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Colorful and hopefully optimistic but maybe hateful occasionally

What triggered this? Definitely father’s day. Sure. But also seeing pictures of me and my little brother when we were six and five. Neither of those were TOO hard to handle. But then I was reading a book and a male character gave up his immortality to raise his son. He thought his son was not alive at first and had him in one room his entire first year of life to be studied. He felt terrible and has to make up for it the entire book.

It wasn’t bad until he realized he’d been feeding his son dog food for that year, instead of people food. So he ate some dog food himself, to see what damage he’d done.

I tasted cat food while the dog food was was described.

Fiction hits hard sometimes.
 
But I also wish he was normal so I could just go hang out with him and enjoy being his friend again.
I was surprised while re-reading this literally minutes later. If I never had to see him or hear him again I’d be thrilled.

Tl;dr version of the first post: I am angry at my grandparents for accepting my father despite his HUGE flaws (is rape forgivable?), and yet I want to do the same thing every time he texts me.

I’m always the responsible adult, even back when I was a child.

My twin brother said it was hard cutting him off. Why, though? What is this instinct for, at this point?
 
I might just be stronger than my grandparents.

I don’t want to think that. I respect them, highly. Shouldn’t I? Or... maybe not? I keep forgetting the harm they’ve done.

My dad isn’t in prison. If he were smart, he’d know that’s a blessing enough and he doesn’t need me around.

Okay. That’s enough. This is hard.
 
Should I sit with my feelings instead of instantly calling up a good memory?

Nah. I need sleep.

Hmmmm. The beech, in 2001. I caught mussels. Many of them! Buckets!

That dream I had today. It was cool! I had nightmares, and they’d made it hard to wake up. So I had one of those weird Your Left Brain Is Asleep But Not Your Right Brain dreams. Or whatever they are. I dreamed that I was stuck outside my body while I was sleeping, but I figured since I’m not dead I’d eventually be involuntarily put back in a few hours at most, so I was just looking around at all the clutter in this room. But I was getting more and more anxious because I glanced at the clock and it was like 6:30pm (which it was in reality, apparently!) so I was like “wait am I in a coma somehow, did my gallbladder get more ducked up or something?” but then I was thought, “nah, I’m feeling anxiety, which means I’m alive, so it’s no big deal.” But I was starting to feel a lot of existencial dread, and the cat was yelling under the door. Then a friend started texting me (I checked the name on my phone) and I thought, “well that’ll fix the anxiety,” so I tried telling Nestle to wake me up, but she was getting weirded out by me trying to touch her and thought she was just itchy. I couldn’t interact with her.

So I decided to knock down some clutter because that’d wake me up, but then I realized most of it would fall on Nestle, who was resting again. That wouldn’t be nice. I started picking up a remote control flying dragonfly I keep on a high bookcase, because I figured it would fall loudly but also is light so wouldn’t fall all the way, and it’s made of styrofoam. Only problem is, I glued its feet down to an antique swing set a few years ago to keep it from falling because it’s delicate, so it took hard work to get it off without breaking it, but then all it did was fall gently ??‍♀️

I don’t remember the rest of the dream but guess what? When I woke up, the glue was pulled up and the dragonfly was fallen halfway to the ground, and not on Nestle! Haha. And the time? Just after 6:30pm! (I can’t remember the exact time :P

Bed.
 
And fails to understand that maybe, maybe, the part that’s shameful is that they’re protecting a child rapist who locks kids in cages (or in the wall! I’ve never mentioned that here — unless I did, and forgot?) and feeds them cat food, and “trafficks” them to one house. I don’t feel that’s the right term.
YES!!!!! YES YES YES!!!
These things he wants brings back confusingly good memories.
of course they do. Because he wasn't evil all the time. And, kids are supposed to want their parents in their lives. Because they keep hoping that this time will be different
I’m angry at them.
YES!!!
I can tell it’s my empathy.
Uhmmm You say that like its a bad thing?
So lets stop a sec and recognize how astounding it is that you have ANY empathy in you after how horribly you were abused. That takes a really special person to achieve.
Like maybe when I get over that, I’ll realize somehow my grandparents are wise and I missed something.
ya....no. They cant face the truth.
I am angry at my grandparents for accepting my father despite his HUGE flaws (is rape forgivable?),
YES!!! You should be angry with them. If they hadn't lived in the land of make believe then they would have gotten him help and he might have been a different (not necessarily better) person
and no.
Rape is NEVER forgivable.
Especially when it involves children
You can choose to forgive your rapist - but that is for you if you need it as part of your healing process. But that doesn't mean the act itself is forgivable.

yet I want to do the same thing every time he texts me.
yep -- because he's your dad
I might just be stronger than my grandparents.
This actually made me scream YES!!!!!

good work! :hug:
 
Anxious? Can’t quite place why, though. It’s gotten bad enough that I can’t sleep at night, though. My dog’s exhausted. Also, my social life is suffering. I keep having days where I feel okay and text/call/message many of the humans I know, and then other days when I can’t manage to say a sentence out loud. Anxiety is odd.

I re-hired that therapist — the profesional organizer (the one who works with hoarders) — and told her I want to do this for me, too, because I have ADHD and never learned how to organize, so who better to turn to than a professional? She has agreed to help my mom and I finally clean out the kitchen. She said she’s very impressed by Scottie’s and my progress in the house.

I actually called her because my main therapist gave me homework — to be “assertive.” That’s what I’ve named it. I came to her with an issue of “avoiding confrontation” and we realized together it was because I was calling it “confrontation,” which has negative results — such as my dad attacking me. So, assertive it is. Mature, reasonable, and no one will raise their voice at me if I turn around and leave anyway.

