Stream of Conscious

Yesterday was a bad day. [About Cat Hartliebe]

So I wrote up some of my life in a long stream of conscious almost rant. I figured, hell why not let people have access to it. There is no fixed errors throughout, so you’ll see my legit writing style and quality. It will hurt to read through and rewrite, although I probably will fashion it into a memoir somewhat at some time. it’s just bare bones and will be nothing like the final product, but it’s something.

Cinderella Except Too Old for Princess terms

Nor did I get adopted into a hate filled family.

i was born to them. They are my blood relatives. and they hate my existence.

it doesn’t matter if they tell you other wise. I’m treated like shit. as if my words and actions don’t matter. I’m worthless.

It’s not like anything is really new here. I grew up in a racist, sexist household. I didn’t know it at the time. I had no idea I was trained to see myself as less. That being female was less. I didn’t fit any molds anyone could find for me. I was always so close to death. I visited doctors where no answers were ever found. Why did she faint? Why is her blood pressure low? Why is she losing eye sight? Why does she stop functioning?

Doctors never helped. They hurt me. They injured me. And never apologized for it. The Medical community sucks. My community sucks. My school was horrible. I was bullied throughout my entire public education. And the only reason I wasn’t kicked out (or bullied to leave) was because they saw my intelligence and hoped I’d succeed. Well, I haven’t. As if I will. And if I manage now, well BRICK SCHOOL SYSTEM SUCKED!  They literally ignored my bullying just because I was never physically abused. And they can’t see it now twenty years later with my son. I won’t support them. They are blind on purpose. They are sexist and racist and hate filled. The entire community I grew up in is a Team Trump. So don’t act like I’m kidding when I say my community sucked.

It’s not surprising I grew up with depression. My family life was horrible. My school life was horrible. I was a flower growing out of dirt. More out of a landfill. And I was a dirty flower who never got enough water to sprout properly.

School told me (and I was stupid enough to listen) college meant everything. I’m smart. Genius level. I know that. People who spend a few minutes with me pick up on that. So college made a lot of sense. And I wanted science. I love science. Science is a field you need a degree in. It’s not like I wasn’t thinking of pursuing my doctorate. I just didn’t know what in. I decided on my college and major back in middle school. Pretty sure if anyone in the horrible school system tried to push me in any direction, I would have refused. But this was more than just my school. This was everyone in society. And I was this vulnerable little kid.

I suggest never being a vulnerable little kid. It never works in your favor.

Honestly, college was easy. Just like high school. Then I got involved with someone. Which wasn’t bad overall. A few mistakes in freshman year still left me with mostly As. That cleared several low end science and math courses. It was the type of course load people are overwhelmed by. I wasn’t. Calculus wasn’t hard. I never had to study for it. Nor was Chemistry (minus those vocab lists). Biology was piece of cake. Seriously, I didn’t understand how people fail these courses. I did classes that were tough and just acted like they were easy. Because for me with my level of intelligence they were.

Then I got pregnant.

If I regretted anything up to this point it would probably be not getting myself into thinking I was a lesbian versus hetero. I’m pansexual, but that wasn’t a term I knew. And I grew up in that horrible community where the only option was het, so obv my anyone goes options will lean me toward males. That is my biggest regret. Boyfriends fucked over my college.

My pregnancy was awful. I was still medically down (with illnesses that didn’t exist according to doctors even if the symptoms were constant). I was constantly throwing up within a few days of conception. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t think. I knew this would be a horrible pregnancy. I literally couldn’t support the child. Sophomore in college I had an abortion. He had a name: Lokin. And he would have been much loved. But there was literally no way to carry him. I thought I spent a large percentage of that pregnancy in the hospital going in several times basically dead. The abortion clinic was kind. I hated it. I wanted Lokin. His father would have loved him too.

Because of that hell, my semester was less than stellar. I missed every class at least twice. I apologized to every teacher. I lost my 4.0.

