Reading back through some of the postings in Anna Valerious' blog and I came across her entry entitled "The Family Tyrant." In this post, she talks about how narcissists try to keep "outsiders" away. In my family, the outsiders were the healthy people in the family. After my NF's parents died, NF told his (normal) brother and sisters that now that his parents were gone, he was done with them. That fucking coward knew that his parents wouldn't put up with that behavior, and they were the bright, shining spot in my sisters and my youth, so he waited until they were dead and couldn't stand up for us, and then BAM.
After that period of time, the only contact I remember having with my favorite aunt, NF's sister, is when my mother would take us to see her a couple of towns away. This was invariably when dad was out of town for work.
Dad would think nothing at all of inviting the skeeviest fucks to our house to eat dinner (and criticize mom's cooking) and spend the night in the room next to mine, but we couldn't have contact with the only normal members of our family. I could fall asleep at night with a steak knife I horked out of the silverware drawer because I didn't have a lock on my door, which didn't even shut properly anyway, and the only thing separating me from a creep would be a wall while my sister and parents' bedrooms were at the other end of the house. We could still go visit my mother's crazy fucking mom, and we did, almost every weekend - hours and hours of sitting in a dark house while she commandeered games of dominoes and talked smack, sometimes about me in front of me, without my mom or dad standing up for me. God forbid we got to communicate with healthy people who could really see what was going on.
I will never forgive my father for trying cutting us off from the only healthy family members we had. I can't forgive my mother for allowing all his stupidity and allowing her N-mother to treat us the way she did.
Fuck them.
Now I can talk to my favorite aunt at my own leisure, but without having in essence known her from the age of 8ish until I was an adult, I feel awkward. She's always so good and kind to me and my kids. I was cheated. My sister was cheated.
Again, fuck them.
It's getting on toward the holidays, and I think the time will come when I'll have to be see mom again at a family function. I can feel the poison now. Now that I've had space, I can really see how wound up and angry I get just at the thought of seeing her and her doing her "What???" routine. "God forgives me, why can't my girls?" Your god didn't save me from you and him, mother.
My belief system operates on a different set of rules, the primary of which is protecting and nurturing my kids. I will never allow them to be in danger when I can prevent it. I will only surround them with healthy people. I never want them to know the helpless, sick feeling.
Anna's Blog Entry: http://narcissists-suck.blogspot.com/2007/05/family-tyrant.html
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Whew.
The end of a long-ass week and the beginning of a tall cold drink.
I'm getting really dissatisfied dealing with the snot on the sleeve of society.
Where's the positive change I wanted to make? It can't be naivete to want this. The highlight of my career is when I get to put on the bunny costume at Easter and get driven place to place by deputies to make little kids smile.
I've got a job I do well. I know how lucky I really am. But it doesn't stop me from wanting to effect positive change.
I can only hope that somewhere along the way I'm the person who the little kid with the cracked-out parents fondly remembers, or that I am maybe setting a positive example.
I was born into a family of weirdos. The whole town of 300 we lived in knew how fucked up my family was, which added embarassment to the richness of turmoil. Kids wrote graffiti on the metal culvert at the end of my street that the man up the hill was a bastard. I tried to tell myself they meant the other old bastard on our street, but I knew better.
I started not getting along with other people in school in about 3rd grade and I was having behavioral problems. By 8th grade, I was mean. I decided I'd rather be respected than liked, but I was confusing respect with frightening people into silence. My angst was equalled only by the amount of eyeliner I used.
The minute I turned 16, I got a job working as a waitress in a nearby town. It was great training in people-pleasing, and I got decent tips. My parents didn't want me to have a social life, but they certainly didn't mind that I would go to school on Friday, work graveyard shift Friday and Saturday nights, and go back to school on Monday exhausted. If I was making money so I wasn't a burden on 'em, that was great. If I had a date, I had to be home by midnight. Always burned my ass, because I could be out all night making a buck and that was ok, but I damned well better not be having fun. I remember dad telling me he was going to charge me rent when I was 16. I told him if I was going to pay rent I was going to fucking move out and pay rent. Then he backtracked and tried to say all the rent I paid he was going to save and give to me for a graduation present, but if I really didn't want that...aww, how sweet. He was going to gift me my own money. He dropped it. I didn't pay rent. I should have moved out. I really hated my life. I daydreamed of suicide. When I finally worked up the guts to tell my mom I needed help, she told me they certainly didn't have the money for that kind of thing. Later that night she came to me crying and bawling, saying, "You're not really going to kill yourself, are you?" I told her what she wanted to hear. I was anointed her best friend, but she wouldn't help me seek help. I couldn't count on her. I didn't try to tell anyone else my problems. I would just embarass the family. Like they needed any help.
