A Ceramic Fish Joint

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T95avZoqlhE
It's amazing how people so “dedicated” to their cause haven't actually got a clue in what they're trying to do.

Dear Blahg,

For most of my life, I’ve had some degree of guilt hanging over my head. My brother was always in so much trouble, that I felt guilty every bringing up any of my own problems. Not that it would have mattered, all focus was on him. And, in turn, I developed an automatic guilt response to anything wrong in my life. Because I was the good child, the one without problems. So if something went wrong it was obviously my own fault. This guilt was reinforced by my mom to a great deal. If some property of mine was damaged/destroyed by my brother or nephew – it was my fault for leaving it “out.” Out could mean having it in my bedroom. Or having a bike in the garage to be stolen. My brother would go through my personal belongings to steal things, or just ruin them. I was quite the aspiring artist through highschool and had many works that were amazing, and I was proud of them. Yeah, not so much anymore thanks to the spitefulness of my brother…or the inconsiderate nature of his son.

Another big feeling of guilt lies with my father. Legend has it he didn’t want to marry my mom. She always laughs when she says that she gave him an ultimatum to marry her. I was three years old at the time. If he didn’t marry her, she would leave and take my brother (not his son) and me…and we’d never see him again. So, about three days before the allotted time frame was up, he married her. It’s not that they were really unhappy…but after my brother started getting in so much trouble; jail, needing money because of drugs, having a kid he doesn’t take care of, jail, money, jail, etc. My dad didn’t really want to deal with it anymore. He had made a promise to himself to stay with my mom until I graduated high school, then he would leave. Everyone knew his plans. He knew I would be leaving as I hate this place…and he felt that he had done his job in raising me in the best family environment that he could.

Fast forward to the end of high school. My parents are so far in debt because of my brother (like 60 or 70 thousand dollars.) My dad couldn’t easily leave at that time. Shortly after I went to college, my mom started getting sick. She was already diabetic, then started having heart problems. Many angioplasties later, once with radiation, she had to have open heart surgery – a triple bipass. After getting out of the hospital, she developed a secondary infection and was back in the hospital for about a month before going to Johns Hopkins to have a mass removed from her liver. This was in mid 2003, and she’s never been well since. She hasnt been able to work. She lost her job and it took over a year to get approved for disability. My dad is stuck. He won’t leave her in her current condition. She isn’t going to get any better. It’s really a matter of waiting until she dies for things to improve.

Anyway, here comes the guilt. My 32 year old brother still lives at home, doesn’t work…and probably never will. He’s got a couple of felonies under his belt and is waiting to find out what charges he’ll get after being arrested in MO last year. He’s a complete and utter asshole. Takes her pills (that have to be paid out of pocket. And she requires a lot of pills.) Demands money for stuff. Eats enough to feed a family of 6. Smokes at least a pack of ciggarettes a day. And is basically just likes to stir up trouble when he can. My mom is very needy. From needing her meds (understandable) to needing cigarettes, to needing random things. She is too easily upset to be allowed to know about bills… They have no money, but still everyone just demands more. My dad works his ass off, along with taking care of my mom, his own mom and trying to keep the peace so nobody is upset. He doesn’t make enough money to actually cover all of this, and continually asks me for money. In the past 3 months, I’ve given him $1300. Which is basically a little more than a full paycheck. Keep in mind that I live in a city where the cost of living is much higher. My HALF of rent is equal to their mortgage. I want to say no to him, because oftentimes I’m put in difficult situations. Not buying food/gas/whatever for myself while my mom and brother get to smoke every day. But I feel horribly guilty saying anything to him because if I hadn’t been born – he could have left long ago. He would have had a successful life, free from the insanity that this family produces.

I also feel guilty because me saying no to him sometimes means that I’m getting to do “fun” things with my money, while they may not have stuff that they need. Part of me realizes I’m entitled to do what I please with the money I make, but a huge part of me just has this lingering guilt. I’m not really sure what the answer to this is. I went to see a therapist once, and she said I definitely needed to take him off of my bank account…or even close it so he has no access at all. I feel like such a shitty daughter to do that – but I wonder if I’ll ever prosper otherwise. I make fairly good money for my age/education…yet I’m usually living paycheck to paycheck. I shouldnt’ have to be.

