Goth Girl, Interrupted

I read the transcript tonight to the chat you had with my friend, former friend. Someone I thought was a friend. Can't believe all the bullshit that spewed from your mouth while I was locked away. While I was sick. While my head was spinning. When they took me off all my meds. What the fuck happened? How could you be so cruel and heartless?

You like to blame everybody but yourself for what happened. Nothing happened. You blew it all up into something it was not. Hell, you even blamed my cat for playing with your glasses, scratching them up. My cat would never do anything like that, but if she did, I'm glad she did. I'm glad they were yours and I hope it cost you a lot of money to get them fixed.

Reading the Transcript makes me angry, makes my blood boil for the torture I endured in that hospital while you were painting me as crazy. Dating girls on Tinder 2 days post breakup, making fun of me in your kik chat rooms. You manipulated me like you manipulated every other woman before me. You got off on turning me crazy. You got off on the fact that I tried to kill myself over you; just like all the other ones before me.

It was so easy for you to hire a lawyer to put together a protective order because you had done it so many times before. I never saw it coming but I should have. All of my predecessors were violent, you said. I shouldn't have been surprised when you marked me the same way.

It may have taken me a while to get here, 6 plus years in fact, but now that I'm here I can see clearly out the other side, but I often wonder about the ones that came after me. Are they so-called violent too? Have you hired more lawyers for your protective orders? I've noticed that you like to zigzag across the country whenever you get into the new skirmish. Does that mean you might be on my coast again? Last I heard you bought a house in PA. I had to go back to my home country to feel far enough away from you. Your tentacles of smarmy insincere self-absorbed bullshit never feel far enough away. Rest assured though, that if I ever see you, your face will meet my fist. No risk of deportation in your home country sweetheart. If you're going to accuse me of violence, I might as well show you what I'm made of for real.

This is why I have given up on all hopes of ever finding anyone. You didn't say hi. You "loved" one of my pictures on Instagram and that was it. I don't get why it's really so hard to say, "I'm not interested" after I say, "You can't hurt my feelings."

I'm not wholly unconvinced that I have any feelings left actually. There are no feelings to hurt. This post isn't hurt. This post is me being annoyed. This post is me calling an older than me man out on just being... I don't even know anymore dear readers. There are no readers here so I guess I can say whatever the fuck I want at this point.

I once read this comment on a thread somewhere that said if men didn't follow through, or you didn't get hit on, that you were ugly. I used to think that was bullshit. Now I'm not so sure. I'm also not so sure why I can have so much luck on one continent and not another.

Sometimes I wonder if I moved here because I'm two extra floors up and there's concrete below. Oh, and the windows don't have screens and I could probably sit on the ledge of my balcony before I swan dive head first.

It's actually quiet in my shithole apartment for once. Sure there's an airplane but I can deal with that. You know, I can't wait until I'm no longer close to the airport either. Those transatlantic flights that wake me up at 1, 2, 3am can go to hell too. When I lived in Burien we were so close to that one runway but the windows were so insulated that we couldn't hear a thing. This apartment has had no significant upgrades to anything. I bet if the window accidentally broke the same single paned pain would be put back in. If you look up this building there are the words, "well-maintained". I beg to differ completely.

I got the apartment that I put in for. I got the call today. I hugged my co-worker when I got off the phone. I remembered to thank God and St. Anthony because it's been a non-stop prayer-fest for days now.

I'm trying to keep my expectations at a level I should. I know that I have high expectations. I just need quiet and no pests. That's it. The apartment is smaller than this one I am currently in and that is 100% okay with me. It comes with a parking spot though...and storage! How nice is that. If you come visit you will have a place to park your car. There is everything you could want in a 5 km radius. There's even the first church I ever attended on a regular basis.

The following series of posts were screenshots of old LiveJournal posts of my ex-husbands that were sent to me by my request by a mutual friend. They were never meant to be seen by me. They were sitting in my email, forgotten, for 17 years. I have unearthed them, and commented as you will see bel

Friday September 11, 2009 – 4:14pm - RMH

I probably shouldn't mention this, as I'm not really interested in causing drama. BUT, I feel it necessary to say... I can't believe that spiteful turd took ALL the Vancouver postcards. I guess she felt that, perhaps, it's her city and I've no right to appreciate it?

**Did I take all the Vancouver postcards? I might have. I actually don’t remember. I’d like to thank RMH for getting me into collecting postcards, not just Vancouver Postcards, but all types of postcards. I have gone on to collect Davenport Hotel postcards, Our Lady of Lourdes postcards, asylum postcards, some Seattle postcards, Spokane postcards and postcards of just random things.

You know, I’ll delve into the city of Spokane later, but he gave me such an appreciation for the Davenport. It is definitely still on my list of hotels to visit. I have some beautiful antique postcards from there that I love to look at. 

On another note, it is my city and he had a right to appreciate it. I found it truly ironic that he took a girlfriend there later on and they stayed at the exact hotel we would stay at on Granville street. Apparently he couldn’t appreciate it so much as to do his own research. That’s okay though, cause you know the ex-wife has the best taste. I wonder if that red-haired gal ever knew that?

