Warren Zevon's Dead, And I Don't Feel So Good Myself

The BBQ Pit
1

Yeah, I know, he’s been gone for a couple of months now, but give me a few moments and I’ll explain it all.

I’m on medication for depression and anxiety, and as anyone who’s on the stuff will tell you, you can still have bad days (the comfort when you’re on medication and have bad days, is that without the medication, you’d be likely to not have any more days). Today is a bad one for me, and I’ve no one to blame but myself. Of course, if I hadn’t been so foolish then I wouldn’t have had the reason to go to the doctor and get myself on medication that I’ve been needing for years. Which means that my stupidity has saved my life, because if I’d have done the smart thing, then I wouldn’t have had the reason to go to the doctor, and when something else aggrievated my anxiety and depression (as no doubt would have happened), I’d have had a total breakdown and either killed myself, or become one of those crazed gunmen who one day just snap and start killing everyone in sight.

When I was a kid, I stumbled across a copy of a children’s version of The Odyssey, entitled The Adventures of Ulysses by Bernard Evslin. One thing I could never understand was how a woman could inspire men to raise an army, go off and fight a decade long war over her, or how one woman could drive Odysseus to spend another ten years of his life trying to get home to Penelope when he could have lived forever with either Circe or Calypso. That is, of course, until I met Sarah.

She and I started dating five years ago this month, and split up six months later. I took it pretty hard, harder than I’ve taken any other break up. Yeah, I dated other women after we split up, but none of those worked out for various reasons. Two years ago, Sarah called me out of the blue, in what later appeared an attempt to get her boyfriend to propose to her, which he did (they never married, why I don’t know). This past June, Sarah looked me up again.

Now, any sane man would have told Sarah to get bent, but thrust a needle filled with smack in front of a recovering junkie and tell them not to take it. Tell them it’s the purest stuff they’ve ever had, and it’ll get them off like nothing else, but they shouldn’t have it. Then set it down on a table beside them and walk out of the room. Maybe they’ll be able to resist it, if their will’s strong enough, but there’s a good chance they’ll jab the needle in their arm and relapse.

I knew if I had anything to do with Sarah again, it would end badly. I had friends (some of whom are no longer speaking to me) beg me to not talk to her again, and I did it just the same. Ask an addict why they continue to drugs even though they know that the drugs are killing them and you’ll get an answer which only makes sense to another addict. So it is with Sarah, I could tell you why, but the reasons wouldn’t mean anything to you unless you’d known someone who had the same kind of impact on your life, and then you wouldn’t ask me why, because you’d know, the same way another addict knows what junk sickness is like.

What happened next entails a bit of speculation on my part. Sarah came up pregnant, and there was a question of paternity. This is when I started flaking out (well, okay, really flaking out), since I figured that the kid most likely wasn’t mine, and that this meant Sarah was gone for good. (Yeah, I know, I should be grateful, but ask a junkie in the throes of withdrawl if he’s grateful he’s no longer able to shoot up, and see what he has to say about it.) Realizing that I was flaking out, and knowing that I had no chance of keeping Sarah if I was a lunatic (even worse, if the kid was mine, the absolute last thing I wanted was to not be there for him/her), I went to the doctor and got myself doped up.

Sarah, meanwhile, is fairly certain that it’s the other guys, and begins gently trying to keep me at a distance. I get clearheaded enough to realize what’s going on, and tell her to call me when she’s far enough along for them to run a paternity test. My guess is that things were on the “outs” between her and the other guy, and she figured that if she got herself knocked up he’d marry her. So she banged him one last time, and then looked me up, and got me to tag her just in case.

At this point, I just start worrying about keeping myself alive. I don’t have much of a support network, because my friends (the few I have left) don’t really understand such things. And I don’t simply mean that they can’t understand how I could get so screwed up over Sarah, but they can’t grasp anyone’s feelings but their own. My family? Well, right before Sarah and I hooked back up, had the “Are you gay?” talk with me (though, of course, they didn’t have the balls to come right out and ask me that, but it was certainly implied), they can’t understand why at the age of 36 I haven’t settled down and started pumping out kids. (Heh, if they only knew the things I’ve done over the years.) Nevermind that they say that I’m the brightest person they know, that I’m currently working for peanuts, or that I live in an area where unmarried singles are a distinct minority, I should have settled down with some brain dead bitch and turned her into a baby factory at this point.

