Another sleepless night with mom haunting the hone with her cries of pain and illegible Korean chants. Refused to take her to Pot Zone, suggesting that she call her “friends” or to call a taxi. Part of me feeling like shit about it. Another part of me feel like shit due to the lack of sleep. But the commanding part of me is telling myself to hold my ground and to stay strong for the next few weeks.
I look and listen to this family in front of me and wonder if our family was like this. Mom and dad listening to Eric and I tell our stories while eating breakfast. Not for the first time I wonder when the family started to crack and divide. I am trained enough not to go down that rabbit hole. But not discipline enough to not stare at the rabbit hole and wonder.
I guess this one way not to brood and think about Suzanne all the time.
It’s hard to see the marks on the glass where she tried to break it with the ash tray. To tired to so the teeth marks or the slight bruise on my head. Going to be like her and sleep and pretend nothing happened.
Breakfast at the bookstore cafe before work on one of my last days working here. Some reservations, as always, about leaving. Dr Green is right that work was a way for me to escape the problems at home. But with the firing of Virginia, I think that it is the right thing for me to leave regardless. I mean, I think Tacoma was really the last straw, but the Virginia issue is just reinforcing that. **sigh** will I survive everything in the upcoming weeks. So much uncertainty, more than usual. And I just want to hide in my room and avoid all of it, like mom.
Doing a search for “How to put my mom into rehab”
Also found out that the apprenticeship program in Contra Costa has been suspended. That’s a damper on one backup plan for work. Already missing Eric. Already just want to be done with my mom.
I am still upset that libraries are not quiet zones anymore. And I’m not even talking about kids, but the adults that don’t turn off their cell phone ringers and talk hella loud on them.
Still using ESPN & Fandango. The greyed our ones were never updated to 64bit.
“In your life, you are the paint, the painter, and the painting.”
If this is true, then I am lead based paint, being used by a toddler for a messy smear of a finger painting, while sucking on my fingers.
Day one of a newly fresh hell for me. I just want to just stay in bed and rot away surfing the web. But I got one task done with getting Visiting Angels to come over so it’s a start.
I don’t want any of this responsibility. I’m such a fuckboi. A 44 year old scared fuckboi. I probably should be doing some DBT to talk me down. But all I do is talk myself down. There is never a solution or a solution that I take.