Rob-world

I’m depressed as all fucking hell.  My idea for a Trump-inspired holiday party, “Moscow on the Schuykill” has dissolved like so much wet toilet paper.  I just don’t know if I  have the wherewithal to keep going.  I’M VIRTUALLY friendless, can’t/don’t/won’t write anymore;  and  in a depression so severe that I truly truly don’t know if I can pull myself back from the abyss or not.  

Effie, pathetically is the only reason I’m there.  I’m really to just end it all.   I’m so fucking tired of fighting my Trustees for a little help making my Apple Card part of my life.  Don’t they realize I'm so fucking tired of only getting resistance and pessimism From when what I NEED. Is success, support, and guidance Effie neds me and that's the only reason I don’t off myself.  Really.  All my energy goes into fighting the trust for helpful continually advancing care.  Tomorrow I’ll hopefully  pray again for the convincement to kill myself.

I’m hoping this blogging app helps me update my blogpost blog from my iPad.  We’ll see.  Fingers crossed!

I’m feeling increasingly nervous about using my Apple Card.  I’ve bought wholly into the  myth I’m still bad with money; I WAS  bad with money; II'll freely admit that.    BUT  to say I haven’t learned from my mistakes is more than insulting, and short-sighted, and, I hope, just plain wrong.

I didn’t/don’t want to keep regurgitating the same old, sad crap that everyone expects, because there’s, well, no goddamn point.  I got an Apple Card, and everybody’s pissed.  To me, it5’s another step in my recovery,  To them, it’s another mess they’ll have to clean up.  I HATE it here….  I’m still working so Goddamn hard on my recovery; but I seem to be the only fucking one.

I WAS TOO DEPRESSED to go to Meeting today.  iF IT WEREN’T for Effie , I’d be so fucking out of here.

So, I applied for, and got, an Apple Card.  I FIGURED OUT a conservatuive bestimate of the Trust's yearly income , reined it in, and used it as my income, which it is, and got me a card.  I’m guessing my good consumer standing  with Apple the past few years didn’t hurt either.  I’m saying all this now because tomorrow morning I finally have a Trustee meeting and I’m nervous that  they’ll react poorly to me getting a credit card.  But I was tired of the Trust repeatedly taking advantage of Butch by expecting him to repeatedly tie up his credit card with deposits for my travel expenses and stuff.  And, honestly, with them not seeing money management as an important part of my recovery.  Honestly, when it comes to $, the Trust has always a bit slow to acknowledge my recovery progress.  And, frankly, I’m done.  Done with holding back on my recovery because the Trustees appear, by their omnipresent silence, to be so much more comfortable with preserving the status quo, than advancing my...

I'm really disturbed by the way the trust seems to say, all the time now: YOU’LL RECOVER ONLY THIS FAR , AT THIS RATE.  Any attempts to color outside the lines, or faster, will be met with every impediment possible. I’m of tired of having to badger, or gameplay my Trustees to get fair use of my money for reasons why the trust was created in the first place:  to enhance, and ensure, my recovery from the incidents of 1/31/99.  THE Trust doesn’t seek to serve my  ADVANCING recovery;  it instead seeks to serve only its own existence.  This trip to Montreal is a perfect example.  No one has asked me what shows I want to see, or events I care to take in. Not once,  This  is why I need an Apple credit Card people.  It will allow me more independence, and  not tie me to Butch, or make me cash-dependent on the Trust,  It’ll work with all my stuff.    Meanwhile,  let’s go on living a purposeless life;  where I don’t write because I’m Always so depressed.  You know, I once was a great guy, ...

I probably should reinforce me having a DNR with my Trustees.  It really does effect everything in how I view/handle my life and money.  First though, I should check to confirm it’s existence. I went back and forth on it, but hope I held firm and kept it in place.

