Do you, do you really enjoy living a life that’s so hateful?

Do people really, really not understand the concept of a “paper trail”? The fact that there’s evidence to show what happened, and when, and where? That they can’t toss out a whole load of lies without that being thrown back in their faces?


This morning turned into a confrontation between me and Stoner Dude.  I got up to go to the bathroom, partly because I needed to go and partly because the cat was making so much noise, I wanted to see if she was in trouble or injured or something.

As I headed back to my room, she was frantically scrabbling at the closed door of Girl-Child’s bedroom, meowing and wailing with her tail straight up, and I said to her something like, “Oh, you mean you’re not one of those cats you can just ignore and mistreat and neglect? You need someone to take care of you? Well… I’m not the one responsible for you… but then, neither is anybody else here.” Then I walked back into my room and closed my door

He gets up moments later, walks out of his room and says, “What? you’ve got food, you’ve got water, what do you want? Just some attention? Yeah, roommate is a bat-shit fucking crazy lady, huh!”

I called out, “You could at least have the decency to say that to my fucking face!”

“Yeah, well there’s a lot of things you could have said to my face, but you didn’t, did you?” came his retort.

I sat in my room for a few minutes, thinking things over, calming and steadying my nerves… and realized that this would be as good a time as any to attempt to address the issue of his taking my money for phony, exaggerated PG&E bills that he wasn’t even paying.  So I turned on the voice recorder on my cellphone, slipped it into my pocket, and went out to talk things over.

In the process, I got told that I was “full of shit,” that I’m a “paranoid little bitch,” that I’m “acting like a crazy little bitch,” accused of “pulling out mail that wasn’t yours,” and when I tried to challenge him on that as being entirely untrue, he got up in my face screaming that I was “taking it out on the WHOLE! MOTHER! FUCKING! APARTMENT!”

He’s inches from my face, now, and I said flatly, “You step back. You step back, outta my face.”

“No, you started shouting, you start all this shit… Get the fuck out!” he shouts as he turns and starts to walk away.

Dumbstruck, I managed only, “I live here…”

“Yeah, we all lived here, until you decided to be a bitch!”

This went on for several minutes more, being told that I was “trying to drive everyone away,” with my “psychotic behavior — slamming doors, beating up a tree, making it so no one can feel comfortable here!” and that if I wanted to “keep on making up paranoid delusions, you can go fuck yourself.”

I really should have resisted the joke, but with adrenaline flowing, it was too easy: “You’d probably enjoy watching that a little too much,” I sneered.

I’d forgotten that way back when, he’d apparently had a crush on me — that Girl-Child had cited the “obvious and unmistakeable chemistry” between us as “the reason” (which, of course, “the reason” changes with every whim and spontaneous lie, for her) why she had stopped trying to get me in bed with her.  His reply reminded me, as he loftily declared, “Maybe once upon a time,” he huffed, “but — not anymore. Not since you blew up in [Boy-Toy]’s face!”

Shouldn’t really be surprising that the story they all cling to is that I went off on her boy-toy, since nobody else was in the room to witness me trying to confront him rationally before he ended up in my face screaming like a banshee — at which point they all came running. So, “you blew up in his face” is what they say happened, even if it’s complete rubbish.

Stoner Dude walked out finally, and just before slamming the bathroom door behind him, gave a final, “Nobody cares what you have to say.”

As he turned on the water, I yelled after him, taunting him about running away and escaping reality… suggested smoking more pot so he wouldn’t have to deal with reality. I hate verbal fights for precisely that reason — I’m damn good at throwing dagger-words where I think they’ll leave the deepest emotional wounds, and with the anger and fear pumping through my veins, my inhibition lowered, I let loose some really nasty volleys.  When it became obvious that he wasn’t coming back for more, I left the house and (thinking he’d gone into his bedroom, not the bath) I called in at his window, “Grow the fuck up one of these days — pull your head out of your ass!”

Yeah, real clever, I know… or not.  Also very much unnecessary and entirely inappropriate. Again, why I hate getting into fights like this. I lose my higher function, my skill with words, my creativity… and I don’t remember the conversation verbatim, which is something that I often do with other non-confrontational conversations. That’s what the audio recording was for.

I’m back home for the moment, but headed out again in a few minutes to meet with a friend for lunch when she gets off of work.  I could certainly use some friendly company, and I know I need the food!


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