Eventually, Sarah let’s me know that she’s too far along for the kid to be mine. I thank her, wish her a nice life and say goodbye. Now, of course, the question becomes: What the hell do I do with my life? When Sarah and I were first dating, I was working a dead end job, and didn’t really have any thoughts about the future. I met her, said this is the gal I want to marry, got off my ass and went to school to be a machinist, so I could make decent money. Then her and I split up, but I kept going to school, because it was still a connection to her, and I liked doing it. I even dragged out my schooling because I didn’t know what else to do. Now, of course, I’m trying to finish it as fast as I can, so I can get that degree and get out of this bullshit.

So, I buy that Chrysler off eBay. Can’t really afford it, but I’ve wanted one like it for a long time, and I need something to keep myself occupied, besides, the trip will do me good. I can’t remember exactly the last time I’d been out of state, much less anywhere that I’d never been before. And the trip did do me good. I felt* great* driving that big beast almost 1200 miles, in just two days.

2

Of course, sooner or later, Icarus must fall to Earth, and face the fact that he doesn’t have enough money to scrape by. So, I delay paying some bills, cut out the few luxuries I allow myself, and suck it up as best I can. I even try to stretch out my medication, but I don’t manage to make it last more than a couple extra days, and after going completely without one of my meds, I realize that I have to get that prescription refilled or I won’t last much longer.

Now, I’m paying the price for that, by having to ride out today. Which brings me back to Warren Zevon. (See, I told you I’d explain it.) I have to put on a brave front at work, because my supervisor, Pete Puma, would no doubt do his best to rip me to shreds, and the mold maker, doesn’t really understand such things. (He’s a nice guy, and he and I are friends, but he doesn’t have much emotional depth to him.) Coupled with that, I’m doing a totally mindless job, so I’ve got plenty of time to think of just how shitty things are for me at the moment. (I’m prone to flashbacks, so not only do I remember all kinds of things, I get to relive them as if they were happening now.) Not to mention, that this particular job is a complete waste of my talents.

The welder comes in, and asks the mold maker if he likes Warren Zevon. The mold maker’s a big Warren Zevon fan, so the welder gives the mold maker a Warren Zevon CD that he’d picked up the other day, but didn’t care for. It’s Learning to Flinch. Now, I like Warren Zevon, but when I’m seriously depressed, I really don’t like to listen to much of his stuff, because I want something that can pull me out of my funk, and hearing songs like Roland the Headless Tommy Gunner doesn’t help. (Well, not me, anyway.) The mold maker throws the CD in the player, and soon, the cheerful :wink: sounds of Zevon fill the shop. I manage to maintain my composure and not break down, but only at the expense of my productivity (I still got more done that Pete did, but that’s a given). As we’re leaving, the mold maker gives me the Warren Zevon CD. Seems he doesn’t like it either.

So I’m now sitting at home, having taken extra doses of my meds to help put an end to this depression, and my father calls. He, of course, knows very little of what’s going on in my life. I haven’t even told him that I’m on medication for anxiety and depression, I’ve passed it off as high blood pressure. He thinks I’m foolish for having gone and gotten that car (I can tell by the snide tone in his voice when he asks me about it, my step-mother even said that she’d have preferred I brought home a wife instead of the car). He’s calling to remind me that Thursday’s Thanksgiving and the whole fam damily’s going to be there, and that they’re expecting me.

I really don’t want to go, because everyone (except my 13 year old nephew) is going to gang up on me at some point, and start bitching about me being a “failure.” Now, it wouldn’t matter what I’d done with myself at this point in my life, because I didn’t follow the path that my parents wanted me to, I’d be an utter failure in their eyes. Hell, almost ten years ago, they drove one of my girlfriends away because she just couldn’t stand how they treated me. Yeah, I know, I should ditch the lot of them, but that’s not really possible at the moment.

I get along with my mother just fine. She doesn’t understand me, but she accepts me, and knows I have to do things my own way. If I blow the rest of the family off, they’re going to bitch to my mother about it, and that’s going to upset her, and given all the shit that she’s been through over the years (my father abandoning us when I was nine, for starters), I think it’s best I spare her that mess. She’s in her seventies and had breast cancer a few years ago, so things are rough enough on her as it is.

As I’m typing this, I just realized that my father made no mention of the fact that my birthday is on Thanksgiving. Now, I really don’t pay much attention to my own birthdays, and quite frankly, I have trouble remembering how old I am (damn senility setting in, I’m sure), but usually, my family says something to me when my birthday approaches (on my thirtieth birthday my father asked me how it felt, knowing my life was half over now). This time, nothing. Which can only mean that they’re planning on spending the entire day, chewing my ass out. Happy, happy, joy, joy.

