Living in a perpetual state of discomfort has got to be one of the most inconvenient things known to man. I don't mind feeling uncomfortable, I can't remember a time in my life where I was completely comfortable. But, having to do tasks and run errands while in said state of discomfort is not convenient in the slightest. I'm unsure of whether or not cleaning up your mother's vomit off of the floor at 11 in the morning is considered an errand or a task, if so, it couldn't possibly be a conventional or common one. She came back home in the middle of the night, drunk and angry. Fortunately, she passed out before she was able to take her anger out on anything or anyone (though, I'm the only option, really). Unfortunately, she managed to throw up an unnatural amount of vomit before passing out. Vomit which I am now cleaning up. It's one of the hardest substances to clean off of a floor, I even prefer cleaning up blood compared to this. I still don't know where she's been all this time, I really don't have an interest in knowing despite my anxieties rising as the days went by. Now that she's back and not dead, I'm disinterested. I really want nothing to do with her, I've never wanted anything to do with her but something in the back of my head has always made me stay with her, take care of her. She is my mother, I suppose. Maybe it's just natural instincts. I still haven't heard from or seen Richard and I assume neither has she. I'm secretly relieved he hasn't shown up yet. He's a terrible person and things are good when he's not here. As good as they can get in this house. I used to think the house was haunted when I was a young kid, I think that was the only way my child-mind could rationalize the all-encompassing, absolutely intrinsic terribleness that this house had and still has. It's never been a home, I've never been safe here. It took me a long time to even completely understand what the feeling of safety and security even was. I'm still not completely convinced I know the feeling. This house is all I've ever known so maybe I really don't understand feeling safe. I know that people have the ability to make you feel safe, I know that's what mothers are supposed to be for. I've always been somewhat bitter that I never had a mother who made me feel safe, if anything, it's always been me keeping her safe. Ever since I was a child, I've been taking care of her. She could trust me to take care of her. This was one of the realizations I came to, at about 15. It probably should have been obvious when it's all I've known for my entire life but realizing that I have no one and that I've never had anyone hurts. Re-realizing it, again and again, hurts just as much, every time. They always tell you to go to a trusted adult with your problems or thoughts but I don't think I can recount a time in my life where I had a trusted adult. It seems silly because I already know my mother is horrible but realizing that I've never had the so-called 'trusted adult' in my life was kind of crushing. I wish my younger self had someone to go to. Sometimes I even wish my current self had someone to go to. And every now and then, though it's very rare when I hope it, I really hope that my future self, that they have someone to go to. I don't really understand why the trusted adult realization hurt me so much, that being said I don't really understand anything about myself or my mind. I guess it just never fails to break my heart (though, I'll never admit that outwardly, probably not even to myself) remembering how miserable of a child I was. No matter how much of my childhood my brain blocks out, I don't think I can forget how sad I've always been. I don't even realize it, I always tell myself that this gut-wrenching sadness that has become my normal is something out of the blue, something new, but I think it's always been this way. Maybe it was easier as a kid because I couldn't understand the circumstances. Maybe it was stupid of me to be upset over not having a trusted adult in my life. There are rarely any adults that you should trust anyway. But, then again, maybe it was the principle of it. Maybe it hurts because the trusted adult in my life should have been my mother but she's probably one of the people I trust the least. I don't know. I wish she had been there for me. I wish she had at least wanted me. I wish someone wanted me now. I can never figure out my emotions, they just sort of pile up until they overflow and this type of thing happens, this type of thinking. Spiralling. I wish I knew how to prevent it. I don't think I would complain if I didn't have to feel any emotion for the rest of my life. It would probably make things easier. I probably wouldn't complain if I just dropped dead right now either though. I guess it's just overwhelming realizing that you've never really had a parental figure in your life. Teachers have always ended up terrible, parents have always been horrible (even when you didn't know it), and any other adult was always on their side so it didn't matter anyway. I've never really had friends that I could go to, that I could trust. And I don't think that if I had had any friends, it would be the same as a mother or guardian. I remember making a friend one time in my life. It was the seventh grade, I had decided to take somewhat of a vow of silence that year. The details surrounding why I chose to not speak for 10 months are still unknown to me, I don't think I ever knew why I did it. But I remember we had welcomed a foreign exchange student that year and the rest of the class had quickly shunned him as they had with me. I can't quite remember but I think that they weren't very fond of his accent. He decided that he would just hang around me for the remainder of his stay. I was confused and annoyed by this at first but I came around eventually, I even ended up enjoying his company. And although I didn't talk, he definitely had a lot to say. And I would sit and listen. I remember thinking that he was very sad like me and I remember wondering if all friendships are just one and another person telling each other it'll be okay despite both knowing it won't be. Maybe that's just what friendship is. I'm still as clueless as I was in the seventh grade. I never did have enough experience to really decide what friendship means but it's something I've pondered quite a bit. I still sometimes think about my unexpected friendship from the seventh grade, at the time I didn't realize but I think the friendship was quite the confidence boost, I was no longer completely unlovable or unlikeable because this strange boy from across the world had taken a liking to me. I also still sometimes think about my 15-year-old self, I think about the realization he came to and how soul-crushing it was, how it had caused him to spiral (in his own way). I sometimes still wonder if it's too late to find a 'trusted adult'. I feel like it is. I technically am an adult now, which is strange-feeling, so I guess I'm my own trusted adult, though I don't think I really trust myself. I'm just on my own. At least I don't have to get used to that feeling. It's really not fair, all of this. It's not fair but if I spent all day thinking about the unfair and the unjust in the world, I wouldn't be able to get out of bed and I'm the only one who does anything around this house so I need to get out of bed. Sometimes I think about not getting out of bed. What if I stayed in bed and slept and slept and didn't get up. It's a nice thought, I could really use the extra sleep. But, if I didn't get out of bed, who would pay the rent? Who would wash the dishes and stock the fridge with food? Who would fill the car with gas? Who would make sure mom's not dead? I have too many responsibilities to just not get out of bed. I don't particularly even mind responsibilities, I've had to become quite the responsible person so I may as well put the skill to use, I just wish some of these responsibilities were my own. I'm just doing the things that my mother should be. I've never had to take care of anything of my own. I've thought about getting a pet, a cat maybe, but it would be too much to deal with. Plus, I never know how my mother will react to new things. I wouldn't want another living being to suffer at her hands. I know that I've suffered enough to not want that. I have too many responsibilities to just not get out of bed because I am the trusted adult.