And don’t go on the rant I wasn’t using birth control. Actually I was. I cannot use chemical birth control. I tried the patch and the pill. I was using the patch when I became pregnant with Lokin. The pill made me exhausted. All my birth control has to be separate from my chemistry. Condoms are only 99.9% when used properly. And I’m not perfect.

Shortly after the chaos, I broke it off with the dad. I love him. Still. But it wouldn’t work. That water was blackened in such a way we only made each other depressed. Honestly I don’t know if I was the one who broke it off. He could’ve. We were making life for each other hell. Here I thought one and only and it fell apart.

Life goes on. Supposedly. By Junior year, I got with my son’s father. Yeah, I know now he’s a dead beat piss of shit. I didn’t know then. I should’ve. He dated my friend. They broke up for various reasons. And he loved another friend. It was an unhealthy obsession everyone insulted him over. Seriously am I truly that blind? I guess.

It was a rocky relationship, but I’m the fool who sticks with people. (I know right?) He dragged me down. I realize that now. He never pushed me. I needed someone pointing out which master’s programs to aim for. He offered nothing. No push. No life. It was a bad relationship for me. All those beginning signs of abusive person. Controlling and manipulative.

But I was a young adult. I was foolish. I was helpful. I never saw a good relationship. At least not one that wasn’t abusive. My father’s… bad. But my mother stays with him. Now I consider her foolish and stupid. Back then I thought it was the way of the world. And technically it is. I will say this now: Never stay with someone who doesn’t push you to become a better you.

As senior year ends, I needed two classes for my degree, so I know I needed another semester (plus the senior project). I figured I’d take that one more high level math course and earn a minor in Mathematics. Cool right? Math is easy. The three courses (plus the technical report for the project) would be easy to handle. Then I could look into master’s programs.


For one if I wanted a master’s program I really should’ve been looking all senior year. I should have been focused. Like now I know where I’d go if I had the option: the online Applied Statistics master’s through University of Philadelphia.  I have the required basics. I could take it all online. It’s heavy math and stats which i loved. I could work with SAS again. (Why didn’t I go with computer programming?)

No one pushed me. My family had no idea I needed a push. Not that they really ever helped me better myself. It was always me pushing myself. My family is the barefoot pregnant in the kitchen type. Why else would I have half siblings?

What really stopped everything in 2008 was I got pregnant at the end of senior year. This one was better than Lokin. I started Kevin’s pregnancy at 150lbs. I was in decent shape. I had a lot of cardio for classes (It’s environmental science. I was outside A LOT).

I’m offering my weight to you because I want you to realize the danger I went into. I dropped below 130lbs during the pregnancy. I was a health risk start to finish. I never put on weight. I ended up getting a PICC line for food intake. Nothing stayed down. (I know why now: food allergies; the pregnancy made all of them worse and that was the main reason I was always ill as a child. Yes, I have gone through shock a lot. I’ve learned how not to breathe. I’ve learned when to pass out. And when to focus on specific parts of the body so I don’t pass out until I’m safe. I can set off adrenaline without any chemical additive.)

Life was HELL. But Kevin’s Father was a complete ass. He complained about everything. He asked me to have an abortion. I said no. This was is better than Lokin. I want a child. I didn’t want to deal with the emotional crisis I had after Lokin. With my support through my mother’s insurance, I struggled. All the nurses thought I was crazy. Because my illnesses must be in my head. I was anorexic not sick according to them. I swear to you they thought that. I still want to set Jersey Shore Hospital on fire.

Wait, I didn’t write that out yet. I had a PICC line, right? It got infected! I went into the ICU to be given blood (yeah while pregnant). I had a Staf infection. Staf is no big deal on the surface of your skin. It kills you if it reaches your heart. It was probably one of my wonderful nurses who “cleaned” my PICC line’s bandaging. Those nurses were horrible. They saw me as this useless worthless person who was wasting the medical field’s resources. As if I wasn’t really sick. As if I was making everything up!

The PICC line came out right away. It was the first order of the doctor. I liked my OB. Without him Kevin wouldn’t be alive. I’m not kidding at all. I went on antibiotics.

