Used and Tossed Aside

That’s how I feel right now. I sort of regret telling my story to a couple people because now I don’t feel like retelling the story again due to my dislike of repetition. In a number of previous posts, I prefaced stories by saying that I was living at my aunt’s house. I won’t be needing that preface anymore because I’m no longer living there. Over the past month, my aunt kept calling me her son and calling her daughters my sisters. My aunt had wanted to “save” me from my parents by providing me with a better environment to live in but of no choice of my own, I’m back living with my parents. Good fucking job.

The official reason I was living with my aunt was to help her take care of her dying husband. I helped take care of the guy; I’ve moved their bed up and down the stairs; I’ve done more than my share of cleaning; shoveled a shitload of snow (for 3 fucking houses: my aunt’s, her daughter’s, and my parents’); performed handiwork; made a 277 picture slideshow where half the pictures needed to be scanned; got two friends in addition to myself to be pallbearers and carried the casket to the grave, and I get sent back home before the day ends.

I know I’m putting a bad spin on the situation but it’s hard to see the good side of things. I can identify 3 main sources at work here. First, her three daughters have gathered back home and they’re keeping the house lively. They’re rather noisy and bitchy for my taste and as a result, I’ve put in less effort holding back my depression in the past couple days. I still responded when spoken to (I responded fairly pleasantly and with some decent jokes in there too) but I had an overall lack of life in the way I moved and stared into space. Still, I wasn’t a drag because I’ve been completely busy with doing work for them. If two days of seeing the tip of the iceberg of my depression was too much, it was retarded for her to think she could help me at all.

I will give my aunt the benefit of the doubt and say that the third reason is the main reason I was kicked out. Should we euphemize it by saying I was “moved back home”? The third reason is my mom. She called and kept telling my aunt that she and my dad misses me and wants me back home. Then with me, she tells me to go home to give my aunt and cousins some private time to mourn. I didn’t give a shit about my mom’s stupid information-withholding games and I just told my aunt what she told me. My aunt does this annoying thing that a lot of stupid people do. She’ll state her opinions very strongly but in the face of other people’s opinions, she’ll change her original opinion very easily. Changing your mind is fine, but if you do, then don’t be so fucking sure of your original thoughts because they’re wrong. In an attempt to appease the most people, she suggested I go back home and move back in on Tuesday (The day of eviction was Friday). Sure, go ahead and appease everyone except Ted because Ted doesn’t matter. He doesn’t bitch like everyone else so he obviously doesn’t have feelings. If sending me back home was for my parents’ sake, then that’s still stupid. The whole point of living at her place was to get me away from my parents. My life isn’t just a “let’s raise a son” game for her.

I don’t think I’ll be going back on Tuesday. I’m not doing that because of spite. Her home was no improvement from mine and I’m tired of moving my computer around. I was actually reluctant to move in at first because I knew it wasn’t going to do shit for my depression and I didn’t want to drag more people down by being around them when I’m depressed. I knew better so I resisted moving in, but other relatives from the sidelines kept bitching that I should do it and that I’m not even trying to improve my depression. Nobody ever takes my opinions seriously and isn’t it amazing how everything turned out exactly as I predicted? Whoop-de-fucking-doo.

My Dad Vs. Normal Part III: Thoughts for Food

These are both food related stories but they’re not really about food. Because I don’t talk to my parents, food just happens to be the only (forced) topic of conversation and you will soon see that they’re not much of a conversation.

Dad: Do you want eggs?

Me: No.

Dad: You’re wrong.

What's that you say? We don't know what we're doing with the basketball? You're wrong.

What’s that you say? We don’t know what we’re doing with the basketball? You’re wrong.

That same dialogue exchange has happened many times in the house. The main problem is, by the time my dad asks if I want eggs, he already really wants me to want eggs and expects me to say yes. I say that’s the main problem because that’s not the only problem. He also fails the grasp the concept that I am capable of thought.

I'm capable of thought too. I'm totally making this face on purpose and not because I got some glitter shit in my eye.

I’m capable of thought too. I’m totally making this face on purpose and not because I got some glitter shit in my eye.

The other day, my dad made breakfast for my brother and he didn’t eat it. At night, he asked me why I didn’t eat it when I saw that my brother didn’t eat it. He was more disappointed in me for not eating leftovers than my brother for creating said leftovers. I wish I could come up with a possible explanation for this but I can’t. It’s just plain old crazy.

As crazy as we are about basketball. By the way, where's the basket? Over where? Oh forget it, just touch me.

As crazy as we are about basketball. By the way, where’s the basket? Over where? Oh forget it, just touch my butt.