I guess one day I’ll figure out the right answer. I’d love to not be plagued with guilt all the time, because this is only the beginning of the dark cloud hovering over me.

Dear Blahg,

Let me tell a story of the here-and-now type. I suppose I’ve spent many years repressing my feelings, compartmentalizing the things that bothered me and denying anything was wrong. I was once told that I was a denial and repression junkie. That was about 7 years ago, and is still pretty accurate. But sometimes everything that you repress finds its way out.

I never noticed my depression because I had conditioned myself to not notice it. Finally, about a year ago, my old position was just killing me. I was so angry, and constantly sick. I found small relief in taking illegally gained pills, but it wasn’t enough. I had been turned down for a few positions that I felt I was overqualified for and that just made everything shittier.

About six months ago, I finally got a promotion into a much better working environment. I’m certainly not using my skills in this job, but the job pays more and is less demanding. And I genuinely like it. Around the same time, I found out that the leasing office would not renew the lease for my roommate and myself. Thanks to him paying rent late every month for two years. Or them losing rent. Anyway, in two years there, we had 21 eviction notices. So, hello shopping for a new apartment in a month. With me working overtime and him working nonstop testing a release. It wound down to us having ONE weekend afternoon (after I worked) to look at apartments. We had about 2 hours to do so, actually. We found one, but the move-in costs were insane. We did the lease in his name because he has better credit, but someone had stolen his identity and had fun with the good credit. To move in? Over 3000 dollars. Not including movers. Hi, stress. He has a tendency to wait till the last minute to do things, so packing was done the few days prior to moving. Except he got kidney stones that week and I ended up doing the bulk of it. Oh, and he hadn’t produced all of his half of move-in costs. Despite making 1/3 more than I do.

By the time we were moved, I was pretty aggravated. I took everything anyone said personally, and was annoyed by the slightest thing. He got a new fuckbuddy (turned-boyfriend) who is the loudest person I know. I was working a schedule of 13 hour shifts over the weekend. I had to get up at 5am to get to work. People often are loud until about 4am on weekend nights.

So yeah, I was annoyed. There were many other little things not worth mentioning that bugged me as well. My then-boyfriend was bothering me, and I didn’t really have the desire to even see him. I got more and more depressed, started having a lot of panic attacks and mostly just stopped functioning. It became more difficult to explain to people what was wrong than it was to just alienate them. So that’s what I did.

I saw psychiatrist #1 who attributed all of my anxiety and depression to being fat. I immediately made an appointment to see somebody else, who put me on a nice cocktail of drugs. I broke up with the boyfriend who just didn’t get what was wrong with me. And, completely by accident, started seeing somebody new.

I had worked with new-boyfriend in the past, he was actually a supervisor-type person to me in my previous job. He was recently separated from his wife (like mere weeks before we started dating, though I didn’t know it at the time.) Everything was rainbows and daisies for a while, at least in a superficial way. We both needed new apartments; I didn’t want to live with roommate anymore because he no longer respected me, he hadn’t planned on staying with his roommate more than a month or two. We never discussed living together, but it was in the back of both of our minds.

Then, I got news that my department was going away. And soon. By the end of the year, I won’t be working in this position anymore. A new group was being developed out of mine and another. I could either move to Texas more or less immediately, or stay where I was and hope some other group would hire me. I talked to boyfriend about this, saying I was taking him into consideration. At that point, we weren’t “seriously” dating…just having fun I guess. Though neither of us wanted to date other people. I knew that I wanted to be with him if he’d have me, but if there was no chance of that then I may have taken the job in Texas. After talking, he came to the conclusion that he couldn’t imagine not being with me..and further brought up living together. A couple weeks later, we had found a place and were moving in.