I’m allergic to antibiotics. I haven’t found one I don’t get a really bad reaction from. It’s a fabulous life really.

Most people when they get the month long treatment of antibiotics, they can leave for most of it. I couldn’t. I was constantly two steps from death because I was allergic to the drug that was saving my life. So I needed to stay. The nurses didn’t see it that way. Everything about the month long hosptial stay was hell. I still want to burn the place down.

The PICC line came out at about 22 weeks. I’m not quite clear. The entire pregnancy’s fuzzy on certain details. But I was out of the horrific nausea and vomiting period. I couldn’t eat enough, but I could eat.  So mostly I was on the bed rest.

I hate being on bedrest. But I wrote things. Writing kept me from losing my mind. Bludi was started back then. My half elf who was unwanted. It wasn’t finished until much later.

A few days before Thanksgiving, I went into labor. I was only 30 weeks. Kevin had a good chance of survival, but not a great one. I was shot with steroids to boost his lungs (which weren’t finished yet) and told DO NOTHING. They wanted him to reach at least 32 weeks. that’s when it becomes the final stretch. 32 weeks makes it above 90% survival. before that…

Kevin was born on December 3rd 2008. He was 31 weeks gestation. He was immediately taken to the NICU. I didn’t see him until I was discharged. I saw his pictures. I was elated. My body was half dead. I lost eyesight and feeling during basically all the labor. I turned purple even. I had to be given oxygen. forceps and suction tried to get kevin out. the ob had to pull him out after cutting me open to reach. We both survived. I was elated to know my Kevin was alive.

Remember how I said those nurses thought I was crazy and not physically sick? Well they called DYFS on me. Yeah. So while Kevin was putting his best foot forward (so to speak; he wasn’t walking yet at all), I was having to deal with being called crazy. I had to get seen by their psychiatrist. Seriously. The state has documents saying I am NOT mentally unfit to be a mother.

Because of the “open case” (asshole nurses), I had to be guarded every time I went to see Kevin in the NICU. I was medically struggling. I gave everything to Kevin during the pregnancy (sucks I also gave him allergies). I had to heal. I was on bed rest. But I still wanted to see him. I wanted to hold him (I wasn’t allowed until he was a week in the NICU for safety reasons).

I recall one hellish ride up to MMC to see him. Mom drove. I couldn’t drive myself. I could only half sleep in the backseat. We listened to christmas songs while driving. But it was the day basically all the power went out. A huge transformer blew creating trouble on our route. It turned our half hour drive into three hours long. We needed to see Kevin though, so we kept going.

I was really too exhausted to see him then. I was out of it. But I could hold him in my arms. All the nurses say how much they love him. He’s this perfect little angel who loves everyone. He had triplets and twins in the room with him. I think he was the only solo birth at the time. I gave him everything.

I gave up everything. Or it feels that way.  I was one semester away from my degree. I only managed my senior project. (I got an A btw. My technical writing got pretty bad ass.) I was two classes shy of graduation. and I literally didn’t have the capabilities of doing it.

Wait, have you noticed how kevin’s father hasn’t really showed up a lot in this writing? That’s because he was rarely involved. In anything. And he complained often about how I was on bed rest trying to heal. That I had to push off basically everything on other people. I wouldn’t be survived if he’s the one who called DYFS on me. He was a whiny little bitch.

He worked retail. and by this point I was starting to suggest either looking for a career path or seeking a closer work to where I was staying with Kevin. I had to stay with my parents (still havent left) because at least I know what to expect here and how to live in this environment. Not like he had enough income or savings to get a place. He never did finish his degree.

Although he did get me pregnant again before Kevin came home from the hospital. I like sex. He was bad at it, though. So I probably wanted sex. But I was in no shape to actually have it. So something went on that shouldn’t’ve. Kevin came home at seven weeks old (he was born 9 weeks early so he was considered really good).  I was pregnant before that. Kevin came home the day after my grandmother died. There was a lot going on.

