5am scrambled ramblings

My brain's really scrambled right now.
I don't know what's going on.
I feel alone, guilty, angry.
I know why I'm guilty.
I'm an asshole.
I should've figured I wasn't ready when she called, told me she rolled her car so that I didn't get any misinformation and immediately went into a panic of how she is how is she gonna handle this she must be freaking out does she need a ride to work? I can do that no you dumbass she doesn't want you in her life you fucking god damn idiot get that through your thick fucking skull stop looking at her instagram stop checking her tumblr yes you're still blocked on facebook get out of her life

I don't know why I feel alone. There's no reason to. I have friends. And I've been making new friends at work. Hell, I just hung out with a fuck ton of friends the other night. It was great.
Why do I feel alone? It doesn't make any sense. I can't make heads or tails of anything.

I'm angry because I'm not your fucking monster. You tried to make me your blame magnet and make me a monster and I should hate you for that, I should be angry about that but that's not what I'm angry about I'm angry that you did that to me, and after all that and some more I'd still move fucking mountains for you. I'm angry because, I don't care if we haven't spoken in 10 minutes or 10 years, I'd still fucking sprint to your side if you needed me because god damn that's who I am. That's what I do.

You always said it and everyone else said and all that past life shit said it.
I'm your fucking shield.
I'm everyone's shield.
I get beat up and I beat myself up because god damn it I don't want to hurt people anymore but that's all I know how to fucking do.

Every fucking person I care about I end up hurting and I don't know how to stop and it's bullshit I want to make someone happy for fucking once without hurting them.

I'm fucking sick of this.
I'm sick of being a walking bad decision.

The inevitable.

I'm scared that my dad's gonna die.
I know he's going to die.
He's dying.
Slowly.
He can die as I'm writing this.
He can die in 20 years.
And I'm not saying that to be facetious and dramatic. As I've said before in some of my other posts, my dad is very sick.
And there is a very real risk of him dropping dead at any moment.
I'm not ready.
I'm not ready.

Every time I think I've accepted it, there's some big scare that sends me into hysterics and realizing that I'm not ready for him to go.

I'm a disappointment. I'm lazy. I'm a fucking drop out. I used to say, since I was literally 2 years old, that I was gonna graduate at UCLA, and my dad boasted that fact proudly for years because, yeah, y'know what, I could've made it.

But then I couldn't even finish high school.

I can never shake the feeling that he's disappointed in me and I'm his only surviving son and I don't want him to die thinking I'm just sitting on my bed playing video games all day. And sure, I just got a new job, but my last one, I held for about 7 months. In that 7 months, I had almost 30 absences.

The tolerance is 8. I should've been fired after 2 months. I was lucky. And I know he's disappointed in that.

I just want to make him proud before he's gone.

I'm scared that I'm gonna lose the people I've reconnected with recently. One of them left in the first place because I was a complete asshole and toxic to be around, and I missed her something fierce. She was my best friend for a long time, and anytime I talk to her or hang out with her I feel like I've got something to prove, and as far as I'm concerned, I do. She can swear up and down that the past is in the past but god damn it the past is where I live. I'm stuck in it.

Another person, I left because of something they did. A massive betrayal. I learned to forgive, and in a time of panic and crisis I called him and he was there in 15 minutes. After not talking for 6 months, he showed up when I needed him with no hesitation. But he's a hermit. He was there when I needed him but I'm constantly bugging him to hang out and talk and play games with me mostly because I just wanna catch up on time lost. And I know that he's constantly busy, 2 jobs and a family life now, which is fine, y'know, live your life.
But the anxiety and natural fear I have eats me. I know he's not avoiding me, but got damn it I can't get rid of that feeling. That he's already sick of me, that he thinks I'm annoying and clingy and needy and still an immature piece of shit and that it was a mistake to help me.

I don't want to lose anyone else.

I'm scared that one day my dad is gonna die and I'm gonna show up on your doorstep panicked and lost and in shock and needing you and you're gonna tell me to fuck off which you have every single right to do.

But I know that when it happens, I will show up on your doorstep. You're the only person that's ever been able to calm me down when it comes to my dad. I'll show up, knock, panicking because of my dad and I don't know what you're gonna say if you're gonna hug me or punch me or tell me to get the fuck out or what I don't know.

But I know that I'll be there. And I know you don't owe me a god damn thing.

I'm scared of being lost.

Parakeets and Golden Retrievers.

I've been called two different animals, by two important people at different times in my life.

First, I was called a parakeet. I was called that for months before I was finally told what it meant.

