Today has been nothing but one on-going shit storm...
I tried forget the fact that my Dad called my phone (mind you, he's in the Living Room when he did this) at 5:30am, an hour before my alarm was supposed to go off and snarls at me, "Erin you need to get up or the paramedics are going to break down the door!" Was the first thing I heard as I struggled to pull myself out of bed.
He couldn't get out of his chair...instead of calling me to get me to do it, he calls me to wake me up that he'd called 911 for help...
They show and it's three firefighters lookin' about as awake as I am. I'm just too exhausted in every aspect to care what I look like or what this shit hole looks like when they come in. I'm partially embarrassed and try to explain we're in the midst of moving, hence the look of this place. By first glance, they announce that they want to take him to the hospital and Dad begins to ramble on because his brain is on 'melt down' and I have to answer that we tried that the first time and they told us he was fine and sent us home. They got him to his feet and Dad proceeded to tell them that we had to shell out over a grand just for the last ride to the hospital. They then offered to take him to Kaiser, and I scoffed with an unpleasant smile, unshed tears in my eyes and muttered, "Ya they sent us away too...and told us to take him to the VA." Once I mentioned that, their demeanors changed (gee I wonder why?) and in more sympathetic tone, the same guy asked the last time Dad saw his doctor and I mentioned it's been awhile because we have no way to get there. He then asked about transport and once again, I had to tell them that the transport folks will only meet us at the Bottom of the three flights of stairs, which kinda defeats the purpose in the first place.
Long story short, they got Dad to his bed and left, but made sure to assure Dad we don't have to pay for the visit.
Between 6am til Noon, Dad kept waking up and decided to fight with me. He'd call me in there, just to babble nonesence at me (which actually scared me) and when I told him I didn't understand, he'd start cussing at me for it...
When he finally got up, he was more like himself; clear headed...he was my Dad again.
That didn't last long.
Wanting to get out of the house for a bit and spend time with one of my Best friends who I probably won't see as much as I used to once I move, I told Dad we were going to hang out. That's when his mood really changed and he started reacting like he used to when he had one too many beers and would verbally attack me because I was the only here...
It was 11pm by the time I left the house, we went to 7-11 real quick and sat up by the closed star bucks just to sit and shoot the shit. At 12:24, not more than an hour and 24 minutes Dad calls me and instead of talking To Me... He starts Barking at me. You see, he wanted to go to bed before I left, so I had to make my friend wait while I got Dad into bed... So when I picked up the phone, I wanted to tell him to rest a bit more and I wouldn't be out much later. Next thing I know...he's chewing me out. Every time I tried to speak, he'd raise his voice and talk over me, "you've been gone for two hours and I'm done sleeping and my leg hurts and you need to help me get up because I can't walk..." etc etc. He was completely ignoring me every time I tried to respond that it got to the point where I barked out, "Goodbye!" and hung up on him.
My friend was sitting next to me the entire time...and the strangest thing happened, before my Dad called me, the air was completely still. Once I hung up, there was a sudden gust of wind that began to swirl around us. (This strange phenomenon happens every time I become upset or excited, and I'm not the only one who's witnessed/experienced it)
I attempt to get my bearings and call him back.
"Dad."
-yelling- "Erin?!"
-straining to keep myself from screaming I calmly continue-, "Dad I'll be home in a few minutes."
"Hello?! Speak Up!!"
-chest pains hit and the wind kicks up more-, "I said I'll be home in a few minutes."
-In a nasty tone-, "Ya, you go ahead and do whatever you want while I just sit here and stew in it."
-I actually feel Seth twitch next to me because he can hear my Dad's response-. "Dad I just said I'll be home in a few minutes!"
"Ya, a few minutes means two hours." -He shoots back me with such venom that if I didn't have so much self control, I would've smashed my phone on the concrete-.
"Goodbye Father." -I snarled and hung on him before he could say anything else-.
