As the years pass and my siblings and I grow more distant than ever, the rare times I do see them tends to bring about harsher realities. I suppose that is the joy of separation and distance. A while ago I learned from my mother that my eldest brother viewed my living situation as a result of our parents babying me.

This stung and outraged me to learn that this was coming from my eldest brother of all people. It was perhaps the second greatest betrayal he has committed towards me in my life and the only reason he has accomplished only two betrayals is because the first one taught me that I couldn’t depend on him whatsoever back when I was still in elementary school.

While I will try to reason to myself he is basing this belief on only what little surface he sees. I in turn only know him by that degree as well. Nevertheless, any negative judgments I have ever made of him are from actual information gathered.

Now, what has riled me up this time falls into a far greater uncertainty, as it was a case of action rather than words. While I often have my doubts when it comes to my own insight, empathy and ability to read others, I apparently have enough where my mother believes in it. I take her opinion with great worth.

When he and his wife visited us the weekend after Thanksgiving ended, we talked about the table per usual. I brought up the topic of my rather wearied outlook of the commercialism of Christmas time. As of late I’ve gotten droves of emails trying to entice me about purchasing things that would interest me. I curse that. I’m trying hard to save up money to give my siblings something of a gift each along with my parents without it overriding the usual money required to buy my groceries, pay my rent and handle other annoying things like expensive doctor visits and a haircut appointment.

As I ranted this, my brother and his wife just looked at me and quickly changed the subject as though they heard nothing. That moment alone reminded me of my sister back five years ago when she felt I had absolutely no right to speak of money problems. Sure, thank you brother and sister-in-law for keeping your mouths shut in order to be polite… but quite frankly I’d rather you bring your feelings and thoughts out in the open. Maybe then I could make you understand my position in life instead of have you misjudge me when you barely even know me at all.

Admittedly with my sister, I didn’t know she wasn’t aware of the IRS problems Mom, Dad and I faced. Yes, I include myself in that lovely time because unlike the rest of my siblings I was there, I enjoyed the stress it put on them, I helped out when it came to money where I could and while I cannot recall when the heck this was, I freaking help pay for my sister’s ticket to fly out her for Christmas break one year for my parents’ sake.

There is even more than that. I know what it like to pinch pennies, use the cheapest of products and make use of any useful coupons around. The first years living here with my mother and other brother was tight. We helped each other out and were careful. One time back when what I got via social security was four hundred bucks, my other brother had actually asked to borrow money from me. His price was too steep as that money was what I used to pay my groceries with because back then I could manage to live off groceries that totaled to about twenty bucks a week. I could only offer half at best. My eldest brother and my sister of course know nothing of this crap.

Yes, you idiots. You’ve actually relied on me, your so called overly-babied snowflake of a youngest sibling.

Oh, and Eldest Brother, did you know I am well aware that you nearly never pay your cursed student loans. The very same loans for the education you decided to quit doing out of the blue because it just got too freaking tough?

The only time you pay those are after Mom gets after you. You have a freaking job, you certainly make more than I get and the monthly bill is pretty much two-hundred freaking bucks. Mom is retired now. You are making her dip into her 41K all the freaking time. I’ve even told her that if she ever comes to the point where she has to ask, I’d pay despite my strong misgivings over it being something that is ultimately for your freaking failures and lack of responsibility. I use my money wisely.

Babied? You freaking think I was babied, you pieces of crap? Do you know I determined I couldn’t rely on anyone in our family by the time I was at least in second grade? Did you know I never asked for anything like most kids do because I was already conscious about money back then? The most I’d ever indulge myself was a pack of candy from the grocery checkout stand because those cost a dollar or less. Oh, there were things I’d see and want, but I always reserved those for my birthday and Christmas and even then I rarely ever asked for anything then and just let Mom and Dad choose.

Did you also know that when I had to share that cursed bedroom with our lovely sister, the only thing I came to consider mine in there was the bed I slept in and the few drawers I kept my clothes? Despite that she considered the room as much as my responsibility as hers and when it came to dusting I had to dust her things? That if the drawers to a really effed up dresser we had were not pushed in to perfection she’d wake me up from my slumber and tell me to straighten them? Those damn drawers never kept aligned to the tracks so it would take me a freaking hour to get them “just right” and I’d be sweaty by then? Then when I was finally finished I got to stand, turn around and see her sleeping? We were in freaking elementary school at that time and guess what? I sure as heck didn’t fall asleep again easily.

You know how she scared the crap out of you, Big Brother? Well, to your effing fortune, you lived in a separate building and had you own damn room where you locked yourself in and escaped from reality all the time because you were and still are so freaking delicate.