"Birds are hostile.
Really hostile things.
Mean.
But they also can't stand being alone.
Especially in captivity.
And parakeets, I remember
They have to be bought in pairs, usually
And if one dies,
You have to replace it.
Before the other one gets lonely, or bored
It feels abandoned, alone.
They need to be talked to often
They start peeling away their feathers, too.
They're anxious creatures.
It's a cruel thing, to get just one."

It fit. That was a couple years ago, but it still fits, I think. I've always been generally hostile. I used to be a whole lot worse, but even so I'm still a dick.

But I have a crippling fear of being alone. Of losing my friends. Of people leaving me. Forgetting me. I think that may be part of the reason I do some of the crazy shit I do. It's memorable. People can't forget me that way.

When I was called a Golden Retriever, it wasn't directly.
The person who called me that had their own blog, much like this. Posted about a Golden Retriever. Its loyalty.

They said,
"Real friends are Golden Retrievers.
Real friends are loyal.
I've realized that some people honest to god cannot vocalize emotions for the life of them,
but that actions speak volumes when they come to your rescue.
Yes, communication is INCREDIBLY important,
but there's something to be said about non-verbal.
Maybe you were never good at telling me how you felt,
But if I'd have know how fast you'd run to catch me,
maybe things would be different."

The particular situation that brought this up, was, this person had gotten arrested. And knowing them, one of the kindest, sweetest people you would ever meet who sometimes made impulsive decisions, did not belong in jail. When I heard the news, and that they were still there, I rushed. I panicked. I called everyone asking if they had money I could borrow to post bail. I'm a huge gamer. Games are one of the biggest aspects of my life.

I was prepared to sell every single one if I had to.

And when I was in my other friend's car, trying to round up money to post bail, and someone told the bail was actually $1000 instead of the $100 I previously thought?
I nearly broke down in tears.

I devote myself to people. Sometimes to a fault, sometimes to an unhealthy degree. But you can't say that I'm not there if you need me. Because I make sure to tell people that almost every day.

Anyways, this rambling has been on my mind a lot.
Especially now that one of these people recently re-entered my life, while the other just left. Hopefully it's just a vacation, but if it's permanently then that's okay too.
I can't decide if I'm one or the other, both, or neither.

But I've never been a good judge of myself.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Those who routinely place the blame on themselves for everything, even if it has nothing to do with them, won't hesitate to believe you when you tell them they're abusive.

Because there has to be an explanation why you're leaving. Why I fucked everything up. And they'll pick apart every second of that however long relationship and go over it with a fine tooth comb, finding every mistake they made, every little hiccup and fuck up, any time they were yelling at you in what was a two way shouting match, and take the blame from you and put it all on them, Just to validate what you told them, to validate this new identity as a monster you created for them even though none of this is what you intended because they care too damn much for you to see you as anything less than perfect and, yes.

That's unhealthy. And probably contributed to a lot of the things you would call abuse.
They refuse to confront the times that you hurt them. They can't stand to think that this person would betray them like that, especially not more than once. That this person doesn't appreciate all the time given, so much time that they have none to themselves. They dedicate themselves to this person.

And yes, things get bad sometimes. Things got fucking awful and nasty and both of you said things you shouldn't have. And it's unfortuante that it went that way.

But if you call, what is at it's core, dedication, no matter the flaws surounding it, if you call dedication, abuse? Then that person is broken.

That's all I know how to do. Clearly I need to work on how I do it because I let you walk all over me and you never realized you were doing it. And that's my fault. But I am not an abuser. I am not a monster.

Maybe if we had caught things earlier, and stopped them, things might be different.
We might've been able to at least stay friends.
I'm sorry.

"A man in his silence can put up a fight."

Hey
This is a thing that I regularly forget about.

Woot.

I'm back, fuckers. I guess.

It's 2am and I'm bored and listening to Rob Cantor and his,
y'know
One album.
Full of sadboy songs, get hype songs, and love songs.
So in those rare seconds when I'm completely in touch with my emotions, I'm feeling something.

I guess I should say what I've been up to, yeah?

I'm doing the boxing thing.
I'm a phenomenal punchy puncher.
It's fun.
Gets me in shape, I feel good.
I missed the last couple weeks because I've been moving right next door to my old house.

Oh yeah, I moved.
That's a thing.
Bigger house.
Right next door.
Better house.
My dog keeps getting out of the fucking front yard because he's a little fuckin 7 month old pit bull Houdini, the little shit.


Generally things are okay, I guess.
In the past week I've been hit with a lot of stress bombs.

But I'm doing okay.

Punchy punching is helping.
Gotta get a job.
Get my license.
Get my goodbyes.

No, not goodbyes.

They'll be
"Keep in touch. I'll see you soon."

I don't do goodbyes.

