我到底怎樣可以做好？

我實在很不擅長身處在這喧鬧吵雜的世界。特別是當外界充滿歡愉，就像這整台車的酸臭雄性，參加完 #ITZY 兩天週末演唱會的歡喜回程，但我卻充滿著悲傷到無意自拔的憤恨。

我就像夾在塞入垃圾車的一包又乾又濕的垃圾，而我也被一而再再而三地被 #借錢。

借錢的惡性循環

一開始是 3000，這一次 5000，後來變 7000。每一次都有理由——

前面是印尼同鄉得癌回國，她要幫忙。這一次是她門齒假牙換了，要換新的。但她不要看醫生用健保，卻要自己找自己同鄉認識的人搞，還不讓我跟我媽講。

通常健康相關的事情，我媽會同意，更會主動地負擔。但她還早就已經跟我媽借了六萬，因為她在印尼的女兒眼睛長瘤要開刀。

我已經說過了，這件事情私底下我媽是會直接轟人出門的，叫她滾的。我原則先說了：借錢可以，先還了前一筆，再借不難。在加上她金額越來越高，所以我加了第二原則——我不會借超過一萬。因為我不想要讓事情越來越複雜。

我自以為她下個月和我媽借的六萬就會還款還完了，所以我自以為她到時候可能就會比較有餘裕了。所以這一次我才會答應借給她。

但沒關係，我以為我借了，我可以換來更好的她對我父母的服務……沒有。她請假，臨時請假。看準我在家裡，讓她可以去忙她要做的假牙，甚至可以不用跟我說，然後是跟我媽。

我真的有夠不爽，但我還能夠如何？

照顧失智父親的日常絕望

她就算了，我爸更不給任何人面子。他失智好了，但他還能吃，但他不能喝。他失智算了，但他還能走，但他隨時眼睛閉著。我不知道他要怎樣走進廁所。

今天下午我叫他起床，他坐起。我要他在床邊上廁所尿尿，他起立了，雙手扶著桌子。我抽出已經濕透的護墊，我拿了水桶要督過去，但它鳥不抓，任尿隨便流，隨便滴。整個外面的尿褲都要被他滴濕透了。

我滿手都是尿。我不停說：「手抓起來，你的鳥，扶好尿。」但他只顧著扶桌子，根本不理我。我真的非常抓狂與憤怒。

我只能夠自己心想，至少他不是拉屎排便。

更多的絕望時刻

之後坐在床上喝水。一口水，不到 10cc，他吞不下去，含不下去。我已經喊了，叫了，超過半小時，他一口都吞不下去。最後我叫他吐在尿桶裡面。

我超級憤怒，我超級生氣。我就想要去死。

而這時候生命的荒唐就在——外籍看護回來了。

三面夾擊

這兩面夾擊還好嗎？沒有，還有一面我媽的巨牆。

她可以對我爸又打又罵，讓我以為她就是在洩憤，但不准任何人代勞。更同樣視子女如糞土。

兩週前我回高雄，已經跟她大吵一架。她除了不停地哭、情勒，就好像全世界她最委屈，更又要遷怒。當然我爸是主要的源頭。又要把我爸給趕出去，然後同樣的戲碼繼續上演。

「你給我滾出去，你不准幫你爸，你出去給人幹，你給我當狗做！」

絕望的終點

我真的沒有要什麼。我只想要死。

因為在你們之間，我應該連狗都不如。只能夠被你們一個接著一個，把我當垃圾般，推進那不停滾動的垃圾車裡面。

死可能更簡單。這一切都沒有任何意義。

English version below

How Can I Do Better?

I have never been comfortable existing in this loud and chaotic world. Especially when the outside is filled with joy—like this entire car of people returning happily from the two-day #ITZY concert weekend—yet I am filled with sadness and helpless rage.

I am like a bundle of wet and dry garbage squeezed into a garbage truck, and I am being asked to lend money repeatedly.

The Vicious Cycle of Borrowing

First it was 3,000, then 5,000, then 7,000. Each time there is a reason.

Before, an Indonesian acquaintance got cancer and returned home, and she needed to help. This time, her front tooth dentures needed replacing. But she doesn’t want to see a doctor using health insurance. Instead, she wants to find someone she knows from her hometown to handle it, and she won’t let me tell my mother.

Usually, when it comes to health-related matters, my mother would agree and even take it upon herself to pay. Yet she has already borrowed 60,000 from my mother because her daughter in Indonesia has a tumor in her eye that requires surgery.

I already said: borrowing is fine, but pay back the previous amount first, then it’s not difficult to borrow again. Because the amounts keep increasing, I added a second principle—I won’t lend more than 10,000. Because I don’t want things to become increasingly complicated.

I thought that next month when the 60,000 she borrowed from my mother would be fully repaid, she might have more room. So that’s why I agreed to lend to her this time.

But never mind. I thought that by lending, I could receive better service from her toward my parents. Nothing. She took time off—sudden leave. She saw that I was at home, so she could take care of her dentures, and she didn’t even have to tell me, let alone my mother.

I’m really upset, but what else can I do?

The Daily Despair of Caring for a Father with Dementia

As for her, forget it. My father is even more disrespectful to anyone. He has dementia, yes, but he can eat. However, he cannot drink. He has dementia, yes, but he can walk. Yet his eyes are closed all the time. I don’t know how he is supposed to walk into the bathroom.

This afternoon I told him to get up. He sat up. I asked him to use the toilet on the edge of the bed to urinate. He stood up, holding onto the table with both hands. I pulled out the soaking wet pad. I grabbed a bucket to push over, but he doesn’t grip it properly. His urine just flows freely, dripping everywhere. His entire wet pants will be soaked through.

My hands are covered in urine. I kept saying, “Hold it with your hands, hold your penis, hold it so it doesn’t drip.” But he just keeps holding onto the table, not listening to me at all. I’m really going crazy and furious.

I can only think to myself, at least he’s not defecating.

More Moments of Despair

Later, he sat on the bed drinking water. One sip, less than 10cc, and he can’t swallow, can’t hold it in his mouth. I have already shouted, called out, for over half an hour, and he can’t swallow even one sip. Finally, I told him to spit it into the urinal.

I’m super angry. I’m super furious. I just want to die.

And at that very moment, the absurdity of life unfolds—the foreign caregiver comes home.

Squeezed from Three Sides

Are these two sides pressing enough? No, there is also one side—my mother’s giant wall.

She can hit and scold my father, making me think she is just venting, but she won’t allow anyone else to help. She treats her children the same way—like dirt.

Two weeks ago I went back to Kaohsiung and had a big fight with her. All she does is cry and use emotional manipulation, as if she is the most wronged person in the world. She even redirects her anger. Of course, my father is the main source. She wants to kick my father out, and then the same drama repeats.

“Get out of my sight! You are not allowed to help your father! Go out and let people use you! Be my dog!”

The End of Despair

I really don’t want anything. I just want to die.

Because between you all, I should be worth less than a dog. I can only be pushed by you, one after another, into that ever-rolling garbage truck like trash.

Death might be simpler. None of this has any meaning.