Guess how it was for me? I didn’t have that luxury. She would always find me. She would always haunt me. She scared the living daylights out of me. I had nowhere to run and the one effing time I did, she of course found me. The rare times I ever tried to stand up to her you failed me and Mom failed me. I was certain as hell I’d never be free of her. Also, did you know I had panic attacks and already was showing signs of mania back in elementary school? How do you freaking like that?

By the time I was finally in middle school, it was my bed alone that was mine because I began just keeping my clothes in our parents’ bedroom. Yes, by then that was the only thing I “owned” in there. Did you know living in that same freaking room became too much that I chose to sleep in the living room on that stiff as heck couch even though Mom often stayed up to watch television in there until 11 PM? Then the rest of the night I could hear when you came over to grab yourself something to eat from the fridge or when you freaking friends were coming and going because they didn’t know how to speak quietly?

Did you know that Mom and Dad didn’t worry about this because they thought it was just a freaking tantrum between siblings? Even after an effing year it didn’t occur to them that maybe it actually was something serious?

Did you also know they never noticed that I wasn’t sleeping worth crap at that time – that if I was lucky I got two hours of sleep and if I was extremely lucky I got four once in a blue moon? Did you also know that because of all the anxiety and fear I lived with, I developed Bipolar II. Yes, that happens when someone is under enough stress. With that I had mania and irritability and depression.

At the same time, I also almost completely stopped eating. Did you know that? Yeah, copious amount of anxiety can kill the appetite. I lived off a bottle of soda at lunch and a package of stove top Ramen for dinner.

Did you know that when I was at least twelve I thought death would be a blessing? Did you know when I was thirteen I direly wished to commit suicide? Did you know that every day was freaking hell? Did you know that that entire time of my life was spent grasping desperately to feeble strings to survive – that I wasn’t even living?

It took that night I desperately wished to die to finally reach out to Mom. After that I got to enjoy being a guinea pig when it came to finding the right diagnosis and thus the right treatment. Did you know that half of the medicines I got to take resulted in those extremely rare symptoms that affect perhaps 1% of those who try them? My entire adolescence was spent on drugs for the wrong diagnoses.
In the same spirit, I had lost myself completely. When I was thirteen to fourteen I didn’t know who the eff I was anymore. I had spent so much time desperately trying to not drown I became completely barren as a person. My soul was near dead. I had realized that if I had died, that no single person even knew me, not even myself. Those who lived on would only remember an illusion that wasn’t even me.

Did you know that though I was getting help, I continually felt like a clock, a wind up music box, a puppet, a doll? That the only future I saw before me was bleak and I’d never escape such a hallow existence?

Were you ever notified of the time I actually did try to commit suicide? Have Mom or Dad ever told you of this? I took all my meds, old to new, the no longer used to the always used and crumbled the pills up into dust, mixed it with the liquid medicine and drank it all down along with a ton of water?

I had actually intended to do it at school and even thought of places I could hide in while there, but I just got so desperate I decided to do it that night. The other reason was to tell Mom and Dad I loved them and hug them good night so that those would be the last words and actions they had with me?

Did you know I broke down often in school – from middle school to high school? I’d be crying and sobbing and the teachers were often useless despite they could have actually done something but didn’t want to deal with it, just sent me to the counselor’s office and one even threatened to give me detention. These break downs became more frequent as time continued on and one time I even took a pair of scissors out and began snipping away at the skin on my wrist?

It finally got to the point I had to quit public school and go to an alternative schooling. Before that though, because I desperately wanted to kill myself again I went to a mental facility for a week just to be able to see a doctor? Then, when I finally saw said doctor I was finally diagnosed correctly?

Did you know that like with our family, I lost all faith in friendship? That while I clung to the friends I had before middle school it was a futile battle and it took me my entire adolescence to finally give up my beliefs and hope in what those stupid, misleading children shows taught about true friendship? In turn, they all just became toxic relationships. When I finally let go, I in turn found it okay to no longer yearn for what I believed to be friendship. Then in time, I also came to no longer care to make friends anymore because I find being around people just makes me feel lonely as eff?

I was an exceedingly hard worker, you know. I am not naturally smart and getting good grades required me to push myself beyond my limits. I had breakdowns over school work. In any case, I finished my Junior and Senior years’ worth of work in two months and two weeks. I graduated and remained on the Honor’s Society from middle school to high school.

Sadly, however, once I began Junior College the cycle began again. Even with just one class a semester, it cased my anxiety to sky rocket again, my mania, irritability and depression would kick in and I would cut myself. Right, I never mentioned that. I was cutting myself back in middle school.

