A World of Fragile Things…

I woke and did chores this morning. I thought of the day before and still wondered about my mother’s response to my dream. I worried. She is one of the few people I care about deeply enough to worry over how I am seen. I expected my dad’s response. Just by my dream he worried for my sister. My mom’s response… was too ambiguous for me to read.
I wondered if I should leave my worries alone and let my subconscious battle them or if I should talk to my mom again. Perhaps I would bring it up when we went to see my psychiatrist. Maybe I’d show her my last entry. Perhaps I’d simply bring it up. At worst, I’d keep silent and hope to forget about all of it. Since I knew brooding over it would just make me sick, I mainly preoccupied my mind the rest of the day until I saw her again.
Around four thirty she arrived home and we headed for the doctor. During the ride and while lounging in the waiting room we talked. I flat out asked her if I my reaction to my dream disturbed her at all. She replied no since she knew it was just a dream and dreams are symbolic.
The conversation went on from there. I told her she blatantly said I killed her in the dream. She said she didn’t mean to say that and we vaguely went over her interpretation and such. I told her a summary of my interpretation. I told her I knew all the conflicts between her didn’t die like how she speculated. I… know that deep inside I still am leery of my sister… at least of the past.
I know mentally I am at peace. As noted in my previous entry, I do not regret what happened, because it also was part of what made me become who I am today. Intellectually I am aware my sister likely has no clue that her actions in the past have traumatized me and all that crap. She likely doesn’t remember a damn thing. I know it is just the way she is. I know that I see her as my sister and I care for her as a sister. Even though in families people will go to the extent of disowning a member… such doesn’t fit in my belief system. She is my sister no matter what.
I also know, however… that despite she is my sister, as a person I don’t greatly care for her, but I don’t hate her. While I can vaguely feel sympathetic to her… for the most part I feel nothing. Fondness… doesn’t really come to mind in my memories. Sure, there were interesting times… but when it comes down to her alone… She’s just another person.
Should I think of her in the past… she is the nightmare that became reality. Thinking of myself around her back then… She could terrify me to speechlessness. I froze and I would obey. I learned defiance only got me in deeper shit.
While in the past my relationship with her made me so angry… now… I think it just makes me sad. When I think of how my parents did nothing… I think I’m resigned.
I don’t know what I’d do now should I ever encounter my sister in her past moods. I know if my parents ever took her side in the matter or didn’t believe me… I’d be crushed.
For now, though… I think I’m back to being relatively peaceful. My misinterpretation of my mother’s reaction was solved.
Thinking back… I remembered how I told no one anything when a child. I didn’t want to be a burden, I didn’t want to be weak and I was afraid of how the listener would respond. I almost did that today. I thought of just keeping my worries over my mom to myself.
Talking isn’t weak. It takes more will and courage than some think. While it can start misunderstandings it can always clear them as well. It can bring the greatest of dread and to most wonderful relief.
Even if the person you tell reacts the way you most fear you find out more about what kind of person he or she was and you no longer struggle with the issue. The response may have broken something, but there are no more what ifs. Illusions are no longer there. True, the person no longer sees you the way they once saw you… but then you will not be living a lie and… you find out if the person is truly someone who you can depend on.
I… had a handful of friends when growing up. The few times I tried to talk with them, they never understood. There was one in the end though. He seems to find none of my words surprising and he never shies away. The same goes for my mother. I’d rather only have two people understand me like that than many friends…
I can be truthful to them, confide in them and while I might be afraid sometimes… I have come to trust them to the point I have belief. I believe they will understand me… and if they don’t, they won’t shun me. I am… very grateful for that.
In my short life… I realized I’ve been taken advantage of when it comes to friendships. All of those friends I once had… I tried to be the best friend possible. I always quietly promised I would be there for my friends no matter what. I became the person they would confide in and that was about all. They’d pull me out from a dusty drawer, tell me woes, problems and such… and when satisfied, they would stick me back in and leave.
I became physically sick due to that. It took years for me to finally realize I had to stop before I was eaten away from such relationships. They couldn’t understand me and didn’t even try to, and yet I still tried to be a good friend to them. In the end, I realized, such a promise was pointless. I was their friend… but they apparently were not mine.
Heh… all of this makes me think of that story I wrote.

