I Can’t

It’s becoming a more frequent word, especially around here.

I can’t deal with things that make me upset, not because I’m weak, but because I’m not going to deal with it. And it’s easier to say that I can’t than it is to explain to degenerates that I have an illness and your provoking words are only making it worse. So, I quickly grab my headphones and I listen to music, killing my ears. But it’s better than provoking me into saying something that will start a fight that will lead to slamming doors and fists.

As it is. Last night, because I “forgot” my place, there was an argument. An outrage, a raised fist, slamming doors, raised voices, and a dose of Clonazepam. This is every time. This is why they wonder why I don’t like them. This is why they wonder why I don’t want to get to know them. This is why, every time, I run away and spend time with my mom (that, and I miss her terribly).

I can’t. I can’t deal with the passive aggressiveness. I can’t deal with the physical aggression. I can’t deal with the harsh words and loud noises.

It makes my anxiety surge. My heart rate quickens and I feel myself trying to shake. I get mad, because there is only so long that someone can hold their tongue, and I’ve been holding my tongue for over two years now.

I can’t deal with the person who thinks he’s a man, but has the emotional stability of a two year old. You can’t call yourself a man and do thinks like that. When you put others in harms way because you’re raging, I think there’s a problem. You should deal with your emotions or admit that you need help. And he as done neither.

BIL would be an excellent subject for a case study…you know, if I was a professional and had stable enough emotions to deal with everything. But I don’t.

Let me explain. I think I’ve talked about it before. But I’ll divulge some more information.

BIL, for those who don’t know, is a 25 year old male that sits at home. He has no driver’s license, no job, no money of his own. He has no car, he has no hope. He was a semester away from a career in computer sciences (or something like that), but he quit. He had a job and a girlfriend and even moved out of his parents’ home…for 6 months. But now he’s back, and he’s bitching. Because he’s depressed. And I understand that depression. What I don’t understand is why everyone lets this continue.

He has fits of rage which include but are not limited to: shouting, cursing, slamming doors, talking to himself, punching things, throwing things, locking himself in his room, and getting physical with others.

What sets him off: anything. Me, when I stand up for myself, when I support my opinion, when I’m backing up my husband. When he doesn’t get his way on simple things, sorta like a 2 year old. When his parents spend their own money on bills or food. When he doesn’t get to keep the change.

When he gets upset, like last night, he acts in an over exaggerated way. Last night, he got upset because I said something to defend my husband. Let me explain: hubby bought this little radio controlled helicopter. Really cool. It’s cheap, but it’s fun to play with. Anyhow, hubby was flying it and crash landed it into a pot of water. Oops. We looked for rice, there wasn’t any. So I suggested a blowdryer. It could or could not work. Anyhow, he asked his sister to go get the dryer and BIL started yelling from the living room “what?! Are you crazy???” And I supported the decision, saying that it’s not going to hurt anything. Anyhow. He got pissed and started yelling as hubby asked his sister, again, to go get the blowdryer. He stormed into the kitchen and was yelling about ordering his sister around, he raised his fist at hubby. And of course hubby defended himself, “don’t raise your fucking fist at me! What the fuck is your problem?” And they went back and forth asking what was wrong. Finally, everyone went outside leaving me and BIL inside. And he’s muttering to himself “this is my house. I can make you leave. Talking to me like I’m some kinda trash…” Some of the words were inaudible and that was probably a good thing. His mom came in and he started yelling at her. And he always plays the victim. I did this to him, I talk to him like crap in his house, I have no respect for him. Yada yada yada. It’s the same story. But no one seems to catch the part where he says “she talks to me…” Really? I don’t talk to him. It’s getting harder and harder not to talk to him.

Tonight, he gets mad because his parents ordered pizza and wings and some other stuff, but enough to feed all 6 of us, and they had it delivered. The total came up to almost $85. Please note that I believe this is a ridiculous amount to pay for food that is only going to last one meal, but it’s not my money so I’m not complaining. Anyhow, BIL gets mad. Because…well, I don’t know why. But he’s mad. And it’s a fight. Because he’s sitting there stating that we can’t afford this. I just want to ask him if its his money, did he work for it? Does he know the bills? No? Oh! Then shut up! I’m not saying that I know their business, because I don’t. But damn! I don’t make it a huge fight, because its not my business. I am thankful that they are buying my meals and allowing me to stay at their house. All he does is complain about everything, even when it’s not his business.

So I’m sitting here, writing this from my phone, listening to music. Because I can’t deal with this and I’m not about to. It makes me feel unsociable. But it stops me from trying to fight a losin battle. It’s just sad that this is every time. And this is why I don’t want to be here.


About Preslee

I am diagnosed with Bipolar 2 Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Panic and Anxiety disorders, and PTSD. I write about my own personal experiences and thoughts.

Posted on June 28, 2013, in Life, Mental Health and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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