After managing only three classes for one year, I moved down here with Mom. We sought a new therapist and psychiatrist. Though them we learned I also had Asperger’s and an Auditory Processing Disorder. Through the therapist we also learned about receiving Medicaid. Mom and I compiled my history, sent it and in a month I was approved? Did you know that is nearly unheard of? Yes, I am that effed up, thank you.

Did you know that when we determined that continuing college would just have the same effect as public schooling had on me, I decided to go job searching? I never got any responses back, so instead I tried volunteering at a school library. I did very good work there. I kept everything in order, helped kids check out books and liked the settings. In spite of this, however, the stimuli slowly wore on me and by the end of the month I had gone through another cycle in spite of my medication? It took one month to lead me to desire cutting and having suicidal thoughts?

It was through these experiences did we determine I couldn’t survive in the real world anymore. My entire childhood wore me down. I have no mental or emotional immune system. Despite efforts, I cannot strengthen my mind. Despite my efforts, I could not even make friends. I assure you, I put in efforts. My therapist and psychiatrist bugged and at times still bug me about this. I tried just for their sake, but every experience resulted in breakdowns.

In all of this, I have never run off into my own world. I was never babied. I always pushed myself even though the results were always the same. I’d always do it for others and in time Mom realized the true cost. She saw the results: forcing myself to be like the majority rule only breaks me more.

Therefore, yes. I do live with Mom and Dad still. Yes. I have never had a job. Yes. I never finished college. Judging me on that alone however makes you an effing moron. You don’t know how our unit works and I assure you, it works fine. They don’t feel burdened by me. I support them enough. Though I need their guidance on things, I support myself where I can.

I still buy my own groceries. I help pay the mortgage on this house. I buy my own clothes and shoes. I pay for Atticus’ vet bills. I pay for my haircuts. I pay my psychiatrist. All the other medical things seem to be covered by insurance. Then, if I have some money left over, I will indulge in making a silly purchase of fancy, like collectible cards, a graphic novel, a figure or the like.

And no, life still isn’t easy. Though the medicine makes life a great deal more bearable, stimuli and low, low-level stress can overpower it. This can affect my sleep. This can affect my view of life in general. I have no personal anchor to this world. What anchors me to this mortal plane is Mom and Dad. Outside of them I have no freaking clue as to why I’m on this planet. In spite of this, I keep on. I try to appreciate life and be grateful. I try to be a good person. Again, though… I still don’t know why I am still here and pretty much see life as a “waiting game”.

The other day I read the concept of “personal hell”. I considered what mine would be. Logically, one would think I would automatically say my bi-polar before it was diagnosed. That was a very dark time and often led to very desperate acts. My first thought wasn’t that, however.

The thing I did think, though… it was as typical as it was sad. I automatically thought of my sister. It shouldn’t be surprising, though. To this day my anxiety suddenly shoots up when I truly think of her. By truly, I mean “aware of her presence”. While I can think of her with a sort of detached method and feel sympathetic to her when my parents relay a recent plight of hers… outside of that… I can only feel dark feelings.

They aren’t dark in the way of anger or hate, though. No, they are usually discomfort, fear and disappointment. I will admit, some have bordered towards anger due to feelings of frustration and confusion, however.

Recently, (maybe even last night?) my sister called my mother while we were watching some television. My sister has a voice that carries, so when she is on the phone, I can hear her voice through the receiver even though I am a few yards away. My body automatically felt a bit ill and my chest became tight.

Today I was on Facebook and as usual it tries to connect me with people who have been befriended by the few I’ve “friended”. Of all the things to pop up, there was my sister’s profile. I admittedly wondered if there was a way to block anything related to her via the site. Sadly, all I would was “Add Friend” and “send her a friend request”…

Sigh… I, of course, find it sad I automatically looked for such things… I find it sad that simply seeing her Facebook page makes me uneasy and can cause a rise of anxiety in me. I find it sad that I feel really sick right now because of all of this.

Normally I would write down more of my feelings when distressed since writing such things out have always been therapeutic… but like my other attempts of avoidance… Some of me thinks that maybe I should just lay myself down and see if my mind can work it all out through dreaming instead…

Perhaps one might say I am running away doing such, but quite frankly, I really just don’t want any of these feelings to grow any more than they have and somehow result in some stupid panic attack.

I wouldn’t say I hate dogs in general. I never have disliked dogs just as I have never been extremely interested in them. I, at times, do hate my mom’s dogs, however… particularly her most recent – Mackie.

