#if you say fuck it remember you can rehab the loans later

[yesornopolls]

Should i make student loan payments

[piratejct]

* 𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 + 𝐡𝐞 / 𝐡𝐢𝐦 | you know 𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐮𝐞𝐫, right? they’re 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐬 by 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞 like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole 𝐨𝐢𝐥-𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is 𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥 𝟑𝐫𝐝 so they’re an 𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

NAME: adam bauer NICKNAME(S): n/a, but you’re welcome to change that xx D.O.B: april 3rd, 1992 AGE: 29 BIRTH PLACE: san diego, california CURRENTLY RESIDING: irving, north carolina  SEXUALITY: bisexual OCCUPATION: freelance mechanic & bartender at scuba 

BACKSTORY: 

tw: mentions of kidnapping, attempted murder, drugs, overdose, death, drunk driving, car crash, self-loathing. 

80% of your life has been all but worth it. are you in the right place? failure, guilt and persistent hollowness occupy your entire being, nibble at the slab of meat inside your head, keeping you up night after night. where did things go wrong? were you destined to be this way? you were born into a middle class household that lasted only a couple of years. you were six, your sister three when the police came knocking on the door. the last time you saw your father was on the tv, the very next day when he had officially become the town’s own boogeyman. later, you learned he’ll spend the rest of his days in prison –– a punishment still not good enough for a kidnapping and two counts of attempted murder. 

frantically, your mother packed the bags and not even a month later, you could officially consider yourself a resident of irving. it was a promising new beginning, until it wasn’t. your mother found a man, an alright man –– or so she had thought at the time. he always remembered to say hi to you, smile in the doorway, so you used to think he was okay, too. after all, he was not locked up in a cell, and that immediately made him better than some. after a year of a seemingly healthy relationship, your mother had the third baby and the thought of a happy family was ever so exciting. but of course, before they could even decide on a name, the man was gone. vanished, with any hopes the now single mother of three had had. 

you grew up faster than most of the other kids in class. you didn’t have a choice. every day, you’d help your mom around the house, and while you wouldn’t realize it, you were her rock. and she? she was your best friend. at one point, your only friend. the kids at school wouldn’t die for you. they thought you were stupid, because whenever you’d read out loud, your voice would shake. you’d get nervous and you’d stutter, which made your voice shake even more and barry with the crooked teeth laugh even harder. they didn’t understand why you couldn’t just read the words, and for the longest time, you didn’t either. not even after the doctor gave it a name: dyslexia. 

but you couldn’t blame it all on a learning disorder. sure, it was difficult, but it’s not like you had the drive to try, despite it. school wasn’t your forte and being book-smart would never be on your resume. even though your grades were known for being just a tad below average, you graduated, but didn’t leave it at that. god, you probably should’ve. but you wanted your mother to be proud. and so, you applied for university in a different town. to everyone’s surprise, they accepted the half-assed application without even acknowledging the numerous spelling errors. your mother hugged you tight, cried into your chest. she told you she loved you and you genuinely believed her. and then like every man in her life, you went off to disappoint her. 

you changed your major twice before dropping out altogether. instead of attending lectures, you started selling drugs around the corner, always keeping yourself sufficiently high, too. it felt like an easy life, until they busted your ass. the student loan was cancelled and you were kicked out of the dorms. for months, you’d go between couch-surfing and sleeping in remote locations, all while doing heavy drugs and calling home every tuesday to tell your mom everything was going just great. then, they found you unconscious in a bathroom stall. accidentally, you had taken one too many. 

after that, you had no choice but to come clean and return back home, where you’d spend months in rehab while wondering if being a person is really your calling. no matter where you went, you just couldn’t fit in. while your siblings were close, you were an outsider, an intruder in your own home and the prime example of what not to do in life. your half-brother was the polar opposite, and every day, you’d watch him succeed, no matter what it was. highest grades, captain of the football team, the perfect boy next door –– the complete package. he knew he was better and you hated him for it. 

he had just started studying business at the local university. he was eighteen, his spirits always high. he was the life of the party, of every party. that night, he had driven himself, taken your mother’s car with the promise of returning it in one piece. the plan was to stay overnight, but due to issues you couldn’t even be bothered to hear about, it wasn’t a possibility. he called around 3 in the morning, drunk and asking if you could be a good brother, just this once, and pick him up. naturally, you were too tired and too bitter to cooperate. “figure it out, buddy.” 

and he did. 

the police said the body was near unrecognizable, the car wrecked, in pieces on the side of the road. you fucked up. you fucked up real bad. and your mother? fuck, she was too nice to you. too supportive. she only blamed you once, wine drunk and miserable. “tell me, adam. where did i go wrong?” and “if you weren’t so awful to people all the time, your brother would still be with us.” in that moment, you wished it would’ve been you. and three years later, you still do. 

