January 2, 2021

Still in the pandemic, still stuck in my mom's old house where I've locked myself away for the past five years with her dozen cats.  Still in solitary confinement.  Surviving, but not living.  I was never born. 

I didn't sleep last night, even after eating a cookie, drinking two beers, taking a sleeping pill, smoking 1/3 of a joint and taking a Benadryl. I could not get the lyrics to a Carole King song out of my head, and my brain went through a thorough, extended version of a scan, searching for an example of something that just wasn't there. Now, I'm just crying, staring at the walls, trying to force myself back into the blankness of my life. 

"I really need someone to talk to and nobody else knows how to comfort me tonight."

That scan could not come up with a single example of being comforted.  Not a person, throughout my 64 years, even made an attempt to give me comfort.  Instead, they told me I was wrong. 

I am a problem - my existence is a problem.  And I'm feeling sorry for myself. 

People talk to me.  They tell me their problems, and I comfort them.  People tell me they feel better after talking to me.  A bruja I saw maybe 10 years ago said I had the gift of healing - of taking away people's burdens and pain by taking them on myself.  She said that God saw my good heart and took those burdens off of me.  She could read it through the empty tunnels of an egg white.  I'm inclined to believe that. 

When I think of myself being comforted, well, it just never happened. Instead of comfort, I was blamed.  If I asked for anything, It make people around me angry.  I stopped asking long before I learned how to walk or talk.  No one wanted to comfort me, and I was led to believe that I was not deserving of comfort.  That's how my pale of existence began.  It was reinforced by everyone I met. 

No one ever tried to give me comfort.  Just blame, and a lot of it. 

After my dad's funeral, everyone went out to breakfast at a buffet place.  We had a couple of long tables.  My daughter came into town to take the things she wanted that had been my dad's, and she got a chance to dazzle for your cousins at that breakfast.  I sat across from my great nephew, who eventually moved because I was "acting all emo."  I helped my daughter ransack my dad's house and spirit away the things she wanted, but now, I'm actually satan to her.