“I thought of you as an illusion once, Edan. Do you know that?” she thought quietly as she felt his warmth envelope her.
“I feared letting myself touch anyone… not just physically alone, but mentally and emotionally. Did you know that?”
Quietly she reached for his hands. He lifted them so his would meet hers. She smiled vaguely.
“Touch… I put so much into it. If I were to touch you, would you disappear? Would all of this be but a dream created due to insanity? Am I still back at my post and merely am mad?
“If I were to touch your mind… would what I see be an illusion? Did I merely make you so wonderful in fantasies? Would the dream shatter and explode into oblivion?”
She shut her eyes and took in his scent. She simply wanted to be surrounded by him like a blanket.
“Perhaps one day I will be able to let you look at everything. Maybe one day we will touch completely and not merely watch from afar. On that day… perhaps my trust will be freed.”

Dreams of Painted Smiles and Tears…

Somehow in my dream I knew it was October. I was with Denise in a mall. We stopped by a costume shop to finish our costumes. For some reason we were both dressed in clown jumpsuits. She was looking for a wig. I mentioned her birthday coming up and asked what she was going to do.
Eventually my sister shows up with some tall guy. She is all dressed up… fashion and all. I remember a jean mini-skirt and killer legs. There were vague feelings of jealousy, I think. I used to be jealous of her as a child because she was good looking.
I don’t remember the dialog, but she said something that triggered me. I slapped her hard and called her a bitch and an asshole – something I never would have done when younger nor in real life now. I tried to leave then. She grabbed me and I struggled. Old fear, anger and the like was evident in me. She was furious and I was dead if I didn’t escape. She was pulling on me and I was struggling to get farther away.
Eventually she had a grip on my legs and I managed to pull myself over a hand rail. My fall made her lose grip. For some reason in my fall a huge hand gun appeared in my hands. It looked like a toy to me, in truth and the metal looked like plastic painted with silver spray paint.
Suddenly a ton of mall guards/police officers appeared, apparently due to the huge scene we made. They had similar guns to mine. Apparently the gun in my hand had gone off, or something. I left the scene.
I had been wearing a leather jacket all this time, so I hid the gun in it as I left the mall. It was night by the time I reached the outside. I thought there is no way I can make it home. Then for some reason I knew my parents either weren’t home or didn’t want me home.
I walked for a while and was still near the mall. I saw a small building connected to it and knew I could make the jump. In my dreams I can jump to high places at times. I jumped and hid there.
Since I had left the scene and had a gun on me, I had a feeling I’d be the one given blame. I never pulled the trigger though and I never heard a gun shot. Even if we only got in trouble for quarreling, I’d still be the one at blame. I was the one who hit her.
I saw I was still in the odd jumpsuit and vaguely thought I should take it off. I knew I had jeans and a tank under it. It would help me be less recognizable despite my face was known. I was too tired and I suppose depressed thus uncaring by then though.
Suddenly a light passed my vision. A search light, I thought. I should try to hide in my surroundings. I tried, but some reporter popped up and saw me trying to flatten myself again a rock in the shadows.
For some reason Jovan showed up as well. I don’t remember what happened or what was said between us. I think my sister was dead, considering the hype going on around me. I woke up after that.

I can already guess what my mom would say if she heard this dream. It displays my suppressed anger in childhood. There was my helplessness against my sister and when I tried to go against her no one would help. Perhaps there was blame upon myself because I was suddenly seen as a perpetrator. I didn’t think my parents cared or were ever there when I needed them… Stuff like that.
The dream doesn’t really disturb me either. I had a dream regarding Peabody where he was alive in a plastic bag, the kind you get for groceries, and stuck him in a box. I closed the box, knowing it was necessary, but my conscious part kept saying, “But he’ll die! That is a terrible death! Don’t!” The box was shut and I left. I was disturbed by that dream for days… perhaps a week.
After I read some dream meanings, I began to ease though. The bag meant that what I held in it were my responsibilities. If there was a tear in it, the responsibility was burdening me. There was none. The box had the possibility of meaning I was trying to protect or preserve some part of myself or represent my limitations and restrictions. I think it was both. After that, the dream made sense.
This recent dream… doesn’t bring any disturbance to mind or emotion. I wonder if that means I really don’t care that greatly for my sister still. I know intellectually I care for her. She is my sister no matter what. We grew up together and she has impacted my life greatly good and bad. I don’t think I really regret our past together, because I like who I am today and the experiences you undergo help shape you.
If it is true I still don’t care for my sister that much emotionally… well, I think that is a shame really.