Later in my 16th year, after a string of boyfriends who have long since become felons (one went to prison for attempting to murder a prostitute - true story), I met the coolest bad guy. He was 22 and drove a '77 TransAm (just like the Bandit but without a T-top). He was a great mix of sweet and pissy and I was a complete fool for this guy. I got knocked up about a year later, at the beginning of my senior year, about the time I was wondering if this is where my life should be taking me, but I sure as shit wasn't responsible enough to prevent getting knocked up, so I figured this was my path. By that time, I could see the chinks in the knight's shining armor.
My father's reaction to my getting knocked up was so fucking weird. I expected to get clubbed upside the head or kicked out. He said, "I'm proud of you." Wow, proud of me for having sex and getting knocked up? WTF. I have no idea what he was thinking. He did say, "You thought daddy was going to yell at you, didn't you." Well, yeah. Most parents who gave a shit would. But whatever.
I stayed in school long enough so I didn't screw up the speech thing for the other seniors in group speech on my team. Right after we got I's at district but learned we hadn't been chosen for state, I arranged with my principal to take my last credits at home. I moved out of my parents' house that same day and into the boyfriend's apartment a few towns away. My parents pretended they wanted what was best for me, but they were for me to go. My sister was a well-liked cheerleader and they had hope for her. She was a credit to them.
The next few years are a haze of searching for reasons why my life wasn't working out, but I forced myself into denial. I worked full time and struggled to find good daycare for my son. The only doctor I could afford in town told me my son's behavioral problems were because I let him walk all over me, and also, boys will be boys. I tried to leave the boyfriend and went back to my parents' house one day. My mother burst into tears because she was so unhappy I was back. It turned out, I had foiled a tryst with her then-boyfriend. I went back to my boyfriend the next day. It was obvious my mother didn't want me to come back. My boyfriend had developed a meth addiction and was spending all the money he made, so I didn't have any cash to make arrangements to live somewhere else because I was paying for my house and I couldn't get him out. In the end, the only way to get rid of him was to change the locks on the doors of the house I had bought with every last penny I had saved because my parents told me to and he told me to. I hated that fucking house. But I made so many excuses and forced myself to be "loyal" and I woke up every goddamned morning and thought, "If there was a god, I'd be dead right now."
The year following the lock-changing, on a day when I was supposed to drive to my parents' house and go with them so they could take my collegiate sister out to eat for her birthday, my mother calmly sprung on me before we went that she had been having an affair. In fact, several affairs. Dad had decided to forgive her. Now, that's all said and done. Let's go out to eat.
We went to play happy-happy family at the sis's house and my parents didn't say anything to her, but she could tell shit was up. On the ride back to her house from lunch, I told her what I had been told. I look back and feel guilty about it. It was her birthday for christsakes. But I was so sick of their fucking secrets and pretending. That whole year afterward mom spent into a nervous breakdown spiral. She came to my house and announced that she was Satan. When I took her to the mental health center, she completely pretended nothing was wrong and refused to talk about why I brought her there. I was crying and shaking. She was calm as a cucumber. They probably thought I needed evaluation. There was nothing they could do. We left and I decided I was never going to try to intervene for her again. I quit letting my son be with her without me there. I started to try to break the chain.
She and dad got a divorce, mostly because dad couldn't handle her mental health issues. I think he really wanted her to stay with him so he could hold her infidelities over her head for perceived power. She went to live with her brother and in short order ended up hospitalized and subsequently had a stroke. Apparently her mental issues were a result of blood clots in her brain. I used to feel guilty for being mad at her because she couldn't help some of her crap, technically. But she got to forget all the shit years and I can't even work through anything with her if I wanted to.
