This is probably going to be a pretty insensitive post here, so be warned. If you're offended at the end of it - well, too fuckin' bad, heh. :p Here goes.
I have an acquaintance on Eff-Bee (I don't consider this person a "friend", because I've never met them in person and only know them from a forum we'd shared once long ago) that consistently and constantly complains about - well, everything. Now, granted, they've had it hard recently. Their spouse cheated on them and their marriage ended up breaking up because of it. That same spouse that cheated on them is now due alimony for the rest of their life - alimony that equals thousands of dollars a month. In turn, this person got laid off a couple of years ago from a really prominent job, and is now down to their last unemployment check. They also have a pretty bad problem with alcohol and drinking too much. Sounds awful, yeah? It is, I'll agree.
But.... (isn't there always a but in there?)....
This same person has had jobs in the last couple of years - not as prominent, and it involved a commute that was hellish to the extreme, almost a 2 hour commute each way - but still, a job. A way to eat. A way to put a roof over their head. This same person has been advised to leave the state in which they live and attempt to fight their ex-spouse for alimony reduction and/or elimination. This same person has friends that have, time and time again, offered to let them live with them, help them out, get their life back on track. This same person has been told over and over again to quit drinking and smoking, to get themselves together.
Okay? So the stage is set; you now know what this person is like. Let me get to the meat of the story here.
This same person, the one to whom I refer above, consistently gets on Eff-Bee and posts negative shit. All the time. Things like "if you want something from me, too FUCKING bad, suck it up, blah blah". Or things like "I have given everything, now I'm leaving you all, goodbye", etc., etc. Constant manipulation and drama posturing. Not too long ago, I witnessed three friends of this person being blocked because they actually dared to tell them that they was being... what else.... a drama king/queen. People were actually fighting on this person's profile - fighting for Chrissake. This person self-describes themselves as "untreated bipolar" and actually takes pride in this self-diagnosis. Pride. This person is unemployed, has been for at least a year, but still has money to drink and smoke countless packs of cigarettes a day and travel to far-away states to indulge in a hobby - yet complains that they can't find a job. This person complains constantly about helping their greedy, selfish ex-spouse and their greedy, selfish manipulative children and their greedy, selfish father - yet they consistently send money and act as support and go "family is everything, blah blah". This person posts links to "meaningful songs" eight times a day - literally, I have seen this person post the same video 8 times in one day - and is practically screaming "NOTICE ME".
Well, I have noticed you. But you're not going to like what I have to say to you.
1. Stop threatening shit and just DO it. You're going to disappear, leave, start a new life? You're going to quit supporting your greedy family? Fucking DO it and quit threatening it. Otherwise, honey, you are all talk and no action. It gets old after a while. Ever hear of the story of "the boy who cried wolf"? That's you all over. After a while, no one is going to believe what you say or even notice it for more than anything it is right now - which is posturing. You are so contradictory - one minute you threaten everyone who "hurts your family" and the next you're like, "they're all greedy, selfish assholes, I'm done, I'm done, I'm done". Which is it?
2. Just because people say things to you that you don't like, it doesn't mean they're not right. Those three friends of yours were right - when you do contradictory things, a real friend is going to call you on your shit. A real friend will tell you when you're wrong, because that's what they do - it means they care about your dumb ass enough to let you know, "Hey, dude, I think you need to maybe consider what you're doing." Ever think of that?
3. The reason you don't have a job isn't because you're over 50 years old. The reason you don't have a job right now isn't because you're overqualified. It's because you don't want to give up your hobby. It's because you don't want to leave the place you're living now in order to get a job or start a life elsewhere. It's because you don't want to realize that sometimes you have to give up the things you want in life in order to survive. Life is about survival - something you claim to know very well, but I don't really think you do. That job you had where you had to commute 4 hours a day - yeah, it sucked that you had to do that, but you know what? If that's what it takes to eat, to have a roof over your head, then that's what you do. It's not for a 50 inch TV or a fancy car that you keep crying everyone wants - it's so you can eat, have clothes on your back, and a place to lay your head. That's what you claim you want - so get out there and do it, and don't complain if you have to do things you don't want to do. That's called doing what you have to in order to survive. If that means working at fucking McDonald's, then that's what you do.
4. Life is what YOU make of it. If your life has been a catastrophic mess for the last X amount of years, maybe you need to sit the fuck down and think about why that is. Nothing is ordained, okay? You need to maybe examine your own self and see what you might be able to do to turn that around. No one, no one, NO ONE in this life "deserves" anything and no one is going to fucking help you - the help lies in your own hands. There is no "knight in shining armor". There is no one that's going to ride into your life on a bright white stallion, scoop you up, and "take you away", okay? You're on your fucking own out here. The world is cruel, and life isn't "fair". Get used to it. Look at the things that you do, and say, and think, and you might find that a lot of your misery is caused by things you do... and say.... and think.
5. As someone with long-term depression, I find it reprehensible that you believe yourself to have depression of any kind and refuse to get treatment. As a matter of fact, I find your pride in "being unmedicated" absolutely abhorrent. You do not realize what your actions do to people around you. You do not realize that the things you say and do can cause incredible hurt to others. I've seen it myself with the way you treat people, even your own children (who love you despite the shit you AND your ex-spouse have done to them). You talk a big game about what a "real friend" does, but you know what? A real friend doesn't tell the people who care about them to "fuck off", "suck it up", because they happen to think differently than you do. I saw you go off on someone who had talked about buying their child a Christmas gift. How DARE you presume to think for others? Are you omniscient now? Is your way the only right way to think?
I only keep you on my "friends list" because I'm waiting for the next drama-filled post of yours. I'm waiting to see you implode, because you will if you don't fucking do something about your life. Stop treating people like shit. Get up off of your ass and do SOMETHING - anything. Get a job, move away from that hellhole you call a state, start making money off of your hobby, do SOMETHING. You've got plenty of friends left that will be more than willing to help you - that is, if you can keep from alienating them any further. Stop crying about how your life sucks - because let me tell you something, pal - there are plenty, plenty, PLENTY of people in the world whose life sucks more than yours ever will.
