You know, I’ve been feeling a tad down lately. So I’m dealing with it the way any a 21 year old in the current century would: Eating carbs (I have no chocolate at the mo), listening to show tunes and complaining about my current issues on the internet. I love this decade!
Why so sad Chick? Well, I’ve lived in the supported care environment my dad mentioned in his blog recently for about 4 and a half months now and for the most part it’s great. The staff is kind and I’ve even become friends with a few of them. My writing career is going swimmingly with my first book probably coming out by the end of the month on Smashwords.com. I tried going the traditional route with publishing but Harlequin rejected my manuscript,-cough- jerks -cough-, so I decided to self published. It’s a smutty vampire romance called Blood Lust and it’ll only be $1.99! Anyway, even with my dream career falling into place and the sweet taste of freedom still fresh in my mouth I have one major issue. You see, I’m the only one like me. Most of the people here can be divided into three categories: 1. not at my cognitive level. 2. Too old for me to relate to/ form a real friendship with or 3. Total jerks who hate their lives and EVERYBODY ELSE. Most of the time one person falls into at least 2 categories at once. There was one woman here who I thought I could be friends with but it not so quickly became clear to me that she was friends with my debit card, not me. I have made friends with one woman here, who I will call T here because I don’t know how she’d feel about me using her name. T is basically the coolest person ever. She is old enough to be my mom but she doesn’t act it and has CP like me. When I first got here T took me under her wing and we’ve been “Double Trouble” ever since. In fact we only fight about two things. 1. Who the princess is (She has the flag and signs but I have the tiara, I think I win.) 2. Who has James Marsters (Spike from Buffy) as a fantasy boyfriend (Joan labelled my poster of him “Vicky’s boyfriend.” So again, I winJ). Fun side note: When I showed T my poster of him for the first time she said “Holy hunka hunka burnin’ love! Come ta Mama!” A perfectly rational response when the dude looks like this…
Sorry, distracted by six-packs. Anyway, even though I have her around I find the minute a venture into the hallway here I am struck with reality, and it’s a bitch. I see people who unlike me are trapped in their own bodies because they can’t communicate either because they lack the muscle control to do so or because they are too lost in their own minds to do so. I’ve seen people so hardened by whatever put them here that they give up. I’ve overheard people confess that they want to die. Sometimes I just want to weep, not for me but for them because it seems like the only thing I can do for them. I know it won’t solve a damn thing but at least I’d be doing something! I know that doesn’t make sense to anyone but me, hell, it barely makes sense to me but there you have it. I do what I can, say hi to people who don’t get spoken to, compliment people on clothing ect. But that doesn’t fix the issues they have, it doesn’t even put a fucking Band Aid on them.
So you see, it’s not me I feel sad about. Since moving here I have realized how incredibly blessed I am. I want for nothing and my family actually wants me in their lives, which is more than some of the people here can say. No, my issue that I’m a fixer, not in everyday problems; I can’t do that worth shit, right Joanie? 🙂 I mean if somebody’s sad I cheer them up. Come skipping in in my Barbie pink dresses, my chipper smile and a witty yet cheesy joke and VOLA! All better.
I’m afraid I can’t fix this this time , and that sucks.