Why my mom’s dogs in particular? They always display the same rowdy, greedy, disrespectful, trouble-making behavior. They can often dance on my nerves to the point my thoughts become quite drastic. Of course I would never act on such thoughts…well, except the remote shock collar idea…

Sigh…

They always display the same behavior because my mom spoils them until they are rotten. Mackie for example will stuff his mouth with anything he can fit into it. He particularly loves dish towels, socks and underwear. Mom never worked on stopping this. All she ever does is take the item away. Because of this, he has determined it is a game and thus will “play” keep away. Mom is fine with this; she likes his three year old child behavior. I find it exasperating and he won’t take me seriously because of this reinforcement.

The same is applied to plastic objects, paper and fabric softener sheets. All things listed in this paragraph and the one above are things he loves to tear to shreds or at the very least chew on until it is indiscernible. Again, the most she’ll do is take the item away from him. He is never punished. In fact you can’t punish him because he begins darting around thinking you are going to play or simply runs off because he knows he can outrun you. The times I do near corner him, he goes straight for mom. “She‘ll protect me” he practically oozes. It is frustrating as mad.

Then there is the case of getting on the furniture. Mom lets her dogs on her bed. Why my dad allows it, I don’t know. They will hop right onto it, rub and roll around all over it, smear their slobber on the bedspread, track leaves and whatever dirt is on their paws into it, shed plenty of fur in their wake… sigh.

Typically I avoid sitting on the bed, but recently I have been taking residence in her bedroom because of a broken knee she is recovering from. During this time Mackie has been allowed to sleep on the bed with her all the time now. I don’t mind this when he stays at the foot of the bed… but when I get up to do something and return to find he has taken up my place… I really don’t want to sit there anymore and just want to smack him.

Sigh… I really don’t see what my mom sees in such a delinquent. I must say though.. When he wears my nerves down… I’d really like to smack him over and over with something. Sadly a rolled up newspaper is like a fly’s wings batting to him and he is too damn quick to be caught anyway. Hence the mention of a remote shock collar… Man… I hate to admit to this but sometimes I’d like to shock him whenever he does something bad.

I do not mean to be inhumane… but…sigh… I hate him sometimes. I really do hate that dog.

I made a blunder in the night. I have a somewhat self-deprecating sense of humor. It translated rather poorly tonight and now based on the data, I believe I have hurt a dear friend with my words. I concluded it is likely an insulted, affronted sort of hurt. Sigh…
Before this, occurred there were many questions and ponders running about my mind. What started all of these thoughts was a single one. It has been many years since my suicide attempt during my high school years. To this very day though, I still cannot say I see much point in my life and thus feel rather comfortable (or is it resigned?) at the thought of dying.
This isn’t the same as feeling suicidal, mind you. I just… do not really see the point in my life. Yes, yes… there is point when it comes to others. There are those who are fond of me and I apparently enrich their lives as they do mine. If I were to learn I was to die today, however… I don’t think it would bother me terribly.
Said friend I made the fumble towards had been in a great depression not too long ago. During that time, he had felt something akin to that. At least, that is what his words had come to translate to me. It was indeed his depression that brought those thoughts and feelings. I wonder if I should take this to be a hint that I am still depressed? Yet, recalling my depressions of the past… these thoughts on the matter don’t bring on such a feeling.
Admittedly, tonight I have been a tad bit melancholy, but I always have such moments. I figure it is my body’s chemistry. Though I do take drugs for my bipolar, the medication has never been able to prevent all moments of depression or mania. It does keep them quite subdued in comparison to the time I was improperly medicated though.
Anyway, in the case I have also recalled those who say “fuck my life” or simply “I hate my life”. I do not ever recall ever thinking or saying either of those. I have found life to be a rather troublesome endeavor and wondering the point of mine, but I do not believe I have ever expressed great hatred towards my life (being on this earth/existence/whatever) itself.
Some might say my suicide attempt in the past rather cries out my saying those phrases… but back then I recall not adverse feelings towards my life then either. If anything I thought my existence was pointless, the future was a black hole and that in all sincerity… my parents would be better off without me. Though my best friend would miss me and those who cared for me would mourn my passing, I felt certain they would move on as all people do upon the passing of a loved one. Life just had no meaning to me… so I believed whether I was on this earth or not would not matter.
Truthfully, I still see no personal “true meaning”. I do know my life has meaning to others now, however. I have witnessed that I mean a great deal to my parents these past years. My mother and I have even developed a rather “symbiotic” relationship. We even each other out wonderfully.
I enjoy my time with them and our pets. I am content with my lot in life for th most part and recognize I am quite blessed. I rather think it a mercy I was adopted into the family I am a part of now because it allowed me to have the parents I have. I am grateful I am able to live securely under their protection and away from the real world.
Still, other than for the sake of others… I must admit, I have no idea why I am here otherwise. Once my parents are gone and if my friendship with the aforementioned friend should end… Yes… I would see absolutely no point to my existence.
I occasionally wonder if I should talk to my mother about this, but I rather fear she will take it the wrong way and believe I am suicidal. She feared that earlier this year after the big fight I had with my sister. I didn’t feel suicidal at that time either, but that didn’t stop her fears and beliefs.
Another thing I wish to write down… in regards to a likely god… particularly God of Christianity… it is said He has a plan for us and to have faith in Him and His intentions for us. Often times trials will be set before us. I often wonder this passing year… if my trial is finding my place in this world. I seem to have been born with many limitations. Are those my trials to overcome in His great plan for me? If so, I’ll accept the challenge. It is a rather interesting challenge when you think of the challenges others have been said to face.
Nevertheless… yes… why am I still here on this earth? Why is God keeping me here? What is my point of existence and why was I given such a challenge due to being born so ill equipped in making connections?
Hopefully I’ll find out some day… and if not, at least I’ll be dead and no longer have to deal with it. Hopefully death will indeed lead to lack of all connections to this physical plain and I will return to start of it all… I’ll become energy and become a part of everything and nothing all at once. There will be no consciousness, but there will be existence. There will be a belonging.

