And screw Prednisone, the immune system it's suppressing, and the name given to my condition.
Sure, all this emotion is good for channeling into wicked art projects and the like that will give me much fame and praise later on in life, but for right now it just sucks. My metaphorical bucket of emotion is sloshing around and spilling onto everything. Every time I scoop some out in an attempt to keep it from overflowing I tear up. When I'm angry, I tear up. When I verbalize my emotions, I tear up.
I am tearing up
way too much.
I miss the summer. School takes up way too many hours of my life, and with all the crap in my life that I need to get in order, school is only hurting me. I'm incredibly bitter that I didn't get into middle college for this year. I know I sound like I'm whining, which in all honesty I am, but I would've been so much happier.
And I don't know how to approach the fellow sufferer. I thought texting would be a nice, indirect way to ease into it. But that went wrong somehow, technology-wise, and then when I explained the situation briefly to the MPU he started in on another talk about how the new generation sucked. It started with how we couldn't do anything directly, and then ended up at the Me-Generation rants. He had the balls to call
me selfish and compare my attitude with the girls he works with. I've been beyond self-sacrificing to the point of being a human doormat for so long in my life that now that I'm finally considering
my health and
my happiness, I'm nothing but selfish.
He criticized mom, too, which did not fly with me at
all. He said that she has no opinion at all, as if she's some little doll mother that just smiled and went along with whatever. Who forced her into the mold of Japanese housewife? She does have opinions, MPU, and most of them are directed negatively towards you. She was already timid growing up, and in the past twenty years instead of helping her become a strong, independent character you've just made her into a doormat with your overbearing attitude.
He doesn't have the right to act all high and mighty when he spent three years in a self-serving jobless haze sitting in front of the computer while the television played a foot away from him. He criticizes Americans for their arrogance, but his nationalism has blinded him to his own faults. He can't be anything other than perfect, no matter what he does, because he's
not American. Japanese don't act shameful, Babel was a lie. We are not human. We are perfection. He hasn't been to Japan in years, and when he did he didn't experience how the teenagers were. He hasn't seen JRockers in concert pelvic-thrusting into mics and making out with each other. Everyone's just as fucked as everyone else and he doesn't seem to realize that
he's human too.
His talk of all the wisdom from the years he's lived just make me want to laugh in his face. Or punch him. He's
still screwing up enough that I don't need to hear him speak. I can just look at his existence and learn from that. He doesn't seem to understand how shallow a creature he is. I don't really see anything as deep or profound, in myself or others. People like Royce are admirable, in a way, the way he believes so strongly in his religion. The closest thing I have are just images. Creation. The beauty of old, weathered paper and lace and all those pretty things in the world that haven't been mass-produced and bedazzled with rhinestones and glitter.
And it sucks that I can't tell him any of my opinions anymore, despite what I attempted after being hospitalized, because he
doesn't listen. Anything I say would just end with my in tears and him yelling (he blames his lack of English, but after awhile that excuse gets old. You're angry. You're yelling. Your lack of English skills doesn't just mean it's a volume issue. It just means that your emotions show easier.)
After sixteen years, I understand he has a lot of mental issues from all the shit he's dealt with growing up. I just
don't care anymore. He has pushed me to the point where, if I had the choice, I would completely shut him out from my life. He's already had one daughter he lost with his mistakes, and even though I have mountains full of patience compared to her he's forcing me to reach beyond what I can take.
And the steroids certainly aren't helping.
I keep thinking, "Two more years, and then I can escape. I can live in San Fransisco. I can be
happy." But who says I'll be able to afford to live there? I might be stuck here still. I'll be stuck in DeAnza until I can transfer out. I'll be stuck
here, unless I get a cheap apartment with a shitton of roommates near DeAnza.
I can't handle living with him. He's invasive and obnoxious and slow and arrogant and all of the traits that I can handle in isolation but together drive me completely
insane.
How many times has he made me cry? The last time college savings were brought up, as in our lack of them. I asked if we could start a college fund for me, now that the refinancing had gone through, and it was briefly mentioned how we never had any. Ever. I tried to keep it brief. He wanted to elaborate on how they thought they could just pay for it when the time came, how they thought things would go differently, and I kept cutting him off, saying I didn't want to talk about it. That it was over and done with. Let's not talk about it. And he
kept talking about it, and I kept telling him to stop talking about it. Mixed in were bits like, "Megumi felt betrayed when she had to financially support herself" "Except for the shitpoor kids I hang out with, everyone has some type of savings for college." but mostly it was "I don't want to talk about it." Because I knew that it wouldn't end up anywhere. It would just end with yelling and tears. His yelling, my attempts at yelling, and my fountain of tears.
Finally the car ride home was silent and I could collect myself in peace.
But then in the kitchen he approached
again. He just
can't let anything go. He accused me of thinking that it was all about me, and
he was a victim too goddammit. He didn't plan for any of this to happen. I didn't say that he wasn't a victim, or whatever, and I told him something along those lines. I wasn't telling him how to feel, I just said that
I felt bitter about it, and that I didn't want to talk about it because I would just end up crying. And after a pause, he said, "Well, tough." as if he didn't know what to say and spiteful was his default.
So I went upstairs and cried about it. Because even though he didn't plan for it to happen, whether "it" was his unemployment or our debt or the fact that none of them ever made a financial plan for their children, the fact was that he still fucked up alot and he's refusing to take responsibility for anything. His life is already done and over with. He has his career and his house and his collection of karate magazines. I have a future that's fucked because the first dozen or so stepping stones to a stable career are made of cardboard and tissue paper. They don't even have the funds to spring for plywood.
If he ever finds this and reads this, he'll probably get angry. Hopefully he'll at least wonder why the whole world is against him, boo hoo, instead of just writing himself off as a victim to the corrupt American society.
I hate steroids.