(15 hours and thirty minutes later…)

I sometimes forget how different I am when I talk to my mother now. I told her about the dream. I think my response disturbed her a bit. Perhaps it was just my insecurity showing what I was expecting… but… I guess I was looking for whether my response would be accepted by her or not. Her view of me is important as far as I am concerned.
Her interpretation was that perhaps if I did indeed kill my sister in that dream, perhaps it was symbolizing my killing me fear, anger or whatever of her. Truthfully, she believes I did. I think I took that personally to a certain extent. Sure, it was just a dream, but even in that dream I don’t even know what happened.
Usually in dreams I know. In my dreams there are usually more implications. I would have heard a gunshot, felt the trigger, heard a scream, or something. Such did not occur. All I knew is that something happened to my sister.
Perhaps she was shot. Perhaps it was by me. Perhaps it was by those guards. Perhaps it was by someone who threw the gun into my lap. Perhaps she even died, I don’t know. I thought all of those possibilities in my dream.
I guess I was asking for it. After all, all my other dreams were of anonymous school mates and it only dealt with slapping, punching, telling off, or biting the perpetrators. This was of my sister and there was vague implication of death. Of course my mom would take it that way.
I think her interpretation is wrong also. What the dream meant, I don’t really care. I just know, after seeing and hearing her response… it wasn’t right. Before I went to sleep again, I thought of my sister and our past.
Deep embedded fear.
I feared her so much I couldn’t think straight or talk. That dream… reawakened a lot of memories too. There was her constant yelling and the constant fear. There was that time I tried to get away from her, ran to the house my brothers stayed in and sought sanctuary at. She followed me. I thought I was safe there. I was with my eldest brother. I was wrong.
She took hold of me and tried to drag me out of there. I actually tried to get away for once, but all hope died when my brother wouldn’t help me and told me to go with her. I gave up then. No one would help me. She dragged me back, but my physical fight was gone. When I still had some will vocally she hit me and called my mom. My mom only listened to her and said I was to do as my sister said.
There was no hope.
Heh… thinking of this… sends vague feelings behind my eyes, like they are on the verge of watering slightly.
I remember, when I confessed to my mom about my relationship with my sister… she thought our fighting was over something small. She thought it was only kid stuff…
Does “kid stuff” scar a person the rest of his or her life? Does it cause the will of beginning teen to take a living room couch as a bed for years to only get two to four hours of sleep at night and a screwed up back just to get away from his or her sibling? I didn’t even keep my clothes in anything. I just had them stacked up in my parents’ room.
What made them think I’d be so willful to live with no privacy like that over something petty?
Then again they never knew, looked or questioned. Sigh…
I guess the dream rings true. Though I can see all of this in a logical, understanding view… My emotions remain the same despite tempered. While I regret telling my mother the dream, I guess in a sense it is an awaking as well, which is something good. I still trust my mother, but she will never understand me completely. I still am not disturbed by the dream, but more by the effect it had on my parents when I mentioned it to them.
When it comes to my sister… I just regret the fact that even after all this time, her ways still are deeply embedded in my memory. She likely doesn’t remember a damn thing, hence why she is forgivable. It is the way she is. Yet as much as I can look at our past logically and with understanding… the past feelings will still linger.
The inside… in faint a faint subconscious way, I think internally a part of me is crying and hitting a wall out of loss, confusion and helplessness. It cries out, “Why?”
I guess my anger is due to not having my parents understand.
My sadness and frustration is over the fact all the things in my past had to happen.
Yeah… my eyes feel prickly.

