runouw.com

I've been quiet about all this for a long time, but it has to come out somehow.

You all heard from me that Alisha died. You know she was my online friend since 2008, and her suicide hit me hard. One problem is that while you and everyone I've spoken with online understand what's eating me, people offline like my family treat her like she was just this person I never really knew.

♥♥♥♥. That is total ♥♥♥♥. I knew Alisha when we were both socially awkward dweebs obsessed with Neopets. I was the one she came clear to among one other person that she was anorexic. I was the one who spent months talking her out of abusing Tylenol and OTC pills. I spent years talking to her, treating her as my sister, because she was the only thing important to me at the darkest points in my life. She wasn't just a girl, she was my beat friend, and I loved the hell out of her.

Between that and not being there the week she killed herself to talk to her, I've felt like I was the one responsible for enabling her delusions, the ones she kept so secret from me. No one gets how hard its hit me over those first few months to know her fictitious husband was the sole result of a role play between us. That husband was my character that I let her have for years. Her mom doesn't know, she can't know, she's already feeling like she didn't do enough. And I still haven't found the god damn crackhead that convinced her online into doing spice and tabs.(Stg he better enjoy that anonymity of his).

So that's part of my recurring depressive episodes already, since June. Lets add no employment, because no one wants to hire some freelance digital artist without a degree. And I'm already getting shot for still staying with my parents and not having income. So what to do? Get a degree? I need the money for that, you know, and how the hell do I find the 600 to afford two courses a semester, not counting books and supplies?

And on top of that, I'm pretty much the paternal role model for my nephew, spawn of a narcissist that gave me enough ♥♥♥♥ growing up. I'm expected to run and do "little boy things" on a ♥♥♥♥ up knee and ankle, watch him while three adults are lounging watching TV, and take the blame for anything that goes wrong. Not counting I still get ♥♥♥♥ on for not acting masculine enough. That certainly doesn't help my already dysphoric and barely held together psyche, let alone the mountain of stress on my back.

And to top it off? My dog, the only friend I have physically, may find a new home, because my mom went bipolar again after he threw up on the chair from being too hot. Because no one seems to follow through my requests to heed my training for him and insists I don't do anything to stop the barking(stop antagonizing him god damn it).

I know this is a rant more than anything, but jesus ♥♥♥♥ christ, do I have to start doing drugs or going emo before people care to ask me what's wrong. You're my family, act like it for ♥♥♥♥'s sake, you already pretty much let me go.