Cannibalism is the solution?!

In RP, anyway. I've been playing Huntress in my Abby RPoL game again and it's *really* cathartic right now. Particularly the hunting, killing and eating mortals part. Hmm, sounds kind of Digital Devil Saga-ish. :P

But I've just had a really rough day. REALLY rough. "I want to crawl into a hole and die" rough. I've got this all-consuming rage inside me for the continued delays on my documents, and I feel constantly stifled from expressing it because Jon wants me to RATIONALIZE. And he asks me why I ask him all these questions and put him on the spot -- well, he's the one handling all those responsibilities, so who else am I supposed to ask? He has the gall to suggest I take care of it myself, when if I was in a state to do so (i.e. not anxious, etc.) I would have done it myself *from the start*.

I'm having another one of those "x is better off without me" days, too. Kalli has someone else to talk to now, and I hope she'll be happy with him because between work and him there is really not a place for me. My place is to suffer and rage at my inability to help myself. My place is filled with fear and shame at the mere thought my parents are going to look over my shoulder at the mess I've made of my life.

It's enough to make me sick. I want to destroy myself, I want to rip myself open so they see that I've lived for them all this time. Everything I did in life, I did measured up to what they wished of me, what they thought was right. Now I'm scared because I know they'd look at what I've done these four years and see nothing. No progress, no success, nothing to relieve them that I'm not a fuckup kid that grew up to be a fuckup adult.

You see, my phone doesn't work. I told my mom she could call on Wednesday and my PHONE doesn't work. They've been trying to call me and the line is dead. They hear so little from me, so of course my parents will assume I have no phone line because I can't pay for it, or because I'm a deadbeat! Maybe they suspect I don't even live where I say I do, because I'm not receiving their mail! Who the hell knows?

The rest of me just feels like not caring any more. In a way, it's worse to live like this than to die, because I live without hope. I live hiding inside, waiting for things to happen because I can't take any initiative in my life. I live writing obscure lines of code for unknown projects, coming up with stories in my head that may never be told, living through the lives of characters that are happier, confident and more competent than me.

It's sad... there's cruelty even in kindness. My dad was direct and ruthless with his discipline. My mom, she wants to take care of so much that I feel like she doesn't trust me to do anything. Either way, I feel like I'm worthless. Either way, I feel like I am a lesser being in their eyes, and what do I have to show for all this time away?

I'm not working...
I'm not even going to school.

I'm nothing, nothing, nothing.

The thought of it fills me with such intense shame. Tears roll down my face when I think of it. No matter what I do, they'll only see my mistakes. It's like they expect me to screw up. It kills me inside. I just wish I could be left alone and not have to feel like punishing myself because my phone line doesn't work due to a mechanical error.

I just keep thinking... just like with the immigration stuff, the health card and college stuff... "What could I have DONE to make it better?" That's all I can think. If it didn't work, I must have done something wrong. And the thought of doing something wrong, it brings up this bile to my throat. I can't stand it. I can't stand being wrong, I can't stand making mistakes -- I scratch obsessively at my skin and dig my nails into my thighs, like I want to crawl out of my own body. This is not me this is not me I'mashamedtobeme.

I think of when I was young and I did things like break a Christmas ornament or get a C on a test. I dreaded telling dad but I HAD to tell him. "Go tell your dad" -- my mom sent us to him, like lambs to a slaughter. It's like this death sentence. I feared it so much and I had to swallow it down, try not to flinch or cry no matter what he said or did.

Right now I could be torturing myself somehow. But I'm not. I'm writing this instead. I'm crying and I'm trying to figure out what I'm feeling.

"What could I have done to make it better?" When I think about it, this is so similar to my dad's first approach when faced with a problem. For example, my sis or I did something to the computer so it won't boot properly. Could be the sound card or video card not slotted right. Or maybe we screwed up and overwrote a system file. Something like that (this is Windows 3.1 days, heh! or maybe 95.) Every time, my dad would say "what did you do to cause the problem?" Because it always had to start with blame.

It was like that with everything that went wrong. "What did YOU do?" Why did it always have to sound like an accusation? And it'd be worse if we couldn't remember exactly what we did. Oh, then he'd be annoyed. How can he diagnose the problem properly? It's our fault now for not noting down everything we do. He'd get angry at us about car maintenance, too -- like, my tires would be low on air, but he would never realize that pumping air into the tires made me anxious (tires are a little too close to balloons for me; I'd get irrationally scared they'd pop.)

Now I'm all grown up (ha) and I do the exact same thing. Something goes wrong: whose fault is it? And when I find who, my impulse is to saddle that person (whether it was really them or not) with guilt. Or rage at them as if making them cower somehow satisfies me. And if I can't get at the actual person causing me trouble, the messenger is good enough!

See, I can be rational enough to know that's what I do. But how to stop it? I feel no "satisfaction" in thinking that there's nothing at fault but circumstance. The idea that life and the world are just inherently unfair drives me to frustration. I don't necessarily think anyone's out to get me, but I understand that emotions matter little in business. I'm just another customer, another immigrant. Just a number in the database. Who cares about my life?

My husband and I, we can't get along at all when it comes to the rage my helplessness provokes. He's always trying to stop me from getting angry. He says he's not, but if he wants me to think rationally about why I get angry, isn't that still stopping it? He wants me to see that my rage is unhealthy and irrational... if I agree with that, doesn't that take any feeling away that my anger is justified? I don't see how I'm misunderstanding, here. :/ Like it or not, trying to deflate my frustration (rightfully felt) when I'm in the midst of it isn't going to make me very happy.

So that's mostly what we've disagreed on and stuff. Ehh... i really should go to sleep now though. I got nothing done with the bbpress plugin :( but I need to concentrate tomorrow morning/afternoon on prepping for Emberdays. I really need my inspiration to work out! *crosses fingers*