Yeah, that's enough for now. It was time to start, though.
I'm getting really dissatisfied dealing with the snot on the sleeve of society.
Where's the positive change I wanted to make? It can't be naivete to want this. The highlight of my career is when I get to put on the bunny costume at Easter and get driven place to place by deputies to make little kids smile.
I've got a job I do well. I know how lucky I really am. But it doesn't stop me from wanting to effect positive change.
I can only hope that somewhere along the way I'm the person who the little kid with the cracked-out parents fondly remembers, or that I am maybe setting a positive example.
I was born into a family of weirdos. The whole town of 300 we lived in knew how fucked up my family was, which added embarassment to the richness of turmoil. Kids wrote graffiti on the metal culvert at the end of my street that the man up the hill was a bastard. I tried to tell myself they meant the other old bastard on our street, but I knew better.
I started not getting along with other people in school in about 3rd grade and I was having behavioral problems. By 8th grade, I was mean. I decided I'd rather be respected than liked, but I was confusing respect with frightening people into silence. My angst was equalled only by the amount of eyeliner I used.
The minute I turned 16, I got a job working as a waitress in a nearby town. It was great training in people-pleasing, and I got decent tips. My parents didn't want me to have a social life, but they certainly didn't mind that I would go to school on Friday, work graveyard shift Friday and Saturday nights, and go back to school on Monday exhausted. If I was making money so I wasn't a burden on 'em, that was great. If I had a date, I had to be home by midnight. Always burned my ass, because I could be out all night making a buck and that was ok, but I damned well better not be having fun. I remember dad telling me he was going to charge me rent when I was 16. I told him if I was going to pay rent I was going to fucking move out and pay rent. Then he backtracked and tried to say all the rent I paid he was going to save and give to me for a graduation present, but if I really didn't want that...aww, how sweet. He was going to gift me my own money. He dropped it. I didn't pay rent. I should have moved out. I really hated my life. I daydreamed of suicide. When I finally worked up the guts to tell my mom I needed help, she told me they certainly didn't have the money for that kind of thing. Later that night she came to me crying and bawling, saying, "You're not really going to kill yourself, are you?" I told her what she wanted to hear. I was anointed her best friend, but she wouldn't help me seek help. I couldn't count on her. I didn't try to tell anyone else my problems. I would just embarass the family. Like they needed any help.
Later in my 16th year, after a string of boyfriends who have long since become felons (one went to prison for attempting to murder a prostitute - true story), I met the coolest bad guy. He was 22 and drove a '77 TransAm (just like the Bandit but without a T-top). He was a great mix of sweet and pissy and I was a complete fool for this guy. I got knocked up about a year later, at the beginning of my senior year, about the time I was wondering if this is where my life should be taking me, but I sure as shit wasn't responsible enough to prevent getting knocked up, so I figured this was my path. By that time, I could see the chinks in the knight's shining armor.
My father's reaction to my getting knocked up was so fucking weird. I expected to get clubbed upside the head or kicked out. He said, "I'm proud of you." Wow, proud of me for having sex and getting knocked up? WTF. I have no idea what he was thinking. He did say, "You thought daddy was going to yell at you, didn't you." Well, yeah. Most parents who gave a shit would. But whatever.
I stayed in school long enough so I didn't screw up the speech thing for the other seniors in group speech on my team. Right after we got I's at district but learned we hadn't been chosen for state, I arranged with my principal to take my last credits at home. I moved out of my parents' house that same day and into the boyfriend's apartment a few towns away. My parents pretended they wanted what was best for me, but they were for me to go. My sister was a well-liked cheerleader and they had hope for her. She was a credit to them.