PERSONALITY, OR LACK THEREOF: 

+ self-sufficient, loyal, protective  - aloof, stubborn, hotheaded 

x rough around the edges. resting face screaming “permanently pissed off”. favorite party-trick revolves around looking as unapproachable as possible. not a horrible guy, but he is a deeply unhappy person. at this point, however, he’s pretty much used that being the norm. has learned to live with it. 

x has a hard time letting his guard down. tends to isolate himself, doesn’t let people too close because he genuinely seems to believe he’s better off on his own. at the same time, persistent loneliness is what keeps him up at night. can someone please hold him? but.. instead of establishing deep, personal connections, he does tend to sleep with people and not talk to them again. thinks that if he doesn’t let anyone close enough, they won’t be able to fully hate him for who he actually is. 

x can go from being this chill, mellow, i-don’t-care to full blown anger. temperamental, confrontational when provoked, stubborn enough to stick with whatever he believes in. don’t catch him on a bad day. that being said, he’s much gentler around women. guys, on the other hand? piss him off just enough and you’ll get your ass kicked. men can make his soul angry and his dick hard. 

x overall, there is some suppressed softness there but you’re not getting any of it unless you’ve unlocked level 109 friendship. <3 sorry <3 

x because of past experiences, he tends to stay away from heavy drugs. however, he does like to smoke some weed every now and then. (read: everyday, bro.) and even though he doesn’t really deal, if you need a bud or two, you can hit him up and hope for the best. 

x sarcastic and tends to act unbothered, but is actually very protective of these few people he’s actually allowed himself to care about. don’t mess with his folks, folks. 

x chainsmoker. smokes everywhere, even in bed. 

x is currently renting an apartment with one or two other people. works as a freelance mechanic while also bartending at scuba. on the side, he also dabbles in music, mainly synth but he can also play guitar. however, it’s not something he talks about because, um, he’s insecure. :) to be fair, though, he definitely doesn’t suck. 

x his alcohol tolerance is spot-on, so at least he’s got that going for him. he’s also pretty street smart. and despite usually not being one for physical contact, boy actually gives amazing hugs. 

x momma’s boy at heart. king of cool hairstyles by choice. 

x don’t talk about his brother. or do! how much do you need teeth, really? 

WANTED CONNECTIONS: 

everything basic, essential and beyond. give me: 

housemates

best friend

some other close friends

hook-ups

exes (good and bad terms)

enemies. someone to fistfight with!

childhood friends

drug/party buddies

co-workers

and whatever your heart desires x

[shuswapjoe]

“Ten things that make me happy”

Fiction by Will Johnson

Got the kid this week. Couldn’t find a baby-sitter. Called Mom and she said it was my problem, not hers. Manager said I could keep the kid behind the counter while I work, but only this once. All the customers wanted to say hi. Wanted to touch the kid. They said he’s cute, what’s his name? Embarrassed when I tell them Kane—a mix of Kate and Shane.

Kate = gone.

Said she needed some time. Moved back to Ontario with her parents. Left the kid behind. Now I’ve got this crappy basement suite in downtown Nanaimo and a baby I can’t afford. Think about Nicaragua a lot. Lived there for six months after I graduated from university. Ate fruit, spoke Spanish, did a lot of surfing. Bagged a few Latina chicks. Now I’m working at Starbucks. Job’s okay, but I spend most of my shift daydreaming about being a musician. Think about girls lifting their dresses over their heads. Dank venues, cocaine head rushes, blind groping in the dark. A used condom floating in my toilet.

Called Neil last week. Former band mate of mine, a drummer. Lives in Vancouver and I haven’t heard from him in years. Hoping he can find us some gigs. Took the ferry across the water to meet him on a Tuesday morning. Kane puked on my jacket, so I wrestled him into the bathroom and cleaned us off with a fresh diaper. Fed him this baby food out of a jar. Afterwards I stood outside on the deck looking at the Gulf Islands. The bus ride to Vancouver was more than an hour long and Kane cried the entire way.