Curious, because if she loves Vancouver so much, why did she play me for her "green card" so that she wouldn't have to ever go back there?

If you’ve ever watched one episode of 90-day fiancé, you know they always reach for this “insult” when the going gets rough. “S/he used me for a green card man!” Like no other country on earth could possibly be better than the United Fucking States of America. We were in the Obama years in 2009, so things weren’t bad, but you have to remember that Dubya served two terms before that and that’s the president I came in on. Trump wasn’t even a thought to anyone’s minds yet. Coming home to Canada was always an option. Once you cross the border they don’t put a ball and chain around your ankle and you’re not free to leave. At this point in time, I really thought I was just going to turn around and go home. Staying for the 18 years that I did didn’t even seem like a viable option. I will get more into this later. I resent our marriage being called a “play” for a green card, especially since he knew what I went through regarding his mother. If it was a play I would have lived in some sort of comfort, instead of some sort of hades. Of course, after she left she told me I should move back to Spokane, so apparently the silly bitch thinks she owns Seattle, too.

Naw, I remember saying this. I just said this purely to piss you off cause I was pissed off. I can even remember the tone of my voice. (I’d like to note that I’m smiling right now) Anyway, back to the postcards... Now sure, some of them *were* hers and she had every right to take those. However, some of them *I* purchased. The remainder were a birthday present from her - which, I might add, marked the *only* occasion in the nearly 5 years I was with her that she actually gave me anything for my birthday. So that's double fun! Only one present in 5 years, and she later stole it back.

This shit makes me laugh. So, for those of you that don’t know, it costs money to get a work authorization when you get a K-1 visa. We didn’t have the money when we first moved or for the first couple of years so I wasn’t working. When you aren’t working, you don’t have money. I was the only one that moved to Seattle with any substantial amount of money, and you want to know how much that was? $1500. His mom was blowing her money on DVDs at the mall and while I acknowledge they both supported my ass for those first couple of years until my status was adjusted and I could get a job, it was like I had to pay all that back by being house bitch and doing the majority of the cooking and cleaning for my entire 4 years living in that apartment. Call a “fend for yourself night?” His fucking mother would throw a fit! The last year of or marriage and the inevitable breaking of everything he was unemployed and continually spent money out of our joint account to make a stormtrooper armour. I’d also like to note that when I left, I even left him half of MY money that was in our joint bank account. 

Did he get Christmas presents? Yes. Did I give him mom Christmas presents? Yes. I think the reason that I wasn’t so big on the birthday presents was because when we were both getting paycheques and his mom was bringing home a paycheque as well, him and me alone were going into overdraft every week despite getting paid every week. We also went almost an entire year without paying the electric bill and being surprised when they finally decided that we either needed to pay up or get cut off. I remember waiting until 11:30pm to start walking to the supermarket because by the time we got to the store his mom’s cheque would be deposited and we could spend it and buy groceries. At the time it didn’t strike me as odd, but now, as an adult, it blows my mind. I’m not sure why he was so jacked at not supposedly getting any birthday gifts from his wife that wasn’t working for half the marriage, spending her money for a year of it and spending his own money on whatever he wanted the entire time. (especially when the house looked like a toy store blew up!)

Funny side story. One year at Christmas time, his mom said, “This year I’m going to buy extra gifts for myself, wrap them, and put them under the tree.” That was a classic B-ism if I ever heard one.

And as I think about it even more, before we were married, he stayed with me for 3 months. He got his unemployment cheques mailed to him but I mean, who paid for everything else? Anyway, I've started replacing them... so I was thinking about the ones that I now have to go hunt down and it made me a little torqued.

“Hunt down” as in go on Ebay and find them. This was still in the golden age of Ebay when it was so easy to find anything. I find Vancouver postcards to this day for my collection of over 500+ I go buy them because in the back of my head I think that maybe out there is RMH trying to buy the same one and I can’t have that. Vancouver is my city, and you have no right to appreciate it. Ok. That's all. I've vented, and I feel better now. :)

I'm glad that I'm not you.

I'm glad that I can take care of myself.

Go to the doctor when I'm sick.

I refuse to try and make people pity me, but it makes me mad that people do pity you.

You aren't deserving of it because I think you're full of shit. How can you seriously get to be your age and have all that you have given to you and still be a whiny little baby that thinks, "Poor Me".

I'll admit that I laughed when I heard you started taking Ozempic. Maybe if you took all that booze out of the cupboard you wouldn't gain all that weight and maybe if you dealt with your shit you wouldn't have to drink.

I'm glad I didn't have to give you those things because I rather see them end up in the garbage. I already regret the things I gave you because you don't deserve them.

All I can think of is all of my well taken care of things being given to you and ending up on your floor covered in dust and dog hair.

I can't trust anyone that would go out like you do covered in dog hair.