Everything seemed to be going fine – I certainly didn’t notice any problems. I unfortunatley was working night shift at this time…but we had mornings and weekends together. Exactly three weeks after moving in, on the Friday before the weekend we were supposed to spent together since he didn’t have his son, he broke up with me. Which also meant I had to move since the lease was in his name. Let me just take a moment to say I absolutely despise moving. Hate it. So that would be my third move in three months.

Of course I was devastated. I had actually fallen in love with him. I rarely let myself get close to people…and in 27 years have only loved one other person. So this was a pretty big deal to me. He says he couldn’t handle a relationship because he was dealing with the divorce, and knowing his ex was dating someone else – meaning his son had another “father figure” in his life. Maybe that’s true, but part of me has to think there’s something about me he didn’t like. I mean, saying “It’s not you, it’s me” is a total fucking lie. So now I wonder if the intimate personal details I shared caused him to not want me. Like I’m damaged goods. Or if I’m a bad girlfriend. Basically, I just felt like a failure at the relationship. It was a very important thing to me, and I had somehow messed it up. I still feel that way.

After a couple of days, it seemed like this new failure was a catalyst for all the other things that had been bothering me for many years. I haven’t finished school. I’m doing a job that’s way below my skillset. My dad uses me as a line of credit (that he never pays back.) My mom demands more attention than I’m willing to give. People seem to use me for whatever they can get, and I let them…I’m basically functioning as a doormat. And on, and on, and on. Nervous breakdown, here we come.

Monday came, and I was in a horrible state. I called off work, which I never do. I spent the morning in tears, hardly able to move. I started to see my whole life as a failure and suicide seemed like a valid option. Sometimes it still does. I figured if I killed myself, I wouldn’t have to deal with moving. I wouldn’t have to suffer all the sadness and pain anymore. I wouldn’t have to worry about the mountains of debt I have, thanks to my father and medical bills. I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone anymore. It was a comforting thought. Plus, I realized that I had held my life insurance policy for long enough to remove the suicide clause, meaning that my parents would receive a much-needed chunk of money.

Since I was so serious about killing myself, I had to think of some valid options. I wanted the chance of failure to be small. After all, I wouldn’t want to know I had failed at something else. The now ex-boyfriend was on vacation that week, but wasn’t actually leaving town until the end of the week. I knew that I needed to wait until the end of the week so I couldn’t be found before the job was done, thus making it seem like a cry for help. I had a good hunk of pills thanks to the myriad medications I’m on. However, I was nowhere close to the LD50 on any of them. I researched this on that Monday..trying to figure out if my stash would do it. I thought I could maybe throw in a few bottles of over the counter stuff and some Ketel One for added deathness. Still, I wasn’t so sure it would work out. I was going to wait until the morning he left to do it, and just go lay in a bathtub full of bubbles and wait for it to be over. But I didn’t entirely like the idea of him finding me.

Option 2 was to get a LOT of heroin and overdose. Unfortunately, since I don’t know anyone who can get it for me in Tampa – it meant I would need to fly to Baltimore to get it. When I was a user in the past, that’s where I got my smack. I could come back, share a little with old roommate since he always wanted to try it…then go have my final hit. Added bonus, I love me some heroin and have wanted to have a taste again for a while now. The downside is that I could either get arrested picking it up, or trying to get it back, or getting ripped off.

Option 3 was to fly to San Francisco and jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. An average of 1 person jumps every two weeks or so. And, so far, only 26 have survived. The good side of this was that I’ve always wanted to see San Francisco, and I had enough money that I could have a bit of fun before I died. The bad side is that I would need to wait until the ex was out of town so there were no missing persons things happening.

Option 4, which was mostly a joke – but the easiest, was to go to Lakeland and get lots of meth. I’m not so sure that ODing on meth would be my preferred way to go.

Anyway, since all of these things would need to wait a few days to be executed, I was pretty upset just sitting there. Being around him like nothing was wrong. I ended up getting my X-Acto knife and cutting the hell out of myself. I started with the arms, but not-so-quickly realized that it was noticeable…and it wasn’t something I wanted people to see. So I cut my legs and stomach, imagining I was cutting the disgusting fat away. Nobody wanted me anyway, I was damaged goods. Slicing my skin was a way to feel this on the outside, too. Let me just say that I’m not a “cutter” – though I did go through a very brief period in high school. I’m more of a pull your hair out kind of girl. Along with slicing my skin up nice and pretty, I scratched chunks of skin off. It’s pretty hard to get your skin to come off that way, but I managed. I also slapped myself and hit my head against walls. Anything to numb the hurt inside and let me focus on hurting externally.