Maybe try a little GRATITUDE for what you do have. It works wonders.
End of rant.
Showing posts with label open letter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label open letter. Show all posts
21 December 2011
20 June 2010
An open letter to my father. (Warning: this is ugly. Don't expect sunshine and roses.)
I can't even start this letter with "dear", because you've never been dear to me, or even a presence in my life. I have no memories of you being a part of any of my childhood - none whatsoever. You are a shadowy figure that I saw on weekends because a court in downtown Baltimore ordered that it be so. You never made it a point to freely see me or even acknowledge that I existed. At least, that's how it seemed to me.
In hindsight and in knowing what I know now, I know that you and my mother had the world's acrimonious divorce. Neither of you could agree on anything, not when it came to me or my brother, not on how to raise us, not on the slightest thing. I have a hazy remembrance of seeing my mother crying on the sofa after a phone call from you - I know that much. I remember feeling more and more uneasy every time I had to talk to you - because after all, who were you but a stranger? And I'd always been warned never to talk to strangers. You would fall into that category, yeah?
The few memories that I have of you are tainted by the presence of my stepmother - yeah, you know, Carolyn. The one that didn't like either of us but especially not me, because I look just like Mom, the woman that she wanted to forget exists. The way she'd force us to go to church when neither of us were raised to believe. The food she'd make that we hated but had to eat every single morsel of or we'd not be allowed to get up from our seats. The threadbare clothes from Goodwill that she'd dress us in. And the preferential treatment that she always gave Toby, her own son, over us. Oh, I know the way it was supposed to go. Toby first, because Carolyn insisted so. Then my brother, because after all, he was the golden child that everyone wanted. Me last. I know how it's supposed to be, Dad. No worries, I won't step out of line...
But the one memory that I'll never forget is the day when I had to run across two major highways and through an entire neighborhood to my grandmother's house because you were chasing after me and promising that I'd be smacked because I dared to say no to a visitation with you. There was a REASON, Dad, that you never cared to hear about - would you like to hear it now? I had a Girl Scout trip planned, Dad. A Girl Scout trip that I had personally saved for, for months and months, something that I really worked hard for and wanted to go on. It just happened to fall on the weekend that I was supposed to have visitation with you, and I'm really sorry for the inconvenience and the cramp in your style that it apparently put you in. You said no to it, that I was to come with you and that was that - like I was property, chattel, I had no decision in the matter.
But you see, Dad... I took that decision out of your hands. And that's what you wanted to punish me for - for standing up for what I wanted. That's why you chased me across highways, risking my life, being afraid of the very person that was responsible for my own creation. I had to scream for my grandmother to let me in her house because I knew that if you'd caught me I was going to be smacked, publicly, beaten. I knew that. And I'll never forgive you for that, for putting my grandmother (who herself was not exactly a calm person) through that.
I will never forgive you for a lot of things. For abandoning my family, for treating me like I didn't exist, for treating me like an afterthought when you DID finally notice me. I will never forgive you for allowing that woman to force me to go to church and dressing me in little better than rags (letting everyone stare at me when I did go out was a real ego-booster, let me tell you). For cutting me completely out of your life almost from the beginning. I will never forgive you for sending the smallest amount of child support that was legally allowed. You know what your contribution to my life was, Dad? Twelve dollars and fifty cents a week. By the time I was eighteen, that was my fucking allowance, Dad, because what the fuck can you provide for a child with 12.50 a week? That was my bus fare for three days to go to school. Thanks for helping raise me!
Then came your fucking letters. Those stupid "newsletters" that Carolyn wrote to everyone you all knew, and I just became a name on a mailing list to you. Do you really think I give a fuck now what either of you do? Do I care?
The most insulting thing of all is that you claim you want to talk to me. Then talk TO ME - stop fucking having Carolyn write letters FOR YOU. I don't want them! I want to talk to YOU, not to her, all of my fucking life I've had to go through her to reach you. And now you wonder why I won't have anything more to do with you. What's more, you don't even honor the one simple request I make of you. This past March, when my birthday came, you sent my brother a birthday card to send to me - because you don't have my new address or phone number, and the rest of the family is under strict instruction NOT to give it to you. Haven't you ever wondered why that is, Dad? Any clue?
Don't you recall that I asked you NOT TO CONTACT ME in any way, shape or form? That means NO BIRTHDAY CARDS, DAD. No cards, no letters, no phone calls. I don't ever want to hear from you again. RESPECT THAT. But no, you can't even do that for me.
Face it, Dad. You've lost your daughter, the only daughter you've ever had or will have. You've lost that, because you never cared enough about me to forge any kind of relationship with me, not even a crumb here or there. You've been a piss-poor example of a father in my eyes, and in truth a piss-poor example of a man in general. Men don't treat their children like you have me. I've been raised with no good example of what a man should be like or treat women like, and in so doing I now have a skewed, distorted, unhealthy perception of how a woman should be treated by a man. And trust me when I tell you that it's spilled over into my adult life. I live every day with the complications of your choices.
I know what you'll probably do - you'll probably start your blameshifting and say that Mom had a part in this, too. And she did, you're right. Truth be told, I despise both of you for your actions in raising me - you've both made fatal errors in my eyes. But I don't fault Mom for some of it, because she did the best she fucking could with what she had, which in the end was absolutely nothing, thanks to you. I blame you, Dad, for most of it, and I have no problem in saying that I hate you for it.
