Still Not Sure

Still living in the conundrum. Is it worth it? Do I keep going? I am right. I know I’m right. I know it’s the right thing to do. But they make doing the right thing so hard.

Like, yes, this is wrong, and the only thing to do is fight for what’s right and fair and just. That’s how you live your principles and your morals. You do what’s right, and you don’t back down.

But at what cost?

I have no support whatsoever. I have lurkers who could help and don’t. Like, thanks everyone. I spent the better part of the week waiting to be attacked in some way, all because I asked for help.

No one is going to help me. No one will save me. No one even wants to.

I need to go to the hospital. But at the same time—why? Like, why. And what do I do when I get there?

First point of order is not being put on a psych hold. While theoretically it’s crisis stabilization, the reality of a psych hold is three days of sleeping, maybe a group session, just to be released back to where you started. I’ve done this a couple times now, so seriously—why would this be different?

I need fucking help. The hoarding—it’s a mess. And of course my AC stopped working, so I have to let management come in. But I can’t do this. I can’t clean. And they hate me because of the hoarding. And I can’t handle the scrutiny right now. It’s not like it was, but still—they’re going to be on my ass, and I can’t do it on my own. I need someone with me.

LawyerBoy was supposed to help me before we had our fallout. That was February. I talked to him yesterday. He texted me because, of course, he hasn’t bothered with the book yet. I suppose it doesn’t matter. But I can’t ask him to help me.

Then there’s {C}. I don’t think I’ve talked about him much. He and I met a couple years after everything went down. He was dying of cancer. He’s since gone into remission, and he’s fucking pissed he’s still alive. We can always hang out. But he is a horrible person who berates me. It’s just hours upon hours of everything I’m doing wrong. The man hates me. But sometimes it’s better than being alone. He’s one of those guys who tells you what a good guy he is. He keeps saying he’s going to come help me. Then he just doesn’t. It’s probably for the best—I would end up sobbing. Nothing would get done.

I just need someone with me. Someone to take the trash to the dumpster and just kind of talk me through it. Just talk me through it. That’s how I can do it. I can’t even begin to start alone.

I can’t actually take care of myself. I know it probably seems weird from the outside. I can file motions and write books, but I can’t get myself in the shower. Or make myself take pills.

I’ve never been like this before. I need everyone to understand one very clear thing about all this: this is literally what {D} did to me. I am not claiming I was perfect before, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve always been functional. Always. I literally can’t now.

So what do I tell them at the hospital? How much help do I need? Like, do I need to be institutionalized? I mean, Jesus Christ—no. But I need a support system. I have nothing. The people I have won’t help me. I can’t just make new friends and get support, because no one likes me. And basically all anyone wants me for is sex. And that’s not even enough for them to pretend to care about me for a few minutes.

It sucks being alone. And honestly, it fucking sucks saying all this, knowing people are reading and they don’t fucking care.

It’s hilarious to me that I know for a fact law enforcement has seen this blog. I’m screaming “help me,” and somehow they just choose not to reach out and offer help. These are mandated responses. This is how the system is supposed to work to protect people like me. I am 100% sure I have said enough over the past week to warrant, at minimum, a welfare check—if not more. But see above about why that won’t help.

I still don’t fucking get it. People could do something. Every one of you. Some of you could do a lot more than others. But to not even do the minimum—not even show compassion. It’s not like you’re looking away. You’re looking at it dead in the eye and just not acting.

How fucking bizarre is that.