This is a public apology for the things I said about my boyfriend’s family in my last post. I was completely disrespectful and being very unfair. For some reason I am unsure of, I was dead set on antagonizing them in my life. But reading his comment on my post, which you should do if you read my last post, made me realize what I was doing and how wrong I was. I am sorry.
Tag Archives: parenting
I need to talk about the bullshit that happens at my work and how my parents tell me to deal with it.
I don’t deal with too much awful shit with my co-workers. Things could be worse. They could be a lot worse. But I’d be lying if I said things were peachy with me and all my co-workers. Off the top of my head, I can name three that really piss me off. Lately, K has really gotten on my nerves.
Now, I’ve been naughty. I’ve been waiting until my last fifteen minutes of my shift to take my fifteen minute break. I don’t leave. I hang around until the end of my shift. Oooh, I’m such a delinquent(sp?). This really pisses K off. Why, I don’t know. But she really gets on my case about it.
So what does K do? She goes to a manager and, luckily, without mentioning my name, asks if we’re allowed to do that. EXCUSE ME!? THAT’S NONE OF HER BUSINESS TO DO! It doesn’t even affect her!
And then she’s all “I’ll let you do it this time, but next time . . .” Oh, so now you’re going to boss me around, too?
That was her third strike. She’s done shit like this before. So I was pissed off my ass and went to the assistant store manager. I admitted what I had done, and asked to her to talk to K about her big-ass mouth. Because I’m not going to stand for K going around spreading MY business around. The asm agrees with me and promises to talk to her about it. And I promise not to wait until the last fifteen minutes of my shift to take my break anymore.
Now, I’m cooled down, but I’m still in a bit of a pissy mood. So I go to my parents looking for a little sympathy, right? Now, I really don’t think I’m gonna get it, knowing them. But I give them the benefit of the doubt. I start with my mom. What does she say? “People are like that. You gotta deal with it and be careful.”
So I don’t even bother with my dad. My mom tells my dad, so he ends up giving me advice anyway. “People see your happiness and get jealous and try their hardest to destroy it any way they can. It’s human nature.”
Human nature my ass. It ain’t in my nature.
I love my parents, I really do. But, God!
So… I kind of owe you guys an explanation. Heheh. The post before last, part 1, was more an explosion of feelings than an articulated blog post. Sorry about that. And then I forgot to go back and actually explain what it was all about. Sorry about that. So, here goes.
My room is a mess. It’s just one huge pile of shit. I use it all, but still. If I had anywhere to put my things, they wouldn’t be there. Truth, I have clothes on the floor when there is now room for them in my closet. At least, room for some of them. I just can’t get myself to clean my room. And my car’s usually the same way. (I had to clean my car, though, because it had to go in for a recall and get fixed).
My parents can’t stand my room (or my car). It drives them insane. And apparently just shutting the door isn’t good enough. So my dad took all my stuff and threw it in the garage.
So, yeah, I was pretty upset. So I went on to this facebook group for women with mental disabilities looking for some support after the fight. What do I get? “You’re twenty-four years old, you should grow up, get three jobs, and move out. They’re trying to tell you to move out. Most people your age have already moved out. I moved out at 18. I have two jobs and go to school full time with a mental illness.”
A couple people went and defended me, but that just killed me. And then I got a couple other people like her. “You should have just cleaned your room” and shit. Welll, as I said, I simply can’t get myself to clean my room. I’ve tried. Hell, I can’t even get myself to do laundry anymore. Like, wtf?
So I got really pissed. And I kinda went off on a tangent that isn’t exactly what was said, but I was sure what she would think. That I was priveledged, so I couldn’t complain. Because there was a part where she said something like, “you’re lucky you even have a dad. Mine’s dead and I never see my mom.” Well, that sucks for you. Doesn’t mean life with my parents is that fan fucking tastic.
What sucks more is I usually pay rent. Now, there is the excuse that I hadn’t paid rent at the time. I struggle with money a lot. I have a spending problem and my parents are very lenient with me because of that. But still, they’re my things. Yes, it’s their house, but am I not allowed to have anything that’s MINE in my living environment? That’s not OK. Especially since I usually pay rent and do pay my own bills.