I hope, on this Father's Day, that you're sitting over there in Arizona (with or without Carolyn - I don't know or care, you made that bed long ago so lay in it) thinking about the bad choices you've made and the consequences of those choices. I no longer wonder if you think about me or if you regret what you've done, because it no longer matters to me in my daily life. I've made what I've made out of myself without your presence, assistance or help, and I don't need you now. Don't come into my life now, because I needed you then - and you weren't there. So as far as I'm concerned, fuck off.
I'm done with you.
In hindsight and in knowing what I know now, I know that you and my mother had the world's acrimonious divorce. Neither of you could agree on anything, not when it came to me or my brother, not on how to raise us, not on the slightest thing. I have a hazy remembrance of seeing my mother crying on the sofa after a phone call from you - I know that much. I remember feeling more and more uneasy every time I had to talk to you - because after all, who were you but a stranger? And I'd always been warned never to talk to strangers. You would fall into that category, yeah?
The few memories that I have of you are tainted by the presence of my stepmother - yeah, you know, Carolyn. The one that didn't like either of us but especially not me, because I look just like Mom, the woman that she wanted to forget exists. The way she'd force us to go to church when neither of us were raised to believe. The food she'd make that we hated but had to eat every single morsel of or we'd not be allowed to get up from our seats. The threadbare clothes from Goodwill that she'd dress us in. And the preferential treatment that she always gave Toby, her own son, over us. Oh, I know the way it was supposed to go. Toby first, because Carolyn insisted so. Then my brother, because after all, he was the golden child that everyone wanted. Me last. I know how it's supposed to be, Dad. No worries, I won't step out of line...
But the one memory that I'll never forget is the day when I had to run across two major highways and through an entire neighborhood to my grandmother's house because you were chasing after me and promising that I'd be smacked because I dared to say no to a visitation with you. There was a REASON, Dad, that you never cared to hear about - would you like to hear it now? I had a Girl Scout trip planned, Dad. A Girl Scout trip that I had personally saved for, for months and months, something that I really worked hard for and wanted to go on. It just happened to fall on the weekend that I was supposed to have visitation with you, and I'm really sorry for the inconvenience and the cramp in your style that it apparently put you in. You said no to it, that I was to come with you and that was that - like I was property, chattel, I had no decision in the matter.
But you see, Dad... I took that decision out of your hands. And that's what you wanted to punish me for - for standing up for what I wanted. That's why you chased me across highways, risking my life, being afraid of the very person that was responsible for my own creation. I had to scream for my grandmother to let me in her house because I knew that if you'd caught me I was going to be smacked, publicly, beaten. I knew that. And I'll never forgive you for that, for putting my grandmother (who herself was not exactly a calm person) through that.
I will never forgive you for a lot of things. For abandoning my family, for treating me like I didn't exist, for treating me like an afterthought when you DID finally notice me. I will never forgive you for allowing that woman to force me to go to church and dressing me in little better than rags (letting everyone stare at me when I did go out was a real ego-booster, let me tell you). For cutting me completely out of your life almost from the beginning. I will never forgive you for sending the smallest amount of child support that was legally allowed. You know what your contribution to my life was, Dad? Twelve dollars and fifty cents a week. By the time I was eighteen, that was my fucking allowance, Dad, because what the fuck can you provide for a child with 12.50 a week? That was my bus fare for three days to go to school. Thanks for helping raise me!
Then came your fucking letters. Those stupid "newsletters" that Carolyn wrote to everyone you all knew, and I just became a name on a mailing list to you. Do you really think I give a fuck now what either of you do? Do I care?
The most insulting thing of all is that you claim you want to talk to me. Then talk TO ME - stop fucking having Carolyn write letters FOR YOU. I don't want them! I want to talk to YOU, not to her, all of my fucking life I've had to go through her to reach you. And now you wonder why I won't have anything more to do with you. What's more, you don't even honor the one simple request I make of you. This past March, when my birthday came, you sent my brother a birthday card to send to me - because you don't have my new address or phone number, and the rest of the family is under strict instruction NOT to give it to you. Haven't you ever wondered why that is, Dad? Any clue?
Don't you recall that I asked you NOT TO CONTACT ME in any way, shape or form? That means NO BIRTHDAY CARDS, DAD. No cards, no letters, no phone calls. I don't ever want to hear from you again. RESPECT THAT. But no, you can't even do that for me.
Face it, Dad. You've lost your daughter, the only daughter you've ever had or will have. You've lost that, because you never cared enough about me to forge any kind of relationship with me, not even a crumb here or there. You've been a piss-poor example of a father in my eyes, and in truth a piss-poor example of a man in general. Men don't treat their children like you have me. I've been raised with no good example of what a man should be like or treat women like, and in so doing I now have a skewed, distorted, unhealthy perception of how a woman should be treated by a man. And trust me when I tell you that it's spilled over into my adult life. I live every day with the complications of your choices.
I know what you'll probably do - you'll probably start your blameshifting and say that Mom had a part in this, too. And she did, you're right. Truth be told, I despise both of you for your actions in raising me - you've both made fatal errors in my eyes. But I don't fault Mom for some of it, because she did the best she fucking could with what she had, which in the end was absolutely nothing, thanks to you. I blame you, Dad, for most of it, and I have no problem in saying that I hate you for it.
I hope, on this Father's Day, that you're sitting over there in Arizona (with or without Carolyn - I don't know or care, you made that bed long ago so lay in it) thinking about the bad choices you've made and the consequences of those choices. I no longer wonder if you think about me or if you regret what you've done, because it no longer matters to me in my daily life. I've made what I've made out of myself without your presence, assistance or help, and I don't need you now. Don't come into my life now, because I needed you then - and you weren't there. So as far as I'm concerned, fuck off.
I'm done with you.
18 November 2009
An open letter to the people I serve at work. Part II.
This is in continuation of the original letter that I had written in August. Now that the holidays are here, you and I need to get a few more things straight, Mr. or Ms. D.C. Drug Addict. Ready? I just know you are.
