Every phone call with my mother ends the same way now: with her telling me about the work that's still not done, and me trying to think of something to say that isn't twisted and harsh and bitter.
I don't like it, and I know it's not her fault that things are moving so slowly, and I know that I am lucky to have a place to be that is safe and warm and where I am loved and I know it's just stupid & useless to feel sorry for myself, but I do.
I feel like I don't have a place.
I just don't belong anywhere -
As much as I love it here, and spending time with my grandmother and sister and uncle is amazing and wonderful and great;
As much as I know that Mum and Dad are working and painting and scraping and getting estimates 4 days out of the week;
As much as I know that this is all temporary and eventually, there'll be a house I can get in and out of, with a brand new cozy bed I just paid a lot of money for, and a bathtub I can take showers in and a kitchen I can cook in and a room where I can let the kids just play and not have to worry about them breaking something that's 115 years old or waking somebody up from a much needed nap.
As much as all that is true, right now?
At this moment?
I feel ...like those days are still too far away.
like I've overstayed my welcome, no matter what they say
like nobody who's supposed to care, actually cares enough to do the things that I can't do for myself. Or to find out how I'm doing, or to even think that I might be upset by the way things are playing out.
And, wow, am I upset.
I'm angry, even.
I'm shocked at how angry I am - that people can't be trusted to do even the simplest things, that time keeps passing, that I'm so useless, that I keep getting worse, that nobody seems to be worried besides me. I'm angry at myself, and I'm angry at just about everybody else.
Not all the time, not even most of the time... but today. Today I am.
I know it's because I'm feeling so much worse, and because the longer I stay here the harder it gets to pretend I'm still ok, and because the harder it is to pretend, the more I cause the people here to worry, or to go out of their way, and the more I feel like a big fat burden.
And also? Because I am just so sick of pretending.
I'm at the point where I can't hide the fact that I get tired halfway through making a sandwich and have to lay down for 3 hours. At the point where wearing a bra 24 hours a day - for modesty's sake - is no longer an option (hell, most days, it's not even an option to put it on at all) and I almost don't even care that they know I haven't taken a shower in almost 2 weeks. At the point where they can see that I save every last drop of energy for those two days when the Lil Girl (&/or her big brother) is here, and the rest of the time recuperating.
It's all the little stuff that doesn't matter when I'm at home, that matters big time here. And it only matters because I let it: I know that my grandmother doesn't think any less of me because I have greasy hair, or that my uncle is going to be thinking I'm lazy because I just can't clean up those dishes I left in the sink.
But I'm not without pride. I don't like people, even the people closest to me, to know how much I can't do, to see how much help I need to make it through the day. It's not a choice, though, when I'm staying here. It feels like all of my flaws, all of my faults and failures, are on display, all day, everyday.
And even though this rant is full of angst and all 'poor me', I know it'll pass soon. I'm already embarrassed that I even wrote it, because reading it back for errors makes me sound petty and like I don't appreciate all I have. I do. I really do.
But I'm not going to pretend it never happened, I'm not going to keep on pretending, at least here, that I'm not bothered by the fact that I still have no home. Or the fact that the majority (not all, but most) of my siblings have only contacted me in the past two months when they needed me to do something for them, and then promptly forgot that I exist. Or the fact that, at 30 years old, I have to constantly eat food I don't like because I can't just fix my own or watch the news b/c if I don't stay in the living room till 11:00, I'll cause people to worry.
I'm going to give myself this space to not have to bite my tongue or to not have to use my "I'm totally fine and can socialize like a normal person" voice.
And then I'm going to take a deep breath and open the door again, and try to convince my uncle that he'd really just like to order a pizza tonight.
As always, thanks for listening.