goals

One of those days. Urgent situations in several directions, I'm sitting alone in a parking lot staying out of as much as I can while I slip and slide around a day fraught with personal PTSD triggers. Im poking myself and looking for adjectives. Do I feel useless? Nope, not at all. I know in a pinch I could be quite useful if anyone asks. Do I feel concerned? Nope, not that either. I know they're all big kids and can handle things.

As far as I can tell, I am a layer of numb over superly pissed. I am obviously angry about my dad, even more obviously very outa wack for what proper feelings should even be right now, and I don't feel one bit selfish about it. I think I did all the right things touching bases and bowing out, but since I'm fighting deeply ingrained automatic childhood training to jump in at any cost to the rescue with no thought to myself, I am severely hating the part of me right now that keeps popping up in the way.

If I keep shoving myself aside for my dad (or for my brother for my dad), I am becoming very aware that I might lose some grip. I have worked very hard all my life fronting at great cost to myself, and I'm not sure how to nicely explain to anyone that if my dad doesn't go into the ground more gracefully, I feel strongly tempted to help him bypass whatever is in his way from accomplishing his goal to die. He literally called it a goal.

I feel like I'm having a weird slo-mo breakdown, and I feel like my dad needs to buck up and put on his big boy socks after all the insanely negligent crap he put me through.

I was a mean kid growing up. That mean kid is surfing the top of my brain this fall and making me an ugly person.

I don't like that.