Seth was quiet at the exchange he just witnessed as warm wind began dancing around us, gaining strength as I fought to choke back my anger and the tears that so desperately wanted to escape my bloodshot eyes.
He took me up to 7-11 once more because I had to get milk, a lil bowl of cereal and a yogurt...that my ungrateful father asked for about four times before I even left the house.
"Damn, I'm so sorry Erin." Seth exclaimed softly because I was trembling, trying to keep my shit together.
All I wanted was to spend some time with one of my bestfriends, and I had even said that to my Father...but he talked over me. He didn't want to hear anything I had to say. All he could think about was himself. Period. Acting exactly the way he used to when he drank too much and would target me for no fucking reason.
I get home and before I can even set my bags down, he's already yelling for me. Not just calling out to me, but Barking at me like I'm a fucking animal.
I get into his room, thinking he's sitting up waiting for me... Nope, he's still under the covers, expecting me to do pretty much everything for him. And even as I'm standing there, he continues to bark me, argue with me. I finally manage to get him sitting upright even though he's still treating me like a dog... And then, proceeds to start to talking about something that has absolutely no importance at the time.
Needless to say... I'm still fucking pissed. He was not only mean, but acted like an ungrateful, spoiled child having a shit fit because I wasn't doing what he wanted when he wanted it.
And even if I try to tell him what that does to me, how he treats me...he doesn't hear it. Not when he's like this...
Every day my Dad is constantly changing...he's less the man who was my childhood hero and more the monster that lived at the bottom of every fucking can of beer he drank.
I'm so done with being treated like this... And all the while, I'm trying to clean and pack this place even though he's constantly tearing at me. Talking to me like I'm an idiot.
Just now I had to help in bed, and gently tried talking him saying, "by the way I wasn't gone for two hours, it was barely an hour and a half."
His response, "Can you get my legs." more of a demand...completely ignoring me altogether. I just told him not to call me, period. If he does, I will smash my phone.
This is what I've been dealing with...every fucking day...every other hour when his brain switches over to 'asshole mode' and I can do nothing but take it.
Every. Day.
Now it's 3:12am and I still have to get up at an early hour to continue cleaning and packing...
...I don't want this anymore.
-anon-
These past few days have actually been a real test on my sanity. I try to hide it with humor or with something pleasant so I don't slip and accidentally reveal how emotionally strung out I really am.
As you may know, my Big Brother came out last Sunday, along with one of his awesome friends and later on, Marco joined us in going through things so we could either trash it or begin packing it. We actually managed to do allot. Honestly, the guys did most of the work and didn't really expect me to do much but help out every so often. I helped anyway :P
But the part I haven't mentioned... Is how Dad's panic has been severely affecting me. I didn't get any sleep the past two nights prior to Sunday because he kept me up, or would call me right as I fell asleep because he 'Needed Help' only to find out he really didn't, he just freaked out. This, has been going on since last Friday. Every Night... No matter how many damned times I've told him to calm down and relax, he doesn't listen. His brain is really not functioning right now and he's literally pushing my sanity off a fucking cliff.
Because of this, it's been almost impossible to relax enough to start working on sorting/cleaning/packing this place. He just does not listen to me. I have tried to explain everything logically to him, and though he acknowledges it...his brain chemistry is all screwed up and if he starts panicking, it's like talking to a wall.
I know he isn't doing this intentionally, driving me to the brink of a nervous breakdown isn't what he wants.
Logically I get it, but emotionally? It makes me feel so fucking worthless. As though I'm just a slave. I'm running on very little sleep, I ask for a moment to myself...and don't get it. I'm pestered relentlessly, and on top of that he's even weaker because he got himself so worked up. I can't get him to stand up anymore, his legs are too weak and he's even more swollen. All I wanted to do was focus on the fact that we're gunna be GONE after this coming Sunday. That we'll finally be free of this place that I'd like to burn to the fucking ground...
