And it's making my life suck - and not in a good way.
It's been a long hard slog through the last year - coming to terms with my family, leaving behind my home, my friends and my community - and waiting. Oh, the waiting. Waiting to see if I can get more than cursory help. Waiting to see if I can go home. Waiting to see if I can get the resources I need to get back on my feet and get back home.
And while in some ways I have had improvements - things with my family are better than they have been the last 20+ years in many ways, my friends have maintained contact across the miles and watched out for my boat, I got a proper diagnosis and meds that sort of work - the waiting and the being away for so long has really dragged me down.
Now I find myself in the deep pit again. Where the walls close in around you and there doesn't seem to be a way to get out. I just have to hang on and see what happens with the court and the judge - and that largely determines whether or not I get my life back - and it's scary to know that your fate is going to be determined by a stranger looking at records you're not allowed to see.
But there's more to it than that. It's more than the cats peeing outside my door, or the car not working right, or the struggle with my weight. It's an all encompassing sense that nothing matters. That I will never leave this swamp of a state with its backwards values and weird customs. That I will never see my home again. That I will spend the rest of my life alone in my room, an invalid - unable to receive the care needed to get back into the real world because all I am eligible for is the poor clinic and maintenance care, though I am grateful I get that.
I'm still paranoid. I still can't go outside and feel like I'm not wearing a target on my back in this neighbourhood - and it's not bad or dangerous, just not friendly to Jews and liberals. Or Jews who are liberals. I live in the house with the Gadsen flag and the feral cat colony - where there are more guns than people or cats stashed willy nilly about the place. You just don't open drawers or decorative boxes here - they have loaded guns in them. But I don't feel safer for it - and I know how to handle a gun.
Even poor Nigel knows something is wrong, he's constantly checking on me, making sure I'm ok - snuggling up to me when I'm not - which is most of the time. He's ready to go home too. Another cat has been snuck into the house from the colony outside - and it's getting along with anyone - so everyone is acting out.
My parents constantly fight about the cats. ColCatLady wants more, to put up walkways and cat furniture on the walls and ceilings - Mum wants her house back. She's tired of being held hostage, a servant to clean up after their messes and filth. I just stay in my room to avoid saying anything and making it worse.
The music is back. While it might seem cool to go through life with a soundtrack - it's not. It's distracting and disturbing. The birds scream and shout at me. The heat is oppressive - ColCatLady is super sensitive to cold, so the furnace is up to 9000, and even with the vent blocked and the window open I struggle to stay cool. All the little things add up - and I'm depressed.