At the restaurant, Kane ripped apart a coloring sheet. Waitress wasn’t mad. Asked me how old? Told her 18 months, but it seems longer. Sat there thinking about my band. Thought about finding a record label, maybe playing festivals. Told myself I’m not too old to be a successful musician. (Unrealistic?) The newspaper was boring, so did the crossword and flirted pointlessly with the waitress. Neil was fifteen minutes late. He yanked at the door for a few moments before he realized it opened inward. Stumbled through and almost head butted a plant.

Shane, man, he said. Look at you. Look at this. This is crazy, right? Isn’t this like crazy? This is crazy, man.

Stood up to hug him. His whole body was vibrating. Slipped into the booth and didn’t take off his coat. Legs bounced and his eyes darted all around the restaurant like he couldn’t decide what to look at.

What’s the kid’s name?

This is Kane.

Kane like in the Bible? Like old school Kane and Abel Kane?

No, just a name we liked. You know.

What’s up Kane? How you doing buddy?

Clear Neil hasn’t seen a baby in years. Kane in his booster seat looked at Neil a little confused. Maybe scared? Blew air out in little bursts.

Hilarious. What’s he doing?

Kid’s still learning how to talk. Figure that’s his first word.

Burp?

Yeah, he likes doing that. Does it all the time.

Just like burp, burp, burp? Hey Kane. Burp? Can you say Burp?

Kane started to cry. Picked him up for a minute, gave him his soother, settled him down. Have to do this every twenty minutes, seems like. Neil couldn’t figure out what to do. Played with the sugar packets. Picked one up and held it to the light.

Do you ever wonder who makes these, Neil asked. Like is there a factory somewhere with little Asian ladies filling these up with sugar? And how do they get it inside the paper? You ever think about stuff like that?

Not really.

How about this. You ever think about how incredible it is that in our society we can walk into rooms like this and convince people to bring us food? We don’t cook it, we don’t serve it, all we do is sit here and eat it. Then we pull out a little plastic thingie and punch some buttons. Crazy, right?

Interesting way to look at it.

We’re top of the food chain, man. There’s no other way to look at it.

Waitress was attentive. Looked about twenty-five years old, maybe younger. Had eczema all down one arm, probably from doing too many dishes. Said what a beautiful baby, you are so lucky. Kane was gurgling and she played with his little hands. Leaned over so Neil and I both looked down her dress, her white bra quivering. (Sometimes I get so fucking horny it hurts.) She said he is precious and wiped drool off his face. I never know how to act when people play with the kid. Am I supposed to smile? Do they want me to participate somehow? This is what I’ve figured out: having a baby = more flirting. Having a baby = less sex. Having a baby = no sleep/exercise/solitude. The waitress took our order.

For me: Toast. Scrambled eggs. Sausages + HP sauce. Black coffee.

For Kane: Apple juice and yogurt.

For Neil: Nothing.

Asked the waitress if she could watch the kid while I went outside for a smoke with Neil. Dislodged a crayon from Kane’s mouth. When we got outside Neil told me he got kicked out of his house. Said he’s been having trouble holding things together. (Drugs?) Didn’t ask about Kate. Suspect they had a thing while I was in Nicaragua. Never confirmed it, but pretty sure it happened. Not jealous, really. Just curious.

Nothing was ever enough for Kate. Three months pregnant she shimmied past this barbed wire gate and climbed up an emergency ladder to the top of the Blue Bridge in Victoria. Must have been three hundred feet in the air. Followed her and sat on the steel girders with my feet hanging above the traffic. The lights of the city were reflected in the ocean blackness. Took turns taking sips of whiskey. She told me sometimes she fantasizes about taking a running jump, about plunging down to the concrete and splattering on impact.

I could get it over with, she said.

Her first pregnancy ended with a miscarriage. Found her curled up in the bathtub with purple clots of blood streaking the porcelain. Figured that was the end of it, but six months later she told me she was late again. (Shitty birth control?) She acted like her body was betraying her somehow. Wandered around our basement suite in her bare feet. Ate lots of peanut butter. Rude to my Mom, complained about everything and wouldn’t quit smoking. I never asked for this, she said.

Me neither.