Sometimes I question if I have become a coward lately. I do not consider it a terribly bad thing, because I recall back how I was when I tried so hard to be strong and independent. No longer living in insane conditions and circumstances, I have rather regained a sense of sanity… that is if I ever possessed it before now… *Speculative*
Nevertheless, in this blanket of security, I occasionally come to conclude I have stopped in a sense. As those I once knew as my “peers” have grown and flourished in their own ways, I am rather the same as I was upon finding solace. In this though, I question if I have grown at all.
To some degree I am content with this because life before was like a an endless rotation of a music box melody… and the song was dismal like a dirge for my own funeral. I then question though… is it so good a thing to stay in my quiet, peaceful cocoon?
Based on previous attempts to venture out in the world, the results have often been dismal. Often they have led me into a darkness that is darker than black rather than a soothing one with the occasional shades of gray. Simply put, it often just seems to justify that I just don’t quite make sense upon this earth. A certain misplacement, I suppose.
There are those who have encouraged me to get out there, make friends… there have been encouragements that if I try, I will make more connections and find friends. Perhaps I just have too high of expectations…
In my efforts, I usually just find myself a third wheel. Though I am with others who are willing to share company with me, there is still an unseen wall. There is still a bubble about them I cannot seem to pass. On the outside looking in? On the inside looking out? I have yet to determine which way it is still.
A blockage in my mind, I lack the ability to grasp things that bring about communication. Social networking is closer to something I can deal with, but that isn’t what I am looking for. As said, there is a high expectation for me.
Emotional and mental connections is what elates me. A trust that allows me to feel comfortable and open… it is so hard to find when just entering through the social barriers is so difficult. Such a thing often takes an amount of time and cultivation in my case.
Speaking of common interests, following trends, showing wit… those rarely interest me. In fact, I often have little to talk about when it comes to the social scene. Books, movies, shows, politics, news, technology… How does one start when one doesn’t have anything to say about it or has very little interest in the world to begin with?
I suppose I could force myself to try to take interest in such things, but what is the point in that when it has nothing to do with my true interests? I saw plenty of change about me during adolescence. Preteens taking on the latest trends to be accepted into groups. Perhaps they liked said trends… others they simply made themselves like them until it became natural and thus eventually liked.
I could never really feign interest in things that never grasped me attentions on its own, however. Pretending to like something just to gain a way to enter a possible “relationship” never appealed to me. I make for a poor actor and don’t really care to be one.
Ah… so troublesome.
There are those who see potential in me… believe I can do things…
But all the times I gather the courage, or at times in the past was just frustrated with their pestering, it led to me feeling greater isolation than ever. Thinking of that feeling… it actually causes my eyes to prickle right now. Wretched, dismal and so alone…
That is what I feel whenever I try to make friends it seems.

