My dad makes me so depressed.

My dad makes me so depressed. He’s always so miserable all the time.

If I walk in with a smile on my face, I don’t want to tell him why I’m
happy because he’ll go “Oh, that’s great, but…” and precede to tell
me all the reasons why I should be miserable. It’s hard to deal with.

I have some debt. We all know that. My Other Brother screwed me over
with a job that doesn’t exist, cleared out what little savings I had,
and ran off with the kid. I’m about $30,000 down, what with fees and
taxes and all that stuff — I’m too scared to look it up because
there’s not a whole lot I can do about it at this point.

I figure that I’ll either get the money together and pay my debts off,
or I’m going to end up in jail for awhile. It sucks, but I’ve got to
accept that what will be will be.

Anyway, there was a phone call from an Unknown Caller. My dad is sure
it’s my creditors. It’s something I’m thoroughly freaked out about
anyway, but he had to go off for a half hour long horror story ride
about all the awful stuff that’s going to happen to me and what-if
scenarios that got more and more dire until my stomach clenched up in
a hard knot and I had to leave the house.

Sometimes I want to scream at him that “This is why I was so depressed
and suicidal as a teenager! You ride things to the point that all
light has disappeared and the tunnel walls are closing in and I can’t
even breathe.”

I feel bad. He’s spent his entire life being pessimestic and never
doing anything because he was always focused on the worst scenario
that could ever happen. Now he’s older and he thinks there won’t be
anywhere for his old butt to go and he’s going to end up in some giant
warehouse for old people with long rooms full of beds and it will be a
revolving door of the dead and dying.

It’s like, dude, chill out. Sure, the current state of care for the
elderly needs a revamp. But people are living longer, the number of
old people is only going to go up. If they become more the majority
than the minority and everyone understands that “Hey, someday I’m
going to be old too. I don’t want to live in a dump.” Well, 55 and
older communities are cropping up all over the place. There is a
growing industry to be found in the care and upkeep of old people —
jobs in construction, community maintence, swim instructors, tennis
instructors, all kinds of stuff outside of the medical end of things.

There aren’t going to be old people curled up and dying in the
streets. Yet my dad has this Soylent Green-esque dystopian idea in his
head where cities collapse into ruin, people shoot each other in the
face over dog poop, and drugs are given out like candy because all
those dopers deserve to OD.

I don’t know what’s going on in his head, but it scares me. It just
feels like he’s in this dark place and he’s been there so long that he
doesn’t know how to come out. But he’s happy to drag other people in
after him.


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