Monday, September 05, 2005
I must get out of this house or I'll die here.
I was thinking that one can get upset with a situation or a person for so long until something changes inside oneself to make him feel like he must get out or else he'll die.
I was laying in my bed this morning listening to my Holosync tape when I realized that when I start to remove my computer from the docking station, it makes a beeping noise akin to the noise a heart monitoring machine would make.
So I made it do the "beep beep" sound, and then I had it turn into a flatline sound that one hears when a person dies. I thought to myself that one day that will be me. I will be in a hospital hooked into one of these machines, and one day I will die and that will be it. What will come of all the knowledge I sought out during my time here? What will have been the purpose for all the learning and the working? I'm going to die one day.
On another note, I am sincerely tired of living at my dad's house. Every creek in the house and every footstep sends anger up my spine. This is eating me up. I have resorted to closing and locking my door to keep my dad out, but all I have done is isolate myself.
Last night my dad asked me if I could go into my room and close the door for the night because he had his girlfriend downstairs. He wanted to fuck her while I was home. I was sincerely horrified, and I told him that it is not okay ask me this when she is right there downstairs, and he should have given me some notice so that I could arrange to get out of the house or be somewhere else. The woman is asleep upstairs now and my dad is walking around.
It occurred to me that as much as I consider myself to have mental problems, it is highly likely that I am overwhelmed with stress from this situation. It occurred to me that my father might be retarded, and that his mental disease is what is driving me crazy. I spoke to him a few days ago and I asked him to clean up his mess in the house -- the piles of shirts on the backs of the chairs, the piles of unopened mail, the shit from the bird on the floor, the empty plastic cups and used silverware laying on the table -- to my amazement, he looked me in the eye and said "I don't know what you are talking about -- the house is clean."
The house is not clean. There is mold everywhere; the refrigerator has rotten fruits and vegetables and unfinished leftovers from months ago that are growing funky things that I wouldn't be surprised if I could have a hallucinogenic experience if I sniffed some of that stuff. Until I cleaned the shower two weeks ago, it was black from stuff growing on it. It even grew on our toothbrushes and on our shampoo bottles. There are stains on the carpet from spilled food. There are papers lying everywhere. There are totes filled with junk that he hasn't gone through and probably will never go through. I could go on, but I am making myself upset.
In my heart I should just throw his crap out, but 1) I don't want the aggravation because more mess will come in its place, 2) my father will easily get used to the idea of me cleaning up after him -- he has already, 3) it's not my house, and it bothers me that I will never be able to control him or his mess. My mother couldn't either when she was married to him, why should I be able to?
Anyway, I think it was wrong of him to bring someone to fuck while I was home. In fact, he's fucking her right now above my room. I can tell because my ceiling is shaking. How inappropriate is that?? Didn't anyone ever teach him manners?? My biggest fear is that one day I will turn into him. I must get out of here.
I'll let you in on a little secret. Do you know that last year, I was so stressed out that I considered dropping out of law school and I was going to check myself into a hospital? I was considering being one of those "voluntary" patients who check themselves into mental institutions [usually seen in horror shows] because they are unable to cope with the things life has given them and they need a temporary "time-out" from life because they fear that they'll have a nervous breakdown.
If I don't get out of this house and get a job soon, I fear that I will no longer be able to deal with the poisonous environment my dad's house yields. I'm dying more and more inside each day being here. I just can't afford my own place yet, which is why I need to get a job. I will plan to start working as soon as the holidays are over. I will start sending out resumes and contacting firms this week and next week. I need to get out of here or else I'll die.