Two days to go till my doctor’s appointment

Today has been all right. My eye is slowly getting worse, even though the panadol is keeping my pain to a manageable level. Tonight at my Aunty’s place, I kept carrying on about my eye and rubbing at it. My cousin asked if my eye was driving me crazy, in a tone suggestive of admitting that it was obviously urgently in need of fixing. I said yes it is. It is driving me mad now. That fuckhead sand feeling which I keep trying to get out but it won’t come out. And it’s back to where I want to scrape at it, but know I can’t do that. It’s back to square one, as though I’d never had surgery. So on my way home from shopping tonight, I told my cousin that I’ve devised a nasty plan against my grandparents. On Friday, if I’m sent back to hospital, I’ll make up a wild story, but keep it sounding feasible. I’ll tell them that my cousin hadn’t had a proper visit the last time I was in the hospital, so that’s why she really wants to come up and visit me. If my grandparents insist on staying, I’ll then tell them that oh, I really need some rest, but thanks for their offer to stay, I just need alone time because I know my cousin would be up later. Then I told my cousin that in doing this, they could come whenever they wished, whether it meant literally that day, or the next day. But this would ensure I get the undisturbed peace I desperately like to have in the hospital, without busy-nosed people telling me when to get up, forcing me to eat, deliberately making me vomit violently as an old-school thing to make one’s stomach get rid of so-called rubbish (to me that’s barbaric since that trick is so wrong and makes things worse) – by patting me on the back hard, etc. Violent vomiting happens enough without making the situation worse. If there’s an obstruction, that’s fine. Even doctors are like that with everyone. But whacking someone because they’re dry-heaving, with the old-school idea of seeing them bring something up being like getting rid of unwanted junk – well that’s a turn-off, and makes me nauseated enough to spew up anyway. Eeeeeuuuuu! I’d rather cry and carry on and get over that spewing up episode, than have someone deliberately shock me into bleeding myself out, to the point of needing a fucking drunk happy high to stop spewing up, when really if my damn grandparents would let me alone, I’d get over it quicker, and wouldn’t need to be made into a drunk, except for pain relief. Well maybe it’d help me get over spewing up, but I wouldn’t need medication to get rid of the old-school non-stop spewing up, that wouldn’t be there, at least as severely, without my busy-body grans. Nan and Pop reckon hospitals don’t give you peace, but when only nice and supportive people are around, I do get peace! Iv pumps carry on, but I’m either put to sleep because of waking up frightened and not wanting to go back to sleep, or I just fall asleep because the beeps and other noises gets drowned out by me being tired from painkillers, fasting etc, and laughing and joking with nurses, and eating like a pig if I’m hungry enough. So whether my grans like it or not, the only peace I don’t get is when I’m really scared, or when they’re around. So I’m gonna be very horrible in a nice way on Friday, only if I’m sent to hospital.

Hahahahahahahahahaha I can’t believe I’ve thought of all this tonight! For the past few days I’ve wanted to devise some plan to stop my dumb grandparents from ruining my hospital stay. Tonight I thought of one, and I’m proud of myself. My Uncle is concerned that I’m really upset, apparently over nothing. But with the way my grandparents treat me, and me being nasty to them now, and how they say they’ll help me where they can and me accepting it, my Aunty and Uncle are seeing that my intent to accept help from my grans is out of necessity, not out of goodwill, as it is with my Aunty and Uncle. They’re seeing my upset for what it is now. They’re seeing that when I take help from people, it doesn’t give those people a license to treat me like shit at the same time. That just makes said people look bad. I’m sure they never wanted me to be treated like shit, but because they’re looking at me being driven mad, they kind of want to change that finally. My cousin thinks I’ve turned into an evil witch towards my grandparents, but she’s understanding why I’ve started lying to them about everything, except for very important things that’re either obvious, or other important plans. I no longer be honest about my health unless it involves me seeing a doctor, and even then I’ll lie and say I’m doing well, even if I’m not. Then my other nice family will see how uncomfortable I am, and I’ll be honest. Then they ask how Nan and Pop are handling the situation, then suddenly my upset isn’t over nothing! Lol people just need to see the suffering of their relatives and friends, then bang it’s obvious what the problem is. My grandparents were gonna help me with getting to an appointment for a disability assessment on the 15th of January. But with accepting their help, I also have to accept their unfair treatment, their mucking around, putting me off-side all day, acting as though I’m stupid towards others who I say hi to in their presence, etc etc etc. So now the family is seeing that my accepting of help is actually hurting me, so now they’re stepping in and are willing, because they don’t put me off-side, or treat me with disrespect, or act like I’m stupid, or muck around unreasonably or unnecessarily, nor do they leave me in the dark about things without reason. They treat me like a mature adult, unlike my grandparents, and they help me without hurting my feelings or expecting me to put up with being put down or trampled underfoot or being emotionally abused or treated like someone who needs to be breathed into. I told my cousin not to feel pressured over the bull shit. But she doesn’t, so I’m happy about that. She understands that despite the help Nan and Pop give me, they always leave me in the dark, or do things at my expense, or make my life a misery and expect me to feel good about ignoring problems, when the normal thing would be to fix problems and feel good about that, and control unmanageable problems to a bearable level to make myself feel good about this too. My grandparents simply expect people to tolerate whatever misery they can apparently tolerate, without considering that even if some problems won’t go away, there’s always an option to make them bearable, and reactions or dramas don’t have to just keep happening until they magically go away by themselves. Good luck if that’s the case, but if it’s not, you’d want to try to fix whichever problem that hasn’t got such a magic button, or you’re a mad person, in the same boat as my grandparents. This is why my cousins and Aunty and Uncle are no longer pressured into helping me anymore. They never do things at my expense, and problems are always resolved or made to be manageable if not resolved, if I am put out somehow. Mind you, the benefits of hanging around my family are always way more than the cons! It’s my grandparents who are so horrible.

