Affection and jealousy

Yesterday was an exhausting but nice day. I arrived at home at 8 am, and took breakfast with my parents. My father was totally happy, he got some gifts – from me he got the iPad and a book, "Animal Farm" by George Orwell. An outstanding book, as everything George Orwell wrote. My mother gave him a polo shirt and a shirt. I spent some time with my father, teaching him some things he can try to do with the iPad – for the moment he learnt how to access the Internet and look at the sites he is interested into; moreover, I taught him how to send me messages on my iPhone. I noticed that he very quickly gets tired when it comes to learning technological things, so that we took many breaks and we spoke about this and that. I noticed that he was waiting. Waiting for Richard to call him. At 9 am? At 10 am? Dear Dad, at that time Richard sleeps like a baby, since he is likely to have spent the whole night getting drunk, high and maybe making love with one if his bitches. 

At about 11.30 am we left and headed for the restaurant. My father was still waiting. We can say that Richard’s not calling straight in the morning spoiled him all the time till he called. While we were eating, I got a phone call from that dear wretched brother of mine, I didn’t answer the phone since I was eating, and he left a voice message on my answering machine "Hey, it’s Richey here, I wanted to congratulate Dad for his birthday but I can’t find him anywhere, please call me back.". My mother stated that nobody would call him back, that he could try to call again himself. My father was vibrating at the speed of light, as the beautiful song of R.E.M. goes. Later, as we were going back home, Richard called me again. I didn’t answer, because, honestly, I don’t want to speak with him. As we arrived at home, my father called him back even if my mother was against it, and they could speak for a while. I let him say that I was taking a shower. Richard didn’t really ask my father how he was doing, he just complained about not having enough money and living a meaningless life. 

I asked my mother why, in her opinion, my father treats Richard and me so differently. Richard didn’t even send him a card for his birthday, but it’s ok. Richard gave a short phone call, and my father was overly happy with it. But: if I forget to buy my father the newspaper one day, it’s a tragedy. I still recall that I once forgot it – he was so hurt that I put on my shoes again, went to the railway station to the newspaper kiosk and bought it. My mother is of the opinion that my father feels guilty towards Richard: he was adopted, then my father’s first wife committed suicide and he remained alone; his parents raised the child, and my father didn’t really care about Richard. We can assert that Richard never had a mother: he had his biological mother, his adoptive mother who died of suicide, his grandmother who raised him, and my mother as stepmother. 

On another note, yesterday I got a text message from Paolo saying "You are a very special person to me, if you’re not here I miss you, thank you for existing". As I came back in hospital, he was waiting for me. He said to me that he never said "Thank you for existing" to anyone apart from his mother and his daughter. Not even to his ex wife. This situation is getting out of control, my being nice to Paolo was maybe interpreted as an interest, a sexual / romantic interest for him? This morning he said to me that his daughter told him that since he knows me, he became another person, much stronger and clearer in his mind. If this really happened, I exclude that it is due to my presence. I just helped Paolo out of some difficult situations, buying him cigarettes every now and then and giving him some money for a coffee or a glass of milk… I really did not do much more. He lives with ten francs a day, I put myself in his shoes and I guessed that if I were in his position I would like to have someone who helps me sometimes. But all this was made in friendship, and I always stressed that I am in a relationship with Marvin – even if it’s a lie. 

There is only one man I would like to be important for, and this man is Doctor Livio. But, you know, he is my therapist. My romantic feelings for him will never become anything else than dreams. I feel sick talking about it. It’s a pain. It’s even more a pain since I saw him taking a skinny little bitch, Jessica, in his arms as if he were her father. Jessica is nothing more than a whore, a woman who uses men for her own interests, someone who doesn’t deserve to be cuddled by someone like Doctor Livio. But, obviously, she is that important that he feels he has to make such a gesture. In front of Jessica’s mother. Jessica was here in The Castle the last time I was here, in 2009, too. She managed to have a man, a very naif and rich man, to buy her clothes and jewels for thousand of francs… giving sex in return. He was the kind of man who can’t have women unless he "buys" them: he had been married two times, both times with prostitutes. This speaks volumes about Jessica’s true self. Why, why does she deserve Doctor Livio’s attention in this way, and I didn’t even get a cuddle for my birthday? Or when I passed my exams? Is it just because maybe I’m not that attractive, that sexy, that easy to have? Is it because even someone like Doctor Livio, a serious professional, thinks with his dick and not with his brain sometimes? It is hard to admit, but I am madly jealous. It is hard enough to share Doctor Livio’s attention with other people, if I could I would kidnap him and keep him for myself alone, like a precious jewel, but to see him giving his affection to someone else, moreover to such a bitch, drives me insane. Of course, I can’t say anything because it would bring discredit on me, but I would like to shout out loud that I crave for a tiny part of that love he gives to others. 

Oh well. I think the best way to live a quiet life is not needing the affection of anyone. Don’t be surprised if I became harsh, cold and indifferent to everything. I always had to swallow too much sorrow as far as the matters of the heart are concerned.

<span style="font-family: 'Bookman Old Style'; font-

size: 14px; “>Now I’m off to reply to notes – much love to everyone, and take gentle care of yourselves.