SAVE ME. WAIT. NO. I'M NOT A FUCKING KITTEN. AM I?
There is a fine line I walk every day of my life, and it is called the line between wanting someone to help me out of this mess, and wanting to be independent, anything but needy. Pride wages war with need and fear daily within my bones. I accept a dollar from a friend and later curse myself for needing to borrow it. It's a sort of sadistic carousel ride. But this carousel never seems to stop spinning. I am trapped aboard peeling paint and metal, and I missed my stop about 13 years ago.
I
want out of my life fast. I want someone to help me. I want someone
to care for a change. I want to save myself. I want to figure myself
out, understand myself inside and out, and change accordingly. I want
medications to modify my moods so I can spend more time living and less time
planning ways to die and writing suicide notes. I want a brain lesion that
ends my obsession about my hair. I want all of the above. I want my dad
to give me money so I can pay rent. I'll pay him back. Regardless of
the fact he's paid $300 child support since my parents split up which is kinda
low compared to most settlements. Not that my mother spent the money on me
anyways. Actually, he pays a lot. I just complain. I'm just
jealous that he can pay his rent. I'm upset that neither of my parents
have a room for me to stay at in their homes. They don't believe in guest
rooms. My mother's lack of housing bugs me a bit, considering since I
moved out she's been predicting the day I will fail, fall flat on my ass, and
move home. I sing along with Aimee Mann as she tells someone to save
her. I then put in Ani and scream about the fact that even if no one ever
shows up to rescue me from this hell, I will get out of this miserable
tree. I believe both halves of myself are equally right. I waste
money on frivolous things. I damn my credit cards for tempting me to
spend, yet know I never would have made it this long without that credit to buy
food and bus tickets. I am a duality, a living oxymoron. And I am
not certain whether this is good or bad. In fact, certainty is simply not in
my vocabulary. And I still don't know whether or not I am a kitten. All
I know is I'm getting pretty damn sick of this tree branch. And it's about
to break.