When Kevin was three months old, his father left. What happened in that time? *shrug*. No idea. Did we fight? Probably. It wasn’t a healthy relationship. He left. Before leaving the area, he went to the court house and filed for sole custody. The guy who didn’t want anything to do with the child filed for sole custody? (Don’t try to give him credit. he hasn’t seen his son in seven years. and that last time was in a courthouse. he didn’t even say hi to Kevin.)

So I ended up fighting for custody of Kevin. We went to court four times I believe. The stress and issues surrounding this whole thing…

I had a stillborn at 20 weeks. Michael is the name on his fetal death record. It was a bad pregnancy. I didn’t have a proper doctor for it. And I had no paternal support at all. He was a complete hindrance. I knew Michael had no chance if I fought for Kevin. Kevin was living. I had to fight for my son.

Kevin’s father found out I lost Michael in the final court session. I told the entire room I lost him. He was a stillborn. I held in my tears until after the session. I won residential custody of my son. because he had nothing to prove I wasn’t a good mother. And DYFS (who those assholes sent after me) said I was a good mother and was psychologically sound. and DYFS also said the father was never around and had no positive reports associated to him. So thank you Assholes. That made me win the court case no questions.

If Kevin’s father cared about Kevin, he would have attempted to do things with him. He never sought kevin on his own. His parents would drag him down occasionally. and kevin saw them more recently although we’re talking five years ago. my last time i contacted them was more than a year ago.

Shortly after this hell, we ended up noticing Kevin wasn’t doing what he was supposed to. he was seeing the NICU’s out patient unit to make sure the premiees and other weak starts aren’t behind. Kevin was behind. By a lot. He started Early Intervention before he hit one year old. He was helped by them and they set him up for preschool at 3 years old as a disabled preschooler. Kevin met his first love: Miss Sally. She is my mother’s age but gave Kevin so much positive attention and love and supported him as a growing child it was… He was lucky and happy.

A few months before Kevin turned two we got a pair of cats. We recently lost the one we had before Kevin showed up. Nugget and Tyger are my pretty kitties. I’m Mom to them. And when people don’t call me Mom, I’m Cat. They seriously have no idea I’m not their mom. Species be damned.

During that time I worked part time. I was healing and trying. Surprisingly I worked often although never a full time job. It was part times either because of school or because my health was been bad. I worked part time hours during the summer a few years during college, but it wasn’t a year round job.

I dated a bit. For a while I kept track. But really nothing stuck. I wouldn’t say I’m not friendly with my exes (minus Kevin’s father). I am. I love all of them. I love everyone. I made that decision when I was younger. To just love everyone. Because they deserve it. So I love you until you prove you don’t deserve that love.

The don’t deserve love group is small consisting of several of my horrible Trump loving family members and Kevin’s father. I mean I’m certain persons like Trump would also end up in that group, but I don’t know him. And I’m steering clear of him. But I can’t say he made it into the group. I just also won’t say I love him. He’s still an asshole. Assholes don’t deserve love. They deserved to be wiped.

In 2010, I finished my degree. Go me! It was two nonsense classes. I had all my science and real courses done. I needed two nonsense classes. So I finished in fall of 2010. It was two years after Kevin. Two years where I was “some college completed”. I got a BS in Environmental Science. I could be a scientist.

However, I’m female with a kid. That alone isn’t enough to fuck me over. But I’m not married and medically struggled. I never held a full time job (ignore the fact those are fucking hard to find in general). And I never stayed at a job for an excessive number of years. I had zero work experience (minus college). and because of my timeline being disrupted I couldn’t really lean on my professors at college. I love them. I’m facebook friends with a few of them.

So basically, my resume sucks.

Now there is a note I haven’t mentioned before. I’m not neurotypical. (That’s the real reason I was bullied as a child.) That means I struggle with interviews. I try my best. I can do so many things. But when that person who has control of your future stares you down questioning your entire existence? Yeah. No play. I blurt out stupid things. I make foolish errors. Damnit I ruin everything.

