Christmas blues...
Being alone at Christmas sucks. I suppose I've put myself here though... I stubbornly refuse to make up with my father, insisting that he owes me an apology for things he probably wouldn't ever apologize for. One of these days, I'm going to have to get off my high horse, and accept the fact that he was unhappy. That regardless of how devastated she was, that she was unhappy.
But it's the fact that I had to listen to my mother, of all people, talking about suicide and drinking herself into oblivion... I'm angry at him. So angry. I wish it didn't feel like he just dropped her, like you would drop something that was too hot to touch. The timeline just doesn't make sense to me... why would you pick out a house with someone... move with them... and then drop divorce on them? Seriously? It's like... didn't you know that you were unhappy? Didn't you know you were in love with someone else? And getting married less then a year after the divorce? How tacky. Seriously. It's like there was utter disregard for any feelings she might have had. He just ripped out her heart, and stomped on it a dozen times just to make sure it was really really dead.
...I'm holding way too much anger about it... obviously. I can't help it though. Even venting like this about it makes it worse. Makes me want to punch things.
The worst part about it, is the anger from this causes me to be angry about other things way too easily. Even just a miscommunication issue at work got me so angry I ended up sitting out in my car, in the cold, just to cool off.
And I don't know how to fix it.
I can't even imagine how to open up the line of communication between my father and I anymore. "Hi dad, I'm a bitch and I hate you for being a dick to my mother." I'm sure that would go over well.
Maybe part of the anger is my being angry that he seems happy. How's that for being a horrible person? I'm unhappy, pretty much all the time, and seeing someone else happy pisses me off. Ya... I said it. All you happy people piss me off. How pathetic of me.
At this point, I'm just writing to vent. I haven't really written about any feelings I've had in a long while, so this has been just building up to a point where I needed to write as much as I need to breath. And I stopped, because I can't stand the idea of someone reading this shit... because it's not supposed to be how I feel. Everything should be butterflies and rainbows. I've got a decent job that pays well, for the limited education I have. I've got an apartment of my own, at a low price for the area and for the amount of room I have. I've got a car, that while it does need work, it's still running and gets me from point A to point B without any major issues (although heat would be nice...). I've got enough money to do things I enjoy (reading, playing games) without affecting my bills. I shouldn't be this depressed... this angry... this frustrated at life.
All of this I know. And yet it keeps happening. I keep faking my happy little exterior, making sure most people are held miles away from me, believing I'm happy like they are happy. Then I go home, and take off the heavy paint, and find myself back in the shadows of my overactive, extremely annoying brain that makes me feel this way.
Part of me wonders if it is the meds that are doing it to me. Thyroid meds affect the hormones of the body... so essentially, it could be causing the issue. And yet, even with that fear, I continue to take the same meds, and don't go to the doctor.
I suppose part of that is the social phobia that seems to be heading into agoraphobia faster and faster each day. I have no problems leaving my house for work... but even just grocery shopping causes my heart to race and my palms to sweat, and causes me to make excuses for why I can't go. "It's raining" "It's cold" "I still have a couple things I can heat up" Most of the excuses are pointless. I'd say it's procrastination... but it really isn't. It makes me physically ill to think about going out of my apartment sometimes... which is a very bad thing. I can't be like this at 28. It makes me fear how bad it will be at 30... at 40... am I destined to become one of those people that dies alone, and no one finds out until the scent of the decay from my body alerts the neighbors?
Sigh. Some days, I feel like I think too much, and that's the cause of all my problems. Maybe if I didn't overthink all the time, it would make it easier to be like everyone else. I feel like I'm too alert... I think about things that it would be safer to be ignorant about.
Alright, I've lost the train that my writing was going on, and I can't hop back on... so I'm going to stop writing and leave it at that for now.