Open Faced Slamwich

Back in the day when the internet was still a dial up provider that you paid for by the hour, I was fortunate to make a lot of friends that I still have to this day. One of them, we’ll call her “M,” reminded me of one of our favorite pastimes which was me writing her slam (aka fuck you) letters to weirdo dudes who tried to pick her up online. The conversation today went something like, “Dude remember how I used to get those freaks trying to pick me up from, like, fuckin, Russia and shit?” I tell her that I remember this and ask her what made her think of this. She says, “I wish I had you around to write those nasty emails you used to send for me telling them to go to hell. You were the best at that.” We had a laugh and went on about our days but the whole thing stuck with me. For whatever sick and twisted reason, I get a charge out of trolling people who deserve to be trolled. Call it boredom, low self esteem, being a generally disagreeable person, or just a plain old judgmental fucking asshole… it is what it is and I genuinely love calling people out for their bullshit. Mind you I don’t simply go around to random men, women, and children on the street and say, “You, yeah you with the fuckin shants and the t-shirt that looks like a dress, your clothes are fucking terrible…” I might THINK this but I don’t say it…. Unless they give me a reason.

What reasons are these exactly? The rules are simple so let’s make a list and then, with great joy, I will get to my first victim of my new project called “The Open Faced Slamwich.”

So the rules are as follows:

1. If you’re a dick to someone for apparently no reason whatsoever, you get slammed.
2. If you go out of your way to hurt someone again, for no reason, you get slammed.
3. If you think you’re fucking awesome and you have absolutely no reason to think so (you don’t do nice shit for people, you’re a generally selfish prick, or whatever it is that makes you repulsive as a human being) you get slammed.
4. If you’ve fucked me or one of my friends over, no matter what your so-called justification is, you’re getting slammed.
5. People being slammed by me will not be named directly but I will not attempt to disguise their appearance or mannerisms. If you’re an asshole, you’re fair game.
6. If you happen to be someone that is slammed and recognize yourself, please try and use this as a guide to change your shitty ways because more than likely I’m not the only person who thinks of you in this manner. I’m just the one with the balls to say so because you don’t scare me.

Here. We. Go.

I met you on AOL when I had just turned 18. From what I recall we were in a goth chat or something to do with Marilyn Manson because that was the thing at the time. You told me you went by the name “Misery” and that you, too, were 18. We started a friendship and spent many weekends together hanging out and just being those weird goth kids that people at Hot Topic would keep an eye on because we were kleptomaniacs who had no regard for rules. One day I got free tickets to an Orgy concert and you said you’d bring me. Instead of being on time you showed up three hours late, we missed the show and we hung out anyway. Some guy asked us if we knew Jesus loved us and we had a laugh. I later learned you stole a car to make that trip happen and you lied when you said you were 18. In reality you were only 15 and you apologized for lying but I didn’t care, I forgave you anyway.

Years go on and we keep talking until you disappear on me for the first time. I was married, living in NYC, and you suddenly weren’t my MySpace friend anymore. Maybe you were jealous that I found someone, maybe you were turning into the trainwreck I would later learn you had become. Whatever the case, you vanished. When you returned it was in 2008 after you found me again on MySpace claiming some excuse as to why you had disappeared. I forgave you though. Because that’s what I do. We hung out, went to the zoo, things were fun. I bought you dinner and we took selfies of us being stupid and then you left with a plan to call me so we could hang again. I never heard from you again.

I spent years looking for you because, in my heart and mind, you were my best friend and I thought if I could just find you things would go back to the way they were. I finally did find you after 8 years of wondering, searching, looking for phone numbers, sometimes calling wrong numbers. But the work paid off and one day, there you were. I was so happy, you sounded so happy. Everything was awesome. We hung out and you told me why you bailed. You said that you perceived I didn’t have time for you because I was going through stuff at the time. Maybe I was being naïve or I was in denial but I let it go. I forgave you. I made excuses for you to anyone who asked. “Oh she just didn’t know my name changed. She didn’t know what was going on. She probably had her own shit going on.” Whatever the case, I did what I could to justify your shitty action of bailing on me for the second time.