1.) There's a reason behind everything we ask you. When we tell you to hang your coats up on the hooks outside the bathroom door - do it. Don't give us an argument about how all of the money you own is in the pockets - if you're smart, you wouldn't announce that anyway - or how you're worried about someone stealing it. It's not possible, the hall is videotaped. The fact is, coats aren't allowed in the bathrooms. Deal with it.
2.) Do NOT assume we have public toilets. Do NOT come into this unit and just barge your way back into the bathrooms. This is not a public facility. If you're not testing, or being escorted, you need to find a bathroom elsewhere. Stay the fuck out of ours. I had one lady who was scared shitless because one of you idiots barged right in on her while she's trying to wipe herself, for fuck's sake. If you're not testing, you don't belong back there - STAY OUT.
3.) Don't dump your shit all over the counter. If I give you a paper to sign, it means you're finished with my part of the process. It does NOT mean that you then dump a bag of 19, 20 medications out in front of me and expect me to write them down. You are supposed to show me your medications BEFORE you sign, not after. If I have to write down all of your medications (which can take up to 20 minutes depending on how much you take), it means I have to start the whole sign-in process from the beginning. I am not inclined to do this, nor will I take kindly to you if I'm forced to do it. Show me your medications when you first come in here. It'll make it easier for both of us.
4.) Communicate properly. I speak English and very limited Spanish. I do NOT speak "Mumble". When you come up to me, speak clearly and intelligbly. Don't expect me to understand what you're saying if you come up going "nonfivetreesicktoofoh". The last I heard, the number 9 was pronounced "nine", 4 is "four" and not "foh". I understand about accents, but this shit I'm hearing from you all borders on another language, and I don't speak it. So make an effort and make sense.
5.) Control your crotchfruit. I understand that a lot of you have children. I also understand that sometimes you're not going to have people to watch them and you have to drag them with you into the unit, as sad as that is. That's fine. But if you do bring them in here - CONTROL them. The benches are not there to be jumped off of, nor are the line posts there to be played with. This is not a playground. If your precious darling busts their head open, that's your fault for not watching them, not ours, though I'm sure you'll try to sue us anyway. Gotta get your drug money from somewhere, right?
I'm sure more will come up, eventually, but this will do for part 2, anyway. And as an aside to my coworkers - get a fucking life, most of you are just as idiotic as the "customers".
Rant over.
1.) There's a reason behind everything we ask you. When we tell you to hang your coats up on the hooks outside the bathroom door - do it. Don't give us an argument about how all of the money you own is in the pockets - if you're smart, you wouldn't announce that anyway - or how you're worried about someone stealing it. It's not possible, the hall is videotaped. The fact is, coats aren't allowed in the bathrooms. Deal with it.
2.) Do NOT assume we have public toilets. Do NOT come into this unit and just barge your way back into the bathrooms. This is not a public facility. If you're not testing, or being escorted, you need to find a bathroom elsewhere. Stay the fuck out of ours. I had one lady who was scared shitless because one of you idiots barged right in on her while she's trying to wipe herself, for fuck's sake. If you're not testing, you don't belong back there - STAY OUT.
3.) Don't dump your shit all over the counter. If I give you a paper to sign, it means you're finished with my part of the process. It does NOT mean that you then dump a bag of 19, 20 medications out in front of me and expect me to write them down. You are supposed to show me your medications BEFORE you sign, not after. If I have to write down all of your medications (which can take up to 20 minutes depending on how much you take), it means I have to start the whole sign-in process from the beginning. I am not inclined to do this, nor will I take kindly to you if I'm forced to do it. Show me your medications when you first come in here. It'll make it easier for both of us.
4.) Communicate properly. I speak English and very limited Spanish. I do NOT speak "Mumble". When you come up to me, speak clearly and intelligbly. Don't expect me to understand what you're saying if you come up going "nonfivetreesicktoofoh". The last I heard, the number 9 was pronounced "nine", 4 is "four" and not "foh". I understand about accents, but this shit I'm hearing from you all borders on another language, and I don't speak it. So make an effort and make sense.
5.) Control your crotchfruit. I understand that a lot of you have children. I also understand that sometimes you're not going to have people to watch them and you have to drag them with you into the unit, as sad as that is. That's fine. But if you do bring them in here - CONTROL them. The benches are not there to be jumped off of, nor are the line posts there to be played with. This is not a playground. If your precious darling busts their head open, that's your fault for not watching them, not ours, though I'm sure you'll try to sue us anyway. Gotta get your drug money from somewhere, right?
I'm sure more will come up, eventually, but this will do for part 2, anyway. And as an aside to my coworkers - get a fucking life, most of you are just as idiotic as the "customers".
Rant over.
14 October 2009
Hmmm....
I've been busy over the last couple of days, and a lot has happened, but.. for some reason I just don't much feel like talking about any of it. Nothing bad, just... I think lazy is a better word for it. It's been cold as fuck here lately and I've wanted to curl up in bed and sleep it away. At least my wanting to stay in bed isn't because of depression! :)
I've had disturbing dreams about my family as of late, specifically my mother and brother, who were the two primary figures in my life while I was growing up. I can't really articulate them very well - as usual, I've partially blocked it out - but I've also neglected to write down my dreams. Usually if they've made a huge impact on my life I'll remember them on my own, anyway. I do dislike thinking about my family, even subconsciously. The more awareness I come to, the more that I realize that I just want to be done with them all - mother, brother, everyone. Sad, but I have to be truthful with myself. I've already "disowned" my father and have more or less told him so. One of these...no, wait.
I keep saying that one of these days I'm going to write him a letter, but... where else should I do it but here. Maybe when I'm less tired, I will. Tonight isn't a good night to do such things, as I might get upset and we don't want that, do we, kiddies.