Cats and Birds, Life and Death…

In the late minutes of the fourth hour this morning I was on the verge of waking. I had a dream of my cat. It has been over a month now and I hadn’t dreamt of him for a while. I guess it made me a bit more gullible in my subconscious this time.
I was in a bathroom in front of a sink. It was one I had never been in dream or real life. I was checking my teeth in the mirror. I suppose I had just brushed my teeth.
I saw my dad heading for the door behind me. I turned to look and I saw Peabody sitting there diagonally behind me near said door. I asked dad if he saw him, but my dad wasn’t there anymore. It was only my cat. In my previous dreams I would have been more aware of his inability to be there, but I was just so surprised to see him.
Now, whether I woke up in my dream or not, I was suddenly in my bed. The room was dim like my second dream of him last month. He was on that corner of the bed again. I thought it couldn’t be. How could he be there? I said his name in a disbelieving question. He didn’t respond. I repeated and eventually edged over. I reached out my hand, semi-knowing that I shouldn’t be able to feel him if it was just a hallucination.
I felt him. I cried out again in disbelief and joy. It was his softness… a softness none of the other cats in this house has. He gave a meow, warbled, not like how he sounded in real life, really, but I didn’t care. He responded. I woke up soon after. If it was abruptly after, I am not certain. I think I might have tried hugging him, and mid-way I awoke.
I didn’t burst into tears this time. The realization I was just dreaming didn’t hit me as hard this time. A pain returned to my chest once more near my heart… but it didn’t last. For a while I thought how I wish my cat was still here, how I had truly fallen for the dream this time. Then I hoped that wherever he was right now he was happy.
I lay in bed for a while and the pain in my chest subsided. No tears fell. My thoughts cleared and became a bit hazy. In my subconscious I wondered if he decided to visit me. I’m not very religious, but more hopeful than faithful in such matters. I… hope he really did visit me in my dream, though. I hope he is happy wherever he is, but decided to check on me. Selfish, sure… but it is a hope.

Sigh. Well. I had to write that down. I suppose I should write some other things too.
On the eighteenth, my brother left home that Wednesday. He and his semi-friend Mark left for the town all of us had left. He intends to work at the newspaper there as head press man. He’s in his apartment now and will hopefully do okay there.
On that same day my mom and I had doctor appointments. It was in that time frame my brother had left, so I don’t think anyone saw him off, unless he stopped by my dad’s workplace to say goodbye.
Thursday was nothing particularly special, but as note to what happened on Friday, my mom’s dog had killed a bird and wrestled with my dad’s dog with its limp corpse. At first my mother and I had no idea what he had in his mouth. She went out and got it away. When she said it was a dead bird, I headed to the other side of the room away from the back porch and shuddered.

Friday, when I was out in about that morning to clean the kitchen, my mother’s dog was barking. I looked to see if he was being tormented by seeing the birds high up in the trees. To my surprise he was barking at the ground. I hurried over, not thinking to put down the paper towels in my hands.
I looked out to see he was barking at some still form. I couldn’t tell what it was, so I opened the door, yelled at the dog and tried to shoo him away. It was a bird. It was huddled tight and still as stone. I feared it was dead, but I saw it blink.
