Cats Protection called the other day to ask how my “rescue furball” Penny is settling in. How she’s getting on. I noticed that they didn’t ask me how I was getting on. She scratched my foot until I woke up this morning. It hurt. Nobody calls Humans Protection on her, yet if I’d booted her across the room and somebody else found out, I’d probably be arrested. I’ve been up since 7am contemplating methods of cat murder. We’re at an impasse.
I am depressed. Again.
This is the worst spell since ground zero four and a half years ago. It’s nowhere near that level. I’m in much better all-round shape these days, which, ironically, is part of the problem. Because I carry on. I can keep the mask in place miles better when I’m in decent mental shape. Until I burn out again. I’m sick of pretending to be a grown-up. Pretending I can cope on my own. I can’t. I’m absolutely, hopelessly useless at it. I despise coping. But I can’t let anyone else in either. Partly because I don’t trust anyone enough, partly because I don’t trust myself not to sabotage things/end up despising myself/them/definitely murdering the cat.
I got a cat to try and train myself into a routine. To bother to get up in the morning, to feed and care for something day-to-day. To fill a void. Probably the wrong reasons. But she was a stray cat in February this year. With Feline Immunodeficiency Virus (cat HIV). Nobody wanted her. She was a spare animal. I think stray cats and dogs should probably be culled until there’s none left, and we certainly shouldn’t be importing stray animals from other countries. Sorry if you have, I’m not having a go at you. But I think there are bigger priorities for our own species right now. Stray animals are only there to keep animal charities going. And there wouldn’t be all these spare, unnecessary cats and dogs mooching about if we hadn’t messed about with everything in the first place. It’s ridiculous. There are too many people in this ugly, bloated world of ours, too many displaced animals who shouldn’t even have been born, too many animals who should have been born and are living where they are meant to be but being persecuted by us, far too many cars. Too much everything.
I walked to the Post Office earlier and passed a billboard near my house which roared the words “CONNECT 100 DEVICES IN YOUR HOME AT ONCE!” at me. I’ve no idea how many devices I possess. But it made me feel sick and I wanted to destroy every one of them when I got home. Certainly not connect one to anything. As for cars. Have you been to hospital recently? And tried to park? My mind is boggled. Thousands upon thousands of cars wedged into any available space. Some in invented spaces. I found one myself the other week and added to the ludicrous vehicular jigsaw puzzle, deliberately at right angles to the other cars nearby, because my car is little, and I could. It’s stupid. All of it. I’m as much part of the problem as anyone else.
I’m sick and tired of trying to fill my time. Existing. My life is a pointless waste of time when I’m not with my daughter. I just fidget about getting nothing out of it. . Feel. Nothing. Being a dad is the only thing that can hold my full attention. Nothing else has mattered since she arrived eight years ago. And I’m sad because I can’t do it all the time. I realise I wouldn’t be able to if she lived with me, she’d be at school, I’d be elsewhere part of the time. But it’s still a focus. A real one, that really matters. Not just messing about making stuff or writing things or “pushing myself out of my comfort zone” to pass the time when I’m by myself.
Ultimately, I am nothing more than a spare human most of the time. I should probably be culled. I certainly shouldn’t be imported to another country to clog up space there. One less car on the road, 100 less devices connected, one less raft of Amazon subscription cat supply deliveries.