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I moved in with my parents because I needed help and I needed to get out of the constant survival mode living of poverty with mental illness that is the way it is in America.

And I am getting to see a doctor once a month, and getting meds, and I have a room and food and internet and all the comforts of "middle class" America... but I'm not getting any better.

This is just an update and a chance for me to vent about how things are. I'm not asking for anything other than maybe someone to listen.

I'm exhausted most of the time.  I sleep rarely more than 3 - 4 hours at a time.  So I'm up right now, will crash a couple hours and be up at dawn again for a few more - then crash again... I haven't gotten a full "night" of sleep since I got here.

My Mum uses my OCD as a way to get out of housework.  She just leaves a trail of garbage behind her everywhere she goes in the house.  Then they get mad I never come out of my room - I do - as soon as they aren't home I come out and clean.  As soon as she comes back from work - it's a disaster.  From the time she gets off work - it's like living with Pigpen.

Her purse and keys and whatever she might be holding gets spread out over the kitchen, dining area and living room.  Then she starts to make dinner - she never puts anything away after she uses it, just puts it down wherever.  I've tried making dinner for them - they don't like my food, it's too exotic for them, or hard to measure - she is supposed to be on a diet - or both. Not that she actually measures anything or even goes to Weight Watchers anymore - she just pretends she's on a diet. And has had two stomach procedures.

I usually eat in my room because I can't stand the constant FOX noise in the living room - they are both somewhat hard of hearing now - I can hear that shit all the way into my room as it is.  IF the dishes make it into the kitchen or the sink - Col Catlady brought them in, she will just leave them in the living room.  If she "cleans" after dinner - she moved the pots, pans, etc. over by the sink and put a few things back in the fridge before she decided to do something else.  Because she knows I will clean it up - because I can't cook until the kitchen is clean.  Or I will clean it up at night when she is reading and sneaking food in the living room because Col CatLady is drunk and passing out by 9pm.  I have to hide my snacks in my room or she eats them.

So when I get up and need to eat something for breakfast - I have to clean up from dinner, their breakfasts and possibly lunch as well - depending on when I managed to sleep and get up again.  I've seen commercial kitchens after a rush less messy than ours.  So I clean.  I have to.  

Then there are the cats - there is a litter box just outside my door because I don't like stepping in shit and piss every morning.  I wear slippers inside - I will NOT walk around barefoot in this house.  Between the litter and the "accidents" - which are not accidents, but aggressive behaviour from one cat - and the general hairy filth - I just can't.  They do.  Our whole house smells like a cat box, no one comes over any more - not even their friends.

So I clean.  I clean the box, I sweep the floor, I clean the kitchen.  I straighten out the living room and vacuum when Col CatLady isn't sitting there getting drunk and shouting at FOX in agreement, which is how he spends most afternoons. I sort the wash that's piling up and pouring out the laundry room door and wash as needed.  The door can't be left open because the cats piss in the laundry, but Mum just leaves it open.  She leaves everything open.  Cabinets, the fridge... dressings, ingredients... she just doesn't close things.

So I clean the kitchen twice a day and the living room twice a week - I won't do it when Col CatLady is home because he gets in my way and uses it as time to rant at me about Teapublican rubbish.  And the rest of the time, excluding my tae kwon do class once a week, or the occasional run to the store to restock my snacks - I spend in my room.

I'm tired.  Between the cleaning, FOX and the isolation - I'm just tired.  I sleep a lot.  I don't have the concentration to read anymore - the last time I went to the library I got through one book in two weeks.  Normally I can do one a day.  I can't concentrate on Korean. I don't even keep up with the websites I used to like anymore.

I have to fend off her constant questions of "what is wrong with you?" with "I don't feel good."  Because I don't.  She's a disgusting mess maker.  She lets things rot in the fridge, on the counters... because she doesn't put things away properly, or rotate, or check the dates.  Col CatLady putters around, drinks and absorbs the FOX noise and does his little whatever he does.

I'm afraid to go outside.  The neighbour behind us blasts music all day - he's the uncle of the local judge, so no noise complaint ever goes anywhere.  The kids in the neighbourhood shoot their BB guns at pets, cars and people they don't recognise. There is a crawfish restaurant (seasonal - it's the season right now) at the end of our street that fills the air with the smell of rotting shellfish.  But mostly I'm just afraid of being shot.

I updated info with Social Security for my Disability applications - I still have no idea what will happen with that and expect at least another 4 - 6 weeks before I hear anything.  I get a small allowance so I can buy my own ecig tips and put gas in my car - but I've only used half a tank since I came back from Bossier City visiting a friend from Dallas.  I have a friend in Arkansas who is going to invite me for Shabbos some time - but we're not sure when.  And I wait.

I have another appointment this month. I will get more meds.  I have no idea when we will start actually getting into solutions rather than cataloging all the things wrong with me - or how often I will get therapy.  I wonder if Bobby Jindal and his hatred of poor people will keep me from getting the help I need - because I rely on the services he wants to destroy.

My "sailing partner" is aware of why I am down here - and treats it like it's just a vacation.  I told her we may very well not be sailing away this summer - I may not even be able to come back to Oregon by then - she simply refuses to acknowledge it and keeps making plans we can't afford - telling her friends how we are leaving in July or August.  She assumes that money will be wished into existence or we can crowd source our trip at the last moment.  

I just want to go home.  I have friends in Astoria.  Actual human beings who come to my boat and hang out. I walked everywhere, unafraid of being shot. I had a medical doctor I trusted who treated me like a person and a Social Security office that wasn't gross or hateful.  I could drive to Portland and back for therapy in my car with the allowance my parents give me now - they pay all my small bills as it is. I could keep kosher again. I could work on my boat.  I could sleep.  I'm tired of being a house elf and being tired.

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