The next few years are a haze of searching for reasons why my life wasn't working out, but I forced myself into denial. I worked full time and struggled to find good daycare for my son. The only doctor I could afford in town told me my son's behavioral problems were because I let him walk all over me, and also, boys will be boys. I tried to leave the boyfriend and went back to my parents' house one day. My mother burst into tears because she was so unhappy I was back. It turned out, I had foiled a tryst with her then-boyfriend. I went back to my boyfriend the next day. It was obvious my mother didn't want me to come back. My boyfriend had developed a meth addiction and was spending all the money he made, so I didn't have any cash to make arrangements to live somewhere else because I was paying for my house and I couldn't get him out. In the end, the only way to get rid of him was to change the locks on the doors of the house I had bought with every last penny I had saved because my parents told me to and he told me to. I hated that fucking house. But I made so many excuses and forced myself to be "loyal" and I woke up every goddamned morning and thought, "If there was a god, I'd be dead right now."
The year following the lock-changing, on a day when I was supposed to drive to my parents' house and go with them so they could take my collegiate sister out to eat for her birthday, my mother calmly sprung on me before we went that she had been having an affair. In fact, several affairs. Dad had decided to forgive her. Now, that's all said and done. Let's go out to eat.
We went to play happy-happy family at the sis's house and my parents didn't say anything to her, but she could tell shit was up. On the ride back to her house from lunch, I told her what I had been told. I look back and feel guilty about it. It was her birthday for christsakes. But I was so sick of their fucking secrets and pretending. That whole year afterward mom spent into a nervous breakdown spiral. She came to my house and announced that she was Satan. When I took her to the mental health center, she completely pretended nothing was wrong and refused to talk about why I brought her there. I was crying and shaking. She was calm as a cucumber. They probably thought I needed evaluation. There was nothing they could do. We left and I decided I was never going to try to intervene for her again. I quit letting my son be with her without me there. I started to try to break the chain.
She and dad got a divorce, mostly because dad couldn't handle her mental health issues. I think he really wanted her to stay with him so he could hold her infidelities over her head for perceived power. She went to live with her brother and in short order ended up hospitalized and subsequently had a stroke. Apparently her mental issues were a result of blood clots in her brain. I used to feel guilty for being mad at her because she couldn't help some of her crap, technically. But she got to forget all the shit years and I can't even work through anything with her if I wanted to.
Yeah, that's enough for now. It was time to start, though.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Give Me Something That Will Let Me Get To Sleep
"Washing of the Water" as written by Peter Gabriel
---------
River, river carry me on
Living river carry me on
River, river carry me on
To the place where I come from
So deep, so wide, will you take me on your back for a ride
If I should fall, would you swallow me deep inside
River, show me how to float
I feel like I'm sinking down
Thought that I could get along
But here in this water
My feet won't touch the ground
I need something to turn myself around
Going away, away towards the sea
River deep, can you lift up and carry me
Oh roll on through the heartland
'Til the sun has left the sky
River, river carry me high
'Til the washing of the water make it all alright
Let your waters reach me like she reached me tonight
Letting go, it's so hard
The way it's hurting now
To get this love untied
So tough to stay with thing
'Cause if I follow through
I face what I denied
I get those hooks out of me
And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side
Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide
River, oh river, river running deep
Bring me something that will let me get to sleep
In the washing of the water will you take it all away
Bring me something to take this pain away
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Truth in Dreams
Another hideous fucking dream. I'm riding, in a semi, no less, with my father driving. Then he says, "I don't feel so good, Bess. You have to drive." This is taking place while driving around and around the block of the little town where I grew up as a child. (If you've ever seen a semi with a trailer on try to make it around one of these blocks, it's sort of painful to watch.) So, with no knowledge how to drive a semi, but managing anyway, he directs me to a portion of the block that sits flat, cuz that would be a good place to park a semi. This is so he can get out and get some fresh air. After he's gotten some fresh air, he gets back in the truck in the driver's seat and continues around the block. When he's on the side of the block where you turn and then you're at our house, someone backs out of their driveway and hits his truck. He gets out and says who knows what to the people, then he tells me he's just going to walk home and I need to drive the truck back home. I get in the truck and get it going slowly (we're talking a steep hill here) and then suddenly it's icy and snowing and I don't know what happened, but I lost control and hit a parked car. I'm so pissed that I fucked this up because I know what's going to happen. I walk back to the house and my husband is there. Then I just know that my dad knew what happened and already told my husband. I asked husband, "Did Dad tell you what happened?" He says, "Yeah, he said you were fucking around and he can't trust you with anything, cuz he told you not to drive." I'm outraged and try to explain to my husband what really happened, but I never got a chance because the dream ended.