I’m not exactly sure how I stopped, but I did. I went to work the next day…and was mostly in zombie mode. On Wednesday, I finally answered the phone when my mom called. She had been trying to reach me for days. Eventually I told her what was going on, and she convinced me to take a leave from work and go stay with her and my dad. In West Virginia. I must have been quite vulnerable, because this is not an option I would normally select. By Friday, though, I was on a plane to Baltimore, then that evening I was at their house.

Since I’ve been here, all I want to do is go home. I did manage to see a therapist once, which helped some. I also realized that I need to learn how to relax, and let go of all the angry, sad, overwhelming thoughts running through my head. I was going to go back to Tampa yesterday, but was convinced late Saturday night to stay a little longer. I’m not entirely sure that it was the right decision, but here I am.

I’m not really suicidal now, though it’s comforting to know that I can jump on a plane and go to San Francisco at any time.

So this is the story of right now. My breakdown, and the events leading up to it. Not quite as poetic as some people, and the outcome is still unclear. The part that I hate the most, though, is that this was all set off by rejection from some guy. That would normally sting, but not bother me so much…yet this time it was a catalyst for something far bigger than I had ever imaged.

Dear Blahg,

I can’t decide how I’d like to write my problems. Should they go chronologically – from the first memory of something bad to present? Or should I examine the more recent issues that have come up, then work backwards? Or should I just write the first thing that comes to mind? I think I like the last option the best, simply because it’s the easiest. However, I think the end result will be a bit more cluttered than I’d prefer.

I guess instead of delving deep into my psyche right now, I’ll talk about one of my greatest fears. Yes, that would be slugs. I hate them. They are slimey. They are creepy. They sort of look like excrement. While growing up in West Virginia, there were always slugs outside in the summer. I was terrified to touch one. Since I often ran around barefoot or with flip flops on, I hated the chances of accidentally stepping on one. Or even stepping next to one, and having it touch me. It squicks me right the fuck out.

I’ve never noticed a slug population in Florida, though I do have my moments where I think a slug has gotten on me or is in my bed. For example, when my hair was long, brown and wet from a shower, I would notice a small piece of it curled on my arm. Immediately I would flip the fuck out, assuming a slug had somehow gotten into my bathroom and climbed up onto my shoulder without me noticing it. I would also think that slugs were in my bed. Sometimes I would throw change on the end of my bed when washing clothes. Sometimes the change never made it off the bed, instead getting under my covers. And sometimes, at night, I would feel something cool – almost moist – touching me. And sometimes I would kick my legs furiously, turn on all the lights and tear apart all of my bedding to find the stray slug, which was actually a quarter.

I do not like slugs.

Despite my dislike of them, I often think about slugs. You know, to prepare myself for the final battle of A Girl against A Slug. I wonder where slugs come from. Where they go during the day. Do they just slug under ground to go to sleep? What happens in the winter when it’s too cold and their slime would freeze? Do they hibernate or move south? Or do they die, but have baby slugs in some sort of slug-stasis eggs or something? I could look this all up on the internets, but then I would come across pictures of slugs and that would make me very sad.

I just don’t trust the things one bit. They’re creepy, slimey, slow-moving and generally gross. I don’t believe they have a true purpose for their existance except to make me sad.

Well, hell…the default post already had the title I wanted.

Let me introduce myself to nobody at all. I’m a 27 year old girl in Tampa, FL. I’ve been some sort of IT monkey for about five years now. My life is in a bit of a whirlwind right now, and I’ve decided to write about it. I’ve been blogging off and on since the beginning, but rather than use any of my active domains (or MySpace) I wanted a new, anonymous place to lay down my words.