I hurriedly redid the paper towels and wrapped them lightly about the bird as I picked it up. I took it back inside and placed it in my bathroom. It tried to move, but the tile was too slippery, so I lay the paper towels out and gently placed it on them while handling the bird with a hand towel. After placing its legs in a more comfortable position, since they were haphazard – I fears they were broken or injured anyway – I tried to dry it off a bit with the hand towel. It was missing feathers around its wings. I looked for wounds, but couldn’t tell.
Not knowing what to do by then I called my dad. He was of no particular help to me, I fear. In fact he made me upset since I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I usually would. The call ended and as I got my bearing more, I looked for some liquid Band-Aid wound sanitizer. I poured it on areas of the bird that might have been injured by my mother’s dog. It was supposed to be like water on wounds, so I didn’t expect the bird to feel pain from it.
I tried to clean it a bit more and then got some of my mom’s birdseed. I put it in a saucer and placed it next to the bird just in case it snapped out of its shock and needed food. I dimmed the lights and then closed the bathroom door behind me. I would leave it alone. I would check my computer and search for articles on injured birds.
I did so and then followed its directions. I looked around for a box. I didn’t know where any shoe boxes were, but I kept small ones in my closet. I took it, padded it with a wash cloth and reentered the bathroom.
Gently picking up the bird and placing it in the box, I made sure it was steady and upright and then tried to shade the top as much as possible but give it enough air. I turned off the light completely and left it to recuperate.
After a while I checked on it again. It was still immobile. I then did as the site said and took it outside. I placed the box down on the front porch and backed away. The bird stayed in it.
I later moved the box again. We had many bushes and I figured maybe it needed the covering and familiarity above it. The bird startled me in my last positioning effort to get it as far under the bush’s protection as possible. It didn’t make it far, but it had flapped it wings a bit and managed to perch itself on the ledges of the box. It remained still after that. I reentered the house and left it alone again.
Maybe an hour later I looked again to see if it managed to fly away. I didn’t see him. I went to reach for the box, but caught sight of him in the bush – yeah I have pretty sharp eyes at times. I studied it for a while. I still couldn’t tell what sort of bird it was. I left it alone then.
By noon I went out again to check and found it was no longer in the bush. I hoped it managed to fly away. I then reentered the house.
My dad came home for lunch and let his dog out. I told him all that happened. He told me a lady at work told him I should have put it in a box and such. I did that.
While my dad and I watched his dog, eventually the pup wandered over to the bushes. I became suspicious and headed over. Two bushes away from the one I last saw the bird in, I found it once more. It had managed to move maybe two yards and sought solace in a different area.
My dad ordered his dog away from it and I pointed out the bird to him. He couldn’t tell what it was either. We left it alone then.
I don’t know when I checked on it again, but it was gone. I looked around to see if it migrated to any other bushes. It didn’t. Thus, I could only hope it finally regained its strength and managed to fly somewhere safer.
When my mom came home we went out to eat. We talked about it. While I didn’t feel anything particularly about it, my logical, intellectual side pondered if there was any therapeutic value in what happened that day. It had only been a month and about two weeks since I lost my pet. This creature I managed to keep alive. I really have no idea, but I pondered.
Saturday was usual as ever. Now it is Sunday.

