Just a vent.

Ok, so I know that you manifest worry and are incapable of internalizing it.  What comes out is personal attacks. I know that you've been in a state of mania and is swinging down now into depression. I know that I am very ill, having a sore throat, runny nose, and a fever, and I've been trying to get what rest I can.  It's not enough, and it is making me extra sensitive. But dammit, I don't like it to have my character attacted when I'm so weak I can barely lift my arms. God dammit, I'm the only in this family that is putting food on our table and a roof over our heads.  I don't want to be in this house either.  But my mother is basically letting us squat here because we can't afford anything else.  Do you want to sleep in a trailer park?  Because that's about our only alternative.  STOP bitching about the house.  STOP bitching about my mother. The sink if full of dirty dishes?  Yup, sure is.  I've been sick.  If people would actually put the damned dishes in the dishwasher instead of just putting them in the sink, then it wouldn't have to wait for me to empty the sink and load the dishwasher, would it?  I really don't feel like putting my hands in dirty water to move the f'ing dishes when I start hacking every time I stand.  So cut me a little damned slack here. Cat litter full?  He's your cat!  There's the scoop, a foot away.  Would it be so hard to give me a break from it? The house is too small?  I'm bothering you because I'm home from work and sick?  I'm taking up too much space?  There's the door ma'am.  She's MY mother.  This is MY house, MY furniture, and MY space!  Take your own money and get an apartment if you want your own space. Go live with your mother.  Oh, wait.  She treats you like shit, doesn't she?  Sorry, I fail to see where that's my problem.  She's got problems, you've got problems.  The way I look at it, most of MY problems go away if you walk out that door.  My own daughter will be allowed into my home again.  Try to imagine how it would feel that get that little bit of guilt off of your conscience.  Oh, you can't empathize with others?  Why do I bother spending so much of my time trying to empathize with you?  Money stressing you out?  Hmmm... Your daughter is the one in college.  Your daughter is the one taking the glass classes.  Your daughter is the one who blew all of her savings on cocaine.  She's quit now?  Uh huh. And let's not forget about your medical bills.  Several hundred a month on prescriptions meds and extra sessions with your shrink 'cause the insurance won't cover them.  You blow a hundred a month on Pepsi alone!  It's your cars that are falling apart. You are the one playing on the ledge of disaster here.  One little hip check from me and you fall.  I'm too sick of it all to try to catch you. Hey, maybe your online boyfriend can help!  Oh, he's manic too, huh.  Flat broke.  Living with an alcoholic friend in a flat with temperatures in the fifties.  Oh, but you can keep him nice and warm in bed.  He'll see LOTS of action there, won't he?  At least until your mania wears off.  Then sex becomes something you cry through.  Something that disgusts you.You're sorry that you've been crabby tonight?  I don't know what the hell I am.  I'm sick and tired.  Literally.  I want to cry into my pillow...blessed release.  I want to be held by someone who sees me for who I am and who cares.  I thought that was you for a while.  Oops.  Mania.  Silly me.  I destroyed my life to be with you.  My bad.Anger inside.  I'm too sick to vent it physically and I wouldn't know where to put it if I had to.  I'll try to medicate the anger away.  Klonopin, numb me.  Make me not feel so I can live.  Because  this directionless anger will destroy me if I don't. My eyes are tearing.  Not good enough.  Nothing ever is. Just a vent.  Meaningless.  My emotions don't count. They never have, except when they can be used against me.  Express them and your world will become much worse.  Thank you for that, my brother. Oh yeah, you have an excuse.  Asperger's Syndrome.  Unable to empathize. Hey!  Sounds like the person I married!  What a coincidence, huh?  She's borderline!  (No, she does not have Borderline Personality Disorder.  It is her PERSONALITY.  It is HER.  She IS borderline!)  My brother, my wife.  Both with major league mental illnesses. That's their excuses.  What the fuck are mine.  Stupidity?  Weakness?  No balls? I don't know.  I'd like to say that I don't care.  But I do.  I do empathize.  That's what hurts so fucking much. Just a vent.  Too tired.