vent 2

 AND you ask me if there's something you can do to help me pack but it's a fucking trap.

Because what you really mean is if there's something you can do to help that YOU think is WORTH doing. You don't give a shit about what I think or the things I care about. You think those things are stupid.

I have tentatively given you a couple options.

They are apparently too stupid to even consider. Why would I ever want help hanging pictures? Why would I want to paint? Everything I tell you is ridiculous so why would you think I would tell you anything else? Why would I trust you to help me go through my things when I know you will just look at it with condescension and contempt? Because I am a burden to you, and all of my things represent that for you. 

Why do you think I avoid you when I'm home? Because I'm lazy? Or because it's too difficult to talk to you or hear your gigantic exasperated and exhausted sighs whenever I pass by your office. Because you look at me with contempt. You don't have to say anything for me to know how you really feel. I know what you think of me it's written all over your face.

I hate this. I hate feeling this way but what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to make it better? It seems pretty hopeless. 

I peeled so much skin off my feet tonight. That's going to hurt tomorrow.

vent

 Here I was, thinking that my dad and I could actually have a healthy relationship for one second.

Guess not.

He's such a toxic, problematic person. Am I annoying? You think I'm a jerk? Maybe you should think about why I am that way. Maybe I could have every therapist and psychiatrist I've ever had write you a letter. I don't even remember half of their names so maybe that should clue you in as to the damage you did.

That would be so many letters.

Did you know the state considers me MEDICALLY FRAIL due to the severity of my mental illness? I get extra fucking benefits because of it.

Fuck you.