I'm really not trying to be a downer, I'm trying to vent. I'm just trying to get this all out because if I don't, I'm going to bloody my knuckles against the fucking wall.
It also hurts to know that I've bothered someone by talking about this in a lighter manner. Trying to rehash things that happened, even if they were crappy, so I could end it on a happier note by finishing off by talking about how the night ended really well. But I was abruptly cut off and told flat out that all I was doing was being negative... If I'm stressed it's fine to talk about it, but when I seem to be in a good mood, I'm negative anyway and they didn't want to hear it anymore. That was NOT my intent. I'm sorry I didn't convey myself properly in the first place. I thought if my tone was lighter, actively TRYING to sound chipper even though the events weren't the happiest, I thought I was being better about it. I guess I was greatly mistaken and just need to keep my god damned mouth shut. It just hurt...being 'corrected' like that, only to have them try to talk about happy things... I wasn't in the mood for talking anymore and ended the conversation sooner than normal. But what hurt more, is how quickly they got off the phone too...as if they were glad I was going away.
I don't even know how to respond anymore... My reactions to things are skewed and I'm trying so hard to come off okay, that I'm fine and there's nothing to worry about. I thought that if I was kinda making light of it, it wouldn't be so bad. I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I opened my mouth...
So now, honestly... I don't want to talk to anyone about it anymore. Period. I don't need to constantly spew my struggle onto someone else because they said it was okay in the first place. Because it's not okay. I won't dump on the people I care about. Instead, I'll let some of it out here because it's safe and I know if it's too unpleasant for someone, they can just stop reading and find something happy to distract themselves with. Everybody wins.
*sighs and takes a drink of her coffee as her stomach continues to twist into painful knots*
I hate how much this is affecting me. My back is all jacked up, my stomach is on the fritz and I keep getting these odd chest pains right over my heart. I just want to scream so badly...but I end up gritting my teeth and putting my back to my Dad, trying to calm myself down...and the chest pains start back up. Not to mention how much I'm shaking because I'm so fucking tired. Hell, he even called to wake me up AGAIN this morning because I needed to be up... Him stating, "You said you were going to get up at 8:30!" and me practically snarling back, "That changed when you woke me up right after I finally fell asleep because you freaked out over nothing!" He had woken me up at a quarter to 2am literally over nothing...and I couldn't calm down until 3am. Even then, I didn't finally fall asleep until almost 5am.
It's just the fact that he's been increasingly more demanding, and I can only deal with so much. I can't tune him out because he just doesn't let me. And I have to constantly tell him to calm down when he gets all worked up (again, over nothing) that he's gunna do this or that (Meaning I have to do it because he can't and expects me to do it) or he's gunna call this person or that person (when honestly there's no reason to) and I have to stop him from doing it.
I just want to have a good day...I want to be calm and rested and not constantly panicking, or freaking out, or so angry that I want to break my fist by slamming it against the wall. Nothing I say is getting through to him. I have tried EVERYTHING but it's literally like talking to someone who is pissed off and has dementia. It just doesn't register. It almost appears like he's a child having a tantrum, he seems very self centered... But it's just not that simple, which only adds to my growing frustration.
I'm so tired...in every possible way...and I've got until Saturday to clean this place out. He is making it soo much harder than it needs to be.
I don't know how I'll emotionally get through it because I'm getting to that point where I just don't fucking care anymore. But regardless of my mental stability, shit's gunna get done. Even if I'm batshit crazy by the end of it.
Again, for those of you affected by this...I am truly sorry. I'm not trying to dump this on you. This is literally the only place I have left to get this shit out of my system. I'm so overwhelmed...I don't want to do this anymore...
-anon-
The chill swelled around me as I rolled out of bed, noticing that I was coherent several minutes before my alarm was supposed to go off. I smirked at this and paid my morning homage to the porcelain god, shuffled into the kitchen, started the coffee and fed my two feline children their daily can of wet food. Strangely, I was actually feeling pretty good considering the hour that I was up and the lack of sleep I had. The morning seemed to be going fairly well.
