Exotic Erotic
Anyway, I had barely chopped up the Vicodin when Fuck Boots arrived and what a sight she was. Starved herself into model material for sure. Exotic looking, with hair like the Predator...nasty hippie dreads kept neat and fashionable like any high class costumed clown trying out for a part in a Jurassic Park Movie as a raptor extra would wear. (I’ve got it wrong, her hair was like the Predator’s but her face was like a raptor’s...I wonder if when she has her periods that shit comes out green).
So Fuck Boots comes on in, all smiles at Mr. Chris, obviously very delighted to see him. She kicks off her “sneakers” and plants her ass on the suede couch. Mr. Chris grabs them a round of beers, asks me if I would like one and I curtly say no, then he sits down next to her. Immediately he goes into how glad he is to see her and how nice it is that she is “lounging” around with us. I feel, honestly, like I’m going to get sick. My mind started racing...did I have any good enough excuses to leave? Not really. My only option was to sit, snort Vicodins, watch and endure seeing this person who I love so, put everything clearly in perspective for me...
Same Things Keep Happening
Has it ever happened to you? This was the second time it had happened to me. My first boyfriend, Knobby Knocker, had done this same thing. We had been together for three years and when we broke up, he was cold and cruel. Since he still wanted to be “friends” he insisted that I hang out with him and his new girlfriend. The pain, the agony, the outrage. They sat together on a little love seat, while I sat by myself to the left watching them hold hands. I felt like dust in one of those chemical jars, you know? The miniature clay bowls where they crush rock debris into powder? Who cares what they fuck they are called, I’m sure you get it.
You know how I got my revenge on that bitch and myself? I sucked his dick the next day, before he went to pick her up for church. Ha, take that scum bags!
I also went completely psychotic and scared the fuck out of her, but since I would like to protect my sanity and image I will say no more about it. Let that dumb bitch write her own stories about my maniac rages.
Déjà Vu
There they were, sitting comfy cosey under the blankets, her eyes twinkling like fake diamonds, her body language exuding sexual attraction and keen readiness like an average Italian street whore. She then said something about her boyfriend, “I finally broke up with him, it was easy for me, he didn’t do anything wrong...blah blah blah”-Fuck Boots, ecstatic.
The rage was welling up in me, either the shit wasn’t kicking in yet or I was so hyped up I couldn’t feel it...so I started writing.
Excerpt From Notebook 1
your mind and body shrink proportionately. don’t waste good food on bulimics, there are starving children in Hawaii. we’ve all got problems and the ultimate solution. tin, velocity, propelling through the brain and shredding meat. statue-->esque raptor woman, swinging from a worm on her head. anxiety, panic. old feelings. I want to go home or shrink into the carpet. triangulated. it’s prismatic. you have no idea how disrespectful it all is. very, very bad boy.
Another Side Note
I don’t know what the fuck it is about that kid...but he implanted me with the seed of evil. Everything he does is very unintentional, just like me and the things I do that hurt people. When my best friend in the whole wide world Antonio said something kind of smart ass to me about Mr. Chris...I yelled at him, and I never, ever yell at Antonio because he is always right. Burt Lee once said I give Mr. Chris too much credit, especially when I say that he helped save my life from suicide and methadone...but I’m a devote Christian and am determined to start a fan club/cult in his honor no matter what the rest of these motherfuckers say. I’m the only one who knows what I know.
End Of Message.
Sigh
Now what sense would it make for me to get mad at him? It was apparent that she didn’t know he had been fucking me/was fucking me again, because a bitch like that doesn’t have the gall to be so flirty in front of an estranged weirdo with a massive jealously problem. (Everyone knows anorexics are aggressive and bulimic are submissive). And it’s not really a jealously problem, shit man, I’m not here to tell anyone what to do with their genitals...but it’s just the principle of the matter. It’s beyond the limits of human decency to put someone you know is all psycho over you, through watching that sort of spectacle...
When I was at the height of my insanity, I would have started acting out. That’s how I know I’ve made a bit of personal progress...I didn’t reach for a coat hanger, which believe me, three years ago I would have...straight to the closet and then to the stove. And I would have done it just to make them watch me do it. I don’t like feeling suicidal, and I don’t ever. like. to. be. angry. My new coping tactic...instead of acting like a complete nutcase, I acted like a complete drug addict, line after line after line. I was gonna turn my fucking frown up side down, that’s for damn sure. Who knows how long I sat there in that hell of self hatred and rage.
