Standard Issue Sad White Male

Her first few days with us she lived in my bathroom. My parents going in to give her the antibiotics all strays get. No fleas. We expanded her romping to the basement. We had picture frames leaning against walls and she would crawl under those and make the most pathetic hissing. She was adorable. I miss her so much right now. I’m journaling her to keep the memories fresh.

It took awhile for her to warm up to us and be house broken. She took a shit on the red coach, earning another nickname “the shitten” but eventually she gave all the cat green flags. Blink at you. Headbutt you. Pur the second she sees you. She loves to go on the deck. She loved looking outside. She loved our older Cat Huckabee, Bucky. She preferred dry cat nip to the fresh stuff. Temptations treats to wet food.

She would make mating calls when we first got her: brrr roa. Brrr roa. I loved this cat. 36 hours ago I lost her and writing has been the best I’ve felt about it. I feel guilty. Should have gotten her to a vet way way sooner. At least two weeks ago I noticed her losing weight. And a few days before I saw her gagging. She had labored breathing at least 36 hours before we tried to get her to a vet. I hope it was something we couldn’t fix but I’ll always blame myself. That’s because I loved her. I want another cat just like her. More than Bucky. More than Humphrey. I want Nettles again!

I love having videos of her. I can hear her purr. Watch her wrestle. Watch her prance. Her giant bottle brush and tiny head. I’d give anything to squeeze her again.

She’d be at my feet and I’d say “I’m not picking you up” and just pet away! Then other times I’d scoop her right into my arms. Who’s a good kitty?!?!?!

I love you nettles please forgive me.

She was hiding in my room a lot at the end. I need to take comfort in that. I was her safe space. She trusted me. I was her favorite. And she was my favorite.

Goodbye Nettles! I have more stories to tell. I will think about you everyday of my life. You taught me how to love when I was so damaged. You showed up at one of my lowest points, survived Covid with me and saw me now when I’ve never been stronger.

I’ll miss you forever. Please squeeze your pets for me. Once a day per animal tell them that sweet lie “I’m not picking you up” and then WHAM squeeze squeeze squeeze.

“Chicken!” Smash him with a steel chair.

“Tenders!” Jump off the turnbuckle landing my elbow right into his jaw.

I’m taking about using necrotic magic to revive him and do it all over again.

End of scene; I’ve recruited the goons and we now commit crimes against humanity at any entity selling boneless wings.

But!

I meet another crusader who is more extreme. “How dare you call that filth tenders! Those are but nuggets”

The man smacks me again. My chair tumbles, the ropes digging into the raw flesh of my body. My resolve is only strengthened. I know what I saw.

The other goons lift me up, none of them notice the splintered wood. My hands are free. The man is inches from my face. He points at sign on the wall it reads “Monday and Wednesday endless boneless wings only and Buffalo Wild Wings”

“What. Does. The sign. Say?” His spittle mixes with mine. I smell the honey habanero sauce on his breath.

But for me being so damn passive is my curse. I used to blame my intelligence; ability to know and see things from multiple perspectives may not always make life better.

Tonight specifically: I never got my food I ordered, Whatever I’ll pay for it. Oh there’s someone I was almost friends with in high school, nah I don’t want to say hi. I’m exceptionally lonely (and hungry but that passes) and I still don’t try to say hello. Some of it is a power dynamic; me in my moms basement totally loser failure etc, them a doctor. (I’m technically a doctor ftr)

I know it’s all anxiety. I say hello then I’m explaining my last 10 years of my life. “Why yes I have a genius IQ and have lied to my entire family. Of course I take a sick sense of enjoyment that I fooled these people. I’ll have you know one of them was my demented father whom I felt incredibly shame and guilt towards and for. How many children did you save in the OR today?” Never say hello, never have to answer the question. People hate to here someone down on themselves so I have to lie and cover up. I’ve been covering up most my life.

…

I need real therapy, my grief counselor is wonderful and I’ve thought of them during one of my episodes of panic, but I need more. Probably weekly therapy. I’m taking saint John’s wort because I can afford real health coverage. I’ve always wondered if I need antipsychotics.

But I did make a breakthrough on me: almost all of my unhappiness and stress about the past originates from a simple truth: “Moe does not think he deserves any happiness. He thinks he’s a piece of garbage that has been missed by the sanitation department.”

I feel like less of a piece of shit. I feel less panicky as well. But I feel a little scared over the exam. I need to study a lot but some of the factual knowledge never left my underachieving brain. My test taking skills use to be insane, just got to hone that over the next few weeks.