I felt a great deal better after being allowed a few hours of freedom yesterday with my Sisters and a dear friend, where we walked the almighty consumer's paradise (also known as a mall). It was just good to get out of the house, away from the constant pressure inside my ribcage that felt as if my lungs were slowly being strangled by an invisible hand of anxiety. It wasn't much, but just getting away from here for a short while made such a difference. I didn't feel like I was drowning anymore.
Even this morning, half-asleep and growly, Dad was still passed out so I had a little time to myself that I gladly took advantage of.
Of course, that good feeling didn't last long.
Because from the very moment Dad woke, it was a non-stop barrage of cursing...his anger was so potent that I instantly became physically affected by it. He asked for my help, which I naturally gave, but the energy coiling off of his form literally whipped out and slapped me, using me as its only target. I'm not kidding when I say I feel sick from it.
Even though I actively tried to be nicer, to not get upset, to just deal with his outburst because he was half asleep and feeling crappy. I made no move to argue, I just tried to help... I even made a fresh pot of coffee for him and got his morning sandwich ready so he wouldn't have to ask. I thought of all of this before he got up...because I'd been feeling so shitty for being constantly down around him even when I fought to be happy.
The intensity of his mood, the emotions that spilled out nearly choking me, literally caused the chest pain to center itself right over my heart and my stomach to twist into painful knots. Still I tried to be helpful and gentle...and was attacked for it. So instead, I kept all the things I could have said in my defense, to myself and silently gave him his sandwich and coffee.
He apologized right afterward, he hadn't meant to attack me... But the damage was already done and no matter how much I've just shut down so I don't feel anything, it hurts to breathe. It wasn't just someone being grumpy, it was a full on verbal rage that poured out of his mouth and was directed at the only other person here.
No matter which way I go about it, I get cut. The bitch of being forced to hold a double edged sword with a razor edge.
*sighs and takes a drink of her coffee*
I hate being a broken record, I hate that I'm surrounded in this negativity and my only ability to reach out is through these black keys. It's the only place I can vent (even if it's only a glimpse and tends to be pretty cryptic) the only place I can try to escape to. I love my Father, very much. If I didn't, I wouldn't be losing my gorramed mind right now trying to help him.
*takes another, heftier drink from her nightmare before christmas thermos*
The bitch about depression is actually addressing it, and seeing it for what it really is. Seeing the affect it has and how destructive it can be to one's lack of mental stability. I have fought for so long to actively convince myself that though I may be showing signs of such a thing, it would not rule me. Saying that is all well and good, but when it starts to physically drain me...that's a problem.
I look around me and grimmace. This place is just...disgusting to me. I have no choice but to clean, which has never been that much of an issue, but lately I've been lagging... I have to also pack. Trying to do both when you're constantly overwhelmed, and you're the only one to do it... I have no other choice but to admit that I've been frozen. I am Not proud of myself for being like this, but today it stops. The anxiety has become so fucking horrendous I can barely function. Always on edge, feeling as though I'm constantly under attack... It's gotta stop.
I'm angry at myself for not being stronger than my emotions. I am incredibly disappointed with myself. But instead of beating myself up about it, I'm gunna get off my ass today and do what needs to be done. Period. Emotionally and physically exhausted, doesn't matter. Feeling like my chest is going to cave in isn't going to hinder me. Gunna the bite the bullet and just do it.
I just wish I didn't feel so sick to my stomach...that I wasn't so hypersensitive to my father or his heavy breathing as he watches the TV. The sound...it's becoming maddening. I need to put my headphones on and clear my head.
It's still early, I still have coffee...I can do this. Why? Because that's my job.
I just wish my Mind would stop fighting with itself and let me have a gorramed break.
