Hell, Abbreviated
It could have gone smoothly, the trip that is. Then again, it wouldn't be my life had that been the case. No, these melodramatic misshaps that are my life are uniquely mine and mine alone.
It all started when...
We left Houston rocking out to some DeathRay Davies and were just past Beaumont when my mother and I started talking trash about a certain snotty family member. I remarked upon my two-faced nature and toxic tendencies, stating I'd developed the habit recently. Well, those of you who read this garbage are all too familiar with the jealous best friend who is purportedly "in love" with me. He turns to me and says, "recently developed? you've been that way for years." Had this been said less condescendingly, without the snide intonation I could have laughed it off. So I retort "well, some people don't inspire me to be toxic, unlike you." And a tangible tension filled the car.
Moments later my superguy calls, and I answer my phone, because fuck the best friend, he's being an ass, and I know where my loyalties lie. Besides, he has no right to be jealous. This only serves to worsen an already tense situation. His posture changes, he becomes cold and withdrawn, he mumbles snide remarks and slams his car door at rest stops, he refuses to make eye contact. And then, he expects me to let him drive. HA! Not a fucking chance.
So the trip progresses in this fashion with alternating apologies and further fighting until I fucking snap. That's right. I was the ice queen I'm always aspiring to be. There is nothing I hate more than an emotionally needy and manipulative, self-absorbed man. He's supposedly there to help me deal with the death of my father and all I hear the whole fucking time is "why aren't you paying attention to/dating/loving/focusing on me?" Why? Because you are a manipulative sociopathic fuckball, that's why. Fuck this shit. Over, done, out.
I have never been so disrespected and emotionally tortured in my life. The night before my fathers memorial service after I've been up driving for almost 15 hours he decides we need to talk, and he proceeds to chew my ear off until 6 am about what he needs from me in our friendship. By then I'm an emotional wreck, and have to prepare for the service which starts at 9am. Guess who got first dibs on showers? Yep, his conniving greedy ass. So I told him to shove it, I wasn't taking him with me to the memorial. By this point I'm throwing things at the hotel walls, screaming into pillows and contemplating taking a steak knife to my arms for fun. My mom is "shocked and awed" into angry silence by his behavior and he's threatening to take a Greyhound bus home. I wish he had.
So on and on these little games went until I refused to play any longer. I did not react, I did not reach out, I withdrew. Fuck him. He doesn't care about me, and that became glaringly obvious each time I wanted support and instead received emotional abuse.
The trip was awful. My aunt didn't even acknowledge my presence, and was reluctant to let me see the house my father had built for my mother and I to live in when I asked politely. One thing was apparant. Many people "knew" my father, but very few cared enough to truly know him. His best friends put together a photo album with pictures of him holding me as a baby, and he and my mother together for the memorial to pass around. They were my solace, as I felt truly unwelcome by my aunt and the "fringe" friends. One thing is certain, Big Pine Key is empty without my father, and the emptiness only became more evident the longer we were there.
So, we left early. I just got back into town this morning...drove straight through. I'm emotionally and physically exhausted and depleted. I did get to go to a psychic in New Orleans and was astounded by the accuracy of my tarot reading, especially since I am a huge skeptic of these shenanigans.
All in all, an absolutely awful trip. Though I did get my fathers ashes and a ton of pictures he had of us together. The best friend however, is history. No more communication from me. I refuse to accomodate the sociopathic tendencies of yet another man.
What kept me going were the many calls and lovely messages from Houston. If it had not been for those brief escapes, I just may have gone clinically insane.
It could have gone smoothly, the trip that is. Then again, it wouldn't be my life had that been the case. No, these melodramatic misshaps that are my life are uniquely mine and mine alone.
It all started when...
We left Houston rocking out to some DeathRay Davies and were just past Beaumont when my mother and I started talking trash about a certain snotty family member. I remarked upon my two-faced nature and toxic tendencies, stating I'd developed the habit recently. Well, those of you who read this garbage are all too familiar with the jealous best friend who is purportedly "in love" with me. He turns to me and says, "recently developed? you've been that way for years." Had this been said less condescendingly, without the snide intonation I could have laughed it off. So I retort "well, some people don't inspire me to be toxic, unlike you." And a tangible tension filled the car.
Moments later my superguy calls, and I answer my phone, because fuck the best friend, he's being an ass, and I know where my loyalties lie. Besides, he has no right to be jealous. This only serves to worsen an already tense situation. His posture changes, he becomes cold and withdrawn, he mumbles snide remarks and slams his car door at rest stops, he refuses to make eye contact. And then, he expects me to let him drive. HA! Not a fucking chance.
So the trip progresses in this fashion with alternating apologies and further fighting until I fucking snap. That's right. I was the ice queen I'm always aspiring to be. There is nothing I hate more than an emotionally needy and manipulative, self-absorbed man. He's supposedly there to help me deal with the death of my father and all I hear the whole fucking time is "why aren't you paying attention to/dating/loving/focusing on me?" Why? Because you are a manipulative sociopathic fuckball, that's why. Fuck this shit. Over, done, out.
I have never been so disrespected and emotionally tortured in my life. The night before my fathers memorial service after I've been up driving for almost 15 hours he decides we need to talk, and he proceeds to chew my ear off until 6 am about what he needs from me in our friendship. By then I'm an emotional wreck, and have to prepare for the service which starts at 9am. Guess who got first dibs on showers? Yep, his conniving greedy ass. So I told him to shove it, I wasn't taking him with me to the memorial. By this point I'm throwing things at the hotel walls, screaming into pillows and contemplating taking a steak knife to my arms for fun. My mom is "shocked and awed" into angry silence by his behavior and he's threatening to take a Greyhound bus home. I wish he had.
So on and on these little games went until I refused to play any longer. I did not react, I did not reach out, I withdrew. Fuck him. He doesn't care about me, and that became glaringly obvious each time I wanted support and instead received emotional abuse.
The trip was awful. My aunt didn't even acknowledge my presence, and was reluctant to let me see the house my father had built for my mother and I to live in when I asked politely. One thing was apparant. Many people "knew" my father, but very few cared enough to truly know him. His best friends put together a photo album with pictures of him holding me as a baby, and he and my mother together for the memorial to pass around. They were my solace, as I felt truly unwelcome by my aunt and the "fringe" friends. One thing is certain, Big Pine Key is empty without my father, and the emptiness only became more evident the longer we were there.
So, we left early. I just got back into town this morning...drove straight through. I'm emotionally and physically exhausted and depleted. I did get to go to a psychic in New Orleans and was astounded by the accuracy of my tarot reading, especially since I am a huge skeptic of these shenanigans.
All in all, an absolutely awful trip. Though I did get my fathers ashes and a ton of pictures he had of us together. The best friend however, is history. No more communication from me. I refuse to accomodate the sociopathic tendencies of yet another man.
What kept me going were the many calls and lovely messages from Houston. If it had not been for those brief escapes, I just may have gone clinically insane.
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" What the caterpillar calls the end, the rest of the world calls a butterfly."
-Lao Tsu
think on it.