So I try another method. I got my REHS (that’s a health inspector). The class took an entire summer and I got to intern in Monmouth county at a few different health offices. I felt really comfortable and excited. I could be useful to society. I could do science. I was fine if my option was working at the landfill or with solid waste. I was willing.

I wasn’t wanted. Not as a volunteer REHS at one of the places I interned. Not as a REHS at the place I interviewed. That was another couple thousand of dollars wasted. Another license that was worthless. I am worthless.

Depression has been an on and off thing for my entire life. One of the ways I handle it is through writing. Writing has been my savior. It’s my prince. None of the guys I dated were my princes. In 2012 I found Nanowrimo. I’m a lifetime writer. But I never thought author was a possibility. I had tons of unfinished stories (and a few finished ones). so when it came to a 50k story in a month? I was down. And I finished with several days to spare. The story was just over 50k words. When I spoke about the story with a few others they were amazed by my skill level and story idea. It was: I should look into publishing. Me? An author?

I didn’t publish until late 2013. In a few weeks I took one of my shorts and made it into an ebook and hit publish for 99 cents. I was elated. I did that. I created a crappy cover at first. I made a book that people could read. and several did. and I received so many positive comments. It’s been a rare point I didn’t receive positive comments with my writing. At least not with the final draft. Although if enough people saw it, it would annoy several. I didn’t hit that mark. I felt like I could do this. I made a poetry ebook next to practice how to format an ebook. It was made to be free. I was practicing. So people could get my practice for free.

I did Nanowrimo every year since. Every November I goal 50k in a month in a story (or series if they’re not novels). And every year I’ve succeeded. Kevin joins me now. He’s not as interested or as skilled as i am. My high quality and skill turns him off. but he’s just as amazing when it comes to story telling. i want him to be skilled at writing. he’ll need it.

My first print was Unwanted (that book started in the hospital). It’s a novella. and this year I’m finishing off Bludi’s story in the sixth book Unavoidable. Leagende will never be the same with Bludi in it. That was done back in 2015. In that same year I made a Poem a Day May book with Kevin. He helped me with some poetry and even wrote his own. That’s when I gave him the penname Cyro Hartliebe. Cyro is his middle name. Hartliebe is my penname’s last name.

Every year I published at least two “books”. My first novel was only last year: The Secret of Pack 413. This year I’ve published a whole bunch. It’s awesome. I’m trying.

Am I succeeding?

doesn’t seem like it.

Let’s go back. writing is my happy spot. let’s go back to the other stuff. After my failure with my REHS I ended up getting a job through a friend at a tutoring center. My friend gave me the thumbs up so even if I failed the interview I was in. I did math which they needed.

the problem being: i am female. damnit. this gender sucks. When they hired enough male math teachers i stopped getting hours. I had to quit. I had to figure out something else. the something else options didn’t work either. so I’ve been trying to figure out a real option.

If only writing was a profession that pays.

The only reason I’m managing right now is because of Dominik. I got with him about five years ago. Like what the hell? it’s been that long? yeah. and we’re not really together anymore. but we’re close friends. i need him. i hate needing him. He’s like my fairy godmother. he listens when i talk. when i point out sexist and racist behavior he stops and either doesn’t bring it up to me again or changes his behavior (which makes him better than almost everyone in my family). He helps me when i need help. and i need help. during these five years ive been figuring out what’s trying to kill me.

i should’ve been seeking this knowledge out when i first lost control of my body. But there was never a “before” time. I always had issues with food and inhalants. Still i needed to figure out what caused my death. So I’ve been working on it. I use my skills as a chef, baker, and chemist to pull off dishes that won’t make me ill. I’m finally feeling better. I’m figuring it out.

My father still doesn’t believe me about anything that’s wrong with me. He thinks I’m crazy (maybe he called DYFS… no thats silly). He also thinks i’m crazy to deny kevin food. Because that’s what I’m doing. Allergens though aren’t food. They’re poison. that’s how the body acts. I won’t feed my kid poison. He has enough struggles before you add in things trying to cause him harm.

