as I face bankuptcy
17 November 2007 - This is the black, black end, I hope. No dogs, no cats. Caring for Mandy’s one stoopid fish because I don’t have the nerve to flush it. Just the cockatiel left, Aristotle. Aristotle doesn’t talk or sing because he is probably a she. Just squawks whenever whistling occurs on the TV, and certain well-known theme songs like for Stargate SG-1. Squawks when I leave the room, as if it made a difference to him/her.
Rather than chip in, Mandy ran away when I started running out of money and health. Thanks a lot. I hope it haunts you all the days of your life. I should have thrown you out instead of believing that the sorry-ass Sean was going to keep his side of the bargain. Instead, those lovely grandchildren gave me love and were the only thing which made me not hate myself. Now they are gone.
I cry all the time. Perhaps if I filled the Paxil Rx I’d stop crying – but it seems to be a false feeling – why not allow the suicidal, miserable feelings? I try to remind myself of the things Mandy and David have said about the grandkids being a good reason to keep on going, but I don’t really feel it’s true.
The truth is that I am nothing but a burden, not only to others but to myself. I have no real friends – I can count on one hand the people who are near being friends – Bonnie, Terry, Connie, Annette and Dave. And maybe – just maybe – those five people would show up at my funeral, but that’s it. I’ve decided I don’t want a funeral – it would be a lot of expense for absolutely nothing. Everyone has already said goodbye to me. And I to them.
I just want to disappear. I’m tired of trying to handle things. I blow every attempt to communicate with other people – I even piss off strangers. Instead of being brave all the time, I just want to cry till I die.
I don’t have any ‘redeeming value’ – ask my family and others that know me. I’m not even smart. I’m fat, old, crabby, snide, sickly, a failure at everything I’ve ever tried to do.
The kids can cope with the sale of the house and the cleanup of this mess. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of life. I’m tired of putting up a brave front.
I wish I could lean on someone, tell someone how unhappy I am, curl up in someone’s arms and be allowed to cry.