Lesigh. This sucks. Anyway, that’s the explanation. Sorry it took so long. Please don’t leave hate. Thanks for reading.
My boyfriend’s mother hates me. And we’ve only been dating less than three months. They had a fight this morning. She started going off about me. Probably about my weight. And how I’m probably encouraging him to gain weight. ‘Cause that’s what all fat people do, right?
I’m sorry if my weight offends you, Mrs. A, but it’s really none of your business. Neither is your 28-year-old son’s weight. At least, not when it’s just a little extra tummy weight.
I’ve struggled with food all my life. It’s not as easy-peasy for me as it was for you. Everyone’s different. Yes, my antidepressants have something to do with my problems. But y’know what? Without those, I’d have killed myself by now. By accident. I’d rather be fat than dead by my own hand. I dunno, those are my priorities. Maybe yours aren’t the same.
I’ve shown her nothing but respect, despite what I think of her. And I’ll continue to show her that. I’m writing this so that I don’t strangle her the next time I see her and she tries to start something. Which she probably will.
I kinda wanna write about it.
But I kinda don’t wanna write about it.
I kinda should write about it.
But I kinda shouldn’t write about it.
So, I guess, if you don’t wanna read about it, don’t read this.
If you don’t wanna report me to social services, but would feel obligated to, don’t read this.
So, I guess it’s time to tell you about it.
There were a couple factors that caused it. The first is minor.
I am sick of crying at work.
All I seem to do these days is cry. At work. Everyone at work is totally understanding about it, but it’s exhausting and embarrassing. I’m sick of caring.
The second reason is also minor.
The first reason I cried lately, was because of some chick at work. I had to pee, so I called R over to cover me, because she was the floater. She was walking up and said, “You’re lucky I’m coming over.”
I’m all, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t like you.”
I tilt my head and have her repeat herself. Now, we all joke around all the time, so I’m really confused. I had never done a thing to her, not intentionally, anyway. She borrowed my charger the day before. But as I’m in the bathroom I decide she’s being serious. So I go up to her and ask, “What’d I do?”
It was a bitch to get out of her what I did. As she walked away she said, “A couple things. Basically, you’re a bitch.”
I know this is her problem. She’s the bitch and coward for not even facing me with her problems. She’s so unimportant. But something deep inside me still cared, and was severely hurt. Because despite everything I knew for a fact, I burst into tears. I called the ASM to come talk to me before I exploded; either in sobs or screams directed at R.
But that was all minor. The real, main reason? I’ll tell you.
I have a system. I have a system for almost everything. And if you disrupt my system, I get frustrated. It’s the ADD/Aspberger’s in me. So, I have a system for closing down the registers at night. But Sunday night, I really had to pee (I have to pee a lot during work. I drink like a camel). So, in order to avoid disrupting my system, I ran to the bathroom when my system allowed some time. Literally, there was only enough time for me to go, pee, and come back. As I was walking back, Q called me over. He had to use the bathroom. So I was frustrated, and I was jokingly making a big deal out of it. But I covered him.
He left his phone at the register, and it went off. I thought, ‘it’d be really funny to answer that on him. ….No, no it wouldn’t.’ But then the manager that was there said, “Answer it!” So I thought, ‘Oh, she thinks it’ll be funny. So it must be funny.’ Besides, it wouldn’t bother me much if someone answered my phone. Esp if it was a joke/”revenge”. So I answered it. It was his gf’s sister. I told the chick the truth, I was Q’s coworker and was playing a joke on him. She told me to tell him to call her back, and we hung up.
Two days later, the day after the R incident, I found out his gf broke up with him that night. Again, tears.
The next day I had off.
The day after that, I decided I was going to stop caring about work, so that I could stop crying there. So I took a Xanax. I was OK. Q walked by and glared at me when I wasn’t looking, and I took another Xanax. Finally, we ended up at the same register. The awkwardness and guilt was too much. I couldn’t take it. So I volunteered to go to the slowest register. The one where no customers come by, and you have nothing to do but think. And think. And think.
