Dying
"Have you seen me lately?"
It's a well-known fact that my place of choice to completely fucking breakdown is a car, which is generally pulled over on the side of a road. And while the social, emotional and physical aspects of my life seem to have deteriorated to an alarming degree, I'm proud to announce that a certain other sector of my life has stepped up to the challenge and that I've made some serious headway in the self-destructive tendencies department.
Our family played a game of Scrabble tonight; Dad kicked our respective asses, which was embarrassing b/c nobody really got in any small and obscure yet high-scoring words (though I did get away w/'ablush' while everyone else was debating over whether or not 'ova' was actually a word), and as per usual, Mom sat there and rolled her eyes and picked on me. Apparently, my "sense of humor" is generally "at the expense of others" (I was joking w/Dad -- he put down one letter in front of another word, and I said, "We waited five minutes for that?" in a distinctly joking tone, and Dad snorted with amusement -- and Mom decided she hadn't met her daily 'find fault w/Mackenzie' quota, and jumped right in), and that was unacceptable and rude and not something she wanted to see. I shot an incredulous look at my father -- who was, as usual, noncommital -- and let it slide, figuring that the less I made of it the faster people would play and the sooner I could escape the torture that always accompanies family activities. Whatever. It's not as if I hadn't heard it before.
However, less than two minutes later, Zak began imitating me in a decidedly unflattering manner (and he was being snide about it, not just poking fun at me) and Mom appeared highly amused at this. I gaped at him, looked at Dad again, and said, "How is it that it is 'absolutely unacceptable' that my sense of humor is supposedly 'at the expense of others', and yet Zak's making fun of me and you're actually smiling? How is what he's doing okay, and a remark I made that was joking -- which, by the way, Dad found funny -- rude? How is what he doing NOT what you were snapping at me for not five minutes ago?" She glared daggers at me but didn't answer; Dad told Zak to 'knock it off' and the game continued. No apology, no explanation, no nothing.
I let it go, for the sake of sanity.
The game ended; Zak started cleaning up the game and everyone else stood to leave. "Can you put the dictionary away?" Mom asked me, a very reasonable request. I responded, "I don't know where it goes," (because really, I don't) and she looked as though I'd slapped her across the face, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed and astounded that someone wouldn't know the exact proper location of every item in the house. Her response: "Well then, what do you expect me to do? Put it away for you? Why don't you just ASK me? It's like you expect me to just do do do do do -- "
I finally recovered speech.
"Chill. I didn't say I wouldn't put it away, I merely indicated that I didn't know where it went. That was an open invitation for you to tell me" -- said very slowly, so she could understand -- "where it goes, NOT a thinly-veiled demand that you do it instead."
Zak jumped in.
"Why can't we all just get along for one DAMN minute?"
That fucker. He'll look like the peacemaker and earn points with Mom.
Dad quietly told me that it belonged in the computer room on the shelf, and I left to put it there, amazed at how abso-fucking-lutely EVERYTHING in my family is a Big Deal, simply b/c nobody knows how to just deal.
So because I'd rather be hermetically sealed in my Manhattan apartment than spend another moment in the company of my family, I went driving.
It's dark in Arizona at night -- there are a lot of observatories here, so there are very few streetlights. I don't know the roads well here, but decided to be reckless with the one ton mass of metal, wires and tires anyway, and went hurtling along Catalina. Turned onto Broadway; got all the way to Congress; turned again and came back up Grant toward the Speedway. The music was playing as loudly as I could bear so that I didn't have to listen to myself sob convulsively, and occasionally I'd cackle hoarsely at how ridiculous it all was, and then struggle to breathe before the next spasm of tears or laughter struck me.
Angry as hell and lonely as fuck.
I know I complain a lot about how much I hate it here -- I know a lot of what I do can be considered childish and immature, my bouts of rage akin to tantrums. If I were five they would be harmless; I'd pout and be angry and cry and get over it, but I'm nearly 21 and have access to credit cards, alcohol and heavy machinery (cars), and that does nothing to reassure myself that I really am going to make it through this summer.
I'm sick of bugging people, of scrolling through my phone book and debating whether or not I've called this person too much or if I can call that person one more time before they're annoyed. I'm tired of wearing my earpiece around in the constant, vain hope that someone will call, or getting pitiably excited when someone actually does. It's not right that I haunt AIM and pounce on people, that I entrust my social well-being to friends that are busy and have places to be and things to do and people to ACTUALLY FUCKING SEE.
So, so helpless.
And I miss Troy. I won't call him -- it would be like using him, and I don't want that. I don't want to hurt him or worry him or remind him, but it's far too late for any of that, and I just...won't. But I feel like I've lost my best friend, and I don't know quite how to cope with that.
I just don't know what to do about anything, at all.
Everyday I lose more and more of myself, and I don't know how to keepitfinditstopitfromdisappearing.
I don't even know if I want it back.
I'm just....
"I can't see myself...."