I wish to fucking god, I could afford to move out of this shithole state and to some place far away. Then I wouldn’t have to put up with this shit anymore. I could visit my relatives if I pleased, or I could make up some excuse and stay home if I wanted to. Instead, I’ve got to suffer through this shit again, and again, as even if I sell nearly everything I own (which I plan on doing as soon as I get caught up enough on my bills that I don’t have to worry about my internet service being cut off, since my best shot at unloading most of my stuff is on eBay, except the Chrysler, they’ll get the title to that when they pry it from my cold, dead fingers), I still won’t have enough money to move to someplace else. (I will, at least, have enough money to get some repairs done on this place that need doing, and it’ll make it easier to sell when I’ve got the cash to get the hell out of here.)

3

I honestly can’t think of anything to say except:
[ul]
[li]Hang in there.[/li][li]Don’t do anything rash until you feel better.[/li][li]Feel better soon.[/li][/ul]

4

Hey.

I’ve got a number of people close to me who suffer from depression and the depression/anxiety combo you have (I even know someone with the depression/anxiety/OCD trifecta). I’m not sure what to say-- it’s difficult knowing what to say to my best friend when she’s going through this let alone someone I only know from posts on a message board. And I’m afraid anything I say will come across as trite.

But I am very impressed with how proactive you are. The fact that you’re able to get your meds on your own, go to work, write to a message board… I understand how crippling depression can be.

I’ll also tell you that you’re not alone. A lot of the people around you probably have suffered from depression themselves in the past. Do your friends know you’ve been depressed? Depression can run in families-- it’s possible your parents already know all too well how you’re feeling.

Go put on some music you like. I prefer Side Two of Abbey Road, but I’m a traditionalist. :slight_smile:

And happy birthday in advance.

5

No matter where you go, there you are. It will pass, not even bad shit lasts forever. Myself, I think Warren Zevon is cheerful as hell, he cracks me up! “…The cattle all have brucellosis/We’ll get by somehow…” Hysterical!

There’s no way to compare depressions, but habits of thought cut the grooves in your brain pan, that much you can control, if only a little at a time. What makes you laugh? Get more of it. For me, its Mark Twain and P.G. Wodehouse. The Far Side and Bloom County. Laughter is to the Black Dog like a crucifix is to Dracula. Maybe can’t kill it, but make it back off a step and give you time to breathe.

Go help somebody. Not because you like them, but because they need it. If you like the guy you see in the mirror, you are more inclined to cut him some slack.

My e-mail is in my profile. If writing to me will help, if useless and well-meaning advice is likely to fool you into thinking things are better, then they are better. I’ve been depressed, I know people who’ve been depressed. Every single one is better now. Hang on, you can’t lose if you don’t give up.

6

Dude, hang in there and keep your sense of humor. The anxiety may make you feel like you’re about to do something drastic and dangerous, but as long as you don’t want to, you won’t. Why don’t you come out to California and make parts for Burt Rutan?

7

That’s the advice I was going to give you.

You know, I read this whole thing, and I was thinking, “36? Unmarried? Kind of crappy job? Big deal.”

It’s a cultural/regional thing. With some locations or with some families, getting married and popping out the 2.5 kids is a big deal, and with others it isn’t. My dad married when he was 35. I have two old maid aunts, who are the coolest people ever. Not getting married by a certain set age is not a big deal. Doesn’t make you a loser.

I was born and raised in Los Angeles, where (at least in the circles I hung around in), there was no great pressure to get married and settle down. I mean, sure, there was some talk, but people weren’t treated like they were lepers or failures if they were married by age 35 or even 40 or never. I never felt that deep pressure on myself.

Anyway, I moved to an unnamed Midwestern town several years ago, and was amazed at how the attitude was different amongst some people (I won’t speak for all the people who live here, because some of them are really cool). The stress to get married or to “have a man” in your life appears to be far greater. At least for women. Almost like you weren’t complete if you didn’t have an SO. Well, this was not how I was raised, and I’m too old to change my stripes now. Thank GOD I wasn’t raised with this attitude.

I remember some coworkers (all 20-something women) bitching out the company nurse, because she was in her late 30s and unmarried. I could not get where these women were coming from. The nurse was accomplished and she was smart (I liked her sharp sense of humor). What the hell? But some people think this way. Like nothing else matters unless you’re hitched.

And as far as the job thing goes, hey man, you’ve got a plan. And you’ve got brains. You are not a loser.

