2/16/2023

On Wednesday the yentas were yapping about that girl who was bullied into committing suicide yet again and they just would not fucking stop. Ten or fifteen minutes they'd go on with rumors about the poor kid, pause, then get started up again about, "Well if that was MY kid...", with sidebars of, "You know one of the girls accused of bullying her lives on my street."
I messaged the operations manager, mentioned how their loud and continued conversation on the topic was making me uncomfortable while giving a suggestion to keep their yammering on the messaging system. Thankfully the manager said she'd ask them to not talk about the topic. For the rest of the day all I heard were them calling for vendors and coordinating service for various locations.

This is stressful for me considering I was contacting a woman in management about women discussing what seems to be an exclusively female subject. For those of you playing along at home I have a fraught relationship with women, starting with my biological mother and going from there. Grateful the aforementioned manager was preoccupied with some oaf, then distracted when another manager stopped by to discuss something related to the company.
I know if I got up after those two left, these yentas would realize "Oh it's him who complained about us. What's there to complain about? We're just women having a chat. Fucking creep. Why is he listening to us anyway?"
For the rest of the day at work I was Monday-morning quarterbacking about what could've happened if I went in to complain. Fearing the manager would question me about "my problem" with women, pricking my balloon full of emotional diarrhea, and everything inappropriate for work concerning my life would spill out to reveal what a broken hot mess I am deep down inside. From there the situation escalated where I was telling myself, "Women get away with murder. Men are always to blame, but especially you.

My sister leaves ketchup-stained dishes on the table. My biologial mother would scream at me, I'd say it's not mine and point how that I will never touch ketchup, only to get slapped and yelled at to clean it up anyway because "I. Told. You. So." My sister attacking me, digging her fingernails into my forearms, drawing blood, but if I dared to fight back in any fashion all of a sudden I'm the vicious monster. That rotten cunt of a bitch who is my biological mother still haunts my life even though she and my biological father are dead to me. I'm constantly flinching around women.
What's worse is sometime last week I felt like I could offer something to a conversation at work with one of the yentas and she sharply inhaled out of fear because I addressed her. I wasn't being aggressive, I was speaking with an 'inside voice', but that demonstration of surprise made my heart fall and begin a cycle of beating myself up over being a large man with a potentially threatening mien. From there were the voices saying, again, "Your mother was hard on you because she knew you were going to be a monster. And you proved it when you had the unmitigated gall to defend yourself. Except you weren't defending yourself, you were just being an angry little boy with a chip on his shoulder and beating up someone smaller because it's easy."
Making matters worse at work, the little wizened alcoholic veteran (who happens to be a woman) is still there. Fortunately I don't need to be anywhere near here thanks to sheer luck. For a year I sat across from her listening to her grunt, complain, and moan while drumming her fingers. Every now and again she'd yell, "HE'S DOING IT AGAIN" when I'd make a mistake while dispatching or distributing documents to the coordinators.
Literally yell.
But I still have to interact with her because I don't have a fob to let myself into the office, so she usually winds up being the person getting the door when I hit the buzzer in the morning. Not to mention she acts like I'm going to strike her if we happen to pass inside the office which just fucking kills my mood and kickstarts me beating myself up.
Again.

Compounding the situation are the expectations of a man. Strong, self-reliant, emotionless, and I constantly feel like I fall short in those categories making myself into a mockery and undeserving of love.

And here I am, living in the hood, unable to see a future, and scourging myself with words and thoughts without giving a safeword. I just want someone to hear me, to validate me, and maybe distract myself from being impaled on a thorn like a bug caught by a shrike.

Worse, I think of myself as being the child being tortured in a dark pit as the sole sacrifice to ensure the utopia of Omelas. But now with the United States of America being in seeming dire straits and a future becoming increasingly uncertain, I feel like I'm torturing myself even more because I'm not feeling enough pain to save everyone else.

Leah has urged me to get on psychiatric drugs.
I refuse.
Citalopram and escitalopram only made me fat and impotent.
I honestly believe my wallowing in pain can be fixed by drugs. This is something ingrained in me by people and the world, not some chemical imbalance. I'd just continue hating myself but I'd probably feel better about it.