One of my coworkers had urine thrown on him this week. Everyone's worst nightmare down at work. They tried to deny him six hours of leave, but he raised a huge stink (if you'll pardon the irony, hah hah) about it and he got it anyway. The way I see it is this - if Useless can take two weeks off for being stuck in an elevator for 20 minutes, I think this guy can take six hours' leave to go to the doctor to make sure that urine didn't get in his eyes, don't you agree?
That place is just ... fucked. Seriously.
We roll back the time in two weeks. I can't wait - it means winter is finally here and I love the cold weather (though I'm not sure about this early in the season).
No grade on the paper for crim yet. I don't know if that's good or bad, but I'm not getting a bad vibe from it, so... maybe I did well. Still waiting....
Brrr. My feet are freezing, so I'm getting into bed, and I hope the cat comes up and warms them for me. :D
Until next time.
I've had disturbing dreams about my family as of late, specifically my mother and brother, who were the two primary figures in my life while I was growing up. I can't really articulate them very well - as usual, I've partially blocked it out - but I've also neglected to write down my dreams. Usually if they've made a huge impact on my life I'll remember them on my own, anyway. I do dislike thinking about my family, even subconsciously. The more awareness I come to, the more that I realize that I just want to be done with them all - mother, brother, everyone. Sad, but I have to be truthful with myself. I've already "disowned" my father and have more or less told him so. One of these...no, wait.
I keep saying that one of these days I'm going to write him a letter, but... where else should I do it but here. Maybe when I'm less tired, I will. Tonight isn't a good night to do such things, as I might get upset and we don't want that, do we, kiddies.
One of my coworkers had urine thrown on him this week. Everyone's worst nightmare down at work. They tried to deny him six hours of leave, but he raised a huge stink (if you'll pardon the irony, hah hah) about it and he got it anyway. The way I see it is this - if Useless can take two weeks off for being stuck in an elevator for 20 minutes, I think this guy can take six hours' leave to go to the doctor to make sure that urine didn't get in his eyes, don't you agree?
That place is just ... fucked. Seriously.
We roll back the time in two weeks. I can't wait - it means winter is finally here and I love the cold weather (though I'm not sure about this early in the season).
No grade on the paper for crim yet. I don't know if that's good or bad, but I'm not getting a bad vibe from it, so... maybe I did well. Still waiting....
Brrr. My feet are freezing, so I'm getting into bed, and I hope the cat comes up and warms them for me. :D
Until next time.
28 September 2009
Facebook "friends". How insidious. And how wrong.
This past weekend, I had found a person on Facebook that I had worked with at the computer store a long, long time ago... granted, it's been years, at least 15. So I send a request to be added onto his list... and he sends me a mail back. "Help me remember you." So I described my vitals, blah blah, who I am and how I knew him and all of that...well, apparently he remembered me - but didn't add me to his list, effectively snubbing me.
Now... even just a year ago, this so-called "rejection" would have had me doing the screaming meemies dance. People with depression, remember, don't see the world the same way that you do. I would have taken it as "the end of the world".
Today? Fuck 'em.
That's the thing about Facebook and similar social networking sites... they are so incredibly flawed as to whom to consider "friends". I have 118 people on my contact list, currently. One is family (my cousin). Three are very, very close friends, the best friends I have. Three more are friends that, while not extremely close, are close enough that I would consider a necessity in my life. The rest? Well... how well do I know them, or they me? A good deal of them are from either high school days (where no one knew anyone), or from my various places at work. So... 7 out of 118? See what I mean?
Facebook and the like shouldn't term people as "friends". I, with my social anxiety and depression, do not have anything close to 118 "friends". Maybe six if I'm lucky.
And for people like me - even for people like you, dear Reader - it's misleading. It's insidious, how places like this have taken over the landscape of the Internet, really. I see people at work checking their "eff-bees" constantly... "Oh, what did he say, what does she think?" Does it really matter? Do you have to be "on" 24 hours a day? I would think that would be more exhausting than just unplugging and chilling out, wouldn't you think?
I'm starting to move away from it, just as I have IRC, just as I have WinMX and the BBS scene. I've been there for all of it, and quite honestly... it was good but I wouldn't do it again. What for, when I've seen the best of what each has to offer?
So as far as I'm concerned, people can refuse my "friend" requests all they like - until you've been with me through the worst of times and have put up with me through all of the crap that I've dished out... until you know me as intimately as you know your own family... you're not anywhere close to a true "friend". You're an acquaintance. That's how it is. Stick around and I might be a friend - I'm a pretty open person despite my illness - but one request on a stupid social networking site does not a "friend" make. People wish it was that easy.
Because I'm classy (despite the fact that I say 'fuck' a lot), I won't name said ill-mannered douchebag. But I could.
Rant over.
Now... even just a year ago, this so-called "rejection" would have had me doing the screaming meemies dance. People with depression, remember, don't see the world the same way that you do. I would have taken it as "the end of the world".
Today? Fuck 'em.
That's the thing about Facebook and similar social networking sites... they are so incredibly flawed as to whom to consider "friends". I have 118 people on my contact list, currently. One is family (my cousin). Three are very, very close friends, the best friends I have. Three more are friends that, while not extremely close, are close enough that I would consider a necessity in my life. The rest? Well... how well do I know them, or they me? A good deal of them are from either high school days (where no one knew anyone), or from my various places at work. So... 7 out of 118? See what I mean?
Facebook and the like shouldn't term people as "friends". I, with my social anxiety and depression, do not have anything close to 118 "friends". Maybe six if I'm lucky.
And for people like me - even for people like you, dear Reader - it's misleading. It's insidious, how places like this have taken over the landscape of the Internet, really. I see people at work checking their "eff-bees" constantly... "Oh, what did he say, what does she think?" Does it really matter? Do you have to be "on" 24 hours a day? I would think that would be more exhausting than just unplugging and chilling out, wouldn't you think?