Talk about your symbolism.
Talk about your symbolism.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Food For Thought
Please visit this link to a post by Anna Valerious.
http://narcissists-suck.blogspot.com/2008/03/angry-with-narcissist-read-on.html
http://narcissists-suck.blogspot.com/2008/03/angry-with-narcissist-read-on.html
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Wisdom Courtesy of Marilyn Nelson
Not My Bones – Marilyn Nelson
I was not this body,
I was not these bones.
This skeleton was just my
temporary home.
Elementary molecules converged for a breath,
then danced on beyond my individual death.
And I am not my body,
I am not my body.
We are brief incarnations,
we are clouds in clothes.
We are water respirators,
we are how earth knows.
I bore light passed on from an original flame;
while it was in my hands it was called by my name.
But I am not my body,
I am not my body.
You can own a man’s body,
But you can’t own his mind.
That’s like making a bridle
to ride on the wind.
I will tell you one thing, and I’ll tell you true:
Life’s the best thing that can happen to you.
But you are not your body,
you are not your body.
You can own someone’s body,
but the soul runs free.
It roams the night sky’s
mute geometry.
You can murder hope, you can pound faith flat,
but like weeds and wildflowers, they grow right back.
For you are not your body,
you are not your body.
You are not your body,
you are not your bones.
What’s essential about you
is what can’t be owned.
What’s essential in you is your longing to raise
your itty-bitty voice in the cosmic praise.
For you are not your body,
you are not your body.
Well, I woke up this morning just so glad to be free,
glad to be free, glad to be free.
I woke up this morning in restful peace.
For I am not my body,
I am not my body,
glory hallelujah, not my bones,
I am not my bones.
I was not these bones.
This skeleton was just my
temporary home.
Elementary molecules converged for a breath,
then danced on beyond my individual death.
And I am not my body,
I am not my body.
We are brief incarnations,
we are clouds in clothes.
We are water respirators,
we are how earth knows.
I bore light passed on from an original flame;
while it was in my hands it was called by my name.
But I am not my body,
I am not my body.
You can own a man’s body,
But you can’t own his mind.
That’s like making a bridle
to ride on the wind.
I will tell you one thing, and I’ll tell you true:
Life’s the best thing that can happen to you.
But you are not your body,
you are not your body.
You can own someone’s body,
but the soul runs free.
It roams the night sky’s
mute geometry.
You can murder hope, you can pound faith flat,
but like weeds and wildflowers, they grow right back.
For you are not your body,
you are not your body.
You are not your body,
you are not your bones.
What’s essential about you
is what can’t be owned.
What’s essential in you is your longing to raise
your itty-bitty voice in the cosmic praise.
For you are not your body,
you are not your body.
Well, I woke up this morning just so glad to be free,
glad to be free, glad to be free.
I woke up this morning in restful peace.
For I am not my body,
I am not my body,
glory hallelujah, not my bones,
I am not my bones.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Sacrifice, That Was My Vice
now you don't look at me
with jaded eyes
and don't you accuse me of compromise
because this is the first day of the rest of my life
today I married myself, and I became my own wife
I used to give it away
I used to give it away
I used to live and breathe and bleed for you
every day
now don't you think of me
as the keeper of the flame
because I would much prefer to be labeled insane
oh yes I'd rather be the fool out dancing in the rain
than spending my life in chronic pain
I would rather be the idiot on the corner shouting
out..
I used to care, I used to cry
I used to obsess about it
I used to thi nk it was my destiny
to suffer and sigh
now I just want to be high
naturally high
sacrifice, that was my vice
I used to be that kind, I used to be that nice
I lived to serve until I found my nerve
but now I need what I deserve
I was the one who wanted everything for everyone
I was the one who wanted everything for everyone
but not anymore
so don't you judge me
you bastards of young
you son of a son
you daugher of none
no don't you tell me who and I how I need to be
as long as I'm free I will be so I'll be
my love is too much my love is too strong
and to not love myself can only be wrong
mothers with children put the mask on you first
'cause its getting a whole lot worse
I was the one who wanted everything for everyone
I was the one who wanted everything for everyone
but not anymore
-Johnette Napolitano "Everything for Everyone"
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
Why?
