Yet another day from hell
The good news is that my therapist and I fortunately were able to get the ball rolling on getting me into the system for Social Security Supplemental Income, but the bad news is, I didn't qualify for Disability Income, and it's probably unlikely that I'll qualify for SSSI, since I've got $6,000 in savings. Those bastards should spend a week with my brain in between their ears, they wouldn't argue with me and they'd fast track the application/give me the maximum payout with no questions asked. I honestly wanted to yell at them: "Enough with all these stupid questions. I'm just not normal. The world overstims me to the point that half the time I'm grinding my teeth to keep from screaming like a baby with a dirty diaper. People drive me insane with their petty, pernickety, perfectionistic demands and their bloody shallowness. I'm not like you people and there's no way I'll ever be cured of this, short of a brain transplant. And for that matter, all this makes me feel like a goddamned bug under a microscope. I'm a person with an autism spectrum condition and I need help. Don't ask me about my marital status, because that's like getting slapped in the face repeatedly with a board full of rusty nails: guys avoid me like the plague since my grey matter actually outweighs my mammaries. You know? I really would rather kill myself than go through all these bureaucratic hoops. Why? Because it's all too frockin' stressful. I've got a stress threshold so low it could crawl under a snake and not brush the snake's belly scales. Give me the goddamned money and leave me the hell alone."
And the bad news is, the most they can give me is $300 a month, since I make about $500 a month. $800 a month is not enough to live on in the State of Massachusetts, especially if God forbid, both my parents died. I'd have to spend $700 of that on a craphole apartment in Centralville, leaving me $100 for food, clothing, and internet access. I'd probably have to give up that and the MxO, which would cut me off from the very things that make life bearable. That wouldn't be a life. It would be misery, and I'm miserable enough now.
If only some nice billionaire would marry me and set me up right, but guys like that don't usually marry grocery clerks. They marry vapid blonde models whose bazoomas outweigh their brains, instead of flat-chested brunettes with brains.
Consequently, even though it was my mom's birthday today, I didn't feel like celebrating anything. I wish to God my mother had done the right thing by me and left me at the hospital to be donated to science and used as a human lab rat, then maybe I'd be dead by now and I wouldn't have had to go through any of this.
Please, if you all have any decency, please pray to whatever g/God you acknowledge, that this night will be my last. All I want for Christmas is a massive heart attack that kills me so fast I'm dead before I hit the floor, like that tenor who keeled over at the Metropolitan Opera House during a performance of Leos Janacek's The Makropulos Case a few years back. Ironically, the last words he sang: "Too bad you only live so long". Go ahead, tell me I'm wasting my life by wanting to die. I just want the pain and the stress and the feeling of uselessness and unwelcomeness to end.
"It ends tonight." --Neo, to Smith, "The Matrix: Revolutions"
And the bad news is, the most they can give me is $300 a month, since I make about $500 a month. $800 a month is not enough to live on in the State of Massachusetts, especially if God forbid, both my parents died. I'd have to spend $700 of that on a craphole apartment in Centralville, leaving me $100 for food, clothing, and internet access. I'd probably have to give up that and the MxO, which would cut me off from the very things that make life bearable. That wouldn't be a life. It would be misery, and I'm miserable enough now.
If only some nice billionaire would marry me and set me up right, but guys like that don't usually marry grocery clerks. They marry vapid blonde models whose bazoomas outweigh their brains, instead of flat-chested brunettes with brains.
Consequently, even though it was my mom's birthday today, I didn't feel like celebrating anything. I wish to God my mother had done the right thing by me and left me at the hospital to be donated to science and used as a human lab rat, then maybe I'd be dead by now and I wouldn't have had to go through any of this.
Please, if you all have any decency, please pray to whatever g/God you acknowledge, that this night will be my last. All I want for Christmas is a massive heart attack that kills me so fast I'm dead before I hit the floor, like that tenor who keeled over at the Metropolitan Opera House during a performance of Leos Janacek's The Makropulos Case a few years back. Ironically, the last words he sang: "Too bad you only live so long". Go ahead, tell me I'm wasting my life by wanting to die. I just want the pain and the stress and the feeling of uselessness and unwelcomeness to end.
"It ends tonight." --Neo, to Smith, "The Matrix: Revolutions"