i'm fucked.

Or at least I feel like it. I just bought my url, updated my profile, and visited to see what it looks like. I have had this blog for 4 years. Four freaking years. That means I have been pulling at my hair for at least four fucking years. Four years! I thought I was fucked before I logged on to write. Now that I'm here, and I've done all this, it's like a kick to the gut.

On one hand, my hair is growing back. Or had grown back for the most part. Then quarantine started, I got anxious, and my hands got right to work. I decided May would be the start of me fixing my habit. It's not going great, but I'm trying. I'm trying really hard. I'm trying to actually take the tips I find online and utilize them instead of looking at them and then spiraling. When I was reading the tips (for the unteenth time) I noticed the "there's no cure" phrase over and over again. Reworded, sure, but the basis is the same. There's no sure fire way to quit trichotillomania. What the fuck? I have to literally do this on my own. I have to will it to be. Do you know how hard that is for someone who almost always has to "have a plan"? It's hard! I just scratched my head, and felt a sore spot that made me want to pull the hairs out. I have to mentally tell myself over and over again "NO" in my head. Meanwhile, I'm physically trying to restrain myself. Telling my mind to tell my fingers to stop digging. Telling my  hand make a fist. Telling my arm to stay down. And waiting for my blood to slow down. I feel like my blood starts to rush all over, my hear accelerates, and I hold my breath.

Then I watched this Netflix show and now I think I'm an addict. Simple, easy conclusion to come to, right? Is that disrespectful to actual addicts? To think I have something in common with them? But it's honestly how I feel. But instead of having to find a way to get my hands on drugs, alcohol, etc, I have constant contact with my substance. I can literally lift my hand and there's my hair! And it's all over my head, ready for the picking all day everyday. I can sneak and do it in public, in my car, in my bed, on the toilet, in my room. Whenever I feel like I need it, I can have it. It sucks. And it's sobering. I don't even mean to be cliche. It just is. I'm truly fucked. And I didn't even start this new blog-article-post-thingy to talk about that. I wanted this to be about how I was feeling today, but I guess we've come full circle.

We go back to work on Monday. Quarantine's over (at least in the beginning stages). I really need new glasses. But we start work Monday. I feel like I don't want to go. Because my bosses like to raise their voices, one of them did it today. My bosses like to tag-team. Did it today. I love my job, but sometimes I just miserable. I don't appreciate being yelled at. I know it's part of it, but why does it have to be. Why do I have to be comfortable with that reality? I don't like it. It makes me feel small. It makes me feel like my best is not good enough. It feels like "oh look, she finally made a mistake -- ATTACK!" I'm the bleeding swimmer in the ocean and they're the circling sharks.

Another thing, I feel like everyone wants something from me. My best friend literally begged me over and over again for dessert. We don't even live near each other. I tell her I made cookies. She wanted me to ship them to her. When I told her no, she asked why. Because I'm not about to fucking find a box, pay postage, and ship COOKIES DURING THE COVID. It's not that important. I made a post about me baking. She comments about me sending her some. Ha ha very funny social media joke. She calls. She'll be in town, can I come have ice cream in the parking lot? NO, I can't. It's COVID outside. He response "you can't just stay trapped inside your house." That's literally what the world has been asked to do!! Please respect my decision to limit my contact with other people to lessen my chances of possibly getting it and/or spreading it. Her? Hashtag living her best life. So no. I don't want to that with you going around doing whatever you like, as if there isn't a pandemic. Do you, but don't do you around me. Fuck that. Even better, am I going to make them this weekend, cause she'll be in town?" No, I'm not. I don't feel like it and honestly I didn't even know what I really wanted to make next. Well if I do can I leave some outside my house for her? I'm probably not going to bake them. But if you do --. I blame myself. She was needy before we even officially became friends. Alot has changed over the years, but that habit has gone nowhere. But we're headed to our thirties, and that one needs to be left in the twenties. And I'm refraining from saying "I know I'm not perfect" because I know I'm not perfect but I shouldn't feel obligated to say that and make it known in order to justify or soften how I feel. It's like letting everything toxic go and then apologizing and then picking it all back up.