I literally cannot trust anyone in my house to make food for me. (minus kevin and that’s only recent.) So I became the chef. If there will be a family meal I have to cook it. if I don’t i can’t eat. i don’t really want to eat with my family anyway. but i do need food if i want to survive.

why do i want to survive? this is hell. all ive had is hell.

On top of the fact I have to be the chef, i also have to clean the items. i can’t trust anyone to do dishes. I’ve been hit with reactions from unclean dishes. i keep a large collection of food and dishes in my room now. I have to.

but you know what, as a person living in the house I should have chores. that makes sense. everyone should have chores. dishes and cooking arent that bad all in all.

but you forget. i live in a SEXIST household. and my mother cant do the full time job and anything at home (not that she was ever big on cleaning anything). So all chores are on me.

fuck that. Kevin’s learning to be an adult. I’ve taught him almost all the basics. he’s nervous with dishes and hates heat, but he’s pretty decent. he could handle half the chores of a typical house. he’s ten. and he has better capabilities than the rest of this fucking house.

part of the reason he fights his chores is because NO ONE ELSE DOES THEM. so when my family tells kevin to work they’re being hypercrits. I can’t even work if they’re home. as if I can do everything when they’re out of the house. That isn’t even possible! Someone will be home all the time. How can i clean up when i’m alone if i’m never alone?

let’s add on the fact I’m not being paid for this. I don’t have money to buy groceries. I don’t have a vehicle even if I was supposed to have one. i can’t get a job and  be a mother and be the housekeeper for this place. i’m trying to get my health up. i’m trying to get somewhere with my writing.

and no one helps me.

all of my family members has made comments about saying they’ll help me. even specifics things in stead of general items. nothing ever gets done. they don’t write reviews for me. they don’t buy my books and give them to friends. they don’t mention it to random people they know. i mean… I have NO safety net anymore.

i’m more live in housekeeper than daughter of the house. I want out. There is no way to make this house better. it was never cared for. one person cannot clean the entire house during the short times people give me room to work.

I needed an outlet. besides writing. i love writing. but it’s solo. i need a friend. someone I can at least pretend cares about me.

Let’s go back three years. Kevin started Taekwondo. He’s almost a black belt now. he still sucks at it. he started and it got him interested in Kpop. Occasionally his master will play it during exercise or random activities. So Kevin wanted to know more.

This was three years ago: 2016 spring. We put on a random youtube playlist. nothing jumps out for him. kevin dances about. he was all fun. One song and music video caught my eye, but I didn’t notice which one (Fantastic Baby by Big Bang, check it out). So any time Kevin wanted to listen to K Pop we threw on a random mix from youtube.

That happened several times up until last year when I started paying attention to the music videos that caught my eye. The reason was I noticed MVs and songs I didn’t want to listen to: BTS and Red Velvet. They’re good artists, but I don’t like them. That’s when I realized I was picking out all the Blackpink songs as my favorites. I didn’t even know the songs were all the same group until after ddu du ddu du came out, but I kept picking them. That’s when I noticed Big Bang as well. And Kevin found his love for Big Bang. Our playlists began as we found comfort in music.

Music is comfort.

So while I clean and cook I play music. When Kevin joins me in the task I put on his playlist.

During this time I took kevin out of school. The school could not figure out how to help him. Kevin’s a neurodivergent like me. Unsurprisingly since it’s genetic. I spent time teaching him how to mask and hide. he needed the basic skills to handle basic school and life. he’s still learning. It’s a long process. During the home schooling period, I pushed him into high level school work. He did everything I handled him. He learned so many things. He loved learning. School made him hate it.

He’s now capable of pre alegbra and some basic alegebra. easy stuff that a 9th grader works with (hes in 4th grade right now). his reading is… Look he may not understand reading as well as a neurotypical, but he can tell you the story of a book that’s marked adult. He won’t necessarily understand it, but he knows it. he can feel as the characters feel. There is nothing stopping him from reading. that doesn’t mean he could pass all those reading tests. he doesn’t think like a everyone else.

