Saturday, January 17, 2009

Why do I bother?

How fucked up is it that if I ever get this crap of a book published, one of the acknowledgments will be to my dead cat, Widget?

I am such a sick sick girl. I honestly am sitting here wondering how the hell I am going to face another day without…my cat. It’s a cat. I know it’s a cat. Every rational bone in my body is screaming it’s a fucking cat. But she was my cat, and she was a very special cat. She wasn’t like any cat I have ever had in my life. She never left my side. We had some very deep philosophical discussions. And with the loss of my closest confidant, my mother, Widget had become the only person (yes I know, CAT) that I could spill everything to.

She even talked back. Not that I ever understood a damn thing she was saying, but at least I felt like I wasn’t just speaking to a wall. Now All I have are walls. Walls cracking and crumbling from water damage. Walls with holes punched in them from a man before he managed to get the medicine he needed to get his head on straight. Walls closing in everywhere.

Every day I become more and more alone. Every day a little more of my life is taken from me. Every day life becomes a little less worth living.

People and things keep dying, opportunities keep slipping through my fingers, years keep passing by. I just turned 31, or 32, I can’t even do the math(a birthday went by recently as just another day), and I am a miserable failure of a human being, of a mother, of a woman, of a writer, of an anything. I’m literally sick of living. I’m sick of waking up in the morning. Sick to fucking death of it. I’m not depressed. I’m not even really sad anymore. I know the difference, because I spent all of 2008 depressed or sad or just frustrated and lost, trying to find some way to fight the pain or chase it away. Now I am just completely fucking done.

I’m sort of at the point where I don’t understand why we don’t have suicide booths. You know? Why can’t I just go to the hospital, check in, and check out. I’ve already been told by my oncologist that my life isn’t worth 300 bucks, literally, I can’t receive further treatment, lifesaving, quality of life treatment, because of a past due bill of 300 bucks, even though I have Medicaid to cover all current bills now. So yeah, why can’t I go to the hospital, check in, pay 200 bucks, 100 bucks, or hell, even 300 bucks, and be put down the same way you do old dogs, and be done with it?

I can see there being a thing against irrational suicide, I get that--people try to slit their wrists or pop a truck load of pills and then it fails and they are all, “I really didn’t want to die,” cry for help sort of thing. But when you sit down and rationally work it out, and honestly decide you are just done with the bullshit, just done fighting against the current, you should be allowed to make that choice. I am honest to god ready to lie down and die. It’s not a cop out, it’s not a lazy choice, it’s a rational decision based on facts. I’m tired, I can’t do this any more, my kids are tired, they deserve better, my husband deserves and wants better. There is no miracle coming my way, I got no one and nothing going for me.

I’m going to dedicate a book that will never be published to a dead cat. I’m such a fucking winner.


laurazel said...

A cat is a living creature as much as we are, the sentient human beings.
To be so down for the loss of your beloved cat it's absolutely right... she wasn't an object, she was a cat.
Sometimes I think that animals are better than humans in so many ways, are only humans' victims most of the time but never NEVER inferior creatures...
So it's just to be so down for your cat, she was a part of the family.
About your personal issues...
I don't know you, at least not so much.
But I don't think your family is tired of you as you are saying. Please, vent out your sadness or tiredness or whatever, but never think to quit life for real.
Even if you say it's a rational thought, suicide is never rational.
Damn I'd love to say something worthy, but I can't really think at nothing concrete aside that it's not useful to be selfish because you'd hurt your beloveds.
I know, life is a shit especially if you've to fight every fucking day, but in that little corner of your brain you know that something good is still there, and makes life worth living till the natural end.

disturbedgraves said...

Ech, I'm not going anywhere at least until my kids are 18. There is absolutely no one who could or would take them. At the moment I don't even have a working car and with all the family living literally right next door I can't get a ride down the street to get milk, so it's highly doubtful anyone would be willing to take my kids were I to off myself. So as much as I'd like to, I'm pretty well stuck here. It doesn't make it any easier, doesn't make me look forward to waking up any more. It really is just a struggle every day to remind myself of that...I have to be here. I don't have a choice. The cat really is just one more thing. Losing my biological father, and then pretty much losing my mom, and all the drama with my family surrounding that because of her stroke, my dog dying, my stepfather dying, my husband calling for a divorce, and then calling it off because...he finally admitted he's manic depressive and needed medication, topped off with my mounting medical problems, the death of my husband's cat on his birthday and now the death of my cat...I think I'm entitled to a little bit of losing it. LOL. Don't you? 2008 just totally rocked, and 2009 is getting off to a bang up start. :)

amguynes said...

It's just so damned hard to keep going some days. You wish the world would stop, that the pain would stop, and that life would stop. Then you find something, some small spark, to remind you life is something you can occasionally enjoy. Like hearing my kids laugh. Some days that's the ONLY thing that gets me up and moving.

And losing a beloved pet is always hard. To others it might be just an animal, but to you that pet is a person.


(And I TOTALLY understand the whole "I'm 32 and I'm a nobody who went nowhere with her life" thought. I turn 32 this May and I have nothing to show for it other than a mound of bills, a husband and 4 kids, health problems and mental problems out the butt, and the constant fear of being yeah, I can definitely understand where you're coming from here.)