Hell

           Welcome to Annandale. “The Mission of Annandale Village is to provide progressive life assistance to developmental disabilities and traumatic brain injuries so that they can maximize their independence in the least restrictive environment.” Yea, right. Then, why aren't we allowed to leave the “campus”? My legal guardian said to think of this place like a cruise. Think about it: they're providing food for you, they'll take you to your doctor appointments, etc. If this was a cruise, I would get to review it online and give it zero stars and of five and the cruise would end. We aren't allowed to go by ourselves off campus. Right, because then we might be able to get a decent meal or a real cup of coffee. Dating on campus is strongly discouraged. I wouldn't want to date the rest of these idiots anyway. The majority of these people are developmentally disabled and can barely speak. The rest of them never stop talking about stupid things like: “Isn't the weather nice, today?” Who cares? Unless there's a hurricaine, flood, fire, or haboob, I don't give a shit what the weather is outside. 

           Then, there's the state of Georgia and all the rules and regulations these geniuses have come up with like: “The food must be cooked all the way through so the food is healthy for the residents. The food cannot have any salt on it so it is safe for all residents.” The food can't have any taste because of the morons regulating it. Oh, then, in case you don't like the main course, they must legally have other options: peanut butter and jelly or a cold cut sandwich: yummy. 

           Also, I'm not allowed to buy anything or have any control of my money unless my legal guardians approve of the item or items. And even if my legal guardian does approve of the item, these geniuses can only get the item if the item is sold at Kroger and not on the list of items restricted from the list. For example, I am not allowed to get O'Dohl's because some idiot in the administration doesn't understand that O'Dohl's is non-alcholic beer. Oh, no, but then the other residents would see I have beer and they'd want beer, too. Forget about the 21^st Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America. That doesn't matter. What matters is our genius regulations where we keep prisoners in a shithole. That's what matters. 

           Then, there's my neighbor. I have my own room and bathroom (Thank, God), but we share a kitchen, which has space for dishes, glasses, etc. a fridge, two microwaves, and a sink. We share the fridge and the sink. I thought this man was deaf. Every night for five hours I hear the same thing from this man over and over: “I farted. It's stinky. I upchucked”. I looked on Amazon in the computer lab we get to be in for 30 minutes: a gun is only $30.00 and I think it'd be worth it to shut him up and commit suicide, then, I wouldn't have to wake up here tomorrow.

           That's what I think of every night before I go to bed and what I pray for. In the unpopular film, Schizopholis, the narrator says the following phrase: “Myocaridal infarction of the interior wall of the right ventricle”. I pray that happens to me every night. Or I hear on the news: “There's been another senseless shooting in the city” where I live and I think maybe on one of our trips to the city, I'll be shot.  Every morning they tell us the schedule of fun things to do and I don't want to do any of them. “Hey, do you want to play, Uno?” No. “Do you want to toss the bean bag?” No. I want the antithesis of fun. I want to be able to have relaxation and rest. This place is rural and right now in my life, rural isn't bad, if there weren't morons around me. I just want to be able to go out to eat, talk to a beautiful, single woman sitting at a table by herself, and drive her in my own car to my own house. I want to go to Walmart and get the groceries I want.

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           I recently went to my doctor and described all of my symptoms and she said I need a glutten free diet and a lot less stress. Less stress? Here, in Annandale? You might as well tell a fish they're allergic to water. 

           Then, there's the weekly room inspections to make sure I have a clean room. Because don't you feel better when the room is cleaned? No, I don't. I'd feel better if they let me install a padlock and gave me a hand gun so I could shoot the next person who entered my room without a warrant. 

           They don't allow pets here. My dog passed on to the World of Spirit last year. But, if they allowed dogs, what would happen if the resident couldn't walk the dog. What if the dog attacked somebody? It's more likely I would attack somebody. 

           I lost 50 pounds on WW, but they won't drive me to WW, because of Covid. People here have gotten Covid, but that doesn't matter. They get to stay so they can infect other people, like me. My neighbor has anger management issues and has a red punching bag, but sometimes I wind up being the punching bag. The woman half my age has a crush on me and is always calling/texting me and having people knock on my door to tell me she wants to talk to me. God, let me die in my sleep tonight. I found an article online that explained how to do it. A plastic bag, tied with a rope around the neck. I must take two fast acting sleeping pills first. Choking to death in my sleep. God, take me to our home.

           Then, I look at the card on my bulletin board: “Happy birthday. Miss you being here for your special day. May God Bless you and help you adjust to your new life style. Love your friend,” and her name. And I think of everyone else who loves me and would miss me. 

           I wish there was a way I could get me and my possessions to another place. Hell, everyone's trying to get out of Haiti and this place is my Haiti. Maybe I'll meet a rich woman who's a lawyer who'll marry me and can help me appeal, but no. I have to be locked in this shit hole for the rest of my life. 

           When my alarm clock goes off at 5:00 am on weekdays and 6:00 am on weekends, the first thing I do is curse God for not answering my prayer. Then, I think about staying in bed, because what's the point of getting out. There's no future. There's no hope. Maybe today the random shooting will come, though.  Then, being a workaholic, I go non-stop from the beginning of the day to the end and I say the same prayers: “God, thank you for letting me die of a myocardial infarction of the interior wall of the right ventricle”. Maybe tonight, God will answer my prayer and I can be free. Maybe.