Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers
cydniey

Just so we know what kind of support I'm dealing with.

He hurts my feelings when he talks to me. He asks me to explain what I am feeling and when I do, he says, "Yeah, I don't know what to do with that," or, "That makes no sense, think about it and tell me when you can make sense."

I have to pay my web host. So I looked up how much I had left of my check (it has been paying for groceries and the water bill), and told Doc how much I had left. I asked him if I had enough to pay my web host. He asked how much it was (it's been the same for over a decade, $10/month) and then mentioned we had to pay my doctor in August, so that was so much, and then there was something else, and that was so much. And I stared at him blankly. I can't do math. I literally lack the cognitive ability to do anything more than the most basic of math, I can't even make change, anymore. I reminded him of that. He said he just laid it all out for me. I told him I couldn't do word problems, either. He repeated that he had laid it all out for me. Then he dismissed me.

So, Warped people, if you are reading this, I will pay you as soon as I get my Patreon payment for the month on the 1st. I haven't forgotten you.

Then there was the matter of the chocolate. He brought home two 8-packs of fun sized candy bars. He said they were for me. So when I devoured them over the course of three nights of "Seroquel eating", I didn't feel so bad. Then today, he said he wanted a piece of chocolate and I, giggling, told him it was gone. He got really serious and really harsh really quick. "Look at me!" He demanded. I looked at him and received a lecture about how they weren't all mine and it was very wrong to eat them all and it wasn't funny and did he need to hide chocolate from me like he had when Psycho Bitch was here? And why couldn't I respect anything and how could I be so thoughtless and all this shit, like I had stolen his stash. Then, to spite me, he ate all the ice cream he had left for me. 2/3 of a half gallon. Just to spite me. What the actual fuck?

Then there was another scene over the harvest jars. I have a short one, the contents are too dry to smoke. There's a random jar, the contents are too moist. There's his jar, the contents are just right. So I've been taking from his jar. Note, the three jars sit together on the floor. No names have been written on the jars, and my bathroom is hosting five more fully mature dried plants to be snipped and trimmed, so we are at no danger of running out. But no, it's HIS jar and I'm not to touch it. Even though I am the one who fills it. And re-hydrates it.

And then we get to the "getting up for work". Kelli has told me several times over the years that no matter how much she loved someone, she would not go through what I do every day to get him up. It starts at 5pm. I make fresh coffee and roll him cigarettes. Then I search the house and garage for his coffee cup and wash it. At 5:10, I have to get up or stop what I'm doing and locate his phone to turn off the "last chance" (HA!) alarm.

At 5:30, I present him with coffee, ice water and a Rock Star drink. I wake him up. He mumbles something and rolls over. At 5:45, I wake him again, and get the same mumble, only tinged with irritation now. At 6pm, I get firm, and he gets mean. I tell him to get up, and he growls about having another half an hour, which he doesn't. He needs that half an hour to sit up and clear his head. It takes him 15 minutes before he can stand to even put on his glasses. At this point, he starts dictating what should be on TV. Local news (through the first half of Rachel Maddow) for the weather, even though our meteorologist has a twitter account and tweets the weather before he broadcasts it.

We are now at 6:45pm. He's got half a Rock Star and two cups of coffee in him. He grabs a cigarette and goes to his room to shower. He dresses out here in the living room because all of his clothes are out here, no matter my efforts to put a stop to it. While he is shaving, showering, primping, it is up to me to time check him every ten minutes until around 7:20. Then he comes out in a flurry, trying to get dressed for the commute and gather clothes to change into at work. He gathers up his stuff. I used to gently remind him of things he might have forgotten. I'm not allowed to do that anymore, he says it throws him off. So when he leaves something important here because he wouldn't let me talk, I just laugh now.

By 7:30pm he is on his bike and we are walking down the driveway together, if we are still speaking. Usually he is so mean to me during these couple of hours that I let him go before I go down the driveway and get the mail.

This is the most stressful part of my day. Every day when he leaves, I want to take a shot of vodka just for getting through it again.

The other day we were arguing about it as he tried to set down new rules and guidelines for my behavior and actions during this wake up and get ready time. And I said, "You know, you are an adult. You should be able to get your own self out of bed like I do every morning to make sure the house is clean before you get home, no matter how late I stay up the night before."

Ad he spat the "adult" thing back at me, like I had just called him something totally unreasonable. I mean, he got really got defensive. He sat there muttering to himself for a while after I said that. I went outside because he was creeping me out.

He wakes up pissed off at me because I am the one who has to wake him up. Every night when he leaves, I want to throw a spear down the street after him. It takes me literal hours to calm down. And my work for the night is fucked.

The status quo has got to change. As he insists that I "become more normal", he retreats into his teenage years.

He didn't get last night how making a salad for him was brain-wise, exhausting for me. So many things to remember. Wash all veggies, even the ones you are going to peel. Then each veggie, including the lettuce gets special treatment. It's like I only get so many logic points per day. And cooking for Doc and his peculiarities takes a lot of them. Another time he said, "You're making no sense, I don't see how making a stupid salad can wear you out, that's just ridiculous."

I told him about the Girl Things for Every Girl project I am trying to start, he said, "Fine, just don't bother me with it, I don't want to hear another word about it."

Just so we know what kind of support I'm dealing with.
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