I'm starting to move away from it, just as I have IRC, just as I have WinMX and the BBS scene. I've been there for all of it, and quite honestly... it was good but I wouldn't do it again. What for, when I've seen the best of what each has to offer?
So as far as I'm concerned, people can refuse my "friend" requests all they like - until you've been with me through the worst of times and have put up with me through all of the crap that I've dished out... until you know me as intimately as you know your own family... you're not anywhere close to a true "friend". You're an acquaintance. That's how it is. Stick around and I might be a friend - I'm a pretty open person despite my illness - but one request on a stupid social networking site does not a "friend" make. People wish it was that easy.
Because I'm classy (despite the fact that I say 'fuck' a lot), I won't name said ill-mannered douchebag. But I could.
Rant over.
26 August 2009
An open letter to the people I serve at work.
I know that one of the conditions of your probation or parole is to give a urine sample for drugs. I also know that this is the last thing you want to be doing - I totally get that. Did you know that in the course of a day, I do little things for you all that help the process go by easier for you? I have an idea.. let's work together so that the process goes easier for both of us. Want to know how you can do that? Great.
Have a look at the following suggestions. Feel free to use one or all of them. I won't mind a bit.
1. Come in on time. That's right, it helps greatly when you all don't bum-rush us starting at 6:30 at night all the way up to closing time. We're open for 12 hours a day. Some of you don't have employment - so in truth you have no excuse whatsoever. We work hard and we like to go home to our families and friends at night, just like you do. If you do, however, decide to be rude and come in during the last 15 to 20 minutes we're open - don't expect a warm welcome or a big smile, because you won't get it. We're tired, and we want to leave. That leads us to suggestion #2...
2. Give your sample and leave. Don't engage us in conversation in the bathrooms. You're not supposed to be talking in there anyway, it's considered a distraction. And to be frank, we're not interested in what a bitch you think your parole officer is, or your complaints about how you have to do this every week/month. We didn't put you in the position you're in - you did. Don't blame us for your stupid actions. We also know you have friends out there in the waiting room - a sad thing in itself - but we don't appreciate the loud music or the cell phones blaring the latest 'gangsta' hit or the gossiping that you all seem to do while you're there. Your requirement is to pee and leave - that's it, thanks, no more is necessary.
3. Have some pride. Seriously, folks, this one isn't hard. When you're a child, you're taught to flush the toilet. Please do so. I take back over 200 people per day - that's a lot of urine. No one wants to see your offerings in the toilet when we come in there, okay? That's just trifling, if you want to put it bluntly. I don't want to see your piss, or your used tampons floating in the water, I don't want to see crumpled paper towels on the floor, I don't want to have to apologize to the next customer that comes in there with me because you couldn't clean up after your nasty self. Hygiene is a fucking basic - I don't care how many drugs you've done, you know better than to do that shit in your home, at least I hope you do. Don't do it here either.
4. Don't argue with me; you'll lose.
This one is simple. You're there because you're on probation or parole. You're there to serve your time and to pay for what you've done wrong. Therefore if I tell you that you need to do something - you do it. Period. No arguments, no whining, no bitching. I run the show here, not you. If I have people waiting in line to submit their samples, you don't get moved to the front of the line on a whim. If I need a new picture of you, you're going to do it - if you don't, you don't test, and you can explain that to your parole officer when you're sanctioned for not doing what you're supposed to. If you need paperwork for me to process you, you'll get that paper before I do one thing to your record. You don't get it? You don't test. That's it - no argument. This is your life I'm handling here - if you don't have enough respect for your own life, that's not my problem, but I'll be damned if I'm going to get into trouble for your stupidity.
5. Do something with your life. I see too many of you on a daily basis wasting away. Get out there and do something. Can't find a job? Go back to school, they're offering financial aid and Christ knows that you all qualify, I work for a living and can't get shit so you sure have no excuse. Take advantage of the help that we're offering you. Don't sit on your ass and do nothing all day, because that's called being a parasite - and I'll be damned if you're going to feed off of me. The drugs might be tempting, but look where it got your dumb ass - in here, giving me a urine sample in a filthy bathroom. How's that working for you?
Like I said... feel free to follow these suggestions. You might find that your life will improve greatly if you do. And for those that would ignore my advice... fine by me, but you'll be in my unit year after year after year giving me urine, so get comfy, you'll be in the system a long, long time.
'nuff said.
Have a look at the following suggestions. Feel free to use one or all of them. I won't mind a bit.
1. Come in on time. That's right, it helps greatly when you all don't bum-rush us starting at 6:30 at night all the way up to closing time. We're open for 12 hours a day. Some of you don't have employment - so in truth you have no excuse whatsoever. We work hard and we like to go home to our families and friends at night, just like you do. If you do, however, decide to be rude and come in during the last 15 to 20 minutes we're open - don't expect a warm welcome or a big smile, because you won't get it. We're tired, and we want to leave. That leads us to suggestion #2...
2. Give your sample and leave. Don't engage us in conversation in the bathrooms. You're not supposed to be talking in there anyway, it's considered a distraction. And to be frank, we're not interested in what a bitch you think your parole officer is, or your complaints about how you have to do this every week/month. We didn't put you in the position you're in - you did. Don't blame us for your stupid actions. We also know you have friends out there in the waiting room - a sad thing in itself - but we don't appreciate the loud music or the cell phones blaring the latest 'gangsta' hit or the gossiping that you all seem to do while you're there. Your requirement is to pee and leave - that's it, thanks, no more is necessary.
3. Have some pride. Seriously, folks, this one isn't hard. When you're a child, you're taught to flush the toilet. Please do so. I take back over 200 people per day - that's a lot of urine. No one wants to see your offerings in the toilet when we come in there, okay? That's just trifling, if you want to put it bluntly. I don't want to see your piss, or your used tampons floating in the water, I don't want to see crumpled paper towels on the floor, I don't want to have to apologize to the next customer that comes in there with me because you couldn't clean up after your nasty self. Hygiene is a fucking basic - I don't care how many drugs you've done, you know better than to do that shit in your home, at least I hope you do. Don't do it here either.