Started therapy once a week. Nice woman. Lots of pillows and inspirational posters on the wall. Kate brought me to a session and we brainstormed positivity exercises. Ways to escape depressive thought patterns. Therapist gave us this assignment to keep journals. Every day we were supposed to make a list of ten things that made us happy. Nothing makes me happy, Kate said. Therapist said sometimes we overlook the small things in life. The taste of toothpaste in the morning. A hug from a friend. Maybe an upcoming vacation to look forward to. These things all add up eventually. Kate picked lint off her jeans and stared at the floor.

Therapy didn’t make any difference. Found Kate crying one afternoon in the backyard. Told me she was going to spend a few weeks with her parents in Hamilton. Supported her, said I wanted her to figure this stuff out. Wandered our house alone, taking care of Kane and waiting for her to call. Stood at the airport with flowers, but she never arrived. Pretty soon she stopped answering my phone calls. Parents said she left to road trip across the country with some dude who owns a Westfalia. Promised to send money, to come visit their grandkid, but that was six months ago.

Neil said I can’t believe you’re a father.

Still getting used to the idea.

Seems like a good kid.

Babies don’t really have personalities. They mostly just need things.

Asked Neil if he ever drums anymore. Told me he had to pawn his drum set. Said he had some outstanding loans he had to pay back, plus it was cumbersome moving the drums from one house to the next.

I don’t know about music, man.

What do you mean?

You hear the stuff coming over the radio inside? It plays all day, all night. Shopping malls, gas stations. There’s so much fucking music in the world and everybody wants to make it. There’s so much music everywhere you couldn’t even hope to hear a fraction of it. How the fuck can you expect to make a difference in a world like that?

That’s a depressing way to think about it.

It’s all money, man. You think these singers are famous because they can sing? No, they’re famous because some dudes with money paid some other dudes with money to make them famous. And who wants to be famous, right?

I don’t want to be famous.

Me neither.

But I want to play music.

Neil shrugged. You know what I’ve been thinking, he said. I gotta find a way to break into the television business.

What do you mean?

Think about it, man. Every show, every commercial, they all need music. Somebody’s got to write that shit. Can you imagine? If your job was to sit there and make beats all day long. It’s all computer programs now. The bosses go okay, we need some scary music for this scene. Some happy music for this scene. Maybe some violin shit for a sex scene. Right?

I don’t know. Don’t you think that’s a little artificial?

Money is money, man.

I guess.

Here’s the thing: I broke my back in a snowboarding accident when I was a teenager. Fell into an off-run crevice. Body draped on this cleft twenty feet down. Felt like a mystical cavern, surrounded by glistening ice and weird noises far below me. Could’ve fallen a lot further, but I didn’t. I remember the helicopter lifting me out of there. Strapped to a spinal board, wrapped in blankets with nothing but my face exposed. Felt the rushing wind from the rotors in my eyes and made a deal with the universe. Promised that if I made it through okay, I wouldn’t waste my life. I was going to make music. Sounds stupid, but it still means something to me. Took me nearly six months of intensive physical rehab before I could lift myself out of bed again. When I left the hospital the nurse told me Shane, you’ll probably never really understand how fortunate you are to walk out of here.

My first band was called The Sultwater Sultans. Got interviewed for the Victoria newspaper once. The photographer arranged us in front of an autumn backdrop. Put us on the front cover of the Arts section. It said SALTWATER SULTANS in this swirly orange font. Mom still has that photo taped to the side of the fridge. Reminds me of finger paintings little kids bring back from elementary school. Kate was dating our bass player Cliff when I met her. She was our Yoko Ono. Once we got together the band broke up. (Worth it?) Cliff came to Starbucks a few months ago. Talked on his cell phone and pretended not to recognize me. Maybe he wasn’t pretending.

Played solo gigs for a while after that. Kate sang back-up and we called ourselves The Islanders. Mostly restaurant venues where nobody listened. Opening act for bigger bands. She introduced me to Neil, and he became our drummer. Bit of a loner but he could keep a beat. Toured around Vancouver Island and played some festivals.  Remember a time we got drunk on the beach. Firelight cast shadows on the sand. Twisted beach logs slick with moisture. Neil hammered drums pinched between his legs while Kate danced in her bare feet. Fucked it up and left for Nicaragua a month later. Wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed.

You ever think about that time we toured up island, I asked Neil, standing outside the restaurant. Glanced in to check on the kid.

Good summer, man.

I was thinking we could pick up where we left off. Revive The Islanders.

Minus a member.

But we could pick up a few more guys. Take a run at this.

Sounds good to me.

