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Colorful and hopefully optimistic but maybe hateful occasionally

Being near/in the presence of someone who genuinely cares is calming and comforting.

He's home now and I had a crying spell like immediately, so guess stress cup is overflowing. I feel pathetic, and it makes me angry both that I feel that way and that I am not meeting my own standards.

Deep cleaned the stove again.
If nobody cared, I'd still survive. If I didn't want to, I'd still survive. I just needed a minute. This has been a very hard year. Years. Decade(s). We aren't born to live in luxury and when we do, it takes a toll on us too.

This house is trying desperately to let go of me and my family. This town has grown so much that it's a city now, and when I returned from escaping it it didn't recognize me. I'd never seen this place before and it barely noticed me. When villages and towns grow to a certain point they collectively attempt to put their collective past on a pedestal -- look, a past president lived here. He was the most evil man to cross through here who was famous enough to be remembered -- look, another nation was here just before his hateful eyes passed through and turned it into this... thing it is today. The regular north American stroad. I didn't say a word to anyone but myself when the water tower went from a sad reminder of being the state's number one football team two decades prior into a slutty little "where community and business meet" phrase of a logo.

I said one something, but as usual, no one could see me, or recognize me, or understand me -- I met with the senator and he was genuinely shocked I was having lunch with him, alone, just to bring up politics. No, sir, I got in here because you have a lunch you share with constituents and your black secretary calls my university his alma mater AND thinks it's funny that people assume you're racist because you're Republican. I'm not some woman here for a casual lunch, I'm talking about having one of the highest rates of deforestation in the entire rainforest, right here in Tennessee, in this very nation, while you stand over it and we eat the most unethical meat and vegetables and grains and live in a time where no one in a "first world" country can buy a SINGLE thing without causing the suffering and genocide of genuine slaves because if it's illegal here, just make it legal elsewhere where no one is looking because they don't matter --

And now I not only see where I went wrong and why it didn't work, but also I'm not even a woman and am no longer pretending to be, so maybe if it went back in time now it would be better. But I've seen women do a million times better with over triple the payout, so not being seen as who I really am was not the issue. I come from the wrong angles, see things neurotypical people don't, and fail to communicate properly regardless, try my hardest and rarely ever know when to quit and STILL don't get half as far as people who qualify less than I so at the same things, which is normal and so. something. I am kind and I am honest but I'm constantly fighting a battle of some sort and I was not made for the world we live in, just like everybody else.

And worse, this city has grown so much and pretends my history in it and my family's legacy in it is nothing. Immigrants on all sides because nothing is better than never belonging anywhere and still hoping for generations it gets better. Every time it gets better it's guilded. It's supported by slaves and genocides and people working in factories they aren't allowed to leave without getting deported, and some innocent little animal caged in a way to prevent her from every truly getting to see her own baby, just as nature intended.

This house doesn't want me here. All along I've been seeing it wrong. I keep thinking it's pulling me back no matter how many times I try to escape it, to the point that I become afraid to leave it again once I'm back because when every plan fails, at least I have this brick house that has survived multiple tragedies, multiple tornadoes, random fires, complete neglect, all with shockingly few scars from the outside if you aren't trained to see it.

But if this house were holding on to me, it would feel safer when I'm here. On some level I keep seeing it as this old friend that invites me back, acts kind enough to make me stay, and then slowly manipulates me again until I think I can't leave and it's completely in control again.

But I always dread coming back. The house never welcomes me. As a child my bed used to be against the wall, and in absence of parents and with the required isolation from my siblings every night I used to cuddle up to the wall and hug it and feel the affection of the house, quite literally like some kind of silly delusion, and cuddle that way, and I never felt this dread. This room I'm in now used to be a comfort.

Now my bed sits away from the wall, and I'm disgusted if the walls are too close, so claustrophobic that even the smells can make me need to run outside and feel like I need to escape, all while the house secretly rots from the inside and poisons my lungs and wants me out. There. Is. Nothing. Here. For. Me. This city no longer has my friends. This country is lonely and based off of power, control, lack of true community, to a point no one knows where their food comes from -- we're all just pets, domesticated, for no reason, and this house wants me gone.

I dread coming back to it because it has moved on. Everything is different because I didn't voice myself correctly and this house wants me out and wants me to never come back.

I keep thinking if I hold on to it I can protect my babies -- cats, because despite what I believed a decade ago, I in fact did not ever have children or a husband or a wife or a traditional family of any kind -- from homelessness, or the stress of having to find a new home. I keep thinking if I can find that one stable place I'll be set, totally forgetting my one good trait is to float and be invisible in the right ways.

The house is pushing me out. When "Bestie" asked me to move in with him to keep me safer and less triggered, he was talking about this house. When his parents began to target me, I chose this house over them, but most importantly being near my animals again because bestie's parents wouldn't allow them despite their hoard they were willing to neglect to death in front of my eyes.

I told bestie one thing in particular when I told him why it went against my gut to move in with him, but that I would try it anyway just because I trusted him. I told him, "I'm afraid to move out of my mom's house. Because I hate it here. And it's a memorial to my trauma. And therefore any time I leave it, it gets harder and harder to come back. I'm afraid I will become too afraid to come back here one day and that will be it."