So, to my zero loyal readers, sit back and enjoy some popcorn while my world comes crashing down before your very eyes.

Well, I saw ChristianTherapistLady on Monday. And I have to say it felt kind of nice to be validated. I guess knowing my family history helped after all. Since it was just one appointment, she gave me some insight into things I need to do to make me a priority, including closing the bank account that my dad uses constantly. She also agreed with my need to go back to Tampa. And said that being furious at my mom is understandable. So, yay therapist who is on my side!

I told my dad that I needed to go home. He keeps trying to get me to stay longer, but said he would take me to the aiport on Sunday if I really felt I had to go. I tried telling my mom that I was leaving and she flipped the fuck out. Like, Flipped the Fuck Out. She threatened with all these different things, like saying she would have me commited somewhere to keep me…or if I left she would leave. Crazy assed stuff like that. Regardless, I bought a plane ticket to leave Sunday afternoon.

My dad asked me later that night to consider staying for a full month (which is 2 and a half weeks from now) and I said I would. And I really did. But after hearing that my LOA is still not approved, and is going under medical review right now – wherein they are contacting my doctor to see if they can get a return date, etc. And my short-term disability is not yet approved. I'm kind of afraid one or both will be denied. And if they are, I need to be in Tampa immediately. I'll find out on Monday the status of both of them…but I have decided I do need to be back on Sunday. Besides, I have an appointment with a primary care physician on Monday that I've been waiting 2 months to see. And I would like to go back to my nurse practitioner. And see a therapist in Tampa. And go back to work relatively soon. I don't like the not making money deal.

I haven't told my mom yet that I am for sure going back Sunday…and I'm not sure how to do so. She threw such a damn fit last time. I mean, besides just wanting to be there, I am afraid for my job. I guess there's only a tiny chance any of it will get denied, but I don't like knowing the chance is there.

So, this means I have three more full days of West Virginia living. Then I'll have the dreaded drive to Baltimore, which takes longer than the nonstop flight to Tampa. Plus, mountains and curvy roads = car sick Heidi. It will be a little weird going back, as Brian moved all my stuff back to Wes' for me. So I'll be coming home to a little bit of chaos. But that's definitely better than a lot of frustration.

My mom will not leave me alone. I just had another session of “who's emailed you and what did they say.” Followed by “why did your relationship fail.” My favorite subjects! The first I hate because she doesn't realize that I don't normally have lengthy conversations with many of my friends. Sure Wes and I have talked at least a dozen times, but the emails were usually one sentence long containing such pearls of wisdom as:

Me: If I were wanting to SSH into the box, which domain would I want to connect to?
Him: It's stupid. You have to connect to (random domain using random username/password)
Me: Wow. I would have never figured that out on my own. So you're at textdrive now? I was just looking over their plans and thinking about them.
Him: Um… They still suck. Like, a lot. I'd rather have my sites hosted by AS Middleware (internal really sucky support group at our company.)
Me: AS Middleware featuring Jack Kong? (guy who works in AS Middleware who is a fucking idiot, and who is named Jack Kong, which is weird.)

As you can see, I don't think she'd really “get” the conversations I have.

She keeps asking about Brian. It ranges from wanting to know useless info about him to trying to figure out why he didn't want to be with me. And if he was lying with his reason for breaking up. And has he spoken to me since I left? If he really cared, wouldn't he be emailing me more? Was it a bad breakup?

I just don't want to hear it. Then she gets all concerned when I don't talk about stuff. Here's the deal: I don't discuss my personal issues. None of them. My feelings are my own and I don't like others to be able to get close to them. My mom especially. She hears the Reader's Digest condensed version, now with 98% less emotions! She knows I dodge personal questions and always have. It's not going to change now.