It became apparent right away that the reasons you bailed on me were reasons I could’ve held against you. You had a lot going on in your life with work, friends, home commitments, and so much more but I was willing to stick it out. But there was this little voice in my head needling at me. “She never looked for you. In 8 years she never once tried to find you, you asked her and she didn’t deny it when you said she didn’t.” You said we had a “history” though and to me that made it okay. But it wasn’t. Something wasn’t right.

The nice period of our reunion went by fast, we had maybe 6 months of peace with maybe one or two little spats but it wasn’t until recently that you decided that I wasn’t worth your effort anymore. Why that is, I’ll never know but after this, I won’t care. Yeah you paid to help my sick cat but the entire time you hinted that you wanted me to set you up with a friend. Was this supposed to be payment for your “kindness?” Was I supposed to sell you my friend in return for saving my cat? No? Then why did you hint about it and blow up my phone every other day asking if I talked to him about you? I tried nicely to tell you that you weren’t his type but you cheerfully ignored this spouting off, “I’m way more awesome than anyone he dated and you know it.”

……..Um not so much. I don’t know it at all actually because the girl that I reconnected with is nothing like the girl I met years ago. This girl that I know now is a self-involved and mentally unstable individual who somehow believes that because she lost over 80 pounds that she is suddenly hot shit. In truth, honey, you’re just a butter face. But even then, I can’t say the rest of you would be pleasant to look at anyway. Your hair is as limp as some soggy-ass fries in an all night truck stop diner. You know the ones where the girls go out back and give a handy for $5 bucks? Yeah, your hair is like that. Looking at your face I’m reminded of a horse that I saw once. Her name was Manhattan and when I see you, I picture her with a bunch of poorly placed piercings and some jenky-ass sharpie eyebrows that someone charged you too much to tattoo on your face. Your fashion sense is a cross between a mom who shops at Walmart thinking their shit is “edgy” and one of those hookers I just mentioned. Worst of all, you can’t blend your make up for shit and it looks like you just threw the shit at your face and said, “I’m good to go.”

Placing the physical characteristics aside, you’re a foul human being. I’ve  never once heard you say a nice thing about a person you spend time with. Everyone is either a liar, a whore, a back stabber, a bitch, a cunt, or someone who is beneath you in some way. Yet the moment you’re done talking to me, you’re posting photos on the internet of you and whoever the whore of the week is. In your world, you are above all reproach and the rules only apply to everyone else. Your strong moral code goes out the window as soon as you are the one in the hot seat and everyone else is wrong. No. Matter. What.

You toss people aside like the condoms you occasionally used but, considering you have herpes, it’s a good bet that you didn’t use them often. All of your so-called “friends” are on a carousel that you spin at your leisure based on who hasn’t lived up to your expectations at any given time. Considering my own experience and from listening to what you’ve said, there is no rhyme or reason to your definition of what is right or wrong. This is decided on a whim and the circumstances will not matter. Your so-called friend could have experienced a tragedy and in your world if they have dared to offend you in some manner, you don’t talk about it with them. You talk about it with others and block the person in order to avoid listening to the truth about what a hideous human being you are.

You’re not worth knowing and it took me a long time to realize that the person I thought you were was just a naïve interpretation of what friendships were when I was a kid. As an adult I see exactly what your definition of friendship is; someone who you can compare yourself to and judge in order to rise up when your self esteem goes lower than it already is.

People like you never find a happy ending. People like you are as transparent as glass, no matter how dirty it is. Eventually people will get wise to you, bust out that windex, and wipe away that grime to see what a hideous creature lives inside that glass house of yours. No man will ever love you. No woman will ever remain in your life as a friend. As your sister said, you’re toxic. As your brother said, you’re a bitch. You’ve often complained that so many people think ill of you and that you honestly can’t understand why this is. I choose to live by the rule that if one person thinks ill of you, it’s their problem. If many are saying you’re a cunt, then you’re the problem.