It’s not you. It’s them. It’s a family or group or regional thing or something, but it’s not you. Don’t let them feed you this bullshit. It’s not the real world. It’s just their corner of it. It doesn’t have to be your world.

8

I should probably clarify and say that the advice I would give you would be to move somewhere else. Hyperelastic suggests California. I suggest it too. :wink:

9

Tuck You have a better support group than you believe, the SDMB. I too had a toxic girlfriend, and understand what you are going through. I guess that several others here also been throgh similar problems.
You are doing the right thing with the meds, and time is the other thing that will heal the hole left in your heart.
Look buddy if you need someone to talk to my e mail is my profile.

10

Rick is right–you always have us…

(This sometimes may be a mixed blessing ducks and runs :D)

…and we’re always here to listen.

11

This Year’s Model, thanks, will do.

asrivkin, I doubt if you could be as trite as my parents. Oh, and my parents have suffered from depression, but were I to tell my father and step-mother about it, they’d just use it as an opportunity to bash me some more. You see, my father’s depression was a “problem” whereas my depression is caused because I haven’t settled down and gotten married. :rolleyes: Five years ago I came down with IBD, and it took forever to get a diagnosis, so I’m flopping around, feeling fine one moment, and doubled over with pain, wishing I was dead the next. While I’m bouncing from doc to doc, trying to figure out what the hell’s wrong with me, my parents go out of town and ask me to house sit for them. As I’m doing that, I have another attack. Bear in mind, at this point, no one’s got any idea what’s wrong with me, I could be dying for all anyone knows. My parents call to remind me that they’ll be coming home in a day or two, and I explain to them that I’ve had another attack and am sicker than a dog. My step-mother’s response? “Well, make sure you have the house cleaned up before we get there.” She found a green bean in the sink and spent the next twenty minutes chewing my jaundiced ass out over it, blaming my “lack of cleanliness” for my illness and everything else that’s “wrong” in my life.

If I tell my mother about my depression, she’ll tell my brothers, and they’ll tell my dad and step-mother and the shit will hit the fan.

As for my friends, only a few of them have dealt with depression, and while I do touch base with them when things are really bad, I hate to do it too often, because all of them have non-mental problems worse than I have. One of them is HIV +, another’s unemployed, another has a crappy temp job and is fighting with his wife’s insurance company to get them to pay for the knee surgery she needs. So when I get one of these days like I had today, where I know I’m going to be able to ride the thing out, I just grit my teeth and hunker down till it passes. If I know that there’s a good chance I could become a danger to myself, I do call them up and let them know that I need a “distraction.”

elucidator, I know that moving away won’t cure my depression, but it will reduce some of the triggers for me. I know that part of the reason I’m having this attack is that it’s been rumbling around in the back of my mind that I was going to have to spend Thanksgiving at my folks place. Which, I might add, is a couple of blocks away from Sarah’s place. Mind you, I don’t drive past her place on my way there, but my father always has to drive by there (he never met her [I kind of wanted to keep her, so I didn’t introduce her to my parents], so he doesn’t know that it’s her place, and I can’t exactly ask him not to drive us by there, without having to explain everything and . . . ) whenever he goes somewhere, and I’m sure at some point, they’ll want to take all of us somewhere for some reason, so I’ll be forced to endure that.

As for helping people, well the problem with that is I’m a problem solver. I’ve yet to see a charitable organization that wasn’t little more than a stop-gap solution to a problem. When I solve a problem, it stays solved. Help the homeless? Sure, let’s take the budget and build a bunch of these. That’ll not only take care of the homeless problem, but get rid of all those scrap tires. Oh wait, we can’t do that because then what the hell would the folks at the homeless agency have to do? I’m sure that there’s organizations out there that aren’t like that, but around here, getting anyone to try anything just barely out of the ordinary is akin to parting the Red Sea, and my name ain’t Moses.

I do try and find things that are funny to help me out of my depression, but I can’t grab a favorite film or something to make me laugh, I have to stumble across it randomly or it just doesn’t work. (BTW, when we were listening to the Warren Zevon CD, I came up with a great title for an album of his stuff that’s posthumously released: Milking the Corpse.)