Ever since Tiger died, Mom has slowly gotten the kitty crazies. Following a Humane Society shelter website, she was taken by two lynx point Siamese kittens.
Yesterday, we stopped by the shelter to check out the kittens. So focused on getting a Siamese, she mainly paid attention to them. In the cage next door I saw this cute little gray kitten. She won me over in an instant.
Finding neither of the lynx points were really warming up to her, she looked into the other cage since they were of Burmese mix. She liked the one with chocolate markings, but upon learning he was very shy, she decided to look at the one I had my eye on.
My instincts are spot on as usual. Mom fell for her and the little kitten fell for us in return. Reading up on the breed more, Mom has come to conclude she is perfect.
Named Gabriella by my mom, she is three pounds and about three months old. She is very lively, adventurous, but melts when you pick her up and pet her. Her personality is a definite queen.

Tiger, our eldest cat passed away today. He had been a staple to this family like no other pet has. We found him around the summer of 1995. He was about the age of a “teenager”. We adopted him and after getting him registered and fixed found out he belonged to some people in our neighborhood. Said people apparently didn’t care too much, because they already replaced him and said we could just keep Tiger. It was their loss.
Tiger made it to eighteen years once this spring passed. That is a record as far as I am aware. The longest living cat my mom had, which was before she even had me, lived to be at best seventeen. It was his time though, unlike the former who I think died from an unfortunate accident.
Tiger had been depleting in weight over the past year. In his prime her weighed up to twenty pounds. Today he was nine pounds. Over the year he slowly ate less and less to the point we enticed him with chicken and kitty treats. The past few weeks he has been turning his nose to those as well.
Last night was one of the major signs though. While my room was vacant, he took advantage of its silence, dim lighting and solitude. I checked on him to make sure he was breathing. Yes, we had been doing that for quite a while even w en he was in a bright room with plenty of activity. I later returned and tried to lightly brush his thinning coat out, but he found that uncomfortable and his breathing was heavier than I remembered. I left him be.
Today, Mom reported he wouldn’t eat. Sure, he drank water and licked some gravy from his food dish… but he wouldn’t eat. When I saw him in the kitchen later on he was just sprawled out on the floor, but I continued to notice his labored breaths. Finally around four my mom came home and we were taking him to the vets. In our pursuit to find him, he was hiding in a dark place.
There had been talk about his continuous weight gain before and we had checked his thyroid and blood levels… all of those were clean. A previous appointment did bring up a note of a strange enlargement of his kidney though. They told us at that time the possibility of cancer.
Well, we never found out if there ever was any cancer. According to the vet, with how he was struggling to breathe… at best he’d have a week. We could run tests, try to keep him around to the very last moment… but… Mom and I aren’t like that.
We agreed it was best to put him down. He was skeletal, deaf, becoming blinder as he became older and now couldn’t breathe well. Any cat lover who is well read knows cats do not show pain much. For all we knew, Tiger could have been suffering right before our eyes for a long time, but couldn’t tell. Well, we could tell enough.
We made the arrangements, signed the form and stayed by his side as they injected the meds into him. He fell asleep in seconds. Mom was sobbing. I was just… numb. It is surreal. When Peabody died, I of course felt it. This time, it was my mother sobbing. I don’t think she’ll be in her bed for weeks crying like I was, but it is still a hard hit.
Tiger was our Gandhi cat. Loving, gentle and laid back, he was a big baby that wanted to be loved and cuddled. Sadly, he didn’t always get that all the time – especially not from the other cats when we moved – but for the most part… I think he had a good life. Perhaps it could have been better… by means of more cuddle sessions, more petting and more rubbing. Nevertheless, I cannot recall him ever receiving an unkind hand or word from anyone human in the family – just the territorial youngin’ cats.
Ah… all Mom and I can hope is that he is doing well wherever he has wandered to. Mom believes strongly in the Rainbow Bridge, so I can only hope he’s made it there and that Peabody isn’t being too prissy and territorial towards him. Peabody was such an alpha, if he recognizes Tiger, he’d still be shrilling his high pitched yowl crying out, “This is MY territory, I don’t care if I lived with you in the past!”
Good luck, Tiger. I hope you are well wherever you are.