Forgiveness bothers me. Not in general. Just personally. If I did vicious, hurting-other-people shit, I would not expect forgiveness. I would expect to have to suck it up. I wouldn't have the balls to ask for someone to forgive me. I know how to say I'm sorry and take my lumps. Part of showing honest intent is being available to show it.
But I'm a grudge-fucker, too. I remember the little shit and the big shit and the in-between shit. Forgetting would be a divine gift, and I'm no good at it.
What the hell is forgiveness, really? Is it letting people who are harmful have another chance? Another chance to - what? Try to erase the shit they did by proffering awkward acts they maybe don't mean? Making them prove and prove and prove until they're sick of proving and snap again? At what point are the people doing the forgiving then in the debt of the second (third, fourth, fifth)chance people? Harmful means different stuff from person to person, too. If people get along, we get along. If we don't, can we just let go and allow everyone to go down whatever path without further interference? Or do we have to punish ourselves by letting other people "be who they are" at the cost of our own "who we are" and vice versa?
Is forgiveness just not hating someone for causing hurt?
Maybe forgiveness is Karma? Which isn't really all that heart-warming and kind, I guess. But it is nice to decide we don't have to worry about the dickheads and assholes of the world because what they do will come back to 'em in good time.
But I'm a grudge-fucker, too. I remember the little shit and the big shit and the in-between shit. Forgetting would be a divine gift, and I'm no good at it.
What the hell is forgiveness, really? Is it letting people who are harmful have another chance? Another chance to - what? Try to erase the shit they did by proffering awkward acts they maybe don't mean? Making them prove and prove and prove until they're sick of proving and snap again? At what point are the people doing the forgiving then in the debt of the second (third, fourth, fifth)chance people? Harmful means different stuff from person to person, too. If people get along, we get along. If we don't, can we just let go and allow everyone to go down whatever path without further interference? Or do we have to punish ourselves by letting other people "be who they are" at the cost of our own "who we are" and vice versa?
Is forgiveness just not hating someone for causing hurt?
Maybe forgiveness is Karma? Which isn't really all that heart-warming and kind, I guess. But it is nice to decide we don't have to worry about the dickheads and assholes of the world because what they do will come back to 'em in good time.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Another One of Those Days
My attitude sucks shit today.
I cringed at everything all day long and felt mean and bitchy.
The worker who whined because she had work to do.
The lady making excuses for why her stoned husband ran the family car into the back of a semi and she and her kids are hurt.
The loudmouth, clueless little girl making excuses for her POS boyfriend in the can.
The skank and her big stoopid boyfriend who are seeking revenge on an asshole kid by filing false reports about him, and they got caught and defensive about it.
The guy who called to whine about the restrictiveness of the sex offender system on his brother-in-law. Complainer stated he used to be in law enforcement and he has no sympathy for offenders, blah-de-blah, but his BIL really did not do this thing he's about to plead guilty to and this just doesn't seem fair, especially since he might get kicked out of low-income housing. Then, whatever will he do with winter coming on? (Surely he won't be welcome at whatever place he allegedly molested that little girl.)
The bitch-face who decided to change up the system of payment at my kid's daycare, thusly making it far more friggin' difficult than it needs to be. Jesus criminy, the system worked just fucking fine for years before you took over. Proof that change does not always equal good.
The weirdo gawking at me like I grew an extra head while I was stalking back to work after lunch.
This day blows. Its only saving grace is it's almost over and then I can hug my important people for awhile and pretend this day never happened.
I cringed at everything all day long and felt mean and bitchy.
The worker who whined because she had work to do.
The lady making excuses for why her stoned husband ran the family car into the back of a semi and she and her kids are hurt.
The loudmouth, clueless little girl making excuses for her POS boyfriend in the can.
The skank and her big stoopid boyfriend who are seeking revenge on an asshole kid by filing false reports about him, and they got caught and defensive about it.