You’re no loss to someone like me and you won’t be a loss to those who finally decide  they’re tired of dancing on your strings. Be ready for a lonely life with your dogs, your pain killers, and your hope that you will someday matter to someone. Your disappointment will be profound and when it all finally crumbles in on you, remember that I was the one person to forgive you for being the bitch you are. In the end, you will have nothing.

Grief, loss, and all words to describe terrible things

The past three months have probably been the most emotionally trying months that I’ve experienced in some time. I lived by this code for a long time that it was best to never let that guard down and think, “Okay the coast is clear, nothing that bad could possibly happen now. The worst has to be over.” Yeah… not so much.

I’ll summarize the bullet points and then get to the big bad…

-  A new co-worker came on to the mid-shift from working overnights and has been… unprofessional since she started. I honestly couldn’t answer why she has behaved the way she has but all speculation aside, it’s been unpleasant to work with her and it’s resulting in a “conversation” with the managers. For once, I’m not on the receiving end of this conversation.

- My cat got sick and required surgery to remove a blockage. She is okay now though and I’m grateful to my friend for being generous enough to help out.

- I reconnected with a friend who was supposedly extremely excited to be reunited but after a metric ton of excuses that didn’t make sense, I had to distance myself from it. She has baby daddy drama and some other shit that she wouldn’t get into. I told her I would be there for her but she didn’t respond so… bye.

- The friend who helped me with my cat has been acting distant toward me after we had a spat. It started with me going to a movie that she believed I had made a plan to see with her. That was not the case. We talked it out and I thought things were cool. After this conversation I see she posted online that she was going to a convention with a friend of hers after we had planned to go together. She swears up and down that her decision to go had nothing to do with the movie thing and that’s all well and good but when I said I was bothered/bummed about the change in plan I was accused of acting like a jealous boyfriend and apparently her friends think I’m nuts. Now she’s tagging people in posts that she would’ve tagged me in and it’s all just fucked up. It is what it is and I’m just not playing anymore. I’ve taken my ball and gone home as the saying goes.

Now for the big bad… My cousin Joe and I were talking the other day via FB Messenger as we usually do and my mother calls me in her usual “ohhh my goddd, all this shit is so fucked up” way and proceeds to tell me that my cousin hasn’t been doing well. He had been passing out a lot and just didn’t feel well overall. He went away with his parents on this trip to Martha’s Vineyard which is usual for them since they live on the Cape. He had been staying with my grandparents and I guess when they went down to his room they found a bunch of bad shit. Booze bottles to name one. They were fed up with him drinking and said he couldn’t stay with them any longer. Aside: They’re both raging alcoholics who have no business judging anyone so… yeah.

Anyway, my mother flips out and says we need to tag team him to get him to go to rehab before some shit goes down. She’s telling me about how he carries a gun around and she’s insistent that he will do something if we don’t help him. I tell her I’ve been trying for years to get him help and he just wouldn’t do it for reasons that were his own. Just the same though I talked with him most of the day on Sunday and kept trying to get him to commit to going to the hospital since his symptoms sounded pretty serious. He kept saying no and changed the subject to ask how I was. He sounded okay but… that’s the internet. You can’t HEAR the person. Our conversation ends and I go about the rest of my night. The next day my mother calls to tell me that Joe had his gun taken away and he was staying with his parents. I tell her this is good and I give her a number to call for crisis services on Cape Cod to consult with ways to get him help. I don’t know if she made the call or not. Joe and I talked for almost the entire day again. It was another round robin of me asking him to go to the hospital and using a ton of motivational interviewing to try and get to the bottom of why he wouldn’t go. His reasons will never made sense to me but I’m not him. We finish our conversation just before 6pm and I go on with my night. I get things ready for work and I go to bed. At 2:30AM I’m awoken by my phone. It’s my mother.