Hyperelastic, to work with Rutan, you’ve got to have a security clearance before you apply or they won’t even consider you (I know, because I already looked into it), otherwise, I’d be bugging the shit out of him for a job. Hell, if I could afford it, I’d be out there bugging him anyways.

yosemite, you’re right about it being a regional/family thing, but also, it’s a way for the rest of my family to feel better about themselves. You see, my father knows we’re all disgusted with him, and he takes that out on me. My eldest brother is married to a fat fuck of a wife, who’s draining his wallet as fast as she can. It’s her revenge for him not wanting to have kids, since he was afraid he’d be as bad to them as our father was to us, so he joins in on the bashing (his wife does as well, since I’m family). My other brother and his wife are the stereotypical high school sweethearts who got married after they graduated from college, got successful careers, had a kid, and realized that there’s something missing from their lives, but can’t admit that it’s because they’ve been so focused on money and success. They go after me to distract themselves from their marital problems. My step-brother and his wife are about the only ones who “get me,” but they’re not going to be there (Heh, I don’t blame them.). So the only one who’s going to be there on my side, is my 13 year old nephew (he already thinks I’m “cool” since I told him about of the shit his father used to pull when he was younger) and he’s shy, so he’s not going to stick up for me much (not that I’d ask him to).

Frankly, I don’t really care where I move to, so long as it’s hot and in the desert. That way on days when I feel like shit, I can drag myself out into the sun and bake in the heat.

Rick, yeah, I know. Just writing the OP helped me feel a bit better. If it had sank without a response, I’d have had a twinge of pain, but not enough to counteract the benefits of spewing this all out. I’ve been holding it in for far too long.

Kythereia, thanks.

12

This is my gut feeling—I could be wrong—but I think they’re jealous of you. You’re not trapped like they are.

Run! Run away from them! Run like a gazelle!

I am reminded of a time when my older sister (who I love dearly, don’t misunderstand), made some snarky remark about how I chose to go to art school because “art is easy.” This was at a time when I was studying very long hours, going to two different schools, had other voluntary projects going on, and was bascially stressed out the wazoo.

My sister knew that art was not easy (though I have some talent for it, like anything else, you have to work to get good at it). She said what she said because a few years before, when she was in college, she was really into Classical Guitar. Her professor was absolutely elated with her talent, said she had what it took to go professional, but her boyfriend (now husband) talked her out of it. She instead majored in a more “practical” subject in college. Years later she’s happy, with a good job, good family, and she still plays the guitar, but when she made that comment, I suspect that she had a fleeting moment of bitterness.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the same is going on with you. They don’t mean what they say. They want to believe that they are less miserable than you, while in the back of their minds they know they are not. So, they rag on you.

13

You don’t have to say it out loud but every time one of your relatives starts to talk you down just imagine yourself saying to them, " Hey, why don’t you chill out about me, sit down, and have yourself a big ol’ cup of Shut the Fuck Up

I’ve tried this mental exercise during times of catching hell from somebody who clearly wasn’t worthy of looking down on me.

14

I don’t know what to say that hasn’t been said, really. I understand the hell of depression - been in and out of it since my mid-to-late teens - and I’m in my mid-30s as well. My family’s good, but my inlaws are a mixed bag.

I think yosemite may well be right - it sounds like they really are trying to drag you down. Maybe they don’t (consciously) see it that way, maybe they think they’re trying to keep you “grounded” or “sensible”, but it sounds like regardless of their intentions, they’re doing nothing but hurting you in the end. We haven’t interacted much here, but I’ve read your posts and stories - including the saga of the car - and thought you seemed like a good person. Certainly not deserving of that kind of crap from your family.

E-mail’s in my profile if you need someone to vent to off-board; meanwhile, I’ll be sending good, strong thoughts your way and hoping you make it through yet another holiday.

15

I haven’t really interacted with you on these boards, Tuckerfan, but I’ve always enjoyed reading your posts, and I hope you stay here for a while.

I’ve experienced both depression and psycho girlfiends so I know a little bit of where you’re coming from, though I’ve never had to deal with pregnancy, thank Og. I can tell you the feelings from the latter do fade with time as long as you eliminate her completely from your life. (I know, I know, easier said than done but it sounds like you’re on that path.) The former sticks around and I know meds only mitigate it. Once you finish school and get a better job, look into therapy. Some insurance plans will cover it. I know therapy can seem somewhat “unmanly,” a big stupid reason I avoided it for too long (and I’m not a particularly “manly” guy.) but it really helps in ways meds can’t.

As far as your birthday, I gotta partially agree with Bubbadog above. But instead of mentally saying what he said, try this. When they start cutting into you, and it’s not just an occaisional comment (or even if it is and you don’t feel like putting up with even that) just say something like"I’m here to celebrate my birthday, and I’d like to do it with people who support me. Since you don’t and since you seem to only want to insult me I’m out of here." Then leave. If my advice isn’t an option, then follow Bubbadog’s to the letter.