It. seems to be all I do, here and in Therapy.  I  think of suicide every day now.  I’m in an odd kind of place right now.  I may observe, but not effect , change.  I think about suicide every day still, like I said; Effie and only Effie, my cat, keeps me from acting on it; we need each other, her and I.  People talk and talk about making my life better, but they never do anything.  And they’re too afraid of what might happen if they take their hands off the wheel and let me drive. Anybody remember when I had hopes, dreams, aspirations?  No?  That’s a damn shame, ‘cause I sure do.

It will come as no surprise  if I say I’m unnerved ny the way Peter’s firing and replacement happened so smoothly.  I. Feel no connection with Eileen, the lady who took his place; she’d been his assistant  for a while but her relationship has been primarily w/Butch,  not me. This troubles me.

I don’t know WHY it’s just hitting me today but 1/31 was the 20th anniversary of my gay-bashing.  Twenty fuckin’ years.  Twenty years, since I walked jauntily around my environs and enjoyed life the way a man should.  Twenty years since I eeked out a living as writer, living mostly off  of Scott’s money, though I  told myself it was off my living as a writer. I used his resources  while I despicably went around with another behind his back.  Many times, I’ve wondered if I  didn’t DESERVE the beating Ian and Glen gave me for the way I treated Scott like a heart-sick ATM.

I’ve talked before about how I stepped back from running my life , to focus solely on my recovery until I felt greater success in my capabilities, at which point I would re-assume greater participation in my money and it’s investment/use.  I believe that time is now. Will I screw up the casual handling of my money?    Maybe.  Hell, probably.  At which time, I would hope my Trust would nudge me back toward fiscal sensibility.  And then, let me try again.   Repeat if necessary.  This how therapy goes, and that’s what this ultimately, is.practical cognitive therapy.   Same crap; slightly edited: I’ve talked before about how I stepped back from running my life , to focus solely on my recovery until I felt greater success in my capabilities, at which point I would re-assume greater participation in my money and it’s investment/use. I believe that time is now. Will I screw up the casual handling of my money?  Maybe.  Hell, probably. At which time, I would hope my Trust would nudge me ba...

I’m so goddamn unhappy all the time.  I don’t write because I’m always so depressed, and I’m always so depressed because I don’t write.  I need a therapy cat desperately.  Jaime NEEDED me; that need got me through many a dark time.  Nothing needs me now, and that’s really dangerous.

So, if you don’t like to read that kind of self-involved, morose crap, move along.  There’s nothing else to see here.  if you do, Christmas came early.  I’m as depressed as I’ve ever been, primarily over my abject failure to devise a life worth living, post-t.b.i.   Jaime gave my life purpose.  Without her, it’s emptiness and my misery is only heightened.  I haven’t felt like writing in , literally, years.  Right now, my guess is I never will again.  I don’t feel like I’m worth loving and I feel I have no love to give.  My family all seems so horribly self-absorbed.  I question the motivation and caliber of my life, of every decision since 1/31/99.  Starting with my decision to come back.  It all seems, now, like nothing but a giant act of selfishness.

… to love and be loved by Grendel & Jaime.  Thoughts of another cat wait until I get back from Montreal.  It wouldn’t be fair to get it, then leave.

I didn’t top myself and I’m stilll cat-less, and new iPad-less.  I’m surprised at how much I loved Jaime; I remember, the first few days, when I had to force myself to love her, ‘cause she was slightly stand-offish for a while.  I remember running my hands over her rail-thin body, thinking, over and over, I WILL love this cat; I MUST love this cat.  And soon enough, boy howdy, how I did.  She had never peacefully taken a shit in her life before, always terrorized by other animals ; so she sprayed her shit at first.  I got her a Booda-belll letterbox, and problem solved.  She was happier; her turds solidified and i was happier:   no more mess.  I quickly developed an “us against the world” mentality with her, and it survives through her death.  I feel picked on , by my Trustees. Who I feel, are failing to let me recover control of my finances.  They let me try once, in the very early days of my recovery, and of course I fucked it up. I’ve been suggesting with increasing firmness, they. ...

