April 7, 2013

I’m feeling okay now. I went on with my life relatively well. I think I’m doing well. However, one has to define “wellness” first before putting themselves in such a category. I’m feeling well because I can smile again; I’m feeling well because I can genuinely laugh again; I’m feeling well because the people around me ignored me again. I found out that the only way I could ever be unwell is when people ask about what I’m feeling—am I sleeping well? Why am I pale? What’s with all that shit on your face? Such words always legitimize the fact that I am, indeed, not well. Where am I even going on with this useless rant? Perhaps it’s because nothing relatively happened today? Maybe I’m just feeling so down now that I needed to find a way to make me feel okay. I am seriously feeling like a normal human being again, albeit still crying in my lonesome.

Well, the critical turning point in my life will actually happen tomorrow. I will start my part-time job tomorrow, my first proper job in a very long time. That’s exciting. I am very, very excited, and I cannot contain my happiness for it. My uncle’s wife even called me out for being so happy for myself because I was smiling so vibrantly throughout the day. I guess me smiling and humming in private because of this significant step I did to myself is angering her.

I didn’t have a meeting with Dr. Carrion today. She was the one who suggested that I should take it easy, and that’s precisely what I am doing! However, I don’t want to be here and stop doing my chores just because I want to relax. I did the laundry; I washed the dishes; I ironed the clothes; I dusted the walls; I vacuumed the floor. All of that I did just so none of the people in here would call me a freeloader. But no matter what I’d do, even if my intentions are good, people would still talk. That’s the only thing humans are ever good at. Talking. Especially when it’s about someone else.

And that’s really all there is to it today. I’m fucking fed up with the bullshit in this house!

I overheard my uncle’s wife talking to her children today. His deplorable wife, ever so toxic, with a mouth that can only spill useless, disgusting bullshit. Her name is Janine. I guess I don’t really need to write that, but today, I specifically wish to utter her name over and over and over and over again. Janine. What a stupid fucking name. I hated her, and I will continue hating her for the rest of my life. She’s the only stain on my uncle’s immaculate life. I don’t even know what he saw in her. She’s blonde, skinny, white, short, big boobs, but no ass—the typical white woman that would call the manager just for some minor inconvenience. You best believe that motherfucking Janine would rampage because her spaghetti has two less pasta on it.

I want to talk about Janine today. I overheard her talking to her children about me. She said that I’m bad at washing the dishes without any reasons and that I'm bad at doing the laundry because there are some stains on her clothes and that I'm bad at cleaning the house because there’s some dirt on the floor—the audacity of that fucking bitch to say those words about me. When I first entered this house, I already knew that that horrible woman doesn’t help around the house. Just sit around in her throne of shit and piss. Janine does nothing but to bark about other people behind their backs! The biggest reason I even voluntarily and eagerly took on the job as a housemaid is because of how much effort my uncle has to put in making this place at least livable. Note that Janine—gosh, I fucking hate that name—is a non-working housewife, and the only person who rakes an income in this house is my uncle. That means my uncle does ALL the chores, ALL the cooking, and ALL the working to feed his good for nothing wife and make sure that this house can at least be considered a home that humans could live in.

I fucking hate Janine.

I had just finished working around the house and was about to return to my room. That was when I heard Janine groan about how she hates the fabric conditioner I used—even though that’s what they had always used before I even came here. She also snarled about how she hates the loud sound of the vacuum while I’m cleaning—even though they have been using this thing for so long, but she only started yapping about it when I began using it.

Janine would also complain about my abilities. I remembered how she made this preposterous claim about her dress. She said that there’s still some mud stain on her white dress, although I didn’t wash any muddied clothes. In fact, it would be impossible for her dress to even get mud on them because, not only had she never worn that dress, but she also never left the house. It’s impossible for that stain to stick on her clothes!

Janine—fucking AWFUL name—then went on yapping about how she always tells my uncle about her problems with me. She would fume about how my uncle wouldn’t listen to her and scream at him to make her voice heard. However, my uncle wouldn’t even look at her, just shrug and grunt.

As that cunt Janine continued slandering me behind my back—you best believe that she’s the holiest angel when she’s facing me—I noticed that her children had varying opinions about her bullshit. Her daughter, Monique, hates my guts as much as her mother does. She would agree to everything her mother would say like a fucking echo; she would grunt whenever her mother grunts and screams whenever her mother screams. She would speak with her high-pitched voice—she’s 14—and slur her words while she repeated everything her mother would say. Monique also looks exactly like Janine, a perfect reflection. If ever one needs to know what Janine looks like when she’s younger, look at Monique. It seems like everything about this 14-year-old fucktwat is merely a copy of Janine. That’s all she is, and that’s all she will ever be—a fucktwat copycat that will soon become her own breed of bitchery.

Meanwhile, Janine’s son, Ivan, doesn’t seem to care much until Janine talks about her plan to sabotage me to make me look bad. Hod. This entire thing sounds like a stupid high school drama. Only children would take part in this absurdity. Anyway, Ivan very casually and calmly tells Janine that what she had just said was awful and manipulative, which is 100% true. However, when Janine—the bitch witch of this surreal sanctuary—heard about how her son audaciously disagrees with her very ignorant statement, she lost it right away! She screamed out loud with all the shrill hiss that she could let out of her throat. When Janine exploded like a nuke, Ivan finally decided to leave the room.

That was when he saw me eavesdropping outside of her mother’s room—everyone has a separate room in this house, including my uncle and his wife. I flinched a bit when our eyes met. I’m already thinking about how this event would send me packing. However, when Ivan saw me shake uncontrollably, he just sighed and patted my back as he led me back to the kitchen. I then cried out loud when we finally arrived in the kitchen, and my kind cousin just listened to me and rubbed my back. He kept telling me that everything is fine.

No more crying.

That’s what he said.

No more crying.

Over and over, he would say that while tears flowed out of my eyes as I remembered the harsh things that her bitch of a mother kept saying about me. I feel so embarrassed that he had to hear me call his mother and his sister a “bunch of bitches” while I’m having my panic attack, but he just listened to me and gave me ample time to let out all the frustrations I have in my mind. I then apologized to him profusely when I’m finally in the right headspace. He just chuckled at me when he saw me getting nervous and told me it’s okay and that I didn’t hurt his feelings or anything.

Talking to Ivan like this makes me feel like I have a big brother. He is 24, after all, four years older than me. I like him. He’s understanding, he’s chill, and he’s kind. I’m glad he’s here with me.