So it goes

[Posted to Xanga 2/16/11]

So my dad was passing through Augusta today on a business trip.

He came and picked me up and we went to Denny's together. I had found my expired permit right before he got there, so he took me to the DMV and we got it renewed (I didn't even have to take the test, as it turned out). Then we went to Suntrust and I got a checking account.

When we were at Suntrust the lady was making polite conversation and wanted to know what kind of job I was looking for. I told her I'd like to work in computers, and my dad added that I was pretty much a genius when it comes to computers, among other things. I blushed and smiled.

We went back to the apartment and he gave me the food that he and Mama had gotten me. He carried it inside for me and helped me put it away. Then I gave him a hug and told him to give Mama and my brother hugs for me, and he went on his way.

And I went inside the apartment and cried my eyes out because my dad loves me and is proud of me.

Yes, I'm a wayward child; yes, I've rejected the thing he considers most important in his life; yes, I threw their attempts to help me in their faces in ways that had nothing to do with religion. But he still loves me, and he's still proud of me. Even writing this I can feel the tears threaten.

This early in the morning, or this late at night, depending on your perspective, is a bad time for me. This is one of those times when my mind spins around in circles of self-hatred and helplessness that reinforce each other endlessly. The process goes something like this: I need to be getting things done. Everyone expects me to get things done. They all think it's going to be fine. They're proud of me. They believe in me. I'm going to fail them. I'm going to be here forever. I'm never going to get anything done. Thinking this way is only going to make it less likely that things get done. I don't deserve their love and respect. I am worse than useless; I am a drain on resources and a waste of love. What am I doing here? Why am I alive? Why do I exist?

And then I remember that I promised Rachel I wouldn't kill myself. And I stay alive, and I feel better, I talk to people, I laugh, I smile. Sometimes I even don't hate myself.

And then this time of night comes around again and it all comes back to me and I'm alone but the thought of asking anyone to help me or talk to me, even about things that have nothing to do with me, fills me with a self-loathing ten times stronger than anything I'd already felt. You don't deserve any help. You're going to whine about something you're causing? You're going to whine to your friends because you aren't getting anything done? You're unhappy because you're being useless. Get over yourself and either get something done or keep your whining to yourself.

And this is why I don't blog very often these days.

Please, please don't treat this as a cry for help. It's my job to get things done. I already know I need help, but I have to get it myself.