Neil looked skinnier than I remembered. Like he was sucking on the inside of his cheeks. Bet I could fit my thumb and forefinger around his bicep. He touched himself while he talked. Pulled on his earlobe, scratched his neck and drummed fingers on his sternum.

You think the kid’s okay in there?

The waitress’ll keep an eye on him.

Couldn’t he fall out of his booster seat or something?

Babies are resilient.

You know what’s crazy to think about, is that I was a baby. And you.

Well, yeah.

I heard once that every seven years our bodies completely regenerate themselves. Like every cell in your body, all your skin and hair and toe nails, I mean your bones, it’s all been replaced. So when you think about it, you’re not even the same person you were seven years ago.

Huh.

You’re what? Like 30? We haven’t seen each other for nearly a decade, man. And think about that guy. The guy you knew, like I probably don’t have any of the same clothes. I look different, I act different. This is completely new skin here. I may as well be a different guy. Isn’t that trippy?

Guess so.

University feels like ancient history, I said.

I’d do it again.

Me too.

Once she was nearly due to give birth, Kate was impossible to live with. She punched her knuckles against her temples and tore out her hair in tangled hanks. Slept through the afternoons and into the middle of the night, then lay like a bloated carcass on the couch. Didn’t know what to do. Therapist said pregnancy can be tough. Recommended we check into the hospital early for observation. Kate spent the last two weeks in a private room. Screamed at nurses and threw food down the hallway. Wouldn’t talk to me when I visited. Once the kid was born, Kate barely touched him. Said he’s got your eyes and she glared. Doctors kept her for an additional week because she was refusing food.

Sometimes I have nightmares about Kate. See her fucking random dudes in highway restrooms. That girl. Used to flirt with guys right in front of me. Liked to have sex in busy parking lots or shopping mall restrooms. One time she gave me head in an elevator. For a while it seemed like she was going to calm down. (Be happy?) We moved in together after Neil moved away. Played sporadic gigs around Victoria. She danced in her cowboy boots, her dress swishing around her little legs. Adorable. Her voice was literally heart-breaking when she sang. Thought that was how my life was going to be. I was mistaken.

When I was younger, I assumed happiness was a mathematical equation, easily solvable. My headspace was like a question mark waiting for an answer. Thought maybe music + girlfriend + job = contentment. But even when I was in Nicaragua, or when things were going well with Kate, there was always this nagging suspicion that something was wrong. That somehow I was missing out on the life I was destined for. Makes me wonder why I’m still here. After my snowboarding accident, the doctors told me there was a chance I could have spent the rest of my life in a wheelchair. People kept emphasizing how incredible it was that I had survived. Said I couldn’t take it for granted. But life-changing revelations have an expiry date. Sooner or later you have to go back to living your life, whatever that means. While I’m fixing a broken coffee machine or standing outside in the rain, life doesn’t seem very worthwhile. Some days I wonder if I wasted a miracle.

This = not my plan.

A siren screamed in the distance. The air smelled like piss. Neil and I smoked our cigarettes and watched a police car swerve around the curb. The people on the sidewalk didn’t even turn their heads. Inside our food was waiting. Offered Neil a piece of toast, but he said he wasn’t hungry. Spooned yogurt into Kane’s mouth.

What kind of food’s he eat?

I dunno. Mushy stuff mostly.

Doesn’t he need breast milk?

Think he’s too old for that. Not like I can pick it up at the grocery store.

Ha.

It’s kind of like having a human dog.

Wild that one day he’s gonna be us, you know? And we’ll be hanging out in nursing homes.

Or dead.

Or dead, yeah.

Tried for a while to make lists of the things that make me happy, but never got to ten. The things I came up with—a good song on the radio, a drunken night while Kane is staying at my Mom’s house, an easy day at work—all seemed superficial. Like a Band-Aid for a missing limb. Wonder if maybe I’m beyond help. Lately I feel old. Like I don’t recognize this ugly version of myself. Cigarettes yellowed my teeth. Belly fat jiggles over my belt from too much shopping mall food and late night pizza. Look in the mirror and hate the patches of hair on my upper arms. Dark eyes. Flirt with patrons and they act embarrassed. (Am I creepy?) When I was younger girls lined up for their turn. Took a new one each weekend. A blur of sweaty bodies and frantic late night fucking. Now I would kill to get some action. Haven’t been laid since Kate left.