-Anon
I'm currently on my third cup of joe, and still feel like I've been hit by a truck. Not sure if it's due to the weird dreams, the tossing and turning or the fact that I had a few shots of Wild Turkey before I attempted unconsciousness last night... Eh, it is what it is.
No worries, I haven't taken up bad habits. I did the whole drinking every night for a week already, and realized that wasn't the best idea. This was the first night in awhile that I even touched any form of liquor, just so I could get the panic to ease off and relax enough to actually get tired.
It's usually a Bad Sign when the only kind that actually works is at least 101 Proof; the higher the tolerance, the more likely one will drink which could lead to alcoholism and considering the situation my Father has found himself in, I'm definitely Not going to follow down the same path, no matter how hard this gets and I'll admit it...it's pretty gorramed hard.
Sure I'm suffering severe chest pains since yesterday due an ongoing panic attack, (no, the coffee honestly isn't making it worse. It's weaker than normal and it's more of a comfort than anything else) I've got a shit ton of things weighing on my mind...but at least it's a pretty day. Perspective, eh?
I know that my musings recently have been anything but amusing, but that's the thing about stress; you can only run from the fog for so long before it finally encompasses you and spills over into your life for everyone to see. As though I've been sucked into Silent Hill, thought I'd escaped but only to find that it's been with me all along... That I never truly escaped because I brought it with me.
I think that's something I'm really going to miss after I move... The thick, ghostly fog that rolls in from the ocean and sweeps over the landscape... The haunting call of a foghorn of a ship off in the distance as they make their way blindly into port. The scent of sea salt on a chilly breeze as this living mist swirls all around you...
*sighs softly and takes a hefty drink from her nightmare before christmas thermos*
I'm torn, standing on the edge of the unknown...wondering how it is that I got here in the first place. Because when I look out toward the horizon, seeking out some form of familiarity... All that dances within my fearful vision is a pulsating fog of secrets.
When it finally lifts, will there be a future before me? Or a horde of nightmares waiting to devour me whole?
*chuckles and shakes her head* Gotta love the imagination.
As you can tell, I'm actively Trying to be in a better mental state. Forcing myself to be lighter, to fight against the panic rat clawing at the bruised tissue within my chest. I honestly feel like I'm carrying the embryo of a Xeno in my rib cage and it's starting to wake up. Definitely not the most pleasant feeling to have for hours on end.
And on that note... *smirks* I'm gunna finish this cup of coffee and commence boring shenanigans for the rest of my chaotic day.
-Toodles
Restless, on edge...trying to make myself think positive, look forward, seek out the silver lining. Every day it gets harder...harder to get up, to care, to live. I've lost something along the way, something crucial to who I am. The person I fought to be for so long. Now? I feel that precious part of me slipping away... Lost within the debris of an existence I never asked for.
One thing after another, fighting to keep going, to not snap, to not feel broken inside, to force a smile when all I want to do is scream. This has become my personal hell, a nightmare in which there is no escape. Every day...the bricks continue to fall, piece by piece, more lost to an unfeeling fate.
I don't want this anymore.
Things are supposed to get better, just hang on...two more weeks. By December 15th. But who's the one to Clean this pit when I'm constantly bombarded with the needs of an ill parent? Yes, to be rescued would be a miraculous thing. It's not realistic. I need to shut down, buck up and just do it. No seeing friends, no having a personal life. That ended the moment my Father's liver began to quit.
I'm struggling to find the right words, the best way to convey the pressure bearing down on my chest. I've felt these negative emotions at such a constant rate that they've begun to dig under my skin. They're becoming a part of me.
I hate the thing I've become.