Writing has always been a struggle. He’s finding his niche. He wrote a poem a day every day in may last year. he completed a 5000 word story that had a beginning middle and end. he’s written complexities into stories. he has ideas and thoughts. he’s good at it! just getting him to do it is a problem.

With science and tech, the kid just needs practice finding information. the teachers won’t help him. they don’t understand how. things like open book tests are amazing for teaching how to find answers. science is really all about finding knowledge and putting it to the test. history has a place in his heart since it’s reading. but I’ve pressed written history is false. It’s myth. it’s bias. The winner wrote the record.

I feel as if I’ve been all over the place. Kevin’s back in school. and everything besides writing is an A. they don’t really know how to handle a neurodivergent, but whatever. kevin’s good enough. he’s insanely smart. he surprises everyone with his knowledge. as if that’s strange. he’s being bullied. not exactly sure why but its in the same way as I was as a elementary student. i warned him before i signed him up for the public school again. that being bullied is likely.

it sucks.

anyway. my current problem. the reason i’m writing. i just threw down a life history out of no where. stupid long winded response. I won tickets to see Blackpink!

Amazing right?

i was shocked to see the email saying I won. I’m like… am I being pranked? that would be mean. I have enough hell in my life. But I responded ASAP. And put it aside. My excitement minimized since it said I was a possible winner. Okay. I don’t receive the answer of I won for nearly a week.

I was in shock.

and elated.

and amazed

and excited.

i danced around the house listening to Blackpink on full blast.

Then I realized… Who would I bring? How would I get there? I did everything to get the tickets though. I want to go. My first band I ever really really liked. Sure I was listened to a ton of different bands and singers growing up. But I wasn’t really allowed to like them.

I don’t have a car.

I should have one. but my brothers claim I don’t get the car options. because i’m less than. because my reasons are never important enough.


I asked my friends if someone wanted to come with me. I know Kevin would love it. he sings and dances to Blackpink too, but it’s a school night and if I get unwell while there i couldn’t drive home. I needed to find someone who could drive, preferably with a vehicle.

Someone responded!  I had a friend willing to go with me. Technically Dominik was willing, but he couldn’t get out of work for it. so it would leave him exhausted at work. that’s not really safe.

But then getting there became a problem. I asked for a vehicle. there are two vehicles for the three of us siblings. (just because im treated like the housekeeper doesnt mean im not blood related to these people.) This is a long trip. I need a vehicle. and my brother throws a hissy fit. literally.

both of my brothers work locally. and its not like anything special was going on. it was local work. so why cant i have a vehicle? why am i not allowed to go see this one concert that i was lucky enough to get tickets for?

This is the hell i live in. where i dont have rights. where i dont deserve anything. i hate it. i dont wish to stay here. and i cant leave. i feel as if death is a far better option. but ive always fought opposite that. im trying everything in my power to be in a better circumstance.

and im basically told my life has no meaning. that i have no support.

if not for dominik i dont even know how id be living. he buys me food. he keeps me on task. he helps me in any way he sees as possible. if i ask him to help me paint, the walls will be painted. or the sink fixed. or the gutters cleaned. and i dont have to pay him with money i dont have. i made him cookies or cake. i offer him a meal homemade with his interests and likes in mind. i chat and help and push. he’s my fairy godmother.

now if only i could find that prince who’d take me away from this hell. i dont mind doing the cleaning and cooking. but being treated like shit has to stop. not being considered for all the things i do. not being yelled at because im cleaning the house when they’re trying to watch tv or talk on the phone. i can’t keep this up.

for now I’m going to listen to Kwon Jiyong and pretend I have a prince. Because thats how i getting through my days lately.

I’ll see blackpink tomorrow. i’ll love it even if i end up ill. i won the tickets. i deserve to go. for one night let me be free from this horrible situation my life has become. i need it.

April 30th, 2019

[About Cat Hartliebe]

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