Maybe happiness is an illusion. Maybe it is something only meant for some people. I remember my family only having rare happy moments. When we did there was always this feeling that something else was around the corner. We were taught to never expect too much. It was almost as if we were cursed. It became a running joke. One I no longer find funny.
I have no one to talk to. My best friend unplugs her phone for weeks. My sister doesn’t understand the concept “Bipolar”. She tells me to “get my act together” and to “have better control over myself”. You would think as my twin she would know better by now. Our relationship is one of blame and shame. There is little comfort there.
I won’t lie. I am lost. I am overwhelmed. I feel an avalanche of shit has fallen on me. I can’t dig myself out.
Grief is a heavy weight. Stress is too. My father is at the end of his life. I might be too. No one wants to except that or hear it. I want to sleep for a month. My heart is shattered in a million different pieces. I wanted a normal life once. When I lost my mom I realized for the first time that wasn’t going to happen. Then the losses kept coming. Friendships, animals I loved, jobs, respect, humanity. There is nothing left. I put on a fake smile and tell them all I’m fine so they don’t feel guilty about living their own lives. My gift to them. I’ve come to hate some of them. The way they treat me like I’m an idiot. I’m actually the smartest person in the room. For sure I am kindest. The loneliest too. My head hurts with it all. Just one hug is all I ask. Maybe they think I’m contagious. I keep seeing JoJo with his head surrounded by blood. It’s too much and I want to scream. I’ve seen worse. So tired. What I wouldn’t give for my mother’s fried chicken and gravy right now. Screw the Celiac.