My mind was on fire, screaming:
WHY ARE YOU STILL FUCKING HIM, WHY ARE YOU STILL FUCKING HIM, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, ARE YOU RETARDED, DO YOU WANT TO DIE OF AIDS, DO REALLY HATE YOURSELF ENOUGH TO PUT YOURSELF THROUGH THIS AGAIN, WHY ARE YOU SUCH A STUPID BITCH,
I WANT TO GO HOME, WELL
YOU SHOULD HAVE NEVER COME HERE YOU DUMB ASSHOLE, YOU’VE DONE IT TO YOURSELF, THIS IS WHAT YOU GET, THIS IS WHAT YOU DESERVE, YOU’RE SUBHUMAN, YOUR WHOLE LIFE YOU HAVE BEEN PUNISHED BECAUSE YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN, WHY ARE YOU SO ANGRY- YOU MORON YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE ANGRY AT ANYONE BUT YOURSELF FOR BEING
SO
FUCKING
STUPID.
And I just kept sitting there until I was finally high enough to pretend like I was paying attention to their conversation. I even interacted a bit, playing my favorite part of self-loathing, drug addict who is sickened by the world but humorous. Insane but harmless, and I am harmless...unless provoked. But this isn’t even what this story is fucking about, it’s about how I met Kathy and what really happened.
The truth is not hidden, hard to find or one sided.
The truth is only delayed.
Boiling Down into Something Scary
So Kathy the tweaker started passing out lines. To keep our cover I had to sit closer to Sam and thanks to the second Vicodin and four drinks I consumed, interacting and wanting to participate in the bullshit was getting easier to fake. As to be expected they all start blabbing in the jibber jabber of a speed freak but then thanks to Kathy, things started taking a turn for the kinky. Next thing I know Mr. Chris has his hands all over her ass (was he trying to make me lose my mind in public, because I’m overly competent at losing my shit in front of people?), she’s jacking off Sam under the table with one hand, and feeling my tit with the other. As The Elder would say, it was the “quintessential drug addict experience”, but I wasn’t having very much fun. Soon everyone was talking about going back to Mr. Chris’ apartment and having an after hours party of our own. I felt, simply, fucking horrified. I knew exactly what was going to happen if the four of us went back to that apartment together and I wasn’t looking forward to it. I can’t describe my relief when Boho, (another friend of a friend of so and so and such and such) came up and said he and his friends were all going to The End Point, some shit hole after hours place. Immediately I said I wanted to go. Mr. Chris and Sam looked a bit more than disappointed (I had Sam pinned as a fag but maybe I was wrong after all) but I was so, so relieved. I thought I was out of the oven...but I was just getting ready to jump in.
Him, Me, Or Her
We were now standing outside of the club, the modern day cave where, in their cute designer faux furs, barbarians gather to find fuck and food. There was a problem, a minor triviality. Sam had a car and so did Kathy. Someone needed to decide who would be riding with who...the plan was that we would meet up at this lame fucking after hours joint and then go from there.
I was still cognizant enough to know that if Mr. Chris went anywhere with that girl, I wouldn’t be seeing him again, at least not on that night. Which is the hypocrisy of it, or strangeness of it. Him fucking her and liking it, would have made me mad...that I couldn’t deal with...but the possibility of me messing around with her and hating every second of it...wanting to kill myself...was a better option. [And at this point I was still deluded enough to think I could say no to sexual contact with her. (For those who don’t know, victims of sexual abuse often find it impossible to say no to sex...no matter how much they want to say no, they usually...just… cannot)].
Hating myself and wanting to die and/or to self mutilate was something I could blame on myself and be accountable for...but hating him just wouldn’t do. Hating him is something I cannot do, I am, at this point, completely incapable of it. You see, I completely love this person who does not love me (to the degree that it’s self-destructive and wholly fucking pointless for me to do so), and very possibly because he very honestly does not love me (which is something only someone with the most severe case of self-hatred would do) “like that” (you know, he gets drunk enough to fuck me, but whatever), not like I’m bitter about it or anything (obviously, I’m not). Plus, somehow in my twisted little skull, maybe I figured that if he didn’t love me, I might as well give him a good reason not to. (As if me being completely FUCKING INSANE isn’t a good enough reason not to). As you can tell, it’s all very tragic.
I will not go into the psychological safety aspects of having an attachment to someone who is incapable of sincerely returning your own affections but I will say, that its sort of like this: you find someone who’s mind is just as toxic as your own and let them act as they want...you try to remain attached and detached at the same time...pretending like you don’t care and so on...this keeps you safe...safer than if you were a corpse being fucking ravaged by a necrophile...at first you get all the pleasure without the pain...but when the Novocain wears off...the dull ache and emptiness of your pulled tooth turns into a throbbing anguish...you find yourself in a corner where you either blow your own charade and admit that you’ve gotten overly involved...ultimately facing rejection...or you ignore your emotions and let them fester inside of you...which is dangerous because it makes you act out in ways that don’t make sense and could be abusive...or you make the decision you really don’t want to make...you end the relationship...for the sake of your own fucking sanity.
“Boys with boys, girls with girls”-Me And so it was, and so it began.