In any case, I really just don't like talking about the failed relationship. It still stings, a lot. And I miss him, a lot. And I realize that after my little (big) breakdown, he most certainly wants nothing to do with me anymore even on the friendliest levels. I don't really blame him. The breakup was this huge catalyst for all these feelings of inadequacy, betrayal, being used and whatever else that have built up over my life. All those things I so neatly tucked away to avoid them, they came rushing forward in a way I've never felt. I guess it didn't help at all that prior to getting involved with him, I was already dealing with a lot. Stress from work, stress from uncertainty at my job, stress from a not so great living situation, money troubles, etc. The daily panic attacks were barely manageable. I realized that maybe I was depressed and should do something about it. And the lack of sleep for years just finally wore me the fuck out. Brian made everything so easy to deal with. I felt like I could just forget all my problems with him. They didn't matter because I was so damn happy. I had a great time with him, regardless of what we did. I felt closer to him than I had to anyone in a very long time because I was comfortable sharing those personal bits. That's probably the part of the breakup I hate the most – that I had allowed myself to be close to someone…and wasn't wanted anymore. Sure, he said he was breaking up for other reasons, but part of me will always think that getting close to him was the downfall of it all. You know, finding out I'm damaged goods or whatever.

I don't know. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say right now. I guess the point is that while I'm really sad over losing a great friend and (seemingly) happy relationship, I wish my mom wouldn't dwell on that….because that's not even close to being one of my greatest problems.

So here I am, still stuck in West Virginia. My dad has agreed to let me go back to Tampa – but can't give me an actual day that he can take me to the airport. Tomorrow my grandma is having surgery – a knee replacement – which is totally unnecessary for her. She lies to her doctors about how much pain she's in and how she can't go on living this way…when in reality she lives a pretty active life. Lies, and the doctors believe her. I suppose she just wants attention, she absolutely craves it. Somebody needs to teach her about Munchhausen disorder. Also, my dad has a short job to start this week, but he doesn't know how many days it will take. This all means I will most likely have to buy tickets the day before, thus spending more money than I should have to. He will also likely be taking me in his truck, as the car is in the shop for a myriad of reasons. Which means I have to also find a day when my luggage won't be ruined from rain. Looking at the forecast for both here and Baltimore, there are predictions of scattered and/or isolated storms for the next week and a half. I just want to get back to Tampa.

I had an appointment with my mom's therapist on Friday. We got to the office, the doctor popped his head out saying she was running a little late. Apparently she doesn't come in everyday…and not until she has an appointment. Weird, but whatever. Anyway, I wait. And wait. And wait. I waited a fucking hour at the office, until 5 minutes before my session would have been over, when finally one of her nurse friends came by to say she wasn't going to be able to make it…and to reschedule. I get that this is a small town, but to not have a secretary to answer the phone so she could have not wasted my time? Pretty damn unacceptable. My dad made me reschedule for Monday evening to appease my mom. I really don't want to see this lady, and am not keen on the Christian therapy thing – what with being an atheist and all. But I guess I'll have to go and do the talking to the nice lady who has known my mom for forever and oh yeah. Helped deliver me. What the fuck.

Also under the category of suck is this whole leave of absence process. People keep saying they're not getting all the paperwork they need. Which means I have to fax like five bajillion things tomorrow. Again. Bah!

Update: After riding with my dad to take a car to get fixed, he asked if I had reconsidered staying longer. I said no, and that for me to leave was really just up to him to take me to the airport. He also asked if I was still willing to help pay to get the car fixed. I said we'd see depending on how much it costs…but seriously. In a weekend I spent over 300 dollars. And, I figured out how much money he had used of mine in the last 3 months: 1300. Fucking hell. That is a good chunk of money. It's a paycheck. It would be a deposit on an apartment (thanks to my shitty credit – which is a lot thanks to him.) I have one more “real” paycheck coming…and my bonus check at the end of the month. Provided I am approved for short term disability coverage, I should be getting 60% of my pay beginning tomorrow. Of course, they say they haven't received everything from me…so I have to fax stuff in again and wait while they decide if I'm covered. This is yet another reason I'd like to get back to Tampa…so I can go back to work and actually make money again. Right now I'm just wasting it on other people. That doesn't help my needs one bit.