4. Don't argue with me; you'll lose.
This one is simple. You're there because you're on probation or parole. You're there to serve your time and to pay for what you've done wrong. Therefore if I tell you that you need to do something - you do it. Period. No arguments, no whining, no bitching. I run the show here, not you. If I have people waiting in line to submit their samples, you don't get moved to the front of the line on a whim. If I need a new picture of you, you're going to do it - if you don't, you don't test, and you can explain that to your parole officer when you're sanctioned for not doing what you're supposed to. If you need paperwork for me to process you, you'll get that paper before I do one thing to your record. You don't get it? You don't test. That's it - no argument. This is your life I'm handling here - if you don't have enough respect for your own life, that's not my problem, but I'll be damned if I'm going to get into trouble for your stupidity.
5. Do something with your life. I see too many of you on a daily basis wasting away. Get out there and do something. Can't find a job? Go back to school, they're offering financial aid and Christ knows that you all qualify, I work for a living and can't get shit so you sure have no excuse. Take advantage of the help that we're offering you. Don't sit on your ass and do nothing all day, because that's called being a parasite - and I'll be damned if you're going to feed off of me. The drugs might be tempting, but look where it got your dumb ass - in here, giving me a urine sample in a filthy bathroom. How's that working for you?
Like I said... feel free to follow these suggestions. You might find that your life will improve greatly if you do. And for those that would ignore my advice... fine by me, but you'll be in my unit year after year after year giving me urine, so get comfy, you'll be in the system a long, long time.
'nuff said.
26 April 2009
Not a good night here.
I'm lying here in bed more or less crying again. Feeling depressed and alone. It's not because of the cat, though I guess that was the beginning of it, but simply because I'm down, and under the (mistaken?) impression that no one cares what I feel or how I think. It's the depression coming back to haunt me again.
This shit isn't going to end, and I know it, so I guess I have to take the punches as they come. Only why do the punches have to be so fucking hard?
I'm mad at myself because I've burned a lot of bridges behind me in the past couple of years, but the only person that's ended up hurting is me - as usual. No one gives a shit, that's the plain truth of it - all of those people that I'm angry with, they haven't been punished. They've escaped all responsibility and all retribution for my anger. And it's not fucking fair. They need to hurt, too. As much as they did me dirty, they need to suffer as well, and they're not - nor will they probably ever. It's a bitter potion to swallow. And right now I'm more angry than anything else. I want to basically rip into every one of them, call them what they are, make them hurt, and just when they can't stand it anymore... hurt them some more.
They can just go on their merry little way... they have their friends and their buddies and their stupid little websites and channels and they don't think one minute about how they hurt a person that they claimed to be friends with. That's the plain truth of it, and even my strongest supporter in everything else that has to do with my life, even he says I'm wrong about this. Well, I've got news for him - and yes, I'm addressing him directly - you're wrong about this. I won't discuss it with you anymore because I'm sick of arguing with you about it - but you're wrong, and I don't expect you to understand my side of things, because you're still friends with some of these motherfuckers. Point taken, that's fine. But it changes nothing as to how I feel.
God, I don't think I'll ever get over what they did to me, just as I was at my lowest point. And the fuck of it is... no one's paid. No one. But someday they will. Sounds like sour grapes? You don't know me. They WILL pay for what they've done, one way or the other, in time. And when that time comes I will fucking JUMP ON IT. It'll be one of the happiest days of my life.
There's a price to pay when someone hurts me. And they pay it - one way or the other.
I'll wait. I have infinite fucking patience. But it'll come. And when it does... every one of those people will be very, very sorry that they ever met me. Ever.
So much for me being able to forgive and forget. Not happening. So sorry. Don't care.
P.S. I've already gotten inquiries as to "who do you mean". They know who they are. Some also know who I'm talking about very, very well. I don't want to discuss what happened, because it's painful and it'll make me worse off. Just know this... in the end it's not important, and I'll be fine.. but I meant exactly what I said when I said that I'm just WAITING for revenge. Because I will get it. And frankly, I don't care who I hurt to get it.
Cold? Damned right I'm cold. Fuck it.
This shit isn't going to end, and I know it, so I guess I have to take the punches as they come. Only why do the punches have to be so fucking hard?
I'm mad at myself because I've burned a lot of bridges behind me in the past couple of years, but the only person that's ended up hurting is me - as usual. No one gives a shit, that's the plain truth of it - all of those people that I'm angry with, they haven't been punished. They've escaped all responsibility and all retribution for my anger. And it's not fucking fair. They need to hurt, too. As much as they did me dirty, they need to suffer as well, and they're not - nor will they probably ever. It's a bitter potion to swallow. And right now I'm more angry than anything else. I want to basically rip into every one of them, call them what they are, make them hurt, and just when they can't stand it anymore... hurt them some more.
They can just go on their merry little way... they have their friends and their buddies and their stupid little websites and channels and they don't think one minute about how they hurt a person that they claimed to be friends with. That's the plain truth of it, and even my strongest supporter in everything else that has to do with my life, even he says I'm wrong about this. Well, I've got news for him - and yes, I'm addressing him directly - you're wrong about this. I won't discuss it with you anymore because I'm sick of arguing with you about it - but you're wrong, and I don't expect you to understand my side of things, because you're still friends with some of these motherfuckers. Point taken, that's fine. But it changes nothing as to how I feel.
God, I don't think I'll ever get over what they did to me, just as I was at my lowest point. And the fuck of it is... no one's paid. No one. But someday they will. Sounds like sour grapes? You don't know me. They WILL pay for what they've done, one way or the other, in time. And when that time comes I will fucking JUMP ON IT. It'll be one of the happiest days of my life.