What are you studying in school? given your interests and skills I’m thinking engineering. Whatever it is you can take pride and comfort in the knowledge that despite all the grief and shite life is handing you, you are still trying to better yourself. That’s no small thing.

Good luck and Happy birthday,

Larry Borgia,

{sending you a manly slap on the back}

16

Well, maybe it is time to turn gay. It’s a lifestyle choice, I understand. :smiley:

Seriously, I feel with you. I’ve suffered depression for about 20 years, on meds for the last 14. What mainly hit me was my divorce, then last year, the death of my mother (that’s when I got a second antidepressant to take!).

The one thing I would warn you about is be careful about changing the dosage of your perscriptions. Suddenly going off meds, after they’ve built up for a while in your system, can drop you down a well. If you want or need to cut back, talk to your doctor about gradually reducing your dosage. I’m not a doctor, nor do I play one on TV, but following my doctor’s advice I’ve cut down & out several medications. For example, if you take one pill, you cut it in half and take the half for two weeks. Then you cut the half in half and take a quarter for two weeks. That way your body can handle the adjustment.

Feel free to drop me a line and remember this can be a pretty good community of friends, as long as you don’t mention Bush. :wink:

17

Bush! Sloooooowly I turned! Inch by inch, step by step…

18

After my last post, it occurred to me that if you think your family is going to be a nightmare, maybe the best thing to do is not to show up at all. No need to make a scene, just bow out because you’re sick with, I dunno, food poisoning. A mild case can come and go pretty quickly but leave you bedridden for a day or so.

just a thought.

19

Ahhh yes, the Middle Tennessee Thanksgiving Depression. I know it well. In fact, I’m feeling it right now. Soon after completing this post, I get to enjoy the annual forced march across the state for Manditory Holiday Cheer Time. Luckily, I have concocted a diabolical plan to duck out of church tonight and leave before church on Sunday.

Tuckerfan, we haven’t interacted much, but I know when I see your posts that they will be reasonable and interesting. The Dope’s here for you.

You need to get the fuck out of Gallitin, man! It sucks! Yes, you take the emotional weather with you, but there are better, more stimulating places to be for a person of your intellect and interests than freakin’ Gallatin. And I’m not talking about Antioch or Murphreesboro, either!

So if, as you say, you don’t have much support structure in place, then I think a change of scenery might do you good.

20

…you’re not an … Excitable Boy, are you?

Recongealing from a meltdown myself so grab your salt shaker.

I joined the Army when I was 10 years younger than you. Just to get out of town, away from the family & ex-GF. Did me a world of good, healed me a great deal. You’re too old now so you’ve blown that oppor…um.

This place is a great help–just to spend time or whatever, until about midnight. Then people start logging off and you find yourself pathetically looking for responses to your own posts…wait, that’s not helping either.

Movies can help! There’s the whole LOTR trilogy that can take an entire day to get through, *Trainspotting * is a good one, and Men in Black! You…you do have a TV, right?

Hm. Y’know, eliminating the triggers seems like a good plan. And sometimes a move is a good thing. But face it, hombre, you’re clinical. It’s always going to be something. You know that.

Why did the Army help me? Because it TOOK me away from all the familiar stuff that either aggravated me or that I wanted but couldn’t have. Away from the “noise” of my old life I was able to re-create myself while learning a new place (read: mental stimulation). Moving a LONG way away will do the same thing. It sounds like there’s nothing keeping you where you are except for inertia and a couple lame excuses. I might suggest Joe Vs. The Volcano, *Shirley Valentine * and Harold and Maude if you need some reasons to get off yer duff and just make a change right now.

Your mom is a big girl, you are not responsible for her nor her emotional well-being. Certainly not any more so than your brothers. If your car were being stolen, you’d do something about it, right? You’re allowing your fucked up and uncaring family to steal your LIFE. Fuck that! Fuck ALL that! Sell your stuff, buy a tent, and hie thee to a Monterey, CA beach (there’s only one with sand, and it’s not crowded), and watch the sun set over the ocean for a few days. Decide what YOU want to do with the years ahead. Make this decision without pressures from the toxins around you, and you *will *find relief. You’ll still be a walking example of chemical imbalance, but that doesn’t mean you have to suffer the insults of a crummy environment full of people who may or may not have time for you. 36 & single sounds like heaven to me–I’m 37, married & have 3 pretty neat kids…and absoloutely no peace.