So I'm going through my Google Drive because it's telling me it's fucking full. It's the pictures, I know it's the pictures. Apparently I like to screenshot shit too so I have to go through and free up some space and I start at the bottom where the old shit it.

And there it is...

It's a screenshot of a FB convo I had with a former friend when she finally figured out I unfriended her. It was the most lack-lustre conversation that I have ever read. Instead of wanting to know why, like you know, a normal person would want to know, she just chocks it up to people moving in different directions. I wasn't all that surprised that she took this route as she was selfish ever since we got back in touch. I was diplomatic about the whole thing and left the door open. I genuinely liked her and wished that it wasn't always about her and what was going on in her life. Or the one-upping! or the "my life is better than yours and this is why" bullshit.

During the first conversation I mentioned that I was completely open to talking about why I unfriended her. She said nothing. Just that I should continue to kick ass. There's no date stamp but I knew it was around my birthday two years ago she messaged again saying that she missed me. I told her that her message said a lot and that again, I was open to discussing what happened and what went wrong. She said she wasn't in a place to be a good friend to anyone right now. Something-something that she would reach out when things were less busy. I wished her well with a big thing that was going on in her life and she told me to give my cat a hug for her.

I never gave my cat that hug from her because I never heard from her again. 2 years has gone by.

I don't know about you, dear reader, but when someone tells me that I have done something wrong, I want to know. I want to know how I hurt someone or what I did to make them unfriend me. A lot of times we don't get that opportunity. People just unfriend us and that's it. It's a one way trip to blocks-ville. I was willing to forgive her if she just heard me out and listened to my side of the story and how she made me feel. How it was always about her. How she would call and message me only when she wanted to talk about her. When I was struggling so hard and messaged her and it was like, "You should do this...oh and I fucked this guy last night and he was sooo hot!" I just needed an apology or a little understanding.

Dear reader, your narrator is a pushover and a doormat and usually just goes along with what is going on. I don't stick up for myself because I don't like confrontation. I was willing to go to bat for this, willing to confront because I didn't want it to end up like this. In the end though, it did end up like this, but you know what? I stuck to my guns and my life is less stressful because of it. I don't have to listen to her on the phone trying to put me down and have her trying to make her life seem so much better.

I've tried to recreate that moment with others. Partners, crushes, one night flings, but it will never come close to that moment with Sean. That song comes on and even to this day, 27 years later, I always think of him and that moment.

My memory is really bad these days, but for some reason I can remember so many great times from when I was a teenager. Sean and this punk rocker guy also took me for my first piercing. Just a nose piercing and even that was risque at the time. That hole is still in my face and will never close. I guess he'll always be around but he'll never know how much he meant to me.

During my everyday work life, I look pretty normal. A lot of black, but normal. You can't miss me though, I have coloured streaks in my hair.

Yesterday I was out getting coffee with a co-worker and there was a ruckus in the street. An animal kept walking into busy downtown traffic. My co-worker and I tried our best to get this thing to the sidewalk, but wild animals are exactly that. Sadly we gave up and walked back to work.

A car stopped at the side of the street and this woman got out with a sweater and I'm assuming was going to try and capture it. The animal was not having it and just kept running away. It wasn't hurt so it was walking at a good clip. At one point this woman was standing close-ish to me and I just wanted to say thanks for trying but buddy is going to go where he wants to go.

You know, this has happened to me a few times in my life and I just sort of chalk it up to the person not hearing me but I was within a few feet of this woman and he wouldn't even look my way. She ignored me like I didn't even exist. She wasn't talking to anyone, just looking down the street with her body towards me, but her head facing the other direction. It was then that I knew what kind of person she was.

If you can care so much about animals, but no regard for someone that is even talking to you. YOU WON'T EVEN LOOK AT THEM! I'm going to 100% believe you're just a clout-chasing-virtue-signaling piece of shit.

In my experience, those that care about animals, and have that compassion, also feel it for their fellow human beings.

I was raised so different than most people and I think that my compassion and good heart are what get me both hurt and intensely angry. I want others to have been raised like I have, and to feel love for everyone, or in the very fucking least, be civil when someone is talking to you. I couldn't imagine someone talking to me, and I just ignore them, right to their face.

What goes around, comes around and the only way I shrug it off is by knowing that I would never do this to someone and that one day, she'll have to answer the question, "Why did you just ignore that woman that was talking to you?"

The universe sees everything. The good, the bad, the RUDE. Haha! We will all have to answer to our actions in the end.

I've wanted to do this for a long time. Put everything down into words. I don't have a lot of friends so I hope this can also serve as an outlet for my emotions.

I'm not the target Tumblr audience. I'm in my 40's and I've lead a life that has been difficult many times over. Sometimes I feel like I'm only happy when I'm distressed. When I'm hurt. ...when it rains if you're Shirley Manson.

One day I hope to write a book. Until then I think that this will serve to be that book, my memoir.

Summer is in full swing here on the west coast and I'm miserable. The heat is too much for me. As it stands, life is decent. I'm working. Familiar is good for right now. I have a roof over my head. Something is missing though and I hope to find it.