Eternally I'm clawing at the walls, desperate for an escape, to run from all the hurt and the pain... The stress has taken its toll on me. Too much or not enough rest, barely an appetite, chest pains on a constant basis due to clenching my mouth shut when my Father speaks something that triggers my growing anger. Feeling weak and sad. Finding that I've lost interest in the things I once loved. Even the simplest task, writing a blog for instance, is incredibly hard to do because I find myself losing interest. My mind blurting out, 'what's the point?' and I just give up and do something else that's mindless due to my Father constantly asking me about something in some fashion or another and it's honestly pointless to try and focus on something for longer than five minutes because I'll be interrupted. I'm actually forcing myself to write this as I type along black keys, even if he stops me to say something At Me...I'll finish this.
It seems that I'm coming down with a cold again...I never get sick like this. My body also reacted by causing my Skin Condition to Flare up, so I'm in a tremendous amount of pain and there's nothing I can do but wait it out. And it doesn't matter if I'm exhausted, depressed, weak and in pain... I'm supposed to take care of him, the cats, the apartment, my car. I do not get the luxury of a break. I don't just sit here, twiddling my thumbs, all this time on my hands. No. I sit here, constantly on edge (even now) waiting for another request, another interrupted moment because he can't help but voice a thought that hit him. I'm hyper sensitive to everything he does or says, I'm never at ease. I try to relax when he goes to lay down for a bit, but even then I can't relax because he'll call for me unexpectedly. This is every moment of everyday. I can't get away from it, even when I leave for a short while to spend time with friends, I'm worried about him, his well being...and if he'll still be here when I come home. Then the guilt sets in... How can I leave him alone like that? How can I even think about myself when he's unable to take care of himself? What if he falls? What if he stops breathing? What if?
This is maddening...and I've been trying so hard to do everything in my power to help, everything I can possibly think of...and it's just not enough. It weighs so heavily on me, the thought that I'm fighting something that feels impossible. As much as I want to just go 'POOF' there's a stubborn spirit inside me that won't let me just give up and I fucking hate it. Not only am I prisoner in my own home, a pseudo-servant to my father's endless requests and needs...I'm a prisoner in my own mind. I can't even escape into a story of my own creation, a place where I can do anything I want...be whatever I want. That spark just isn't there. There's a moment where I think of it and consider it, but it's suddenly swept away by this thick fog of despair.
I'll keep going because I don't have a choice. No matter how much I want to run, no matter how hard this continues to be... I'll just keep going. That's all I've got. Even in those moments when all I feel is frustrated induced rage, when every muscle tenses painfully and all I want to do is break something and scream myself hoarse, I hold it all in and feel the cold sweep through me and swallow it. I keep it hidden...even if it means it'll continue to rip me apart, making me physically ill and emotionally hollow, falling apart in the shower as the water sweeps the evidence away... I will remain.
It's gotten to the point that I just don't care about myself anymore. It's not a pity party or a self destruct thing, I honestly just do not have time to worry about me on top of everything else. Dad, the cats, the apartment, food, the car, the store, his needs, constant...neverending.
-sighs softly and takes a drink of her coffee-
I'm just tired...of everything. I'm sure getting a cold, the debilitating flare up, the pain in my spine and the ache behind my eyes isn't helping things. It's just a struggle to see the good in anything anymore when all I see is more dirt being piled onto the lid of this coffin I'm buried in.
Apologies if this isn't the kind of thing you want to read coming from someone who's usually bright and shiny. But sometimes...being positive is too draining. I want to be, it's my nature to be happy... I'm just having a hard time imagining my life being better. Hell, I can't even think about tomorrow. My brain has actively stopped me from day-dreaming (and for those that know me, that's really bad). I don't think about the future anymore, because this is all I see. It's hard to look at the forest when you're trapped within the trees.
It's a real bitch when you're the kind of person that actively analyzes Everything and doesn't just focus in on one aspect. That seeks out all paths, all routes, all possibilities. Seeking out the positive in everything.
For me to just...give up. Basically forced to take a step back from who I am and just exist for the sake of someone else's well-being. It's a bitch, but it is what it is.
Gotta love adaptability.
-Anon-