The guy who called to whine about the restrictiveness of the sex offender system on his brother-in-law. Complainer stated he used to be in law enforcement and he has no sympathy for offenders, blah-de-blah, but his BIL really did not do this thing he's about to plead guilty to and this just doesn't seem fair, especially since he might get kicked out of low-income housing. Then, whatever will he do with winter coming on? (Surely he won't be welcome at whatever place he allegedly molested that little girl.)
The bitch-face who decided to change up the system of payment at my kid's daycare, thusly making it far more friggin' difficult than it needs to be. Jesus criminy, the system worked just fucking fine for years before you took over. Proof that change does not always equal good.
The weirdo gawking at me like I grew an extra head while I was stalking back to work after lunch.
This day blows. Its only saving grace is it's almost over and then I can hug my important people for awhile and pretend this day never happened.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Because I'm Scared
I decided to get my permit to carry. This isn't something I wanted to do when the opportunity was first presented . I felt that it was a non-issue for me, and I didn't feel I needed that kind of accessibility. I was pretty down with my Stroam.
Then, last week, I pissed off some guy by calling Human Services to report that he moved in with a female "friend" and her teen daughters. His MO was sexual contact with his wife's teen daughter some years ago, and he was just released from prison less than 2 months ago. Through research, it is alleged the daughters were just perped on by this woman's previous fling.
I'm scared of this guy in a way I'm not usually scared of these shitbags. I'm used to being angry, and I'm really damn good at it, but the scary feeling reminds me of being little, way before I became angry. I'm pissed at this fucking girlfriend of his who seems to be whoring her kids out so she can have a man in her life. I've spoken with this guy a few times, and he did not mince words with me when he said, "Thanks for the nice report to DHS." Then he tried to back-pedal and say, no, no, I'm really grateful someone's looking out for these poor kids. Fuck you, douchebag. I can tell this man is a manipulative son-of-a-bitch, and I know how narcissists get when they've been outed. And I just ruined his first chance at proximity to potential victims since he got out of prison. This is what bothers me, and I can't distance myself from him unless he moves out of our jurisdiction.
I decided I refuse to put myself in a situation where my will could be taken over by someone physically bigger and stronger than me. I will do whatever I need to defend me and my family. If a shit-bag is wanting to take me out badly enough, he or she might have a decent chance if they're smart enough, but not without me inflicting some serious damage on my way out.
Sounds alot like bullshit bravado to me when I go back and re-read it. But I mean it. If a shitbag gives me a good reason to make one less shitbag in the world, and I have to do it, I won't be losing any sleep.
Then, last week, I pissed off some guy by calling Human Services to report that he moved in with a female "friend" and her teen daughters. His MO was sexual contact with his wife's teen daughter some years ago, and he was just released from prison less than 2 months ago. Through research, it is alleged the daughters were just perped on by this woman's previous fling.
I'm scared of this guy in a way I'm not usually scared of these shitbags. I'm used to being angry, and I'm really damn good at it, but the scary feeling reminds me of being little, way before I became angry. I'm pissed at this fucking girlfriend of his who seems to be whoring her kids out so she can have a man in her life. I've spoken with this guy a few times, and he did not mince words with me when he said, "Thanks for the nice report to DHS." Then he tried to back-pedal and say, no, no, I'm really grateful someone's looking out for these poor kids. Fuck you, douchebag. I can tell this man is a manipulative son-of-a-bitch, and I know how narcissists get when they've been outed. And I just ruined his first chance at proximity to potential victims since he got out of prison. This is what bothers me, and I can't distance myself from him unless he moves out of our jurisdiction.
I decided I refuse to put myself in a situation where my will could be taken over by someone physically bigger and stronger than me. I will do whatever I need to defend me and my family. If a shit-bag is wanting to take me out badly enough, he or she might have a decent chance if they're smart enough, but not without me inflicting some serious damage on my way out.
Sounds alot like bullshit bravado to me when I go back and re-read it. But I mean it. If a shitbag gives me a good reason to make one less shitbag in the world, and I have to do it, I won't be losing any sleep.
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