Kane kept pushing my spoon away. Yogurt dribbled down his jumper. Burbled and stuck his fingers in the goop. Neil said maybe he wants some real food, man. Give him some sausage.

He can’t chew that stuff.

Cut it up into little pieces. He can swallow.

I dunno.

Watch this, he said. He pulled the plate across the table and sawed at the blackened sausages pushed to the side of my plate. Speared one with his fork. It was one of those moments where I felt like I was watching myself. Like there was a more responsible version of myself somewhere, watching me fuck things up. Should’ve taken the fork away. Before I could say anything, Kane had swallowed two small chunks.

He loves it.

That’s probably enough.

My step-dad used to say that’ll put hair on your chest.

He fed you sausages when you were a kid?

No, man.

Seriously, that’s enough.

Look at him. Happy as a clam, this kid.

Kane was enjoying the food. Saliva streaked brown on his chin. He bounced in his booster seat and murmured like a little animal. Neil held another piece of sausage to his mouth and forced it through his lips. The kid’s tiny pink gums smacked. Then he started to cough.

Shit.

He’s choking.

Nah, man. He’ll get it.

He can’t breathe.

Shit.

He’s fucking choking on that fucking sausage. What the fuck, man?

Can’t remember the last time I felt this panicked. The kid was looking right at me. His eyes bulged. I could hear things happening around me. Waitress was running towards us. Neil knocked my plate to the ground as he clambered out of the booth. He said don’t worry, I used to be a lifeguard. I know what to do. Sat there looking at my son and realized how easily I could let him die. These things happen. Babies go to sleep and don’t wake up. People get hit by cars. All this breathing can end in a single moment. Wondered if I should be having some sort of deep realization, whether this moment was designed to test me. Maybe this would ruin my life, or maybe it would take me a few years before I got over it. Kane’s little face was turning red as Neil grabbed him under the armpits. One last glimpse of my son’s terror. Waitress had her fingers over her mouth as Neil held my son braced facedown against his forearm and lifted his other arm up in the air.

The Literary Goon

[roguephoenix85]

No justice so scream into the void

I think this needs to be said about what's been going on with me since last May and why I'm being less patient and more angry/depressed, and since the law won't help me fuck it.  Trigger warnings for abuse. 

---

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My mother is a sociopath. Her mother is a sociopath. They view everyone around them as pawns and tools for their own benefit, and the only thing that matters is their feelings and what you can do FOR THEM. Including their children. Any achievement of their children is because of them. Any failings is because of the child or literally anything else except them. My mother is especially conscious of money, either trying to convince you you owe her for being a decent human being, or abusing and berating you for needing help before helping "for your own good". She was manipulating my sister into giving her half of her paychecks for 10 years as "car payments" and making attempts to get all of her paychecks because "she has ADHD and can't be trusted with money" although she's 25 in an effort to keep her living with them. She plays mind games with you, saying she loves you and encourages you but in the same breath saying asking for respect is disrespectful and that not doing what she wants is shameful. She orchestrates no win situations and then makes it your fault for trusting her. They still attempt to guilt me for going to the University of Iowa and saying I need to pay them back for the loans they elected to take out because "they were for you so they're YOUR loans." They've even blamed actions my stepfather took when he was high on me, including his attempt to kill my father because "I wanted him to". Or that my sister not spending Christmas with them was my fault, or that her ADHD wouldn't be so bad if "her sister was around" even though I was in college.

She manipulated me into giving false testimony against my birth father for abuse to speed up their divorce proceedings and get full custody of me, then kept gaslighting me and saying what was done to me was so horrible I can't remember and to trust her about what happened.  She divorced him because the family business went under and they started having money problems. She found my stepfather and, over the course of 20 years, had a child with him, ingrained herself into that family, and manipulated my grandfather with dementia into changing his trust so that everything would go to my stepfather, who is a heroin addict, and once he inevitably od'd again, took his power of attorney away from him and made sure she was a co-trustee so that she has control over everything. Property, iras, the trust, all of it - they were able to afford $100,000 for 3 months of rehab for my stepdad without breaking a sweat. She then uses this money to offer myself and my sister help when emergencies happen, and then attempts to manipulate us into moving back with them because "we can't handle living alone, apparently" or "Well, you're so damaged from the abuse you can't take care of yourself so we'll have to do it." Or just harassing us until we say/do what she wants.