Well, since my last entry my health levels have gone down quite a bit. I’m still in recovery mode. Last week, from the twenty-seventh to the thirtieth my schedule and eating was off some. This was due to my mother staying home to work on an essay and doing yoga. Basically she wants to be a yoga instructor and so she’s been home-studying and such.
Anyway, since it is summer and gets up to the upper 90s to low 100s now, we have mainly walking on the weekends. Since she would be home for most of a week, it was decided that we’d wake early and get out around 6:15. Now, anyone who really knows me well is aware my body is a mystery to what is normal for most human bodies. It is also bloody sensitive to change and schedules.
Well, my strange sleeping tendencies were disrupted for half a week and the protein shakes my mom would give me in the morning were completely forgotten about. Both of those things are very important to my energy levels, especially as I get older it seems. As noted sometime earlier this year during spring, I had a disturbingly harsh exhaustion episode. Well, since then I’ve still sort of been battling on finding a balance when it comes to food.
I require foods that can give me a good amount of energy. Protein seems to be the most important since the protein shakes I drink the morning really help keep me stable based on the times my mother forgot to give me them for a few days. Usually not having them for about three days can lead me to an exhaustion spell again. None of them have been as bad as the one in spring though.
One might say, why not eat more meat? Well, I would, but for some reason my body doesn’t process meat well and eating too much of it usually leads to my body rejecting it and… oh, hello there, Ralph! Anyway, these days when I’m feeling rather low on the energy scale I just have to eat more. Other times I grab a soda for the sugar or snack on some peanut butter for the protein.
Now, where is the balancing problem? Well, I cannot eat too much. Big meals can cause me a lot of problems as well. Too much food can get lodged in my digestive system and get stuck there. Sometimes too much food doesn’t even make to my stomach because it gets lodged into my throat and I get to enjoy nearly choking for a long time until the food finally makes it all the way down. Why this happens, I don’t know. Apparently my grandmother had similar problems though, which is interesting since she and i are not biologically related. Anyway… Yeah.
Eating is a fine balancing act for me. Eat too much = Pain or choking. Eat too little = Extreme exhaustion. It is annoying.
Well, now that all of that information is recorded, add in the sleep problems and my schedule being different for half a week. Those two things cause stress whether I notice the stress or not. I had no problem having my mom home during the day for most of the week and I like walking even if it is around six in the morning. The only problem is my body… as usual. Maybe is the whole thing had been eased, it wouldn’t have had such a blow on it, but in any case, the sudden change was a jolt based on the evidence. In result, my body and mind were stressed and stress leads to having my energy drained. Yeah.
All in all, I have been quite useless since this weekend. I struggle with chores; I sleep like mad; I need to consume more food than usual this week… and despite all the sleep and eating, I’m still annoyingly weak. While it might all be in my mind, I think some of my clothes are even looser on me. Oi.
So yeah… my health is not at its best.
In all of this, I have discovered two things, though…

The first thing to note:
I have always liked the Henry David Thoreau quote, “If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.” I always thought that suited my well. Then a while back I determined, maybe I don’t even follow the beat of a different drum. Rather than keeping a beat, maybe others are just dragging me along when I have no interest in the various drums whatsoever.
My most recent determination is maybe I am a completely different drum entirely. In other words, my body doesn’t follow a beat. It is a beat of its own. So, while there are those out there who will try to play me with a drumstick and do manage to get the beat they want to hear… I think my drum prefers the gentle patting of skilled hands and doing its own interpretations of various songs and rhythms.

The second thing to note:
Just a day or two ago I had been so physically tired again I didn’t even try to eat when I knew I needed to. I was tired and that usually means I should eat something quickly in order to assure I don’t wind up so exhausted I cannot move. Well, I was to the point that making myself something to eat was too much a bother, so I just collapsed and slept the day away.
To my fortune, when my mom awoke me, the sleep had enabled me to slowly gather and conserve enough energy to make a meal when I got up. Otherwise it probably would have been the “we need to get you some Gatorade to raise your electrolytes” and whatever hoop-la again while I’m shaking due to lack of energy.
Yeah, though… in this it has been determined. I can never live on my own. In order to make sure I don’t die due to not being able to make it to a refrigerator, I’ll always need someone there to at least check on me. Mom tries to make sure to wake me up when she checks on me and finds me asleep now. She’s the reason I get the protein shakes in the morning. While I’m able to remember to take my meds half of the time, the other half of the time my mom reminds me because I certainly wouldn’t have remembered at the time.
So… pretty much, on my own… I’d either go into withdrawal because I forgot to take my medication, I’d overdose because I accidentally took my meds twice, I’d wind up in a hospital due to dangerously low energy levels or I’d be dead because one of those three things went too far… How lovely.

Hm… Dad and Mom are back. Apparently my father decided to get me dinner from Wendy’s. Dad shows his love by quantity. Since food is the case right now, it will be the example used.
If you ask him for a small, he’ll get you a large. I asked for nothing and tonight he got me a ten-piece chicken nugget, fries, large drink and a small frosty. That is a lot as far as I am concerned… and while I’m usually safe with chicken, I’m pretty sure if I go over five pieces, my body will start doing its “I Reject!” thing and then… Bye-bye, Dinner… Hello again, Ralph. It also doesn’t help that I don’t eat much fast food, so if the grease decides to be mean to me later… meh.