Tomorrow I’m planning on going for a swim at Jill’s place. I didn’t go swimming today because housework got me losing track of time. I bathed Troy, vacuumed the floor, sat outside with soft drink, had a shower, and then decided to check my phone to see what the time was. Well it was after 5 pm! So I rang my cousin, and she picked me up for a drive to my cousin-in-law’s work, then we came back to do shopping. I finished my shopping, because my fuckhead moles didn’t help me finish it. What I want around them, I can’t have, unless it suits them or the time they’ve got. My cousin didn’t have a whole lot of time either, but at least she quickly told me which isle we were near, so I quickly told her what I needed from there, and anything I forgot, I said I’d get it next week. At least I got what I needed today, without my life being interfered with while I was at it. I’m sure Nan and Pop love seeing others suffer. Fucken Christ, if Pop was vomiting out of control, Nan would be crying for him to stop, trying to get some relief for him. Not me. It took me waiting for the dickheads to leave my hospital room for half an hour, for me to angrily press the call button, then for me to angrily demand for tramadol, for the nurses to convince me to take some endome tablets, which is what I actually really needed. I needed a dopy drunken high to get me out of my depression that my grandparents mercilessly brought on by not respecting my feelings, my choices I tried to make, my need for rest, etc. (Cry!) This is sad. But I have to write. The poor bitch nurses, my lovely friends if you want to be blunt, hurriedly helped me swallow the endome and got me to lay down again just to make me feel comfortable, since my Nan would rather hurt me because being comfortable is too weak and intolerant for her. Now that’s what you’d expect from a psychopath, not your grandparents. But I guess God shows no partiality with anyone. So since he’s not partial, I’m not partial either. I’m being psychopathic towards my grans,, and they do not like it. That’s good, I care only about my pain, they feel no pain, except if you put me in front of my other mob. Then suddenly me and all of them feel pain. I’m only horrible towards my psychopath grandparents. At least my nice mob are seeing the way my grandparents are hurting me, and are trying to keep me from getting too miserable by helping me without being sinister. I know that giving someone a taste of their own medicine is usually the worst thing you can do, but unfortunately my grandparents only understand if you give them their own medicine. No it may not make my relationship with them easier, it’ll push me away from them and vice versa, but at least they’ll understand even if they never admit it. I hate how it’s going, but my miserable treatment from them is causing such a rift and causing me to feel that getting angry at them is what it’ll take for them to stop being nasty to people just to control them. Why they’re like that, I don’t know. I won’t keep being nasty forever, that’s not the way to go. My grandparents just need to see that being sinister is the quickest way of pushing everyone away from them.

I’m fucking freaking out over what my doctor will say. She’s worried about me going mad and going completely stupid. So am I. My family is too. My grandparents couldn’t give a fuck, but we already know that. So anything could happen. Hopefully she’ll send me home after this appointment. Dr. A might be a nice person, but you never know what she’ll come up with when she detects a stinking rat. She’s so clever at picking up dishonesty. She knows I’m honest about my problems, but when it comes to whether I’ll be kind or evil, she knows I always try to lie about that. Well at least I’m sticking to being honest for now. It’s not like she’ll ever be caught off guard. Somehow Dr. A knows when I’m being honest, and when I’m starting to try to get away with lying. Smart fucking doctor! Bugger me dead, is all I can tell myself.


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