So there’s a reason I’m spamming all of you with Animal Crossing screenshots today…

Punchy is my favorite character in this game. Aside from the fact that he’s cute, he’s incredibly goofy and dimwitted. He’s one of those characters that just lives day to day, running around happily with his arms stretched out like he’s playing airplane with the biggest smile on his face without a care in the world. Wouldn’t we all like to be able to live our lives like Punchy…

And then this happens… This was actually only the third time he’s had this conversation with me (a lot of dialogue is very repetitive) but for some reason I find it comedic when Punchy begins to question his existence. Maybe it’s because he’s so carefree all the time. Maybe it’s because this is a video game character literally freaking out and getting distressed because he’s suddenly unsure if his life is real or not. Who knows… As you can see in the pictures, he actually gets quite distressed. Then, just as quickly, he brushes it off and goes about his merry way being Punchy.

I need to start living more like Punchy…

Let me explain why I’m spamming you with these pictures today (aside from their comedic value). I’m sure we’ve all had moments where we question our very existence or, at the very least, question what the fuck we’re doing with it. And, to those younger than myself, you start doing it more and more as you grow older. It can be something as simple as, “Why didn’t I learn to roller skate when I was younger? Now I’d break a hip if I tried.” Or it can be something more complex like, “Jesus fucking Christ, half my life is over and what do I have to show for it?! I’ve got nothing!”

Unfortunately, I happen to fall into the latter category… There have been a lot of changes in my life and more coming which have pushed me into the realm of full blown identity crisis. Suddenly, I started to panic. I’ve lived all these years… I’m not getting any younger. Mentally, on a good day, I feel about 16. I don’t feel like I’ve lived nearly half a century. And with all these changes occurring, I realized I have nothing to show for the years I have lived and I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do from here. I have no idea how much time I have left in this world (not that any of us do) but I know I have less than I did when I was in my twenties, that’s for sure… And now I’m starting to feel the pressure to do something significant with my life, something with meaning, something to leave behind of myself other than inane blog entries…

And it was this identity crisis that made me do something that I told myself I’d never do…

My mother came to visit on Friday (as she does every week) and I did what most of us do when we’re having some sort of life upset… I looked to someone older than myself who probably experienced the same thing and would be able to advise me on how to deal with said identity crisis.

This is where things went horribly wrong… At first, she was reassuring when I said I didn’t know who I was anymore, telling me that I did. But the more I went on in a panic, I think she realized I really didn’t. She gave me sound advice, focus on me instead of others so I can figure out who I am. And, in my state of complete mental breakdown, the filter between my brain and mouth completely malfunctioned. I didn’t mean to do it… but I suddenly heard myself telling her things I’d kept to myself my entire life and had planned to continue keeping to myself . Or, at the very least, I planned to keep these things from her forever. But I didn’t… In my panic, my mouth just started spewing forth all the hurt, all the negativity, all the resentment I’ve been carrying around for decades.

Honestly, I didn’t mean to do it… But it seemed that, once I began, I couldn’t stop myself. My brain and mouth were on autopilot and I literally had no control over what was happening. It was as if I was someone else watching at close distance as some completely crazy woman sat on the sofa, completely freaking out and saying all manner of horrible, hurtful things to my mother with no intention to stop. And I was helpless in putting an end to it…

So I’ll sum this up as easily as I can, the despicable things I said… and how I told her, in no uncertain terms, that she fucked me up.

I started with the whole thing about why I wanted to drop out of high school a few months before graduation. She always thought it was because, socially, I couldn’t handle the bullshit anymore. Friday I told her that was only a small part of it… When I came home with a college brochure, excited because I’d found the perfect school on the other side of the country, she asked how I would manage it. I replied that I would get grants and loans, live on campus, get a job and sue my “father” for child support (which is what you had to do back then if you had divorced parents and went to college). She told me I couldn’t go because, if I sued him, I’d have to sue her (because I wouldn’t be living at home) and she couldn’t afford it. When I reminded her of this, she said she probably couldn’t have and told me my “father” paid about $100 less than I thought. My sister got only $86 a month. That made the situation so much worse when she told me that. She couldn’t afford to give me $86 a fucking month?!? My sister was allowed to go to college, have a future, be someone… I was denied that same privilege for $86 a fucking month?!? If I wasn’t bitter and angry that I was robbed of a future before, I was when she said that.

