Milestones

I just don’t care anymore.  I know I should care, but I don’t.   No, wait, maybe that’s wrong.   Or maybe it’s like a callus.  The skin on our bodies that toughens with exercise or use.  Like a drummer or a gymnasts’ hands.  You know?   When I was in the ALC, the first three times my friends died, I cried, but after 60 deaths of old people, I calloused, because if I didn’t, it would be like my heart going through a shredder.  

     And that’s why I don’t get close.   Don’t get close to anything or anyone.   I’ll be robbed, they’ll die, it’ll be taken away as a punishment.   The shrink has to share whatever I say with the LG (not the tech company).   Do every scam I can get out of it.   Free books on tapes, $1 rides to anywhere, but have to call 2 weeks in advanced.  EBT (free food), free rent, free healthcare.  Sounds great, but I can’t see a doctor without LG’s permission, I’m on a trillion pills I don’t need, and I have to be around other people with disabilities, who are morons.   Watch the film, “Idiocracy”.  

      But, I feel jealous all the time.   I’ll never have my own home, can’t get married, no children in my future, can’t decide where I live, who my friends are or who my enemies are.   Or achieve any milestones.  Can’t even get a car, drive a car without someone over 18 with a license.   You know how many days a week I think about suicide?   All of them.   “Look at the glass half full.”   Someday I’ll die and I can go anywhere I want, I can get my mail again, I can decide where I eat, where I live, and I can achieve the milestones.  

     Yes, I know 50% of marriages end in divorce and then there’s alimony, child support.   I know “Condoms are cheaper than diapers,” but then why is everyone else getting married and having kids except me?  I sometimes dream carbon monoxide will leak into my room, undetected.   No, they have smoke detectors and monoxide detectors, and we can’t own anything that they don’t feel makes us safe.  Forget that I could fall on a treadmill working out or could slip in the shower, or any one of a billion things could happen. . . but that’s what the paper pushers in the US Government want.  They don’t have to eat this food or live with these people, I do.  Safety first, common sense last.  

       But wait, there’s a 1 in a billion shot I could win the Publisher’s Clearance House or the other things I enter into every fucking day.   Right, or maybe the IRS will audit me.   Or maybe aliens will blow up the Earth and none of this will matter.   There’s no more motivation.   I can’t get married, can’t move, can’t.  “Just shoot me”.   They have a 24 hour help line, I have 3 numbers in my phone, there’s “Catch 22”, which means I am sane.   Are you a psychologist, psychiatrist, or LISW   

    Oh, right, I knew that.   But, then why?   Oh, yeah, this is about me, not you.   What am I hoping to get out of these sessions?   You’re the one with all the degrees on the wall, why don’t you tell me?   You don’t understand.   I don’t have any motivation.   Everyone’s afraid of death at my age, except me.   Yes, I’m suicidal or no, I’m not.  See, it isn’t that I want to die.   In fact, I want to live, but I can’t live because of the USA and there’s no point, there are no more milestones.   There’s no someday,  o goals.   It’s over.   No, I don’t need to go to the psyche ward.  It won’t help.  I’ve been there before.   The food sucks and the people are crazy and stupid.   The only good thing is the women can’t wear bras.  

    Tried doing stupid things as goals like learning Spanish, learning to be left handed, saying the alphabet backwards, just bullshit to keep my mind occupied.  

     But, no one’s going to care.   I don’t have a significant other, I can’t have kids, I . . . Wait, have you ever seen the TV show, “Empty Nest”?  It’s an old show.  Think it was a spinoff of “The Golden Girls”.  Anyway, this moron’s daughter gets this guy to have his funeral while he’s alive to see who would care whether or not he was dead.  A lot of people came.  Maybe I should do that.   Oh, yeah, that would be expensive.  Someone said I could sell my Life Insurance, but I don’t know if I have Life Insurance.   The LG knows that.  

     Yes, I know the serenity prayer.  Or the shortened version.   Someone, wait.  Is this being recorded?  “What if this is as good as it gets?”   No one wants me and nobody cares about me and everyone wants me.  Both, at the same time.  I volunteered for something or for everything, but no one volunteers to help me.  You have to because I’m paying you or Medicaid is.  

      Just feels like there are no milestones left, just roadblocks.   Yes, I know the poem, “Footprints,” but I want to stand on my own two feet.  

    Yes, I know that.  But, there are classes on all these things, but . . . If there’s no hope for, then why. .?   I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere, but you’re a . . . Isn’t that your job?  I’m not asking you to live my life.  Then, why am I still coming to you?   Right, you’re the only one who takes Medicaid.  Damn it.  

      So, there’s no point, there’s no God, there’s no hope, might as well jump off. . No, no looney bin.   What would I do if I were, no, that’s the question I’m asking you in reverse.  What would you do if you were me?  

     You’d go back ti the Looney Bin.   Why don’t you try that then?   It was your suggestion.   How do I know you’re not thinking about. . . Because I’m the client.  This isn’t helping.  You’re HMO.  

      But, I could cancel my next appointment or I could cancel all future appointments.  Yes, I know that joke.   Tell it to you?   Ok, “3 doctors are at Pearly Gates, “ Wait, I’m paying you by the hour, so why would?   No, I’m not high, but even if I were . . You’re the . . I’m canceling our sessions.  Maybe that could be a milestone I can reach; ending therapy and psyche meds.  No relapsing to this.   If I need help, I can call.  Who could I call?   Ghostbusters?   Funny.  Very funny. Goodbye