My life has NEVER fully recovered from what happened halfway through in my  36th year:  1/31/99.  I was gaybashed, and lost all my hard-won autonomy.  Despite all my hard work at recovery, my Trustees won’t return  active control  of my finances to me.  I’’ve NEVER asked for nor wanted full control of my wealth; but right now they , by their actions, trust Butch more than me; which is just fucked up.  They still don’t see fit to give me a credit card,  backed up by the Trust, W HICH I MAY. USE FOR TRAVELLING and for keeping my cognitive gym up to date.  My iPad’s been dead for over a year now so reading is limited or not possible; same with writing, so I dion’t even try anymore.  I live in poorly  painted public housing; I have to have a roach infestation or presence cleared up, every  week.

I’m supposed to wait until after I GO TO Montreal to get. A new therapy cat, but I don’t know if I can wait that long.  jAIME seriously levelled me and made me feel needed/wanted/ and so kept. Me from going over the edge.  She needed me.  That need gave me purpose, a.reason to live, Seriously, I’m depressed all the fucking time.  The trust treating like a fucking retard doesn’t help.  They’ve ssenteencced me to an early death probably, by not securing for me a pool tp swim in regularly, to get safe cardio.  They won’t assist me in getting, more independence 0by firing Butch, who0 won’t quit; I’ve checked   In short, Butch’s overuse and the Trust’[s unwillingness in advancing my recovery by minimizing Butch and maximizing me, continually frustrates me.

Why I’m so depressed,   PART OF IT MUUST BE BECAUSE my living conditions are such crap.  & limited. To non-control over my own “wealth”, such as it is.

I feel feel woefully bereft. And unprepared for the $ meeting we’re having tomorrow.  Among the things to discuss I wanna set forth are a few items:   I feel like, and I’ve been guilty most of all in this, we’ve been using my  T.B.I. as an excuse for my shortcomings.  We should not.  Instead I would like to confront and overcome those weaknesses.  While handling the bulk of is Trust is your purview, you’ve often shown yourself more than willing to consider my rehab as a strange part of working on my azccount and my feelings as Quaker .   You made the Trust available to me when I had to deal with Jaime’s illness.  You’ve kept my T.B.I. recovery gym in good shape, by acknowledging my need for keeping up with my Mac needs and allowing me to re-fresh or even add to what I r fer to as “my recovery gym equipment”.  In sum, I’m very grateful for the assisstance my Trustees have given me in letting me continue my rehab, even as it enters new territory.  The happy news is, my recovery is conti...

I should be. In bed.  I’ll get there aft6er this..  The. Out gay guy on Ideol tonight was REALLY good.  I v’m gonna set. up voting, So I may support him directly. It’s 11:11.  Bedtime.

 or not I should crap before bed. My Apple Watch charger is fallling apart.  I need a new one.  I want other things, of course, but until I have a higher output, I really can’t justify it.  I doubt that Peter & Gil know how I justify everything to myself before I ask them/the Trust for stuff.  I’ve vetted the request at least half a dozen, or more pros Aad cons. I try and vet the request as thoroughly as possible before I contact them.  

It’s a travesty, but what may you do?  I’m tired now; I’ll try and recapture it tomorrow.

Since I ,lost control of it, my life has sucked.

I bought a VERY expensive pair of Brooks Brothers riding gloves, because my other gloves had vanished.  This morning, they’re back, my new gloves are missing.   WTF?

Meeting tomorrow, so bed soon.  Meeting tomorrow, weather permitting so I’ll write more tomorrow. Hopefully

"But the very concept of it just irks me. It’s also untrue. Men sren’t hot or attractive because they’re straight. It’s this kind of imagined desire that leads to hate crimes."   This my response to seeing the. above.-titled book in iBooks.

I try and write these late at night, before bed.  A day review before bed. I LOVE my cat.  Yes, she’s older.  But she’s so Goddamn loving and kind.  We’re settling into a routine whereby we deal with each other’s foibles.  And learn how to accommodate them. 1:10.  Bedtime.  Jaime’s been in bed for a while now; but. Noooo, I had to watch Colbert.