And it was this revelation that sent me off on the tangent of a mad woman…

I told her the real reason I wanted to drop out of high school was because, after she told me I couldn’t go to college, I just stopped caring. I was sentenced that day to a life of dead end, meaningless jobs. Then I proceeded to tell her all the ways she fucked me up, like stealing my money (seriously, she stole my hard earned money) instead of asking for it when she needed it. I always found out and she never denied it when I confronted her. She never apologized for it, either. I also told her how badly it fucked me up when I had to go bail her ass out of jail for passing bad checks. I remember, I was only 22, screaming at her in the kitchen about how fucking irresponsible she was while the cops waited for her in the living room. And I had to leave work that day for a few hours to get money from whoever was willing to help and take it to the station to pay her bail. I told her that, because of all that, I no longer wanted to be responsible for anything in life. I’ve been responsible since the day I was born… I was always the one getting the shitty end of the stick, having to be the grown up and raising myself. I’ve been so bitter and resentful towards her for a very long time. My sister was always the favorite. And now, since my sister doesn’t bother with her anymore, suddenly I’m the favorite. But it’s only because it serves her purposes.

After she left that afternoon, I literally fell all to pieces. I spoke to a close friend who told me that it was something that needed to be said, I’ve been letting that all eat me up for too long. She told me I was a good daughter because I didn’t say these things to be malicious and I was concerned I may have hurt my mom’s feelings.

That makes no sense, I know… Actually, I’m concerned I hurt her feelings because she’s my mom and I never meant to tell her those things for fear of them hurting her. On the other hand, I’m concerned it didn’t mean anything to her, which means that she doesn’t care if she fucked up my life or not. Either way, I’m fucked. I feel like I’m doomed to feel bad no matter what. Damned if I do; damned if I don’t. I don’t expect her to care, in all honesty. It wouldn’t surprise me, anyway… But, by that same token, I think she should care. She really did me dirty. It was as if it was an experiment. Let’s see what happens if we give one daughter everything and deny the other all those same things. You should never do things like that to your children… It’s cruel, to say the least. And then they turn out like me. Old and directionless, nothing to show for their life.

And on top of everything, I’ve been in complete and utter misery…

Since my first COVID vaccine, it’s as if my allergies are going bonkers. The doctors keep telling me that the allergens are bad right now. Well no shit! Everything is coming into bloom and the entire area is coated in a thin layer of pollen! But this is how it is every year and I’ve never been as reactive to these things as I’ve been this year. And it all began after I got that first vaccine… I know it’s supposed to kick your immune system into overdrive, but it also seems to have amped up my responses to allergens. I’m completely and utterly miserable.

So this makes me wonder… should I even get the second dose? I mean, they say round two is worse. If I’m this miserable constantly from one dose, what’s going to happen after a second one? I want COVID to go away as much as the next person, but even if you’re vaccinated, you still need to wear a mask. So it’s not as if we all get vaccinated and we can finally free ourselves and live normally again. And instead, I’m sneezing, coughing, blowing my nose and rubbing my eyes so hard I’m surprised I still have eyes. I’m just not sure it’s worth it if I still have to wear a fucking mask all the time. It really makes you wonder… Is this really for our benefit? Will it really work? And what about those of us who are suffering after effects for a few weeks, now?

I think I need to go do some gardening today… It really is great therapy and I need that right now.

I just can’t stop thinking about what I said and that I’m a horrible human being. I don’t give a fuck if I hurt people. Even if I offer an apology, it’s usually hollow and empty. And, considering the circumstances, I’m not sure I should give a fuck that I may have hurt my mom’s feelings. And yet I do…

What a great addition to my already fucked up identity crisis…