I don't even know how to begin.
I just read a message telling me to go commit suicide. How awful is that? Well, as one who actually was going to, I can tell you it hit home pretty hard. And speaking of home, in the middle of Covid, I may actually have to move.
I am so tired of moving! Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?! Seriously, my mother is racking up a grand total of one fucking hundred moves! I haven't tallied up how many moves I've made; namely because I know it's never going to last. I'm sitting here literally knowing that if we don't have to move now, we'll have to move later, to another place we'll have to leave.
I don't know where I had my best and worst days. What I do know is, if there's a permanent gas stain on a driveway, it used to be my house. If there's a house with an elevated bathroom, and you have to sit on the toilet to close the door, my stepfather built it.
With him long gone, it feels safe now to finally admit something. One of the reasons we had to move so much in my childhood (which has been gone longer than he has, I'll say that much) is because he used to skip out on the rent. I swear, this one house, we moved in and then a week later we moved right back out. If there was a contest for instability, we'd be loaded!
So that's it. That's my 2020. I could be losing my home, people want me to lose my life, and my family thinks we could all end up on our own. Sometimes I thought it could be nice, to sleep in without somebody dramatically stating that I'm alive every single morning. But I think I still need someone there. Someone who knows when garbage day is, someone who knows when payday is. Someone who can tell me who I am when I forget.
And okay, it might do me some good to take initiative. Who knows? I used to be worse, believe it or not. I wouldn't go anywhere alone, even into a store with someone I trusted waiting just outside. It blows my mind to look back. It embarrasses me. Now I go out by myself every chance I get, I'm not as afraid as before, and I can even find my way in the hospital. Which is good, because back when I was still figuring it out, I had to help a stranger. It was a learning moment for both of us.
Oh, good grief. I think my best times are in that hospital. That's where I had to grow and change, it's where I helped that woman, it's where a man helped me.
He was the sweetest guy. He was like a million years old, he had a bad foot, the ground was covered in snow and actual glass, and he offered to help me to the car. I remember telling him to rest his foot, and I remember his name, but I cannot remember for the life of me if I thanked him.
Moving sucks. Getting old sucks. I always have to pee, I keep forgetting stuff, and lately I haven't been able to sleep because I get so dizzy when I lay down. My hair is turning gray....and I'm only 28. People think it's so funny. The people who say they love me laugh and laugh like it's the best damn joke they ever heard. We'll just see how funny it is when I forget who they are and die of old age in my forties. I'll probably get a senior's pension before my mother will.
Well, whatever. I've got to go. We've got the photographers coming much too soon, so....this old fogey better skedaddle. And then when they're gone, I'm taking a nap.