It's a well-known fact that my place of choice to completely fucking breakdown is a car, which is generally pulled over on the side of a road. And while the social, emotional and physical aspects of my life seem to have deteriorated to an alarming degree, I'm proud to announce that a certain other sector of my life has stepped up to the challenge and that I've made some serious headway in the self-destructive tendencies department.
Our family played a game of Scrabble tonight; Dad kicked our respective asses, which was embarrassing b/c nobody really got in any small and obscure yet high-scoring words (though I did get away w/'ablush' while everyone else was debating over whether or not 'ova' was actually a word), and as per usual, Mom sat there and rolled her eyes and picked on me. Apparently, my "sense of humor" is generally "at the expense of others" (I was joking w/Dad -- he put down one letter in front of another word, and I said, "We waited five minutes for that?" in a distinctly joking tone, and Dad snorted with amusement -- and Mom decided she hadn't met her daily 'find fault w/Mackenzie' quota, and jumped right in), and that was unacceptable and rude and not something she wanted to see. I shot an incredulous look at my father -- who was, as usual, noncommital -- and let it slide, figuring that the less I made of it the faster people would play and the sooner I could escape the torture that always accompanies family activities. Whatever. It's not as if I hadn't heard it before.
However, less than two minutes later, Zak began imitating me in a decidedly unflattering manner (and he was being snide about it, not just poking fun at me) and Mom appeared highly amused at this. I gaped at him, looked at Dad again, and said, "How is it that it is 'absolutely unacceptable' that my sense of humor is supposedly 'at the expense of others', and yet Zak's making fun of me and you're actually smiling? How is what he's doing okay, and a remark I made that was joking -- which, by the way, Dad found funny -- rude? How is what he doing NOT what you were snapping at me for not five minutes ago?" She glared daggers at me but didn't answer; Dad told Zak to 'knock it off' and the game continued. No apology, no explanation, no nothing.
I let it go, for the sake of sanity.
The game ended; Zak started cleaning up the game and everyone else stood to leave. "Can you put the dictionary away?" Mom asked me, a very reasonable request. I responded, "I don't know where it goes," (because really, I don't) and she looked as though I'd slapped her across the face, all wide-eyed and open-mouthed and astounded that someone wouldn't know the exact proper location of every item in the house. Her response: "Well then, what do you expect me to do? Put it away for you? Why don't you just ASK me? It's like you expect me to just do do do do do -- "
I finally recovered speech.
"Chill. I didn't say I wouldn't put it away, I merely indicated that I didn't know where it went. That was an open invitation for you to tell me" -- said very slowly, so she could understand -- "where it goes, NOT a thinly-veiled demand that you do it instead."
Zak jumped in.
"Why can't we all just get along for one DAMN minute?"
That fucker. He'll look like the peacemaker and earn points with Mom.
Dad quietly told me that it belonged in the computer room on the shelf, and I left to put it there, amazed at how abso-fucking-lutely EVERYTHING in my family is a Big Deal, simply b/c nobody knows how to just deal.
So because I'd rather be hermetically sealed in my Manhattan apartment than spend another moment in the company of my family, I went driving.
It's dark in Arizona at night -- there are a lot of observatories here, so there are very few streetlights. I don't know the roads well here, but decided to be reckless with the one ton mass of metal, wires and tires anyway, and went hurtling along Catalina. Turned onto Broadway; got all the way to Congress; turned again and came back up Grant toward the Speedway. The music was playing as loudly as I could bear so that I didn't have to listen to myself sob convulsively, and occasionally I'd cackle hoarsely at how ridiculous it all was, and then struggle to breathe before the next spasm of tears or laughter struck me.
Angry as hell and lonely as fuck.
I know I complain a lot about how much I hate it here -- I know a lot of what I do can be considered childish and immature, my bouts of rage akin to tantrums. If I were five they would be harmless; I'd pout and be angry and cry and get over it, but I'm nearly 21 and have access to credit cards, alcohol and heavy machinery (cars), and that does nothing to reassure myself that I really am going to make it through this summer.
I'm sick of bugging people, of scrolling through my phone book and debating whether or not I've called this person too much or if I can call that person one more time before they're annoyed. I'm tired of wearing my earpiece around in the constant, vain hope that someone will call, or getting pitiably excited when someone actually does. It's not right that I haunt AIM and pounce on people, that I entrust my social well-being to friends that are busy and have places to be and things to do and people to ACTUALLY FUCKING SEE.
So, so helpless.
And I miss Troy. I won't call him -- it would be like using him, and I don't want that. I don't want to hurt him or worry him or remind him, but it's far too late for any of that, and I just...won't. But I feel like I've lost my best friend, and I don't know quite how to cope with that.
I just don't know what to do about anything, at all.
Everyday I lose more and more of myself, and I don't know how to keepitfinditstopitfromdisappearing.
I don't even know if I want it back.
I'm just....
"I can't see myself...."