Contradiction
05 Aug 2010 Leave a Comment
Sorry, everyone. I know it’s been a while. There’s been a lot going on. Well, not really – but my head has not been in a place to write much of anything. As seen by the idiot fictions.
Today I want to discuss psychology. Okay maybe not entirely, but in a sense. Here’s a typical rant a’ la Jo.
As most of my readers are aware, I can’t get a damned job anywhere. I’m expected to stay in town. Well the crux of it is, there is nobody, and when I say nobody I mean NOBODY hiring. The new hospital’s opening has been postponed once again – because, surprise surprise, LA County decided to go cheap. And not to CODE. So I’ve been told to chuck my training, my licensure, everything. I applied at In’n Out (Which, for those of you who don’t know – is a fast food joint.) Unfortunately given my licensure, I’m over-qualified for that now.
This matter has caused a riot, a very small one person riot. Apparently since my mother has always wanted to be Dr. and Mrs. She wants me to work to A) Pay my own (which I’m fine with by the way) and B) To help my father go back to school to get his doctorate. Basically she wants to follow the pattern she held my last two jobs. She takes all the money I earn – hide it away, so I never know what the hell happened to it.
About a month ago we brought home a new bunny. I’m against this until I get attached – It’s my job to clean the cages (Hay and asthmatics don’t mix, I regret to inform) I must feed and water twice a day. I have to clean up the shit that gets stuck in their fur, and when a rabbit doesn’t feel good, their shit gets squishy and smells like a skunk. I love my animals, all of them. Even though technically I’m not allowed to as: “They’re not your bunnies, they’re mine.” and “He’s supposed to be my kitty.”
Anyway, when the last bunny who passed away died – I left her cage in the back yard. It got rusty after a few weeks in the weather. So the following story is just a piece of this tale, but I’m pretty sure it revolved solely around the damned cage.
I woke up at 6am to head out pounding pavement – it was damned hot. I drove all over hell and half of Georgia, only to be told that nobody is hiring in my field. By 3pm I was beat, and starving. So I went home. The moment I walked in the house I was told to go find a bigger cage for the new bunny, as she’s growing rapidly.
In the heat and unhappiness of the morning, I forgot I had told my father that I was going to go to the school to talk to the office manager. After throwing a fit about the cage in the backyard, she sent me out with a bottle of bleach to scrub it down.
15 minutes into the scrubbing she comes storming out “Is there something you forgot to tell me?” Well here’s me I’m figuring she’s still pitching a fit over the cage. “Um, no? Is there?” Bad response Jo, questions are attitude. But how is one to know?
“You told your dad you were going to the school today. You didn’t go!”
This is officially dicey. She yells at me over a simple matter of forgetting something – as she tends to do.
After she storms back inside I finish bleaching the cage, trying to shut myself off. Once she gets started she keeps going. The only way to get through it is to clench your jaw and shut yourself off. Once inside she demands that I sit down on the floor in front of her chair where she tears me down, it’s my fault that she keeps bringing in new animals we can’t really afford. It’s my fault that my father has to work so much overtime. After blaming me for war, famine, disease and death – I’m sitting there grinding my molars, trying not to be hurt, trying not to let the tears welling in my eyes fall. Then I’m told I have no right to be sad or angry.
Here’s where it get’s fun, I’ve got to quote this – and for reference, Bob is the family therapist, whom I haven’t seen since I was in high school.
“We know there’s something sociopathic wrong with you. You keep hurting people and you just don’t care. You know, Bob’s been telling me I should start making bills for you. For everything you cost us. But I’m not going to do that, because I love you. But you know what, I just don’t care anymore. You come to me saying “Oh I’m depressed,” well, too bad, so am I. Get over it.”
Of course I’d rather be out on my ass regardless, so I tell her:
“Well, tell you what. I’ve got someone telling me their couch is open. I can be out of here in two weeks.” It’s true, and I’m too tired of life to fudge it at this point.
“You’re not going anywhere, you’re not going to go an be a burden on someone else. Besides, they don’t want you.” She doesn’t know my friends. Hell she doesn’t really know me. She continues ranting for an hour about how I’m simply not trying because I don’t care. I’m not allowed to speak while she tears me down. The she sends me to my room to “cool off” only to call me back down ten minutes later to do her a favor.
Look, I know some people have it so much worse. And I’m grateful for the roof over my head, don’t get me wrong. But this shit hurts, you know.
So things go back to the usual household slavery, which I do, but apparently don’t do. Yes, I do know how confusing that is. Then yesterday I was rolling through Monster.com looking for something, ANYTHING. She called for me to help her with something – I tried to get the point across, so I took my computer with me. I sat on the futon, rattling off the only cities in California that seem to be hiring. Then she informs me, quite out of nowhere that she’s made an appointment with Bob for me. Bob who has given her ammunition to make my psychoses worse than they already are Because, and I quote: “I’m worried about you. Won’t it be nice to talk to someone.”
I have to be honest, for man who died three times two months ago after a heart attack – I really don’t think he wants to know what’s going on in my mind. I don’t think he wants to know how pissed I am at him.
To those psych majors out there piling on the diagnoses, let me clear a few. I’m here for two reasons. She has all my money and has managed to help me push away any friends who might take me. And because I actually DON’T suffer from Clinical Psychopathy, I worry about where she’s going to place all her frustrations when I’m gone. My father is too sensitive to take it, and the animals are animals for crying out loud.
I concur to possible Bi-Polar Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Anxiety Disorders, and Disassociation. (I’m smarter than I look, I’ve taken classes too.)
Here’s where the OCD comes to play. I know I have to go see the shrink, and I have to keep my head. But I sit here playing out possible scenarios, and keep pulling out crying and shaking with anger. I’m not so docile as he remembers. I doubt my language will be very ladylike. The key aspect of psychology, is trust. Sorry to say in the last eight years I’ve only put all my trust into people who are too far away to hurt me. Even now I know – someday I may piss off one of sisters and I’ll be broken. Clearly I don’t hold much store in trust in humanity. (Though my sisters should all know, since I’m not what I am accused of being, I will NEVER do anything with purpose to hurt them.)
I’m writing this at 4am because I don’t know what to do with myself. Everything in me is just screaming to cancel the appointment, because I know it won’t matter. It never helped then, and things are 200x worse now. I think it’s possible I gave up on hope a long time ago. It fails me every time. I don’t even know if it’s mind games anymore. I wonder if she’s being honest when she says my grandparents think I ask to much. Maybe she’s right that no matter where I go, I’ll just be a burden on someone else. I have no faith in myself anymore.
So what’s a girl to do. When she has to continually sing Eric Idle’s advice, and look on the bright side of life, even when she can’t see the light? BAH rant. I’ll wind up deleting this in a day I’m sure.
Psychology huh? Family, eh?
J✪