Father’s Day and Financial Issues…

Two hours until Father’s Day and sadly I’m thinking my dad is a dumb ass. Harsh, no? Well, he does some stupid things despite they are out of the goodness of his heart. My mom calls him co-dependent. Well, in any case, his co-dependency on my older brothers and sister make my mom and me pay.
I mentioned somewhere earlier that my sister lost her job due to a dispute. Even if she was in the right, she let her pride get in the way and lost a lot. She went to my father for money in regards to paying rent. Dad lied to my mom saying he loaned her two hundred, which means he flat out gave it to her and didn’t expect to be paid back. Later my mom finds out he gave her five hundred instead due to my sister thanking him for that amount. This is the key element to all this.
Well, my brother will be leaving soon. He took a two to three day trip to get things ready for his move. With him gone we’ll be five hundred dollars short on rent money. My eldest brother came back down here with his girlfriend when her job moved her back. My mom, thinking we wouldn’t see him much anymore, of course got him airline tickets to come here last Christmas to be with us. Due to that she had late pay and now has trouble with a certain credit card company.
There is then the house payment. It is a lot more than we were used to, my dad is in retirement with a job that pays less than his previous and my mom no longer can get overtime because of things going on with her work place.
With all these issues, my sister’s “loan” from my father now sets my mom back on being able to pay bills and she came to me tonight to ask if I could go ahead and give a  four hundred dollar check. She also warned me if things didn’t go well she’d likely have to borrow two hundred more from me. Six hundred dollars?! My eyes widened at that concept.
As usual I did calculations in my head as to how much I’d have left in my account after so much lost. I determined all my attempts to save money to get my account back to normal were somewhat in vain then. I also thought – bless my kitty’s heart – it was a good thing I was no longer paying medical bills on my cat or then I wouldn’t be able to do such for my mom. So, in the end, I’m literally paying for my sister’s stupid pride and my father’s co-dependency.
My dad doesn’t get it. He thinks he can give off all this money, help out my siblings and still manage to keep financially sounds as well. He tells me that despite my brother’s move, I shouldn’t have to pay an extra one hundred even though we are going to five hundred bucks less once he’s gone.
Right, Dad, where are you going to get the rest? I live here too, so I’ll contribute what I can therefore quit telling me I shouldn’t. I know you don’t have a lot of money and all that shit. I can handle this so quit sticking your head in the sand like an ostrich.
It just makes me resentful some. I hate to think myself feeling that way at all, but I admit I am a bit peeved. I mean, why am I paying for my siblings’ damn mistakes and poor judgment with money?
My sister is a damn hypocrite too. I remember before she left for the capitol to go to college, she griped about my brothers. All the money that went down the drain due to the both of them left little for her and me in regards to college funds. Of course, she was only thinking of herself. I really didn’t care other than what it did to my parents.
Anyway, she went on about how she was paying for the fact that my brothers wasted so much money and that my parents were at fault for giving it to them and didn’t think about her. Blah, blah, blah… That is what makes me particularly vindictive now. In her case, there was never any money to begin with. In my case, for her faults, I’m taking money out of my account to make sure she can pay her damn rent because my dad decides to save the day for her with money he doesn’t even bloody have.
I just hope this doesn’t continue on. After this month and on, if they only ask four hundred from me, I can do that… but if they ever need more… I’ll be broke.
The whole scenario is pathetic. I’m the one on Medicaid and seem to be the only one able to keep my financial goings stable. More than once my parents have had to ask to borrow money from me. Well, my mom is the one, but that is because my dad does the ostrich thing. My brother has borrowed money from me, and I have no expectations of him paying me back. My eldest brother admittedly has never truly taken any money from me, but plenty has gone down the drain from my parents which affected all of us. My sister is a selfish bitch who doesn’t consider her actions and always goes to my father to bail her out which then either gives him financial problems or problems to both my parents and thus to me.
I don’t mind helping out my parents and I don’t expect them to pay me back. They’ve treated me well, love me and have raised me. They bought me food all my life growing up, clothed me, bought necessities and things that were for simple leisure. I feel it is good I help them out now. They need it; they sacrificed for me and my siblings. I’ll help share their financial burdens.
That just doesn’t change the fact that I am disappointed in my father. He can’t play superman to my screwed up siblings all the time. One day he won’t be able to do anything because he’s dug himself a hole full of debt. My sister will never learn from her mistakes because she’ll always expect my dad to have money for her. My brother will likely never pay back all the money he stole from the family and thus my parents will likely never get out of debt or get back to their previous stability. The same goes with my eldest brother when wasting so much money on a college education he never applied himself to and constantly dropped out of whenever there was sign of a low grade.
Sigh… It is really just pathetic.
I was hoping to get my account back to decent level this month. That went down the drain now. I just hope some other financial emergency doesn’t come up and hopefully I won’t need a haircut soon because I’d hate to use what money I have left on it. Damn, you sister…
Okay, don’t mean that but oi…