I kinda wanted to do it.
But I kinda didn’t want to do it.
I tried to find somebody to stop me. But I couldn’t find anyone. Couldn’t think of anyone to call (not that I’d be allowed to call anyone, anyway.) So I did it.
On Thursday, April 24, 2014, I took a total of 10 Xanax and 10 Acetaminophen.
I didn’t want to die. Just wanted the attention. The pity. I wanted R and Q to feel bad for what they’d done to me. I just wanted to go to the hospital where someone would take care of me and I could get away from everything for a few days.
I didn’t feel anything happening, so I went up to Q and told him that I was suicidal because of the whole situation. He tried to save his ass by being all, “Oh, no, don’t do that. We fight like this all the time. It’s really no big deal.” No one noticed anything wrong for the rest of the work day. I only know this because I don’t remember the rest of it. I may have asked a coworker if my eyes were dilated. But I’m not sure.
Apparently, I got home safely. I guess I hung around for a while. My parents didn’t notice anything. My friend was 20 minutes late coming over, so I figured she was going to be really late. So I decided I felt like masturbating. I went up stairs, laid down, got my pants down, and the next thing I knew it was 10:30 and my mom was calling me, telling me my friend was here.
My friend, A, noticed right away. But she’s a CNA, she’s trained to. She almost took me to the hospital. But for some reason (maybe I told her no, I was fine), she decided not to. A and I went to Wegman’s and apparently I was acting kinda weird, cuz she was telling everyone that I was just a ditzy person. Then we came back and had fun.
The next morning, after A left, I decided my parents had a right to know. I had debated telling them, because I knew what they would do. But they are my parents. So I told my mom. She remained calm all day. Then my dad got home.
YOU’RE GOING TO LOSE YOUR JOB! MY CAREER IS RUINED! HE’S GOING TO LOSE HIS GUNS!
Several days of lectures and yells. Oh, and new restrictions.
My boss found out about it. Apparently idiot-ass me told a customer. But she never addressed it at work. Only on fb.
I still want the attention. I still want the pity. So I’m quietly spreading the story around at work. Even though my store is the center of rumors, my story isn’t getting around very well. Just as well, I guess.
Apparently Q and his gf got back together. He spoke to me today like nothing had happened. So, things are getting better, I guess. But the meds still need fixing. Because I kinda wanna do it again. I still wanna go to the hospital.
I went on a shopping spree yesterday. I found relaxers. Particularly, hooka sticks. They’re e-cigs with hooka instead of nicotine (right?). They’re fantastic.
No, my parents don’t know about the hooka sticks. And they aren’t going to. My counselor might. Maybe. Or not.
I’m exhausted, now. I guess it was good I wrote about it. Do you hurt yourself? What are your reasons?
A seed of hatred and resentment for my parents has come into existence within me, and is beginning to bury itself. Why? Because these past few days have been absolutely awful. The other day, I really needed to go home from work. And what do my parents say about that? “Suck it up.”
OK, if I work to the point where I throw up at work, I think I suck things up pretty much all the time. There is such thing as a breaking point, and I hit it that day. And my parents don’t care.
Yes they do.
No, they don’t.
Of course they do.
If they cared, they would be doing research on depression. On how I’m feeling. They would listen to me. They would ask for help.
They’re doing what they think is right.
Well, they have to admit to themselves that they’re wrong and look for help. They don’t want to believe that something’s wrong with their daughter. But there is, and they have to deal with it.
My meds aren’t working. I wanted to get off Sertreline so bad. But it seems to be the only thing that actually works. I think this is one time I will allow myself to say: fml.
Things were going so great. I was in such a good mood the day I forgot my meds. Then, the three days after, I’ve been absolutely awful. The only thing that makes sense is that my body wants Sertreline.
But let’s put some good news in here. My grandmother passed away recently. I asked my mom what was going to happen to her necklace, ’cause I kinda really wanted it. Well, my grandmother was my mom’s step-mother. She had three boys of her own, though. So my mom went to the boys and asked them. It was a unanimous “yes!” So I got my grandmother’s necklace for Valentine’s day (:.