Out

There's this really weird un-easiness about me for obvious, and not-so obvious reasons. Moving back home, my Dad in the hospital. Makes sense why I'd be uneasy. But that's not it at all. I can handle all that. I'm having a hard time releasing resentment that I have towards people, as hard as I try.

It's stifling. I fully and entirely believe in removing yourself from situations that make you feel the way I am feeling now. And maybe that's just it. I really can't do anything about it. It's this simmering pot of loneliness, depression, frustration, sadness, and anxiety. It's always there and ready, and sometimes people or events come along and turn the heat up on the pot. I don't have any way to jump out of the situation. My hand is being forced, and I really feel suffocated.

Now it sounds like I'm blaming others and not taking any on my own. But nothing could be further from the truth. Everyone, in every walk of life have this...these catalysts that can spiral you down, but I just absolutely fail at knowing how to not let it get at me.

It's simplistic to say that I feel like the closest people around me just don't listen and respect anything that I have to say, but that really is a big part of it. On one end, every time I have an idea or a plan, there's a voice from somebody else -- the "yeah but..." or "no, that's not right." One day it's the best day ever, next day it's the best day to die. It's so fucking defeating. And that's part of what I am coming back home to -- terrific.

On another hand, I am putting all I am and all I have into coming home and trying to make it good...trying to make it work. The response is nothing. Just another day of mindlessness. I am fucking sick and tired of giving, and going out of my way for somebody else, and expecting even the littlest bit back in return. I've played this game too many times before, and I know what the result is going to be.

There it is right there. Expectation of others to be the way you are, the way I am. To be gone a year and think people will take the horror that they saw me go through, and take a little bit upon themselves and try to change. If they cared they'd want to welcome me home, with the knowledge that things are going to be different right? I haven't seen one ounce of evidence that things are going to be better then they were when I get home (for good?).

Why do I have expectations of others to value things as much as I value them, or put as much thought and effort into things as I put in. Why do I keep punching the wall, knowing that eventually no good will come from it except a broken hand?

Everything down here is the same as it was when I said I'd never come back when this was all said and done. I'll never come back down here and stay in Lakeland ever again once that truck pulls out of here. At least I didn't expect that to be different in a short time. I expect someone to wake up at some point though (and when that doesn't happen, I hope I can just dismiss it, and not hold on to it). Shit just doesn't make sense down here.

I thought maybe when I came back to Buff in July I was home for good, but, the same shit happened there, and I feel so trapped. Living here (Florida) is absolutely not an option. Absolutely not. The people down here are great (like people in the restaurants, stores, and people in group down here -- all fantastic). They really, truly are. The ratio of good people to assholes down here is a lot better than it is in most places in the country.

Maybe the saddest part of this entire year though is this -- I thought it would bring my Dad and I closer together. I thought I'd have someone to talk to, who understood everything, but more than once I've poured it all out to silence, or "huh? I wasn't paying attention" or "I don't know what you want me to do." The end result is going to be a chasm that won't ever be able to be patched over. That hurts a lot, but it is what it is. I've resigned myself to the fact that he's been taken away from his true nature. Everyone else has realized that a long time ago. I was the last hanger-on, and I'm letting go.

But I already don't want to come home. Do you see where this starts to get hopeless and leading back to where I never want it to lead back to? I have nowhere to go here...I don't want to be here. I want to be home, but, why? For what? For this delusion that things will be different? They've already proven that they won't be. If in the brief snippets of coming home things are fucked, why do I think they won't be fucked when the daily grind starts back up?