"Uh, Benny? Exactly how sick is she?"
So the past week's been bloody worthless. I'm going to get down to business and vent/rant here:
Today my mother insisted on giving me a Lecture about my "disorder". She says I am antisocial, obsessive-compulsive, agoraphobic, and any number of crap diagnostics she gets from Doctor Whats-his-Face. She has books and books about my "disorders". One time I set fire to one of them but it was useless; she then accused me of being a pyromaniac.
So what exactly do I do that is so wrong? I have bad eating habits. Usually I subsist on a diet of pure caffeine with some wheat-thins or pop tarts or celery thrown in. It makes me hyper but very spacey. I don't leave the house for days on end. One time I locked all of the doors and pulled down all of the windowshades and just sat alone. I don't like people coming too near me, it scares me. I don't like using the telephone, which is why I disconnected it. I like to injure myself. Mum doesn't really know about this yet but she suspects something, I'm sure of it. I like to sit outside in the snow for hours. Sometimes I sit upside down until all the blood goes to my head and I pass out. I like to do things my own way, period.
I was treated to a rant on how unsuccessful I will be as an adult. I will never be able to have a family, says dear old mummy, or live alone. She says I will be hospitalized and have to bag groceries at the dick store, Collella's. I can't go to college in the city because it is "dangerous" and I am too "naive". She says that someone (a nurse, apparently) will have to take care of me (thought: yay-boo, I get a Smail!!) Me, I don't want to be successful, I want to be happy. I want to paint and read and write and maybe work at a museum. I don't want to make money. I don't want to be classified as "sick" or "mentally ill". I just want to enjoy myself any way I can.
Today my mother insisted on giving me a Lecture about my "disorder". She says I am antisocial, obsessive-compulsive, agoraphobic, and any number of crap diagnostics she gets from Doctor Whats-his-Face. She has books and books about my "disorders". One time I set fire to one of them but it was useless; she then accused me of being a pyromaniac.
So what exactly do I do that is so wrong? I have bad eating habits. Usually I subsist on a diet of pure caffeine with some wheat-thins or pop tarts or celery thrown in. It makes me hyper but very spacey. I don't leave the house for days on end. One time I locked all of the doors and pulled down all of the windowshades and just sat alone. I don't like people coming too near me, it scares me. I don't like using the telephone, which is why I disconnected it. I like to injure myself. Mum doesn't really know about this yet but she suspects something, I'm sure of it. I like to sit outside in the snow for hours. Sometimes I sit upside down until all the blood goes to my head and I pass out. I like to do things my own way, period.
I was treated to a rant on how unsuccessful I will be as an adult. I will never be able to have a family, says dear old mummy, or live alone. She says I will be hospitalized and have to bag groceries at the dick store, Collella's. I can't go to college in the city because it is "dangerous" and I am too "naive". She says that someone (a nurse, apparently) will have to take care of me (thought: yay-boo, I get a Smail!!) Me, I don't want to be successful, I want to be happy. I want to paint and read and write and maybe work at a museum. I don't want to make money. I don't want to be classified as "sick" or "mentally ill". I just want to enjoy myself any way I can.