Hello Darkness, my old friend

Ignore the edgy title stolen from Simon and Garfunkel. This post isn't some "bluh my soul is black no one understands me" bullshit.

Nah homie fuck that.

This is a little post about why late night/early morning is my favorite time of the day.

In recent years, I've had to get used to being up all night. Stress kept me up. I wanted to sleep, but I couldn't. But during the summer, when all the stress with school was gone, I still stayed up all night. Not because I couldn't sleep, but because the late hours provided me with something I don't get during the day.

Silence and solitude.

Even when I'm shut up in my room 18 hours a day, I don't get silence or solitude. People are up, making noise, trying to talk to me, or I'm out, and there's people making noise and trying to talk to me.

It's not like I don't enjoy being out with my friends, or talking to my family, but introversion is a powerful thing.

9 times out of 10, I would rather be alone, in my room, listening to music, or reading comics, or watching a movie, than out with people.

And the time when the world's asleep provides me with just that.

It's calming. It's a breath of fresh air when the air I normally breathe is polluted with things I have to do and people I have to see.

It's something I need to function.

Welcome back, and all that shit.

Whoopdie doo. It's been a while.

And boy do I got a post this time.

My house smells of cigarettes and poverty.

No, I don’t smoke. I made a vow that I never would because I’ve seen the way it slowly kills people while they knowingly shorten their lifespan with each puff.
My parents smoke like chimneys. My mom’s teeth are gone and my dad’s lungs are black and shriveled.

I smell like cigarettes and poverty.

The smell of secondhand smoke sticks harder than the smell of weed, and I’ve been around both plenty of times in my life. I don’t smoke weed either. I don’t even smoke e-cigs. And I won’t. I’m glad my parents only stick with cigarettes, because if they were also spending our precious earned government-given money on weed and e-cig… stuff, we’d start having to borrow tap water.

My dad can’t work. He’s disabled, on account of his shit lungs and his shit everything else. There’s not one thing about him that’s healthy.

My mom can’t keep a job. Personally, I think she just doesn’t want to. Hell, she dropped out of school because she didn’t like it, went to work, then went back to school because she didn’t like work. The last time she had a steady job was 2 years ago.

Yeah, I’m a drop out too. But I didn’t drop out because “lol fuck school”. No, I dropped out because the stress of school and home life was literally killing me. I couldn’t sleep at night. I would sleep at school and sleep when I got home. I was 11 credits behind. I couldn’t handle it. If I kept on, it would’ve killed me. I swear it would’ve. I’m gonna get my GED, and I’m gonna go to work, and go back for my full diploma when I’m ready. And when I get a job, I’m saving enough to get out of this house. I realized that I want out more than anything else last night, 4:30 in the morning, taking a break from a sleepless night reading comics to make a PB&J sandwich with what little bread we had left and trying to master the art of painting the whole of the bread with the sticky peanut butter.

This isn’t even a house. It might as well be the mayoral building of a Shantytown.

Tiles are cracked and missing. Doors don’t fit their frames. Heater nearly explodes every time we use it. Toilet won’t flush. Toilet seat is loose and almost snapped in half the last time I took a shit.

I don’t know what happened to this family.

We were doing great. Never above middle class, but we were living comfortably.

Then 2007 happened. September 2^nd, to be exact.

Fucked my whole life up.

My dad’s health declined. He couldn’t work anymore. It was up to my mom and my dad’s disability checks to keep us afloat.
And so we sank. From nice house, to okay house, to nice trailer, to shitty trailer, to run-down hovel.

We don’t even have food to eat.

And I’m aware of all my parents sacrifice for my sister and I. They sleep on the couch in the living room because we could only afford a 2 bedroom and you know how kids need their privacy. My dad won’t buy the prescriptions he needs just to function daily until we have paid rent, bought enough food to eat, and have enough gas to get us where we need to go. And that usually doesn’t leave us with enough to get him those prescriptions. He’s sacrificing his health for us. I don’t mean to sell my mom short, because she works as hard as she can for us. Sure, I think she doesn’t want to work. But I know that’s not the only reason. She has to stay home and take care of my dad. She’s stressed to no end. About our money, about my dad’s health, about us, about everything.

I can’t get a job because no one wants to hire an inexperienced drop out.

My sister can’t get a job because she needs to focus on school.

So here I sit, on my old shitty mattress, writing this with the few luxuries I have because I’ve had them before we had to take out loans to pay loans that we used to pay loans. My laptop, and the internet (Which is actually shut off at the moment, but I know my way around a router).

And I’m slowly saving up enough money to move out. My parents have done so much for me with the shitty circumstances life tends to throw us in.

So yeah, I’m getting out as quick as I can.

But I’m keeping the house key.