So basically I just feel stagnant right now. I'm not moving forward or back. Nothing is happening. I've spent a week sorta zoned out in front of my laptop. I just watch movies, or Firefly and read news. It kind of sucks because I'm very apathetic right now. I could be learning stuff that I need to learn. Or reading. Or playing with web design again, which I very much miss. Or even just revisiting some of my old favorite bloggers. Anyone without an RSS feed, or if I was too lazy to bookmark their RSS feed in the past is too much work now. It's amazing how lazy technology can make people.

My mom has a horrible body image. She's so ashamed of how she looks, and apparently wants everyone else to feel the same. Especially me. She's constantly disapproving of what I wear or how I look. She thinks that by shaming and embarrassing me, I'll suddenly lose weight and be perfect and people will like me.

Ahem.

Now, I will be the first to admit that I'm overweight. A lot overweight. But you know what? I'm okay with that. I'm striving to be a healthier person, making small changes here and there to do it…but I'm happy. And I'm not unhealthy. I realize that losing weight will help reduce the chances of heart disease and diabetes (both are very prevalent in my family.) But I don't think that making me feel guilty for how I look or what I eat is the way to make me healthier.

I just don't understand why a person, especially a mother, would think that it's okay to make someone hate themselves. She completely disapproves of me wearing a tank top. Because *gasp* someone will see my arm fat. She doesn't even want me to wear a tank top to walk the dog. When it's in the upper 90s in the afternoon, in a very rural neighborhood. Nobody cares what I look like while the dog is doing his business, why should she??

This really isn't anything new. She's always hated me wearing clothes that don't hide every feature about me, or are actually more fitting than being tented over me so you can't see where I actually am inside the fabric. I just would think that given the circumstances, she'd lay off inducing more self-hatred than is necessary.

The part that bugs me the most is that while living at home, I did have major body image issues. It didn't help me be something else, it just made me loathe looking into a mirror. It made me feel unworthy of friendships and relationships. And it made me feel unworthy of anything I had ever achieved (for instance, academically) because I felt like I wasn't a good enough person. It's taken years to get over that. It probably wasn't until I started living in Tampa about four years ago that I really became comfortable with myself. That's 23 years of hating my looks. And now she wants to take this away so that I be thin?

I don't understand why she has to attack me this way. And I'm not sure how I can explain to her that the way she approaches me doesn't help me at all. It's really kind of hurtful. But anything I say to contradict her is immediately just taken as me being a bitch and being mean. I feel like I just can't win.

Lovely. Somebody else wants me to “fix” their computer. Because of the porn popping up from sites they've never been to. Everybody always has to say that. I never went to a porn site! I don't understand! My cousin will pay me, apparently. But I don't want to deal with this. This is one of the main reasons I did not want anyone to know about me coming here. I fucking hate dealing with people's computers. I don't care if I understand stuff more than them. Just because I have worked in tech support doesn't mean I enjoy doing it. Hence the reason I got out of the helpdesk jobs.

Besides, I think I mentioned before, this isn't something I'm all too good at. I don't use Windows. I don't get spyware. I've never had a virus. I understand how computers work, sure…. It's just not the same thing. But because nobody understands anything more than clicking on that big blue “e” and typing in crap…they will never get it. It's like asking a dermitologist to do heart surgery. Also, when doing the big cleanups – people always demand that you explain why it happened. And what all was wrong. And what they're supposed to do to prevent it. And what is it that was wrong again? Why did it give a porn site…I never went there.

Then cut to me, getting frustrated and angry and ending up being the bitch because I just can't be nice to people and do whatever they want. I really hate that I'm the only person in the entire freaking family that has an aptitude for computer-type things. Every single time I visit my parents I either have to deal with viruses and spyware…setting up new computers…fixing internet connections…setting up home networks…something. All while one or more people stands over my shoulders asking questions.

I also have had people call me before for help. My dad is kind of special and gets the free support thing. But to have to talk to a cousin for hours to fix their computer? Not my idea of a good evening.

Also, it kind of bugs me that people only see me as someone who knows the computers. I do have other qualities, you know. I'm well-read, witty, have fabulous taste and am pretty darn smart, too. But all I'll ever be seen as is someone to make the pop-ups go away.