Well, I have written what I’ve been meaning to get down for a while now. There were certainly some other thoughts I had wanted to write, but I cannot recall them.

As for news and schedules… Tomorrow I’ll be seeing Mrs. Wynne. Hopefully I’ll be back to normal by this weekend and can get some things done. until then… Who knows?

Well, on Thursday, June seventh my Uncle Mike passed away. He was diagnosed with MS a long time ago and dealt with cancer in his later years. My father had intentions to visit him this spring but for reasons unknown to me, he didn’t. It might have been the expenses, it might have been something else.

Dad intended to see him that weekend. We knew the cancer was getting worse and that my Uncle’s time on Earth was running short. Mom had said when Dad received call that he should come soon, he had whimpered in his sleep that night. On the morning before my Uncle passed, Dad heard a dirge being played on the radio (Mom likes to listen to classical music) and he had to change the channel.

Afternoon came and Dad arrived home around two pm. I was surprised only to be surprised even more when he broke the news to me as I was giving him a greeting hug. Dad didn’t make it in time. Mom had spoken about his putting it off and while news that Mike died surprised me, the fact that Dad never made it in time didn’t.

Dad left home around four in the morning on Saturday to take a flight off towards the East-coast. My sister lives near there and drove the way. The rest of us stayed here. Dad really needed to time to mourn on his own and with his childhood family. My father isn’t the type to look to my mother, much less his children for comfort.

Mike’s funeral was on Monday.

Mom and I were home by ourselves while Dad was away. We took care of his dog, Augustus, and kept rather busy. The entire weekend was spent doing chores and errands really, so in the end we were both exhausted by nighttime.

I’m not sure what day it was, but I believe it was Sunday, I was helping my mom as she went to buy a birdbath from a grocery store. Bought and paid, we headed out. It was light enough for her to carry one part and me the other. So, while she held onto the bath plate, I grabbed the base.

Heading for the car, I couldn’t see when the pavement dropped to the road, so my right foot began to twist inward. To save it my left leg braced itself, which in turn over-strained my bad ankle. While it was out of instinct/reflex to do that, even if I had to choose whether to fall and save my ankles or remain standing and save the base from breaking, I still would have saved the base. Yeah, my ankle is just now getting back to decent so I am not limping anymore, but it is nothing new. It is just instilled in me to not fall off my feet.

Despite my ankles are weak, I’ve always have had considerably decent balance. Took to ice skating well on my first try as a seven year old, had good balance on a bike (despite having bad judgment of distance and when to turn) and seem to excel when it comes to balance in yoga. Yeah… logically I really should have just let myself fall in order not to hurt my already bad ankle. But I see the benefits from the original outcome to be better.

Anyway, as said, the weekend was draining, so Monday I was out like a light most of the day and my mom was a zombie at work. She wound up staying home on Tuesday. It was nice. Able to spend time to recover, she began to feel refreshed again finally by the end of the day… only to know she’d have to go back to work on Wednesday.

Dad returned home Wednesday afternoon. He seemed okay. With him, though… it is hard to tell. As mentioned before, he doesn’t rely on us for such things. Still, since then I’ve heard nothing from my mom.

The rest of the week was pretty normal and has continued to be so up to now.

Another thing to occur since my last update was… I lost my website in the middle of May. Well, okay, I still had and have it, but all of the content was wiped. I thought I lost my journal completely as well, but my friend, known as Shred, Leeky and various other names on here, restored it last night! As said to him twice: Awesome!

Anyway, since that time I have been slowly re-uploading my various web-shrines, pages and so forth again. No, I didn’t have any backups of the HTML crunching, but I still had 95% of the content still on my computer. So, slowly I’ve been HTML crunching again and have been putting everything back up again. The real pain will be the pictures that were lost… I took a ton of screen-captures and didn’t back them up because of the room. I should know by now that I should keep backups on things even when I don’t think I’ll need them…

Well, the writings were what were most important to me, so no point in regretting about pictures. I can always take screen captures again. I cannot write all the content again and expect to get the same results, much less have the same energy and inspiration for it. The question is… will I ever have the stamina to take all those screen captures again? Oh well…

Other things that have occurred are just the usual appointments (we had dental and hair appointments) and health-related issues. I’ve still been dealing with keeping my energy levels decent and had some problems with my side again. Then of course there was the ankle thing. Yeah, I apparently have a lot of health issues. Half the time we don’t know why though.

I guess that is it. That, or I just don’t feel like writing much more. My brain is idling…

For a reminder to myself, though: Go through this journal and select the important things to keep. Yes, I received a backup of this journal from Shred and have stored it in a hopefully safe place. Still, though.