“D---……” Long long pause. I knew what she was going to say. No call after midnight is a good call.

“Joey’s gone…”
“What do you mean he’s gone mom? Where is he?”
“He’s gone…”
“No.”
“He passed away…” She starts crying and I just keep saying no over and over again like it’s going to change something. When I can finally speak I ask her what happened. She didn’t know at the time. Only that he had been in a tub and said “Don’t call 911.” I tell her I have to go and I lose it. Wailing. Choking. The whole thing. My husband is hanging on to me and I think he was trying to literally hold me together because I was shattering with every sob that came out.

When I was able to get myself together, I text my mother to ask her more. She didn’t have enough info. But she said she would call me. Shaun takes me for a drive and I pop several benzos in order to stop the shaking and sobbing. It works and I finally sleep for a little while.

When I wake up, I’m thinking maybe it was all a bad dream and I check my phone. It wasn’t. I see the call log and I see the texts I sent. I re-read my cousin’s messages to me trying to make sense. I’m a mental health recovery counselor trained to look for signs of potential suicide risk. There were none from what I read. But just the same, my mother calls me later to tell me the whole story as it went down. Blow by blow by blow of the horrific detail of his death and the events thereafter. Due to the triggering nature of that, I will not share it. But just know that every time I close my eyes I see it and my heart hurts. So. Much.

I’ve spent the day in a stupor of opiates and benzos combined with the shock of losing a person who was for all intents and purposes my little brother. I was 5 years old when he was born and from the day he was born, he was always around my brother and me. We were the three muskateers. We looked out for each other. Did vacation stuff. We were bonded. The pain that comes when the drug haze lifts is excruciating beyond anything I can even describe. I couldn’t even try if I wanted to. It just… hurts.

I’ve received so much support from people I’ve never met, people I have met, and people whom I never would’ve expected it from. The words, “Anything you need” have been repeated over and over. It’s a sentiment that means so much even if there’s nothing anyone can do. I try to see that in this dark fucking place but there’s another part of the pain here too and that’s the fact that my friend, the movie one, is so distant right now. Of everyone I know, I would have thought she would’ve been the first person to drop everything and come to help keep me together but that was not the case. Instead, she posted pictures online and tagged people that she said called me nuts. I think it’s juvenile of me to care about something so trivial when my cousin just died but the whole point to being a best friend is to be here for these very situations and she failed me. Again.

My cousin’s death hurts worse than anything she could do or not do. But it doesn’t make this shit any easier. The solace I find in this though is that the support has come from the least likely of sources and I will never question that again.

When people say tragedy is when you learn who your real friends are… they aren’t kidding. I’m not saying to manufacture a tragedy to test loyalties because that would be fucked up. But if you ever have the slightest doubt about someone… believe it. I didn’t. I rationalized it all until I was blue in the face… The way she bailed on me because she thought I didn’t have enough time for her, the way she never looked for me in the years we were separated, the way she could so easy throw barbs at me when I questioned her motives, and the way she now has stepped back from me in my time of need.

I’ve received the message loud and clear and now I know. I wish I didn’t but I do.

So yeah… fuck this week, fuck death, and fuck whatever the hell happened between me and this friend. I’m sure she will read this and tell me what a piece of shit I am after she helped pay for my cat’s medical bills. I watched her do the same to a friend of hers after the friend questioned her previous decision to co-sign on a loan for my friend. Her wrath was telling…. Throwing all she did in the girl’s face all because she violated some rule she was playing by when no one else knows what those rules are. I place a great deal of importance on how friends treat their other friends in a fight because it’s a barometer for how I will be treated when I make the grievous error of crossing them. Lesson learned.

To the friend: if you read this, which you probably won’t, don’t bother throwing your good deeds in my face. I’ve already tallied it all up and when I am in the position to do so, I’ll pay you back and you can forget I exist again.