There's a price to pay when someone hurts me. And they pay it - one way or the other.
I'll wait. I have infinite fucking patience. But it'll come. And when it does... every one of those people will be very, very sorry that they ever met me. Ever.
So much for me being able to forgive and forget. Not happening. So sorry. Don't care.
P.S. I've already gotten inquiries as to "who do you mean". They know who they are. Some also know who I'm talking about very, very well. I don't want to discuss what happened, because it's painful and it'll make me worse off. Just know this... in the end it's not important, and I'll be fine.. but I meant exactly what I said when I said that I'm just WAITING for revenge. Because I will get it. And frankly, I don't care who I hurt to get it.
Cold? Damned right I'm cold. Fuck it.
28 March 2009
Open letter time! Warning: may have lots of ranting and curse words in it.
Dumb Bitch: (since I can't say 'dear', you're not dear to me and I don't think you're worthy of even having a name)
For the last year and a half, I've been blessed with not having to deal with you on a daily basis. I knew, on the first day you showed up in that IRC channel, that I should have banned your stupid ass - but a very close friend who is dear to me requested that "I give you a chance". Against my better judgment, I did so. And believe me, it's been one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made.
I've walked away from IRC now, a lot of it having to do with you, and while I'm overly grateful that I did so (mainly because I now have a life full of real people and tangible things instead of a dream world)... I will never, ever forget that you and your merry band of cohorts were behind it all. So that's fine... stay in your fantasy world, I don't care. But when you start appearing in my Facebook layouts because you're talking to our mutual acquaintance... that goes too far.
I don't want to see your smug face on anything of mine. That includes any social networking site I'm on, that includes anything on the computer, I don't even want to hear your fucking name mentioned. Unfortunately, it's a common one - just like you, I suppose.
I'm sick and tired of arguing with my close friend about you, too, and that's happened more times than I can count over the last year and a half. Our friendship has come close, several times, to the brink of ruin because of your stupid ass. What redeeming qualities he sees in you, I will never know, and believe me when I say that that's a huge flaw on his part. Still, he's not responsible for my feelings toward you - you are.
It takes a great deal for me to hate someone. But I congratulate you - you fall into that category.
I'm writing this letter here, in my blog, because I don't trust myself to write you directly. If I wrote you directly, it would be the beginning of a shitstorm that you will never forget. You don't know anything about me, about my anger, nor how deep and untapped it really is. Because if I hate someone like I do you, and I get the chance to destroy you... I do it on behalf of everything that's ever made me angry. So I think it's wise to say that you should hope you never run into me again.
And you'd best count yourself lucky that I'm not physically able, due to distance, to slap your stupid face until it bleeds - because if I were able to, I'd be on a plane the first thing out.
I hold feelings of resentment and anger against our mutual friend, too, no worries - but at least he has redeeming qualities, though this is the one thing that I will never understand, nor approve of where he's concerned. That's not your concern, however.
The fact is, my dear, you're a cunt. You are a dirty, diseased, nasty little cunt that doesn't deserve to breathe the same air my friend does. You don't deserve to be in his fucking presence, or anyone's presence, for that matter.
I suggest that you stay the fuck away from me, and from anything that I hold dear - people, places, things. The consequences otherwise would be devastating for you.
And to our mutual friend... I have zero problem if you actually want to show her this, because I assure you that nothing would please me better than to have her know exactly what I feel about her.
EOM.
For the last year and a half, I've been blessed with not having to deal with you on a daily basis. I knew, on the first day you showed up in that IRC channel, that I should have banned your stupid ass - but a very close friend who is dear to me requested that "I give you a chance". Against my better judgment, I did so. And believe me, it's been one of the biggest mistakes I've ever made.
I've walked away from IRC now, a lot of it having to do with you, and while I'm overly grateful that I did so (mainly because I now have a life full of real people and tangible things instead of a dream world)... I will never, ever forget that you and your merry band of cohorts were behind it all. So that's fine... stay in your fantasy world, I don't care. But when you start appearing in my Facebook layouts because you're talking to our mutual acquaintance... that goes too far.
I don't want to see your smug face on anything of mine. That includes any social networking site I'm on, that includes anything on the computer, I don't even want to hear your fucking name mentioned. Unfortunately, it's a common one - just like you, I suppose.
I'm sick and tired of arguing with my close friend about you, too, and that's happened more times than I can count over the last year and a half. Our friendship has come close, several times, to the brink of ruin because of your stupid ass. What redeeming qualities he sees in you, I will never know, and believe me when I say that that's a huge flaw on his part. Still, he's not responsible for my feelings toward you - you are.
It takes a great deal for me to hate someone. But I congratulate you - you fall into that category.
I'm writing this letter here, in my blog, because I don't trust myself to write you directly. If I wrote you directly, it would be the beginning of a shitstorm that you will never forget. You don't know anything about me, about my anger, nor how deep and untapped it really is. Because if I hate someone like I do you, and I get the chance to destroy you... I do it on behalf of everything that's ever made me angry. So I think it's wise to say that you should hope you never run into me again.
And you'd best count yourself lucky that I'm not physically able, due to distance, to slap your stupid face until it bleeds - because if I were able to, I'd be on a plane the first thing out.
I hold feelings of resentment and anger against our mutual friend, too, no worries - but at least he has redeeming qualities, though this is the one thing that I will never understand, nor approve of where he's concerned. That's not your concern, however.
The fact is, my dear, you're a cunt. You are a dirty, diseased, nasty little cunt that doesn't deserve to breathe the same air my friend does. You don't deserve to be in his fucking presence, or anyone's presence, for that matter.
I suggest that you stay the fuck away from me, and from anything that I hold dear - people, places, things. The consequences otherwise would be devastating for you.
And to our mutual friend... I have zero problem if you actually want to show her this, because I assure you that nothing would please me better than to have her know exactly what I feel about her.
EOM.
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