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FML

02 Apr

My alarm went off, and I hit snooze to wait until I heard Mom call me to babysit. My eyes stayed shut until the alarm on my phone told me it was time to take Charles out to the bus. I yanked on my jacket to hide my ever-erect nipples, damn the cold, and dashed from my room in only my shorts and that new jacket to protect me from the Michigan cold. When I arrived upstairs, all three children were watching television, and my dad was in the kitchen. I acted calm as I entered. “Dad? No school?”

He looked up and laughed. “Yeah, spring break.”

I was relieved, but felt tired. I was certain Velvet wouldn’t allow my return to bed– I already had to boot her from my room several times, and closed the door on her half of those times. Instead, I poured a bowl of apple jacks. With quiet glee, I noticed the box had only about a bowlful missing– I was the only one eating it!

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. I procrastinated because I wasn’t bored enough. Dad took me shopping for after-Easter sale candy and fruit even though I was already fucking obese, and I resumed my shitty lifestyle.

The day ended with an overheard struggle as Mom tried to put Charles to bed, and then my guild asked me to run raids and dungeons with them. Once finished, I decided to go to bed. There, I did something horribly hurtful to myself: I thought.

Markus penetrated my mind, and I was ashamed of it. He didn’t deserve my trashy clinginess, and I couldn’t handle my feelings for him. I continued to think on that topic. Why was I so attached, and why did I hurt so much? It was just a random stranger from the internet.

But this random stranger from the internet was a person I considered a friend. We had a lot in common, and respected each other’s views. I always tried desperately to impress him, because I felt I was never good enough.

In hindsight, I should have stayed on medication for that depression.

Eagerly, I threw myself into projects with him. One failed due to a conflict with another friend of his, and he moved on to another. He asked me for art, and even though I was out of my “art” cycle, I readily agreed. I was so certain I could just force my drawings like I could my writing.

I was wrong. I struggled for more than a week with the four drawings, and made little progress. What progress I made was shit. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t good for even a progress shot. I began to feel like everything was like those four drawings I was supposed to do for Markus’s mini-book series.

I was just a fucking idiot who couldn’t even force himself to do what I enjoyed and did for years in the past with little problem.

Finally, I spoke up. I told him I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have the time or energy. We were adopting a six year old, and I was going to only have less time. He offered to pay me for what art I did for his mini-book’s website, and I told him they were a gift from a friend, because I enjoyed doing that silly logo and the banner.

Since then, I have heard nothing from him.

I am forced to wonder if Markus is angry at me, and doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.

I remembered a story he told me about something that happened before when he tried to do a group project and people didn’t participate actively.

The story echoed in my mind. He hated quitters and people who didn’t do what they said they would. That led to him hating me. I was certain I was disgusting in his eyes now.

I stared at my laptop-illuminated ceiling and tried to sleep, despite the depressing ideas that swirled in my tired mind.

Instead, I simply came more awake as a tired realization dawned on me. I needed to stop this emotional attachment business. It was unhealthy. It was horrible. It felt like, although my heart was calloused in many places, certain vital places were tender and sticky. They clung to people, things, animals, and ideas. When those were yanked away, they brought horrible, lasting pain. Sometimes, the calluses simply disappeared at random times, and those things that battered at my emotions rushed in, and I broke down under their attack.

My thoughts finally turned away from Markus. I was the only problem in that situation. He was a man living his life how he wanted to, and I was getting attached to him without his consent. I was in the wrong. I slid out of my bed, but didn’t turn on the light or pull on any pants to protect myself from the cold. Instead, I sat and I marinated in my misery.

I was a fat, ugly creature who tricked people into thinking he was worth friendship by pretending to be a thin man with social grace and wit. None of those things were true. It was all just a mask, worn by a hopelessly lonely outcast that felt like the only person who felt such things. Everyone around me seemed so much happier than I was. They weren’t fat. They weren’t lonely. They could relate to each other.

I ruined myself with my own obsessions when I was a child. In elementary school, I was the weird cat girl. In middle school, I was the anime-obsessed artist who didn’t care about drawing anything else. That continued into high school and college, and I drove myself more and more into a niche of my own creation, that nobody else would fit in.

People told me that it was ok. I had Asperger’s Syndrome. At least I was smart.

I dove into books and let them, and music, teach me how to laugh and cry when I was an adult. I only knew how to fake emotions before then, and not very well.

My childhood was happy, but it was a waste.

My life is a waste.

All I can do, and not very well, is write, and eat, and babysit.

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Posted by on April 2, 2013 in Nonfiction

 

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