I’ve made my workouts a little more vigorous, adding in body weight stuff between lifts. I’ve stuck to a regimen for the last two weeks and that I’ve recorded my workouts as detailed as possible. The documenting adds some accomplishment. My body is slowly gaining tone. I’m told conventional people like to document. Idk if that was an archeological, anthropological, or psychological concept. I may have made it up.

I need to walk more. I like to walk 4+ miles a day on hills. I like watching peoples dogs and gardens. Plus there’s 4 out door cats I can pet and approach. 1 ginger. 2 tuxedos and a tabby. The tabby has this really cute collar that says “if I am on x,y, or z streets I am not lost!!”

Still no progress on me actually graduating. Anytime someone tries to motivate I feel the need to further entrench myself. I’m combating years of thinking I’m not going anywhere. Years of thinking about self harm and suicide. Losing my father in that awful slow way sapped my willpower. I never valued life much before. and during that episode… I just wanted the suffering to stop for everyone.

I read a few articles on NSSI and that helped calm me some. Knowing other people have self harmed to try and combat extreme emotions helped me feel like I wasn’t a freak. I know that if I was teleported into someone’s life who was self harming I’d be rush with empathy. Idk if I could help them. I’d just want them to hear “I understand you, this person doesn’t not think you’re a freak. We all have a value. We have to find it ourselves, which is the hard part, but it can be found. Your crisis is shitty. There are ways to deal with it”

Now my fathers at peace but I still suffer. Maybe baseline suffering maybe, maybe a little less. I’m more at peace with my failed romances at least. Idk why I was so afraid of being alone as a kid. Everyone is alone to some extent. Just like every family is dysfunctional.

Yesterday was Father’s Day, first without mine.

I miss him more on some days than on others. Yesterday I missed him.

And with dementia, he’s been gone for more than 6 months. Maybe as long as two years, so I’ve missed him for more than that.

But there were moments.

About this time last year I had Covid, and was isolating in the basement. Dad was still in the house, rarely talking, sometimes a quiet scary statue. Sometimes he laughed and the world made more sense. But I could tell he wanted to check up on me. He wanted to help his sick son. The look in his face, in his blue eyes, was fucking perfect. If he could have said “moe how are you feeling” in his calm voice, you’d never know he was a broken man.

Its too heartwarming. A disease ridden man still caring for his son. Even if all he could do was show that he gave a damn.

Dad I’m glad you loved me. I’m glad you taught me to be kind. To listen, to an intelligent man listening first is like a superpower. I know you didn’t want me to be a shy anxious loser that I’ve become, but I’m getting better and better at releasing my frustrations to the wind.

I think this is why I’m sad. Or because I’m too lazy to take my board exams.

I guess I did some math on all my problems. The only common variable was me. My body my person was the issue. I must be defective, thus I deserve nolove (which should be a word).

I realize now that’s a very Christian perspective on life. We believe one who has suffered to have the high moral position. I needed something to stand on. I don’t even believe in anything. I hardly believe in free will. Yet I cannot escape this dichotomy.

I was trying my best.

Whenever I think about being called fat. Whenever I remember that they wrote a song about me. Whenever I remember how afraid I was to tell her that her bf was cheating on her with an underaged woman. Or when I was told I was rotting at home. You are loveable moe.

Or when I was cutting myself to the sound of my roommate fucking the brains out of the only woman I’ve ever slept with. “Well I could of been fucking her way closer to you guys breaking up so there’s that”

I didn’t have the strength to answer IRL so this is that:

“I don’t have a purpose anymore. I feel sadder than I’ve ever felt, worse than when I was bullied, worse than when I was cutting myself.” I haven’t smoked pot in 39 days so at least that’s going for me. I continue to lie and deny about progress towards graduating three years since I actually should have graduated. I miss my father. I miss him when I was young. I miss him when he was in diapers. I miss when he was confused and could barely walk but for the briefest of moments he’d laugh. I saw so much of him when he wasn’t there. When he wasn’t whole. I think he finally saw my sadness in his decline. He saw and felt it. Maybe he understood my depression. Maybe he understood why I never told them about it. “Your word is OK moe. Everything is always ok with you”

I’m not ok dad, and I never was; but I hope you are. I miss you a lot. I hope you’re in a place where you can go fishing with your dad. I hope I don’t see you anytime soon. I’m glad you’re not seeing me at my lowest. I love and loved you.