Losing it…

On the cusp of a mental breakdown, I turn to blogging.  After all, it is why I created this space in the first place.

So, where to start.  That’s hard.  To organize all the things that torment me.  It’s been a long time coming.  I could feel it’s grasp around my throat no matter how long and how hard I ran from the invisible hands that are responsible.

I guess, I’ll start with the straw that broke the camels back, what piled on top of that, and then work backwards.

This morning, while trying to point out to a friend that the world is an evil place, and many people believe and live by the saying ‘All is fair in love and war’, I was misunderstood.  And my friend returned with “Please Donny. U have no kids”.  As a lot of people know, or have seen through the cracks, my “Ok without a family or children” attitude that I’ve adopted is just an artificial shell I wear to try to hide the pain inside.  The pain caused by knowing that I have no kids, and if the history of my life has taught me anything, it’s that I probably won’t be afforded the opportunity to have them either.  Not in the way I want, and they deserve.  So, that broke my back,  and the flood of depression I had dammed off came bursting through with a violent wave.  I tried to move on with my day, to ignore it, but thing after thing just continued to go wrong.  Then, when I thought the day was over and nothing else could possibly make things worst, my brother announces that he’s going to get a few tattoos in a couple of weeks.  I know this statement in itself is perplexing, as to why it would upset me, but we had a pact.  A couple of years ago, we both got tattoos for his son.  Since then, we have gotten 3 more done together.  A pact to wait until we were both in the same location at the same time, to get tattooed together.  Now, I made an exception when his daughter was born, because I didn’t think it was fair to make him wait nearly a year, but apparently he took that as a voiding of our deal.  The worst part is that he’s been joking around about it like it’s no big deal and like it’s my fault I won’t be there when he gets his next in a couple of weeks.  Which, I’ll get to why that’s impossible soon.

Maybe no big deal to most, but it is a big deal to me.

The diabetes makes sure that I can’t turn to a bottle, to dull the depression.  This in itself makes me sick.  I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that I want to turn to the bottle, or the fact that I ever let that become an option to begin with.  Either way, it is no longer an option with my health.  On top of that, I haven’t been to the gym in 11 days, I don’t even know how that much time flew by already.

Underneath all of this, are other issues.  Like, I’m failing my math class.  Which means, if I do fail, that I cannot get my degree.  You are only allowed this class twice, and this is my 2nd try.  This means, with my pending move to Milwaukee in August, that I’ll be returning WITHOUT my degree, which means, basically, I’m fucked.  I don’t know one single person surviving on their own without some sort of assistance, whether it be a roommate, their parents, child support or some other government program I’m not eligible for.  I’m sure they exist, but no one I personally know is doing it.  Not with a H.S. degree only.  Especially since I will already be traveling there with hefty debt.  I’ve been stuck in Virginia because of the debt.  Despite my brother’s wild ideas, I cannot see it fathomable to live a non-stressed out life for anything below $13/hr @ 40 hours a week.  And those jobs are few and far between there.

I guess, it all comes down to being my own fault.  For ever thinking life could be enjoyed.  I should have accepted defeat 5 years ago and just stayed in Milwaukee.  Living a shitty existence at a shitty job.  I’d probably have 6 years in there by now.  And I would have never known a better life could exist.  “Think positive” a friend told me.  But, I can’t.  Thinking positive is what got me to where I am.  I survived a hard, shitty, fucked up life until I moved here by being realistic, and maybe a little pessimistic at times.  But I wasn’t down on life, because I just thought that’s how life went.   Moving here, my uncle showed me what was on the other side of the fence.  The place that I was never allowed to play.  And because he showed it to me, and let me live that life, I’ve gotten soft and I can no longer accept the reality of the sins of the father that I have to pay.

Which brings my next stress.  My parents.  Well, my mother.  My father, I owe nothing to in my opinion, besides my voice.  I’ll talk, I’ll be his friend, but financially, he’s a huge part of the reason I live the life I do.  But my mother.  She went above and beyond everyone’s expectations when both my father, and the father of my two younger sisters bailed.  She stepped up and filled a roll she never wanted to.  She became the mom and dad.  She both worked full-time, and made sure there was a warm, home cooked meal on our dinner table every night.  And never did she complain to us as kids.  It wasn’t until I was nearly an adult that I realized the toll it had taken.  The sacrifices she made for us.  But her earlier life with my father, and my sisters father, coupled with the bottle she turned to when life became too much for her, has taken a horrible toll on her body.  At 45 years old, she can barely walk because of degenerative hip and leg problems, her blood pressure is through the roof, and I suspect she’s hiding a couple more ailments from me.  She’s got a foot in the grave and not a dime in savings.  If she doesn’t find some way of fixing her health now, I’ll be taking care of her within the next few years, if even.  It’s getting so hard for her to work as it is.  She won’t be able to stay at the grocery store forever.  And my sister has been supported by her for years, along with my two nieces.  Which means, if my mom fails to be able to help them, as the eldest child, and brother and uncle, that too is on me.

And I haven’t even gotten to what may be the worst stresser of them all.  Finding a job in that barred wasteland.  I, am not a desirable employee.  I mean, ask any of my former managers, and they’d likely tell you, with the exception of Robert, that you’d be lucky to have me working for you.  I work as hard as I can at whatever the task is.  I grew up with the old school thought that your name means everything, and so I want my work to reflect well upon my name.  But, things like pre-screening questionnaires hurt me.  My last job, in Wisconsin, was at Blockbuster.  A job my brother, who worked there, got me.  Well, he got me the interview.  After I was hired, I found out that I was in 2! piles of rejected applicants who failed that thing.  Which would explain the year I spent looking for a job before that, and the 18 months I’ve spent looking for a job now.  I suspect my unwavering honesty actually hurts me on those things.  But, I don’t know the specifics as to why I failed.  So, I’m faced with moving back, with no money, no job and the unlikelihood of finding a job in a timely manner.  Oh.  And I forgot.  I suffer from Paruresis. This cost me a $20/hr job at a machine shop when I was 19.  That, would have changed my life.  But it didn’t.  And it showed me that I would never be able to get a job that required a urine test.  I begged and pleaded for them to let me pay for a blood test, to replace it, but they wouldn’t.  Sears did the same thing to me a short time later.  So, with all of these restrictions and everything stacked against me, my blood has been boiling.  I feel like I’m getting new grey hair each day.

I just don’t know what to do anymore…


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About houseofgeekdom

Nothing for now...

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