The fight

I spent all day yesterday hyper-fixated on web analytics. The suspicious activity continued and was amplified by Todd checking the blog at least every hour.

They came and read slowly, analyzing every fucking word I wrote. I still don’t know who they are.

I am living in a bizarre paranoid clusterfuck, and my first instinct is to think I’m just being paranoid. I’m actually really good, as a true pot smoker, at talking myself out of paranoia. Like, if you know, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I actively remind myself that I’m on a substance known to cause paranoia. I’ve seen Reefer Madness—I know the truth. That was a joke.

But god, I can’t kick the fucking feeling.

I felt better after 5 p.m. that nothing had happened. I was less stressed about it this morning. And Todd—well, the motherfucker disappeared today like a fucking public record.

I am trying to get my discovery done today. I got the response to {D}’s done yesterday.

I looked up {M}, just out of curiosity. That ended up being quite emotional. It seems he has moved and bought a little farm in Iowa. Videos of his dogs running through fields. Idyllic as fuck.

There is a certain series of events that could have resulted in that being my life. But I had to invite {D} that night. And I’m not saying it would have happened—there were a lot of variables—but just knowing what could have happened…

Everyone else in that room didn’t do anything to save me. They didn’t do anything after the fact. Every one of them abandoned me and left me to become this thing that I am now. No one cares where I ended up or how it affected me. I’m just peripheral—I don’t even want to say “person.” I was disposable. No one cares where I ended up. It just doesn’t matter. I was never anything to anyone.

I’m not sure what to do. I still need to go to the hospital. It’s getting worse. I feel so bad. I can barely lift my legs. I am just not okay, and my body is not okay. There are multiple things going on now. I mean, that’s been the thing—how long can I just barely maintain life? There has to be a cutoff.

I have to finish discovery, so maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the hospital.

I need my unemployment to come through too. I’ve been surviving on a bag of stale tortilla chips and a Diet Pepsi since the weekend. It’s all I have in the house. I’m broke. I have $1.50 in my account. I hope it deposits today—tomorrow at the latest.

I’m still at that crossroads. I’m feeling a little better talking about it now since they seem to have stopped looking. I just don’t know what to do. I’m always a little surprised I woke up when I wake up.

I am actively deteriorating. I’ve had severe blood pressure issues for 20 years. It’s bad even when I take my medication. They still have no idea why it’s so fucking high. I had preeclampsia with all the kids. I almost died when {Z} was born. I was on bed rest with {MM}. With {LP}, I saw a perinatologist every other week from like 8 weeks pregnant.

The thing about preeclampsia is your blood pressure is supposed to return to normal after you give spawn the parasite out of the body.

Mine never did. Not even close. I’ve been 300/200. I am always easily trip/trip.  I’ve gone to the ER for completely unrelated issues and ended up staying for days just to get my blood pressure down. Went for a cracked rib—stayed.

I also wonder if the pressure in my brain is affecting my thoughts and concentration.

I really am right here at the fucking brink.

I don’t know. I can feel it slipping, and I haven’t done anything to fix it yet.

I’m looking around at my apartment and realizing the kids will just throw everything away. There will be nothing of me left. I will just cease. No one will mourn my death. No one will even notice.

And I mean—if I’m not hurting anyone, and I don’t see a solution to the problem—maybe I should just let what happens happen, right? I’m not actively trying. I’m just not intervening.

I want to have an impact on the world somehow but this has forced me to face the thing I’ve been trying to avoid—that I don't somehow matter, or my voice matters. I mean, look at this fucking bullshit. I've yelled written begged given great arguments and not a soul has listened  I am diluting myself trying to convince that somehow I matter. I don't actualy matter to anyone. I just don't matter. And like what? I don't. I can show you how much I don't matter  no one can counter it  beyond a reasonable doubt  

I’ve begged and pleaded, and no one will help me. The fight itself is killing me. Why fucking fight if it means nothing?

All I’ve been told my whole life is how worthless I am. How I am always the second choice.

So do I just fucking stop fighting?

I’ve been fighting my whole life, and it hasn’t gotten me a single fucking thing.

So why fight?