It FELT like this house was holding the cats, bird, reptiles, hostage, but really it was barely containing them. Any time I move a cat out of here, they become LESS STRESSED. It does not want more things, and it does not want my family any more than we want it. It still provides the necessary shelter like it would for anyone. But it doesn't love us like family.

This house wants to move on from its past. And eventually crumble like the rest of us. I see the signs constantly. Sinkholes under and around the house. The houses all around us holding on only through the use of jacks as the valley shifts with time, with this part of the mountain desperately trying to join the cove beneath it. The weight of the house is a burden on the land and the land is doing its damned best to eject it, with every flood exposing the foundation more, every tornado lifting it a little more, every shift in the mountain face making it lean towards its fate a little more.

And it doesn't want me here with it. I keep holding on because despite every effort, I keep ending up here, and the house keeping taking me in through obligation. And I clean it of its parasites like a bird grabbing ticks off an emaciated old cat. This house has had more death it in than any house nearby, more survivors than it wants, and it wants to run into the valley and rejoin the earth, and every time I fail in the "real world" people created here from another continent I crawl back against both our wills just to feel safe from those same elements it wants to be a part of.

In other words, I only come back because I'm scared. Because everything I do has not appeared to be working out, because no one seems to see me, because I never quite get the point I want to get across out there in time for people to see it, because each year something else happens that traumatizes me, and the reasons tying it together are all in this house, and this house can not help me even when it wants to. Even when it wants to protect me from the very thing it wants to become, it STILL can't, because the thing making me unwell is this memorial to some time that needs to be left behind.

The house is nothing but bricks made of sediments and I am someone holding on to its parts because I am afraid that if I don't, something even worse will happen. I'll never have a house this big, at least in the next decade, because this nation has no place for ANYONE in my generation. It sits on sinkholes that grow and increase in number faster and faster and still it's worth a fortune because there's not enough for anyone in the richest country, regardless of how many disabilities or traumas they have. It's foundation is cracking through the middle as one half slowly downs down the mountain one way, and the other half leans forward into a different pit.

A part of me raised here still wants to see this house as both and investment and a safeguard in case I continue to fail again and again, and I mistake that fear I hold on to for a false sensation that this house is holding on to me. If it could want it would let me go. I feel this dread coming back again and again because I do not belong here. I am resisting as hard as the house is and still fighting to stay absolutely anywhere.

It is excruciating to wait for housing because I hate this house so much it literally makes me sick. So sick I genuinely cannot stand and walk to the kitchen to get a single meal. I am married to this house and it is neutral at best about me, while I hold on to it as it tries to leave and instead make myself hate it more and more and get sicker and sicker.

And all along it was just me trying to run away. The urges to get up and just run and never come back -- the false feelings of a leash forcing me to stay withing a certain area of this house because I can't afford even a motel. It was just my soul trying to escape because I do not want to be here any more than this house wants me here, and the only way to fight it is to hate every minute of our time together.

And so I've gone from being the money with a piece of wood for a mother, a child hugging a wall, to trying to live on my own, not doing well at all because all I had was something that did not ever love me back, and when I expected more of it and it failed to deliver, I simply began to hate it. I'm looking at it like I can fix him when deep down I'm not only worse but neither of us are supposed to be here anymore.

And the entire time I haven't said a word about it to anyone, and no one will understand, and I will feel like a fool for free floating without a sinking ship to return to just in case the sharks continue to attack.

It is a lose-lose right now because I have no power, no money, no ability, and a broken spirit from trying and failing.

I have been cleaning this house, and my parents' messes, since I was born, and I am tired of being held back and only escaping through hallucinations and daydreaming and dangerous exes. I am sick of trying to get out of this house just for all events ever to be canceled due to diseases caused by human errors. I am sick of being the only person apparently keeping it together while barely having a light inside.

I'm sick of this house destroying my opportunities for reasons beyond its control and sick of worrying that I'm letting my emotions get in the way of a perfectly normal house I could be living it normally like everyone else.

The only thing stopping me from getting in the car and disappearing is that my siblings think they need me, I want them to and want them to never ask for my help again, and mainly, because I don't want to leave my family of cats, reptiles, etc. and my life will literally not continue or go on as long as I cling to my "mother" board of wood like that baby monkey in that cruel experiment. At best keeping hold of that plank of wood prevents any growth.

Too tired to go further. Guess I'll go back to sleep.
It would help a lot if people would leave me alone. My mother keeps talking to me all day every day including when I'm not out of my room or bed yet.

This happens every time I live here. I always go insane trying to think of ways to leave and literally never get far. How am I supposed to wait for a crumb of disability money, or less than that, in this state?

I feel like a piece of shit when I start to hate my mother for talking to me or existing around me because she gets depressed, and then does not cheer up until I talk to her. I only like her when she's not my roommate and I feel like shit for it.
Sorry -- I can't seem to get myself to talk unless it's to a void where no one has to respond to me, but writing in my own notes where it feels like I'm still keeping it to myself is somehow worse. No need to engage with that, I'll be fine