If Only It Hurt To Be An Asshole.

So…I am plagued right now by several people in my life who seem to think that I am an idiot. I may not always say things in the moment, when someone is attempting to play me like a slot machine, I may not always even realize it at that point in time, but I will realize it. Trust that much. I can’t stand it when people are unable to own their own bullshit in life; much less when said people insist on trying to shift any blame or responsibility over such bullshit onto others when they get called on it.

I have my own bullshit and my own problems. I have my own issues to work on without other people constantly trying to force feed me the workload of their bullshit as well. People just don’t seem to comprehend how fucking stupid they look when they do this, as if I can’t do the math and see what they are doing, or trying to do. Do other people not see how low that takes them by behaving like a 2 year old? Do other people actually think that these pathetic and constant attempts at deflecting the TRUTH will somehow carry them through life? Without losing everyone who might have really cared about them?

It would just be really nice if other people could own their shit, even once in a while. It’s really old being mostly surrounded by people who always want to shift blame and try to make me accountable for shit that has NOTHING to do with me. If only it hurt to be an asshole, maybe people would find a way to check themselves.

No Longer MY Loss.

So this is how it ends for you…after all you have managed to survive against all odds; you are going to be your own demise in the end. You have missed today’s surgery, because you disappeared into the night last weekend with the promise of returning on time to take care of your own physical needs…once again, you have highlighted for the world: your complete and total lack of any self-respect or desire to take control of your issues. I can’t say that I was honestly expecting you to show up for something that only a responsible individual would have the nerve to do; I recognize that despite your fearlessness, you have a very low-functioning ability to actually handle yourself in the Real World. Perhaps, that is why I had already thought ahead and cancelled your time in the O.R. today; because I knew deep down that you not only lack the care or concern for your own health – but for anyone else’s also; and so I made sure that whomever was in line got to go in your place this morning for their’ surgery. I wonder if you ever consider anything outside of yourself in any context at all…like, do you think about what you are psychologically doing to your grandparents? Or me? Or anyone who has had the humanity to give you another PASS since the most recent Return from the Dead? How many times might your peanut sized brain expect to be forgiven and allowed to return for more destruction to be left in your undoubtedly impending wake? You obviously harbor a completely unreasonable idea of who you are, nor have you a fairly accurate perception of anyone who has been fixed in your life, thus far; while you have been blessed with a family that has been patient and understanding to the best of its ability, you have done nothing but shame yourself and everyone attached to you.
They say that psychopaths have no shame or fear built into the mechanisms that make most people “human”; they say that there is a total lack in the ability to feel for others, or for the part – themselves even. I can say with certainty at this point that you fit that psychopathic profile to a T, as did your father. Any creature with even half of a brain cell would have learned some very lasting Life Lessons after surviving what you have come through…yet, here you are doing the same old shit and another year older, somehow. I have accepted the loss of you, Boo…I know that I am no longer anyone’s Mom, and to be honest there is something disturbingly refreshing about such a notion for me these days; but you still exist (for now, at least)…and I can’t grasp the concept of your choices in regard to HOW you choose to make your existence be like. I cannot feel sorry for you anymore…not after so many times finding you with your entire hand in the fire before it’s anywhere near healed from the last time(s). To pity you only means that you are the victim…and that is NOT always the case, is it? You have been foolish in every element of your life to the point of disbelief; you have essentially shit away any access to the Trust Fund that I fought tooth and nail to ensure through a Civil Lawsuit – money that would easily get you set up in a “normal” scenario, if you had the sense or maturity to just fall in line long enough to get your ducks in a row…but that’s too much for you, even.
I don’t feel sorry that you live on the street and sell your ass to get by, not when I know that it IS NOT NECESSARY AT ALL and you CHOOSE that lifestyle in the face of normalcy and/or self-sufficiency. I don’t wish for you to return like I used to anymore either…because the bonds have been broken already and I now harbor mostly a complete lack of understanding or tolerance for your behaviors and actions. I will not allow my parents to die in brokenness and sadness, missing money and heirlooms that you stole without a second thought as to THEIR existences. What kind of person steals from their grandparents, anyway… not to mention, brings friends home to steal from their grandparents, also? I think we both KNOW what kind of person does that kind of dirt…and I think we both know that I am NOT that person, and never could be. Can you say the same? I didn’t think so…

None of it is MY loss anymore, you know? You’re an adult now, remember? Mrs. Big Badass whose wanted to be grown for so long now, and for what? Ain’t nothing changed, you still do the same immature and despicable stuff that you did as juvenile delinquent, don’t you? How’s that adult thing looking now, kid?

Death Song.

How will the final tune play itself through –
as it haunts the halls with melodious cacophony;
as it swirls like smoke from a smoldering flame;
as it tells the truths you’ve hidden from yourself;
it’s no wonder: when I look at the whole of it –
nothing profound or groundbreaking or bold;
nothing novel in the face of my weary stride;
nothing that offers any true shock or surprise
just more of the same of a really long line –
those two steps ahead of your own falter;
those who singed my flesh prior to your stab at it;
those who have been dismissed from view;
erased away from concern and thought of mine –
life is too short and there is no time;
shuffled card-decks and matching footsteps;
another falls neatly and indiscreetly into line;
What does your Death Song sound like –
full of many meaningless fabrications and layers;
reverberations, skipped beats and scratched vinyl;
all the dramatics without the shine of the stage lights.