until you get sick, which you will. Then you go into medical debt that you will never climb out from under, and if you actually have health insurance at the time, you'll likely have your SSID stolen and fraudulent charges paid out by your insurance, the balance of you will be deemed responsible for because unless the insurance company declares it fraud, then you can't fight the charges. Even if you're a young female and the charges are for a 50+ year old man getting a prostate screening and you were halfway across the country for a goddamn conference trying to get a fucking job, they're still going to hold you responsible, because the hospital you went to for a broken hand can fuck anyone in any way they want and no one can legally do anything about it because the law gives the that power. So years of fighting fraudulent debt, illness that no one seems to be able to effectively treat for more than a few months because, oh yeah, they want $600 out of pocket that no insurance will reimburse for because the doctors who will treat refuse to work with insurance, and you barely work and end up feeling worthless and stupid for ever thinking a so called "education" could possibly be your "Golden Ticket" out of the small town and house of hoard you got sucked into in your teens. At this point, while not being a whale or hideous, you're not striking anyone's fancy enough to go the "Mrs.-Ticket" as a way out, and frankly even working a street corner isn't an option because your knees have been eastern away by disease so you can't stand very long anyhow. And that leads to right fucking now: completely losing my fucking mind. Right to the point of taking about myself as someone else, because apparently I'm disassociating that much right now... There's work to be done, a meal to be eaten since all I could eat so far today was a handful of lunch meat and a hard boiled egg, but I really don't want to eat. I want to take another two Ativan and go to bed. I don't really care if I don't get up at this point. Except, I do care, because them there would be no one to take Mom to her CT scan tomorrow and they need to figure out why she can barely talk. She deserves better than this; better than anything I'll likely ever be able to give her short of winning the damn lottery. I don't even know where to start fixing anything. Therapy can help on the surface at first, but it doesn't solve any of the practical problems in front of me: I need a medication to stop my constant nausea and something to help the endless fatigue, I need a job that offers 40/hrs/wk and a pay rate that I can cover bills and save to get out of here, and I need to do whatever is necessary to get my Mom out of this. No amount of therapy can help with any of that! It didn't help you get a job, it doesn't help you get medicine when your doctors either brush you off as "crazy-hormonal-female" or just seem to be sucking you dry with tests that go no where and medicine that costs a fortune but doesn't really fix anything. Therapy helps if your life doesn't really sick, but you're just bummed it's not as perfect as you think you deserve. It helps if you need to realize that no one deserves to be abused and it's not your fault someone you loved decided to be a horrible spey excuse for a human. Therapy doesn't do a damn thing for real, practical problems, and I wish to hell people would recognize that what we need is not just more psychiatrists who will admit that there is no absolute proof that medication does anything more than talk therapy can; we need practical problem solvers and the money to help people with things like cleaning and purging and maintaining a reasonable home. Practical problems need practical answers and actual help initiating those answers: not just "recognize the problem, think it through, and then *just do it*" cheering. I think I need at least 1/2 an Ativan now... it's been a long fucking life so far. 😧

[hoardinghostage]

Portrait of a Diseased Mind

Me: *after looking at Dad's cereal bowl on the side of the sink and realizing it's coated on the sides with spots of blue, green, and yellow* Dad, did you have fruit loops for breakfast this morning?

Dad: No. What's it to you?

Me: Well I was just wondering since there's weird colors on your bowl, so if it's not from fruit loops, then I'm thinking that's mold.

Dad: So? No different than anything else. *stomps off disgusted that I bothered him*

Me: *growling to myself* Fine. You want to eat mold for breakfast every damn day, eat fucking mold!