Sep 10, 2009 22:22
I need tangible proof that this is what happened, this is what I'm thinking, this is what I'm feeling.
I am not crazy. This is not right. People aren't supposed to hurt each other like this.
I don't care if you're sick. I don't care if you're in pain. I don't care if you've been drinking. I don't care if I'm a disappointment to you. You do no favors to either yourself or me by slinging around fits and insults.
"Where's the goddamn budget? Fuck you. Where's the FUCKING budget? I'm gonna start calling you Lesa because you're fucking crazy like your mother."
I couldn't make this shit up. You may have divorced my mother, but I haven't. Low blow Steve.
Ok, I've messed up. I've mismanaged my finances... a lot. I haven't made a budget because every one I've made for you wasn't good enough, so it's hard to keep trying when you feel like you're just waltzing around in circles. I haven't thrown some numbers onto a sheet of paper, but what's the use when it's going to wind up in some trash can a week later? It's hard to care at that point.
While grasping at straws, I would like to point out that I am currently technically working two jobs, and taking 13 units. That would make me a full time student, which you might know or relate to if you have ever managed to stick around for a full semester of college. I threw around the idea of taking the semester off to work full time, which you told me was a "bad idea" but now while I'm struggling to juggle school and work, I'm patronized for "not doing anything." I'm tired of hoops.
Yes, I go out. I need to be around other people. I need laughter and levity and distractions because I think I'm slowly going nuts. We hardly even speak any more. And now it's always so forced. Maybe it's you, maybe it's me, but regardless it is and that is no way to live.
So judge me. Tell me I should move in with my grandmother, quit school, and walk to a full time minimum wage job every day. I don't need a fucking free ride, just a handful of sympathy, empathy or whatever the hell you can muster. I am your daughter for crying out loud and... I just don't have any fight left in me any more.
I'm sorry to be such a drain on you. Don't you think I would be different if I could? I hate that your opinion even matters. I hate that I'm in this position. I hate Mesa, but I'm trying to stay optimistic and work through it so that I can go back to State, get my degree and get on with my life.
There aren't even words for how tangled and gnarled my heart is right now. I pity you, I love you, and I hate you. I wish you felt better, but you don't. You snap at anyone who tries to help you. You want to act like you're fine, then you pull these theatrics and suddenly I'm the crazy one. Well crap, maybe I am. But last time I checked, you have 30+ years of experience on me, so shouldn't you be the one behaving like a grown up?
I'm still learning. Maybe I missed out on a lot because for so long it was so easy. I'm not naive to that. But I am doing the best that I can. And I'm sorry. For being... whatever the hell I am. Or aren't. Whatever. I'm tired.