She also told me that there was treatment options available to me when I was younger because they knew something was "off" with me. But she refused. The treatment I did get was focused on me being less angry with them, not why I was upset. I could always catch her lying and when I caught her, she'd punish me. Anything that wasn't deference and praise to her was cause for punishment. She'd even ban me from going to CHURCH because it was social and I would be having fun with friends and I shouldn't because I was "so disrespectful." It is only now that I realize she refused me treatment because it made me easier to discredit and manipulate, because she did the same thing to my sister with her ADHD - never getting her treatment or therapy and then using it as a means to discredit, bully, and harass her.

She allowed my molester to go free because he was a member of her family and then gaslit me into thinking the accusations were investigated and unfounded, when in reality, they never happened. I caught him trying to isolate another girl in the family years later when he was married with a child. And no one cared. Rape and molestation were brushed aside because "well you can't do anything about it now" and telling me I was being horrible for not friending a rapist on facebook because their dad died and you're trying to control her by asking her to tell them to not contact me. I have panic attacks where I lose consciousness and become immobile for hours because of this. And she told me this information anyway, knowing what it does and the toll it takes.

That's why I had a panic attack at work and had to go to the hospital. And why I haven't been at work since. And why I don't go out often now. And why I have no fucking tolerance for manipulative behavior anymore. She has been doing her best to get me sick and STAY sick so she can control me and my sister. I know my grandparents left something for myself and my sister but because of what she did, we can't get any of it now unless we kowtow to her wishes and continue to let her harass and manipulate us, making us stay with her to take care of her like her mother has manipulated her to do the same. I'm on short term disability and who knows how long it will take before long term is approved, and my work can't really make concessions for autism because of the nature of the job. She sent my sister and I harassing emails including death threats over the Christmas holiday and the law won't do anything. Besides a "no contact" order. She stole our inheritance from us and both of us are fucked financially because of it. She torments us still. I have nightmares of her. And there's nothing I can do to get the money away from her or make her stop and no lawyer will help me because it's too risky.

She completely fucked me and I get nothing for it. No justice. No compensation. I can't even block her emails fully - I have to send them to spam to not see them. She knows where I live and if she wanted to come harass me she can. I have to wait for her to come do it and then call the cops. So I'm living in fear and aggravation because I literally can't do anything preventative. And I'm already discredited because of my autism. This is why I've been suicidal and angry and distrustful of everyone for the past few months. Because I was raised to be the family scapegoat. And a couple days ago I had the last door shut in my face for any kind of justice against her. I know I don't have any other choice but to move forward since my brain has nerfed itself against suicide. But how do you move forward knowing that people can basically do whatever they want to you and you'll get no justice because you're mentally disabled? You just have to take the abuse? Because fuck you you stupid idiot. You thought justice was real? Look at the world around you. You're not rich or white or a man, so shut the fuck up and let us do what we want to your brain and body because you're not a person to anyone. I literally can't do anything else at this point but scream into the internet and share my experiences as a means of clarity and validation because I literally can't get it anywhere else. Because everything about me has been invalidated from day one. So here I am being that asshole on the internet oversharing. Cuz I don't know what else to do. There's nothing I can do.

Thanks for reading I guess. 

[genesisoutback]

Rehab day 17.

● The good, the bad and the dejavu

I started writing 4-5 days ago, but it happened to disappear, how typical.

13 days of hell.

• 1. came all the misunderstanding with their employees, so much they fucked up my medications, and gave me less than what I originally had. Insisted that I took some of my morning/day, afternoon and night medications in the middle of 12am to 7am. But one of the night shift employer rang the nightshift doctor to get me one-time prescribed medication, something she wrote down. But the stupid-ass employers that took over the morning shift didnt see where she wrote it down, nor did the employers at the 3pm afternoon shift. But I got that fixed when the same night shift employer came the next night. This was the first weekend after I came on the 20th, the day after. The weekend went smooth, even tho I found out something alarming on Saturday (We'll get back to that later on) I got the one-time prescribed medication from 21 to 24-25 June. Then my doc suddely cut me down from 14-15 pills of 5 mg Vival/Valium daily to 8 pills a day which I said ok to because I didn't actually realize how fast and how big of a dosage reduction that was. And after a couple of days I got so frustrated by the withdrawals and I Sheldon got one-time prescribed medication, which made everything else worse. And I complained over and over again, but nothing happened. because I started to slam doors, bang my head on the wall, throw stuff around and knotted my door so no one could see me cry, I even ended up locking myself in the closet since that was a normal rutine for me when i was in my teens, and had depression + anxiety. Finally on July 6 I got to speak to both my incompetent doc and head doctor. I explained to her what happened, and that my doctor didnt even bother to check my prescribed history so he could see for himself what he did to me. I didn't even know why I reacted the way I reacted, but realized it 6-7 days later, as in July the 1st. But didn't get it fixed before the head doctor came into the picture and said it herself, that the dosages I've been on before I came inn here then the big dosage reduction on so short timing was dangerous and deadly. So she upped my dosage to 14 pills a day 70 mg Vival/Valium.

