Where Can The In-Betweeners Find Happiness

Since the summer of 2001, while I was attending college, I moved into a supported housing home. A local organization that provides housing for those considered homeless as well as diagnosed with various disabilities. It’s like a step up in rehabilitation but provided right in the homes with staff on duty and house managers. I’ve lived in two different houses so far; current place since Halloween of ’02. Lived with four other housemates I did not choose to live with, been financially taken advantage of and now a survivor (however you want to put it) of emotional and mental abuse from the one that brought down the final straw.

I’ve lived here for too long, my soul still cries out, my heart near exploding, tears my battle scars. Still hate only those at “this place” that symbolize the past and the continuous ultra restrictive rules; had to put in “ultra” because some people think I rather not have rules. Some would even say I’m exaggerating everything or being ungrateful for this.

Society begets rules to establish order. Without rules, chaos ensues; uncertainty and anything goes mentality enters without knowing the limits of others. Rules even say it establishes discipline and routine to continue that ruling order. I don’t know who started all this, maybe just when humans began to develop bigger brains, but rules certainly don’t stay rules forever. If it did, women would remain housewives or beach bunnies, African Americans would stay on the back of the bus and everyone can own everyone else on the planet with notarized papers to prove it. Mine is the rent.

Well, I say the most ungrateful thing I would do is what I do to myself, allowing myself to be swayed by everyone’s words that still keep me in this loop, lying to myself to like it here just to make others happy. If love ones tell me to take care of myself, why tell me to put up a front when all it does is hurt me more, unable to take care of myself?

I’m not looking at suicide as a way to help with my problems; I hope I am far away from ever having to make that choice. But many days so far bring me to an unbearable thought; how much longer to take up this suffering? To suffer when I try to make changes or people who are suppose to help you barely do or refuse to follow what you would like? When your life returns to when you were a young one, under the roof of those of authority that tell you what you eat, how you dress, force you to partake in activities you know will be boring, redundant and no potential to learn anything new except how much you hate the activity and the idea of living in such a state. I have been dealt with such an environment, not once, but twice. One by a person I was dumped with and the other by those that did the “dumping”.