And my stupid sister is pregnant. My mom wants to move to be close to her first grandbaby. I hate it. I don't like my sister and as of May 11, 2020 at 9:44pm I have kept myself from feeling anything for the baby. I wish it the best and I hope she does well for it. I don't want to be a part of it. I don't want to be swept up in her drama. It's not her show. I don't want to be some supporting character. I'm not even that. I feel like more of an extra. An extra who had screen time, but went to see the movie just to find out she was cut the fuck out of it. I scratched my head again, looked at the ceiling, took a deep breath and rolled my neck. It's fucking stressful to even write about, let alone say how it feel. Because it won't fucking matter. It won't matter. I can find out I'm 8 months pregnant tomorrow, move out the next day, say I'm staying in town, and I bet money my mom would still leave. If I lived in another state, and was pregnant, do you really think my mom would move away? No, I don't think she would. I really feel like she's only moving because she doesn't feel like my sister can take care of that baby. My mom would not move away to be near me if I was miles and miles away, and pregnant. She wouldn't because she'd trust that I could do it on my own. That sucks. It hurts. It's the worst kind of compliment. And I feel shitty for feeling my own emotions. Tears are literally sitting on the edge, and I'm trying to come up with something to type next that doesn't sound half as shitty. That makes it sound ok. That makes my mom sound decent. That makes me sound like I'm not selfish. Because I'm not. I'm really not. I just -- I don't want to go. I don't want to do it. I don't want to do the baby shower, Sunday dinner, hanging out around town. It's hard to get this out. When you speak the truth, even if it hurts, you can't see the words. But when you're writing it, the truth literally stares back at you. I don't want to babysit, I don't want to visit the hospital, I don't want it. I don't want to pretend like everything is fine with us when it's not. If we do move to Texas, I'm gonna do my best to do for myself. I'm not going to sulk or not do for myself. I'll take it for the opportunity it is and do my best to come out on top. Maybe, hopefully even get out one day. 

I can't tolerate being tolerant of other people's behaviors anymore. I don't want to be fake happy. I don't want to keep moving from house, to apartment, to house, to apartment, to shitty rental house, to an apartment in an entirely different state. Everything's all fine and dandy every single time until it's not. Then it's my job to make everyone feel better. To do the work. My sister hit 20 and the other is in her teens. They can't organize the fridge, they can't organize cabinets, they can't keep tissue on the roll, they can't keep paper towels in the bathroom, they can't keep their own towels washed, they can't keep soap filled. They can't even clean the toothpaste out of the sink. Right now, their is a new bar of soap in the shower, sitting inside the paper wrapper it came in. What world is this? Growing up, my mom did not tolerate half ass. Of course people forget, people slip up, mistakes happen. But it's all the time. Every time I look, I see something wrong. And I just have to deal with it. I've told her this before and her response was "what do you want me to do? I can't make them do anything." I want you to be a mom, I want you to follow-through with punishments, get creative, enforce your rules, figure it out. I want you to lead them, instead of holding their hand. And every time I make a comment about, she says "well I'll do it." She can't do it forever! She can't. Why are my standards so high? Why am I expected to do more than what's required? Everyone thinks I'm the "golden child." Being a golden child is a curse. There's no next level, there's no boundary, no limit. Once you get "to the top" people expect you to be more. I completely understand one-hit wonders who enjoyed their 15 minutes and called it a day on their own terms. 

My sister doesn't like me because she thinks I'm spoiled. She thinks everything has always been given to me. And I'm not even reaching, I'm paraphrasing. I've heard it over and over again in plain English, different terms of phrase. And dumb little me still clung to our relationship knowing how she felt all these years. I can't handle it anymore. I'm not spoiled. Everything I have I have earned. I have earned my parents respect, I kissed ass for my teacher's love, I work hard on my job to make people happy, I work hard for everything people think has been given to me. And instead of being proud of my accomplishments, I used to hide them. I still hide them. I literally cannot accept a compliment because my first thought is "I don't want anyone hearing this to feel bad about me getting this attention." I don't think I deserve my 15 minutes. Shit. Can I blame her for a second? Her insecurities about being not noticed created my insecurities about being noticed. Even in my own 15 minutes, my speech isn't one of acceptance. Even as much as I do to accomplish whatever it is, I still feel unworthy because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. I don't want to make anyone feel less than. How can I manage that? How can I accept being good at something without feeling bad about it. I literally named my company with a humble touch. What am I supposed to do with that? How do I move past that?