She told me to practice being assertive in the next two weeks as homework. Good times.

End of the two weeks, I was vacuuming the house, and I realized I could no longer vacuum more than half of my mom’s room because shes blocked it off. I got angry. Very angry. Usually what I do is keep that inside, and it ends up manifesting as me not wanting to talk to my mom at all. And being mad at her for stupid things. Standard human behavior.

So this time I considered the fact that my mom isn’t in her right mind about Stuff, exactly. And nothing I say in voicing my frustration is going to solve anything. Realized contacting that therapist would be my best bet right now.

My main therapist was very impressed, told me I’m incredible and a delight to work with. Made me happy.

I’m worried about working with my mom. It’s easy cleaning the house without her here. Not so much if she’s around. Because I’m afraid of her, for some reason. I guess. It doesn’t really matter.

The professional organizer is a freelancer who charges $65/hour, and only works in three hour blocks to help speed up progress. That’s $195 a session. She would like to do three sessions, so that will total $585. That makes me nervous. Despite the fact that I’m making enough, I need a real job, and my anxiety won’t be quiet about it at 3am, at all. Ive calculated that I need an income of, very minimally, $36,000 a year (or $25/hr) and currently that’s not looking possible. Stresses me out.

Does not help that I’m feeling lonely and want a kid. My brain’s been hormonal, I guess. And it wants to rush things. I keep telling it that my mom had me when she was 35, and there’s seriously no rush. But then a voice whispers that there IS a rush, because soon I’ll have to pay real rent and take care of bills AGAIN and rent here is expensive.

I just thought of something. Nashville area is having a housing crisis. Is Kentucky? That’s not even too far from here, like an hour.... I should check rent in Kentucky and then re-do my calculations, maybe? Would be hard to find a biology job there, though, maybe. I want to do an internship at the zoo here — but it would be unpaid, so is that realistic? So hard to decide when I’m afraid of just being too poor to afford food again. Lol.

Anyway, that’s how I’m doing. I’m sorry for the long silence, I’ve been a bit stressed.
 
The pipes. I have this horrible, completely irrational terror of pipes. Apparently a rare phobia that still manages to present itself similarly in other people, but, again, rarely.

My room is the master bedroom. There’s a bathroom the size of a very small closet (ironically bigger than the actual closet... this house was not built with love). For the past two nights in a row, maybe a couple of other times, it’s ripped me out of sleep with an awful, whining foghorn noise, in the pipes, while the room is empty.
 
I’m exhausted and not happy. Not happy at all. I tried to go to bed at a reasonable hour to be on time for an appointment that’s going to happen in about two hours. Scared awake so bad I couldn’t breathe.

I tried to check the meter, don’t really know what I’m doing for once. They replaced it (last week) with a digital thing that seems to only show gallons. I was thinking that maybe they replaced it incorrectly and maybe the pressure has somehow gotten higher than 55psi.

What I learned, checking it, though, is that my sense of curiosity FAR exceeds my sense of fear, even if it’s a full-blown phobia. I couldn’t reach in to see what the digital meter was capable of, but I was able to wipe its face of water drops (worth looking into the drops of water, I guess) to see the numbers. Shown a light at all the piping to see where there we went. Fascinating. Fascinating and terrifying.

Reminding myself that if the pipes leak, I won’t die. And the fear is irrational. Completely irrational. I don’t know what triggered this phobia in me. Maybe being knocked unconscious in the bathroom as a toddler. Thanks, dad. But it won’t happen again in the foreseeable future. It won’t.

The main problem, in reality, right now, is that if I call a plumber to fix it, he’s going to judge the house I live in. I’ll keep telling myself that it’s not my house, and it’s actually a LOT better now! But. I still feel shame and guilt. Whatever.

I hate living here. I hate it so much. I need a real job. Why do plumbing issues follow me? At least it doesn’t seem to be the toilet, this time. So far. Guess I’m not positive in that. I hope it’s not going to lead to another leaky toilet. I’d literally rather die than deal with that again. Plus, how would I empty this room out to save my stuff? I wouldn’t.

Just remembered my sister and mom making fun of me for having a lot of stuff. Lovely.

This is not going to bed a good day. Two days in a row with no sleep. Might get a hotel. Luckily I’m terrified of hotel bathrooms, too.

Finally peed, though. Took hours. Might need to go on vacation this week. Water company opens in 13 minutes, maybe they’ll have an idea of what to do.

Im pretty sure my twin brother called a plumber here three years ago. He’s him, though, doesn’t care about others’ opinions at all. I wish I didn’t. I’m going to get over it, though, or else I’ll be terrified to sleep for the next while.
 
Okay, called the water company and they told me my pressure reader isn’t on the meter, but she checked it for me and it’s fluctuating between 60-120psi, which means I was right, the valve has gone out. Yaaay. Called their recommended plumber and they estimate it’ll be 350$, which isn’t bad, I guess. I mean, I’ll be paying it, but hey. Anything go be able to sleep without that awful sound.

Plus 120psi is enough go damage pretty much all the toilets and sinks and the 60 explains the low pressure we’ve been getting. So. Fun.

Done, though, for now. If the plumber can’t be here today, maybe knowing with reasonable certainty where the sound is coming from will help me calm down faster so I can get some rest.

Thankfully, this does prove my OCD work is paying off. I did go all over the internet looking for the problem but with the idea in mind that id call a profesional.
 
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