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I Am. A. Stupid. Man.
I have to remember that I couldn't have afforded to keep my house in Rochester on my own. That in all honestly, I can't even afford a studio apartment. I can't count on getting government assistance. It was like pulling teeth to get help before, and most of the time they denied us, but now with the virus, everything either isn't happening, or it's taking fifty times longer than it used to. This country is headed for some very dark times. We're in them now, but it's going to get much, much worse.
Sure, I could have moved into one of the levels and started renting out the other, but I tried that, and it didn't go well. And the cost of repairs and dealing with the county and all that...I still probably couldn't have afforded it. Plus I'd have to share my house, and that never went well. Never. Might as well go rent and not have the responsibility hanging over me.
Also have to realize that separating from my husband is probably inevitable. I stayed with him so long because I had no means to care for myself. Not that I don't love him, or care about him, but there are some huge problems that I don't have any control over. Now I have a small monthly salary from the government, and it's still not enough, but I also have a place to go. Sort of. I asked my brother to get an estimate on the plumbing of the DSM house.
Need to remember that Big K is an addict and I need to stop associating with addicts. It's easy to forget this when my only correspondence is through text and letter. He is very intelligent and extremely creative, but he's insane. I've listed before all the crazy things I've seen him do, and although that was a long time ago, and he's mellowed out a little, he's still pretty nuts.
I remember him being dope sick recently. The last time I actually saw him he was pretty ill, which is why I tried not to react when he told me he loved me. He probably doesn't even remember. Or, he does and he regrets saying that. I also remember him being so high earlier this year he couldn't stop twitching or jumping. Standing still was impossible. I remember that he can be a real fucking asshole when he wants to be. Obviously my type is schizophrenic drug addict. "Remember Florence Nightingale died of syphilis" "What are you saying?" "Don't get too close to your charity cases."
So I keep telling myself that I am where I am supposed to be. I take this nightmare and learn something to move forward in my life. Fake it til you make it shit. Because honestly what I am feeling is anger at myself for not speaking up, for not listening to my instincts, for being so far away from anything comfortable or familiar or even safe. No one to blame but myself.
I miss walking all through Roch in the middle of the night and NO ONE was out. It was like a movie set. Just waiting for someone to clap and yell action. But it never happened. And it was so beautiful at night. I can't even leave my apartment here day or night without someone trying something. And there is always someone out. Always. I felt so safe there, as long as I wasn't in my house. It's weird. I should have just moved across town or something.
I miss the woods and the parks, even. It really hurt seeing them thin the woods and mess up the parks, but compared to here, Rochester is Shangrila. There are no woods, and the parks are disgusting and have hardly any trees and I never, ever feel safe.
The neighborhood where I grew up is so sad, so decayed, so awful. There is nothing good within walking distance and everyone has a look of defeat in their eyes. Like, this is my fate and there's nothing I can do to change it. Horrible. On the bright side, there is a yard and my kitty cat would love that. A fenced in yard, even. And I could plant trees and have a garden and get a bike and bike all over like I used to. My mom never let me explore much when I lived there, she was obsessed with the fact that someone would jump out of the woods and grab me off my bike and rape and or kill me. And I was a good kid so listened to her, and to be honest she scared the shit out of me.
I just wonder if I shouldn't go back to Rochester, be dangerously poor, write and do art, live off food shelf food and my little bit of money from the sale of my house for a few years before I admit total defeat and go live at my parents' house. Before I have to get that look in my eyes and become one of the many walking dead midwesterners that live for the wiskey and the sports games and do absolutely nothing good with their lives until I carry on that fine family tradition of dropping dead in that house.
I feel so fucked. I feel like a fool.This is the most alone I have ever felt.
12:02 PM - Sunday, Aug. 23, 2020
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