The End of May…

On the 25th my dad volunteered at an arts and crafts fair. My mother and I went. I had a glorious headache all through. It didn’t help that there was a live country singer nearby either. It was very sunny and in the 80s as well. I couldn’t really concentrate at all.
I pretty much followed my mom as she looked at different exhibits and stalls. We saw my dad, talked a bit and then my mom and I went to another area. On the way my weaker ankle “collapsed” under me and I limped a bit.
We came upon a stall that had something similar to stained glass. Sun catchers that held dyed, pressed flowers hung there. They were very pretty. I was rather taken with them. I studied as my mom considered what she could afford. While that happened we talked to the creator/seller. It was nice.
My mom and I returned to where my dad was. I entered the booth he was in and rested my ankle as my mom went off to find a friend of hers. I still had a headache and ran out of water. Other than that, my dad and I just sat there. He sold tokens and I tried to make my physical self feel as decent as possible. My mom finally returned who knows how much later, buys some tea for me and lemonade for her, and we bid my dad farewell. Once we got home, I pretty much collapsed on my bed. I didn’t wake up again until two to take a shower and eat something, only to collapse again.
The following morning, my dad was home due to Memorial Day. My foot was a pain and I still had a bit of a headache, thus Advil was taken. I did what chores I could without putting too much weight on my foot. Soon enough I just collapsed again. My dad got me some lunch later on, I read some and such, but never really could bring myself to stay up that day. I woke again at nine, ate something, saw my parents go to bed and likely went to sleep once more. Come two or such, I took a shower and again collapsed. Tuesday I managed to get up around nine. My ankle was still tender, but didn’t seem as bad. Advil wasn’t necessary. I stayed awake until three, got in a nap and woke up at 5:30.
I learned my brother is thinking of leaving here for good. He went on a road trip with a semi-friend and went to our old hometown. He somehow wound up at a job interview and can have the job.
He’ll be paid less than he is here, but he’ll get holidays off and likely won’t be worked close to slavery. Also, unlike the rest of us, he did pretty okay there – at least socially.
This will affect my parents and I greatly since he pays rent here.
There were some troubles brewing however, in one of my brother’s friends. He is one of the few guys my brother has really kept in touch with. As of the past few years or so he’s been drinking like mad and is extremely suicidal. He relies on my brother a lot and will call him up when things get bad to have my brother talk him down. Apparently he’s gotten worse.
My mom says my brother was in tears when he called her Tuesday night.
Wednesday morning Tiger was jumped by my brother’s cat, Smokey. While he was already sporting a ripped up ear that bled a good amount, he didn’t look worse for wear physically. He seemed traumatized by now, however. Ever since my cat died, Smokey has been going after Tiger ruthlessly.
I thought Tiger was simply scared of no longer being in my room, I moved him to my parents’ bedroom since there was a litter box in there. At the end of the day I was concerned by his behavior and noted it to my parents.
Thursday we couldn’t help but believe he was sick in some way or another. Perhaps he has an infection, a fever, etc. We don’t know. The right side of his neck is tender or something of such since if you touch it just right he cries out. The past two days he was curled up either in my mom’s closet or in as shielded a corner he could find in the bedroom.
It was decided that my dad would take him in Friday morning when he took Cleo, my mother’s female Himalayan, to the vet clinic for a teeth cleaning.
Another thing that occurred Thursday was a call from my sister. She called my father to tell him she was fired from her waitress job. Not much is known other than some sort of dispute on whether she did something wrong and signing a paper/contract that had her admit to such. The problem was she didn’t think she did anything wrong. What did she do? I have no idea. My dad has no idea either.
Hearing all this my mother told me none of my siblings are responsible or adults. She thought my brother was getting there, but his new decision on moving makes her think otherwise. Her points are valid.
It was either she or dad that said ironically I’m the most stable in our immediate family. Financially, living, etcetera… I’m not certain. Pretty sad since I’m the one crunching on medication in the mornings and am unable to hold a job without having a breakdown.
Kyle seems to be doing less than superb. His life is getting crummy, and sadly, I’m no help. His life seems to be mainly going to college classes and being bored. When he occasionally pops up on messenger, I really can’t give him anything. I’d like to… but jeez, I have less of a life than him. Reading a recent entry of his makes me think of myself around 2005 a bit actually.
I’ve been rather unresponsive to him, I fear. I’ve been quite out of it this month due to all the stress and losses. I think it is sheer stubbornness that has gotten me back into doing some of my usual activities. Reading, writing, drawing, whatever… I just don’t the interest at the moment.
I’m still missing my cat too. None of the other cats are like him at all. He had an utterly unique personality and wonderful disposition. He always made me smile when I saw him. I loved hugging him. I’d act rather silly even, crying out silly phrases and being somewhat playful.
I miss the kitty drug. He was the only thing that caused such. The kitty drug is what I call this feeling he would send through my head when I rubbed my face against his fur. It was a strange feeling of contentment – cloud nine sort of thing – I suppose.
I’ve often thought of getting a kitten again, his same breed despite most sites say it is best to not get the same breed of the pet you are mourning. I looked up on many different breeds though and their traits, personalities, body types, etcetera just don’t fit with me.
I keep thinking of excuses to postpone getting a kitten. There’s the money, the setup of my room, my brother’s vindictive cat, settling on a name, the belief that I should still be mourning and not look to another cat, fear of replacing him or expecting the kitten to fill his shoes which isn’t fair at all to either parties…
Anyway, both Cleo and Tiger came back home Friday evening. Cleo is dandy and Tiger had a big dose of antibiotics and will be given pills in the morning for a while. They found no abscess, but he was obviously ill from something.
Saturday was simply normal. I didn’t sleep at all Friday night, so after grocery shopping I hit the bed. My mom had me wrap an ice pack around my ankle since it was sore again from walking on it for an hour. I was pretty much out of it the rest of the day. I ate lunch come evening since I had only eaten an apple that morning and eventually collapsed again due to the lack of sleep from the night before to wake up again around four in the morning Sunday.
In other news I’ll see the eye doctor this coming Tuesday. I’ll see Given probably around the 17th if my Mom’s calendar isn’t still screwed up. Wynne will come along near the end of the month. The the dentist will likely come up next month.