I’m hoping to start seeing her again, too, as I work on better integration of my life post-injury with my life as a whole.  I  mean, my life as a t.b.i. survivor is every bit important to me as my life as a gay man.  It’s past time for me to acknowledge that, so I may integrate them more fully and, frankly, heal.

I need to have a meeting with my trustees.  I need to make sure Ed’s resignation gets accepted, and Bill comes on board as Ed’s successor. I need new cognitive recovery gym equipment, like the 3rd version of the HomePod when it comes out; and an iPad mini to read on.  Next year, a new Mac,  a new iPad proper, and headphones for home, and a pair for rolling around with my iPhone.  Film editing software too, Final Cut. Traveling too:  WV, Montreal; where I hope to establish a 2nd, summer home; L.A. and a side trip to Palm Springs to see Scott and the kids.  Maybe Ireland.  The trust needs to be used now; I anticipate dying before this decade of my life wears out; logic says from a stroke, as my brain blood vessels were probably severely weakened in the assault.  I already have a DNR.  I have no heirs; Ciaran & Scott are both semi-wealthy doctors who don’t NEED my money; I’d like to run my wealth out these next few years; enjoy life as much as I can.  For years now, I’ve tried to get ...

She needs me.  She’s an older cat, I think, at least 4, maybe 5.  She has a sensitive tummy, so needs special soft food from Science Diet. But she needs me, and I need to be needed, apparently.  My suicidal impulses are nil lately, because to kill myself would mean to  kill  her, and I won’t do that.

You/I always get way behind on them.  Try to do them anyway, then fail doing them,    tHEN, WE/I GET DEPRESSED by  our/my failure. Not  good.

tESTING 1-2-3

I rang it in with Bill & Kevin at the Bike Stop.  Had a small bottle  of Veuve Clicquot with Jaime at home.

I talked with a new-ish member of Meeting today, who had just got back from visiting Dublin, where she went to Eustace Street Meeting, my old Meeting in Dublin, and when she said she was visiting from Philadelphia, ARCH STREET Meeting, Thomas Querany  came up to her and said, among other things that what happened to me really served to galvanize the Irish gay community to demand equality and fair, not special, treatment from Irish society and law. Which they now enjoy, in full. I burst into happy tears.  To think that my assault and recovery helped; had a purpose and did some good,makes. It all so much more palatable, and meaningful to  me.

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She’s the only one.  So often, she’s my only reason for living.  I watched Rent last night; the author, Jonathan Larsen, died the last day of rehearsal; but he left something behind something so worthwhile. I don’t write anymore; and I’m happy to take the lion’s share of responsibility for that, but there’s still enough blame to  go around.  I am distracted  by financial uncertainties;  I NEVER know how much I have or where it is, much less how to access it.   So, I’m denied life extending swimming/cardio therapy, and have  been, for over a decade now.  Every day, I’m so miserable that the thought of suicide is an hourly event. Jaime keeps pulling me back from that edge, every hour on the hour.  I don’t write anymore,   haven’t for a while.  No one cares.  No one misses my unborn creations. I don’t know about my decade-plus misery.  Right now, I’m praying that, when Jaime goes , God will take me too.

MY BLOG ENTRY FOR TODAY:  When I adopted Jaime, they told me she was an older cat, and asked if I knew what that meant. I said, yes so her incontinence and everything, I signed up for this, She deserved a nice sunset; every living thing does.  Besides, I’d just been through love and loss with Grendel, so very recently then, so my pump/heart was all primed to handle it. Death, I mean. So, her recent vet trips, her cost/maintenance, its all on me.  I need to find out how much Scott has spent on her, to date, and pay him back.Cause this is MY fault. I do’t regret a minute of it, though  She’s helped me so much, and loved me so well. And helped me get through some REALLY rough times.  A lot of times, when I wanted to kill myself, I climbed down off that ledge solely or at least primarily because she needed me. To live. No one else NEEDS me. Oh, they want me around because they like, even (agape) love me, but NEED me?  No one .  Just Jaime. And I need her.