• 2. The staff/employers, I gave up in the end with complaints and so fourth, found needles and pumps, user equipment, straw for snorting cokain or speed, a bag in the roof on the bathroom, and blue powder hidden inside lists on the floor and inside a electronic box for plugging in tv channels or Internett and something under the toilet which seemed like wet speed someone had put smeared over to let it dry up. All of the searching stressed me the fuck out and made my anxiety worse. They should have a guideline to follow not to follow their own way of thinking how the rules should be. Each of the staff says one thing and does the opposite. "We'll get the cleaning lady to clean that" "We'll try to preoritize you" "we'll talk to the boss and conplain" and so on. Dissapointments x 100.

• 3. Buprenorphine dosage at 14mg, but actually i am at + 4mg so. 18 mg bup. And I confessed two days ago because I got withdrawals, freezing, but when someone touches my neck or my head it feels like I'm having a fever, but im freezing af, and it's summer time in Norway now. So I confessed that some people (patients) gave me extra because they saw how bad i had it, I freeze soo much I start to shake. and I hid it away til I felt the withdrawals coming. Even though it's not allowed to hide away pills and store them, the other payients saw how badly I had it.

• 4. I meet this lovely lady, and she gives me this mom vibe. I'm afraid of leaving here, which might happen on monday. It's seldom for me to meet people like her. And I wish i could spend more time with her than being cooped up in my room thinking about everything negative. Stressing about my phone being hacked by someone I thought was my bestfriend, she lured me to Oslo to use up my money, break my brand new phone just to get acess to my sim. And even though I changed sim when I got my other phone, how stupid was I to let her use my phone yet again. And while she needed to watch when i used her phone with my effin sim, I couldn't watch when she used my phone.

• 5. I don't remember when it was last time i actually smiled or laughed without it being fake.

6. So I just found out that when I was in a coma for 3 days, and in the hospital for atleast 1 week, my family in the Philippines used up my money. When i specifictly told them to take out the money if they didn't get any contact from me in 5 days. But me, in a coma and all they think about is them self? When I already told them before I went back to Norway that I won't, I can't send them any more money I need to focus on paying down my debt/loan. And those 84k php would have helped alot. But no, how selfish.. even though I've sacreficed so much just to see the kids and my family in the Philippines happy makes me happy. But thinking about spending the money when I was in a coma? I should have never woken up. How is it that I can't be selfish but everyone else can? I felt betrayed, no I still feel betrayed. Even tho one of my sister gave some of it back. When my father called when I was blacked out the other one had used up everything. But when I called she said she had 20k left. How can they lie? I've lost everyone now. Only one left and she's in Canada.

7. It feels like deja vu. Atleast why couldn't you just delete our relationship when you broke up, I couldn't.. then I decided to go to rehab/detox because we we're still 'official' on fb when you already moved on as fast as my x. But insisting that you wouldn't, and promises I said don't promise. Did it take you a week, two or three to find a new bf? I know I won't get an answer from you, since the way you spoke on the phone and when I tried asking you to give me a reason, you sounded angry. Like you wanted me as far away as possible.

8. I feel like I cant write anymore, even though I have alot to say. I want to move faar away, where no one can reach me and I can't reach them. I want to be isolated, alone. Times where I want to do something illegal just to get put in jail.. I could confess to something I didn't do and get payed. Because it needs to be serious or I'll end up at where im going. Violence, murder even Kidnapping, just not underage, and a good reason. From Norway btw so, you know what to if you need something.

My stuffs are already packed. But I only need my bag, not my clothes, just my wallet, shoes, jacket, memorable items, smoke, her hair tie, snus, charger, phone and thats it.

The last two days ive been packed and ready to go.

• Good news, I'll be able to travel, even on medication, and my debt might just be erased, cut down, remove the interest or atleast the money I owe to the goverment.