She's sicker than I thought. It's been almost three days since she came back home and she's spent them all in bed, locked up in her room. I've come up with milk and tea and sandwiches but she refuses to eat or drink. I'm strangely worried. She hasn't been this way since I was a kid, years ago. A dreadful sort of nostalgia fills inside of me every time I look at her. Richard has yet to be found and I doubt he'd care about her wellbeing even if he was here. I could still definitely use the help, though. Taking care of a drunken adult is like taking care of a sick puppy or toddler, but worse because adults shouldn't be as helpless as toddlers and puppies. It's just as hard, if not more, taking care of drunken adults, though. I'm exhausted. I hate looking into my mom's face, I haven't noticed how old she's gotten. She looks so tired. A part of me feels bad for her and another part of me hates her. Being the child of a narcissistic addict can be quite conflicting. I can't describe the feeling I get, it's indescribable. I just know that I want to crawl out of my skin and never be seen again every time I look at her. She's just a walking reminder of all the terrible things that have happened. All the things I want nothing more than to forget. I hate that she still has some sort of power over me, I guess it makes sense since she's my mother and I'm her son but I still hate it. She makes me feel like a horrid, vapid person. Like it's all my fault. I know that I didn't ask for any of this, who would? But I still sometimes can't help but feel like I could do more to stop my mistreatment. Or maybe I'm just entitled and not mistreated. I can never tell. It's one of those internal battles that will never be won. I hate feeling anything at all. Maybe because the majority of the time, if I feel anything at all, it's never good. It's usually anxiety or anger or doubt. And, occasionally, sadness. Sadness that is so overwhelming it feels like I'll stop breathing at any moment. Like someone's holding my head down underwater and soon enough I'll pass out and die. I hate that feeling the most. I hate it more than the anxiety, anger, and doubt. It's worse than all three combined. The worst part about feelings is you don't realize how bad it is to feel until you're back in that state of mind, feeling. When I'm numb, I don't remember how horrible sadness is but when I'm sad, it feels like the world could end at any moment. Sometimes I think it would be better if the world did just end already.
I decided that it was about time for me to get out of the house already. It's been a week now since mom got home and she'd been starting to get better by the fifth or sixth day that she was in bed. By the seventh day, she finally accepted the food and tea I had made for her and she made sure to tell me to fuck off. I didn't take it too personally because I was relieved that she wasn't seriously ill but I did decide to do as she said and fuck off. The day after this occurred, I got up extra early and I walked to the only bus terminal in town and bought myself a ticket for the city. With a backpack of basic necessities (water, snacks, a notebook, and a pen), I boarded the bus. I could've driven, but I wanted to watch the sky and the trees go by. I love watching everything pass by me, I love drives. I wanted to relax, really. Taking care of mom was very tiring and I haven't done anything like this, go out, in much too long. It worked, possibly too well, though, because I am now stranded two towns away. I fell asleep on the bus and was awoken by the driver once we reached the final stop. Unfortunately for me, the bus terminal in this city just closed for the day. The sun should set in about 3 or so hours so I have to wait to take a night bus home. That's 3 hours to kill in a city I've never been to before. I suppose that was the plan all along, I'm just a bit farther from home than I originally anticipated which is a bit anxiety-inducing, I will admit. But maybe this is what I need. A break, something unexpected, unplanned for. I sometimes curse myself for being a very fastidious person. Though it's a quality that's always done me well in academia and employment, it hasn't been especially beneficial in any other situation. In actuality, I've found it to be a bit inconvenient. Being very attentive to and concerned about accuracy and detail can quickly turn into having a sense of dread, or fearing the worst, feeling like the world is simultaneously speeding up and slowing down. Fastidiousness can quickly form into terrible anxiety. It's something that has definitely kept me awake and staring at the ceiling many nights. I think today I'm going to let my guard down. It's probably not a good idea. But I'm here and I'm going to stay here for at least three hours and I really am not fond of the idea of spending those three hours writhing in my skin from anxiety. So I'm going to let my guard down. I'm deciding it now. I finally begin to walk away from the bus terminal. I go towards the road, it's empty and there's nothing but trees and grass around, similar to home which is a bit disappointing. I'll have to find some locals and ask them where to go. I begin to walk down the road. There's no sidewalk so I stay close to the grass and try not to get hit by the few oncoming cars.
