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›comments[0] ›all comments ›post #921 ›bio: kristen ›perma-link ›6/26/2026 ›07:58 ›archives ›first post ›that week
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you know that thing when someone complains about a paper cut and then someone kicks them in the nuts and says, "here's something real to complain about." it was sad laying in my bed after my mother texted me things through my stepfather - which I find so sad anyway (can't he talk to me - but she's orchestrated being the thing her entire marriage)... and realizing I'm stuck. I can't take care of these cats. I'm going to have to torture and murder them - because my stepfather doesn't want the concept of them around. well, I just took a sleeping pill and tried to figure out how to figure it out - tossing and turning wondering how how how how I could save them. If I could beg the new neighbors to feed them and pay for the food. If I could go back to volunteering to clean up cat pee at kitty city and foist them off there. and really I'm confronted with what am I doing? what do I love? who are my allies? I'm barely hanging on too of course. I just in the last few days have begun cooking food for myself again - kind of coming out from under the shame rot that I allowed from being dumped by someone I loved. no one seems to get it. my phone has been silent. one of my best friends says "oh, I didn't know you saw a future in that." everyone's busy. and I don't want the fucking cats. if someone could take care of them for me, it would be fucking awesome. but their faces. I can't stand to have them sitting in cages waiting to die and terrified and confused. when all someone has to do is throw some food outside. like they've had happen for the last eight years of their life. It makes me rage at the neighbor who caused this, but what's done is done. instead, I rage at my mother. my primal target. I've drunk and binge-eaten for six months of hell wrestling with whether I even can fit anywhere on this planet. I'm still not sure if I have a place, but I got tired of the self-sabotaging debauchery. It got old. and of course, it makes me hate her. I'm reminded often of that moment that's seared into my head. I'm fourteen or thirteen and she has chosen her second husband over me and is up in their room oblivious - always fucking oblivious. I am livid. I mean it like a blood vow when I scream up into the vent with cold hot intense rage, "I will never ever have children because I never want to risk anyone hating me as much as I hate you." and then of course I needed her money. in between husbands of course and money shed gotten from her own parents. and it made me humble. laying in my bed crying about cats I didn't want, I wondered why I was alive. why did I even try. obviously, I thought for the thousandth time, "maybe if I just die. everything will be better." but of course that logic is out the door because the cats would obviously die, but then I thought, maybe I can put them all in a carrier and my last will can be "please take care of these cats". and what a fucking stupid death. what a stupid thing to think. but it's where I went. I was desperate. never love something. it will trap you. and then I think the worst thought - how I don't really feel love - and I bet they don't feel it either - that I'm just a confusing deep troubled problem - a charity case that is kind of boring to them. a nuisance. and I just wonder all my friends that are parents - how they seem to adore their children - my sister adoring hers - my brother (well, he's kind of like my mother - what's in it for him). and goddammit I've never felt adored. it comes up again. always taking one for the team - suppressing my needs or wants to try and please and get love, and it makes me so sad. and for the second time in my life, I think the most horrible thing I could imagine about my mother - why doesn't she just fucking die. the vain selfish pretend can finally end. there's a part of me that is so angry at her - blaming her for not even knowing me. not even .... but I'm old. it doesn't matter. the cats will die. but as god is my witness, I'll protest the whole way. It's their bewilderment that kills me - snatched from comfort into cages then a needle... it just. I"m so scared. the world is a shit show - all the forests logged or raped for cyberstructures that will be obsolete in ten years so we can all do what? try to connect? try to feel love? where is it? where is my hard earned wisdom? where is a productive reason for this pain I'm in. and my stepfather wants to cut back the backyard. I have no fucking idea why. he doesn't live here. but I've no choice. anywhere I move, the cats are more fucked. and so the proofs are done. if I want the cats to live, I have to ...admit I love them? but do I? I just feel sorry for them. they remind me of me. innocent no clue. trying to be big. and independent. while it all collapses without help without support and it makes me livid. the easiest thing to do would just be to not feel. and her, I went to therapy and paid $150 a session (and I'm cheap) so that there could be the possibility that I could open the door to my mother's house, walk in and feel absolutely welcome and loved. Instead, it's always fucking acting. I fucking hate it. time to cut the grass in the backyard that I've neglected for two depressed months because I was like "oh the fireflies and snakes like it and it's not hurting anyone besides the front yard looks fabulous - I even like the overgrown bushes - makes it kind of English garden" and I realize none of this is secure. I'm in a charity house. I can't take care of myself. the only option I have besides this is to cash out my resources and live in a shoebox in another town and wait for my death. now that sounds sad doesn't it. yeah, I prayed last night. I prayed to the god that never answers me. "please help me. please help me. please help me." fell asleep woke up to the cats purring and screaming. this time when I fed them instead of screaming at my fate for having them be my responsibility, my heart broke. god, please if you exist, please please please give me "fuck you" money so I can live in a little hut in the woods and only emerge when I want to and....god what I really really want is someone who really really wants to know me who I love who can handle me even though I'm so very very very scared. and loving myself. god knows it feels like that's all I'm doing right? trying to survive - trying to find a way to exist. but I can't feel love for her. it just feels like an eternal baby reaching for a vacant robot mother. I'll never reach her. and all this. because I'm scared shitless and feel so alone and don't know how to do this. but I also know this is by far not the first time so let's put those boots on and cut the fucking grass and send a foto and fuck them. fuck them. and then and then... I think, maybe there's a chance I could be a grown up and just rationally talk to them and not devolve into an angry teenager/baby. and not rage at their shitty parenting leaving me just to figure it out. well, hopefully I'll figure it out. now at least I know why I write to you. you're my only confident that I can tell the truth to (besides Kent and mark... and that's so complicated sometimes and only in times of emergency not maintenance) and it can't make me sad. it is what it is. I've done this. I've created me. I had to figure out everything by myself. I had food, shelter, clothing - I didn't have a mother. she was in la la land. I didn't have a father - step never talked to me and real was a fucking monster. I tried my best. I hurt a lot of people. I exiled myself. I couldn't stand it forever. I'm so lost, but I love hanging out with me. I love talking to me. I love you. and I'll keep trying. at least they didn't pull this two months ago. I probably would have ...
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