“I love you, but…”

     That is one phrase that I can hear, and I immediately turn off — It’s a bullshit phrase, which most always precedes some other ridiculous bullshit.  What it means is, “I love you, but if you don’t do what I say, I won’t.”  See?  Bullshit.
     I hear couples say to each other, and it annoys me as they attempt to garner control of one another.  I hear parents say it to their children all the time, and it pisses me off to no end, thanks, in no small part, to the way I was raised.

     And when I hear children say it to their parents, it pisses me off even more.  I could never have healthy children, so I wasn’t able to have a family.  But one thing is for damn sure:  if I had, and they ever said, “I love you, but…” to me, I’d smack the shit out of them and ground them until they were eighteen.  They’d probably hate me for it, but they’d be expected to get the fuck out and start running their own lives at that point, too.  After I’d spent most of my life raising them and seeing to their every need, why should I have to continue when they were adults and hated me, anyway?

     Because you either Love, or you don’t.

     There are no conditions.

     And anyone who accepts a Love like that is surely a damn fool.

     Whenever I think, “I have no heart,” something always comes along to prove to me that I do.

     My immediate thought is always to be skeptical of Internet Chain Letters and such, but with this one, I dug a little deeper and found that it’s totaly legitimate…

Why the one million friends challenge? I get asked the questions, Why 1 million friends? What will it achieve? on a regular basis. So I thought I would try to explain. James and I used to come onto myspace to listen to music and look at the videos just before he was diagnosed and added a few friends.

When James was diagnosed and we came to terms with the fact that his cancer and its treatment was going to take over our lives we needed a distraction and the “James and Daddy” page was born. I asked James if he thought we could get one hundred friends and then one thousand and the ten thousand. When we reached ten thousand friends I asked James to set the next target. James said ONE MILLION.

We will gain nothing financially from this page but have gained friendship from people around the world and we have shared our story with you all and in return shared your stories. This page has helped us as a family deal with the tough times and share the good times. Now as a father I feel I have to achieve this challenge as I made a vow to James the day after he was born that I would never let him down and I would only make him a promise if I could keep it.

So there you have it, the reason for the challenge and why I need you to help me get more friends. We have tried the celebrity route with minor success so all we can do is keep sending out the bulletins and searching out the profiles that have loads of friends and big hearts.

     I mentioned a while back, I can’t have kids… Rather, not healthy ones, anyway… I always say I found my peace with all of that a long time ago.
     But then again, maybe that’s why stuff like this tears me up so bad… Like it did with Ambriel… Like it does with someone else even closer who went through a bout of it herself (I love you, baby girl, I miss you, and I’m proud of you).

     There’s the futility factor, wishing I could do something to make it better, and I can’t…

     And then, of course, I see their faces they’re smiling right through it most days.

     That…

     …is one of the few things that I glean hope from.

     And I know damn well that despite everything else, those kids are toughter than I will ever be.

     If you’ve got MySpace, be sure and add him as a friend.  Spread the word.  Make a donation.

     http://www.myspace.com/bizwiz68

     Ya know, it’d be nice to ignore the son of a bitch — ya know, the “brother” who “loves” me, but continues the ridiculous contact despite my repeatedly asking him to fuck off.

     When he’s saying he recently loaned me $1000 and e-mailing me that he’s sure I won’t pay it back… It just gets ridiculous, and I cannot help but take the bait to crap like this:

Go ahead and act like we didn’t meet, and I didn’t give you anything. So typical of you. Everyone in the family knows I loaned you money. They know you take advantage of me and you play me. And mom and dad as well. They were going to give you five thousand from the house. I was nice. I called genuinely concerned about you. You twist words, add words, everyone knows it. You said you “wish I was dead”. and I still loan you money I didn’t rip you a new ass with mom and dad YOU DID. All I did was show them the things YOU WROTE ABOUT THEM. You cut your throat. And as far as the thousand, I knew you wouldn’t pay me back anyway. You need help, but I’m not the one. All you do is try to hurt me. Your nice till you get what you want then you try to hurt me. Everytime. I won’t fall for it anymore. It like what’s Mark’s relationships and the 700 billion bailout have in common????? They won’t work.

     Pretty funny, considering I haven’t laid eyes on the son-of-a-bitch since that court date a year and a half ago.  Hadn’t laid eyes on his dumb ass in at least a year before that.  And, they know he runs his fuckin’ mouth where I just stay the Hell away and keep mine shut.

     Hey, Dickhead — if you’d loaned me money, maybe I might have been able to get out of jail on my own.  Asshat!  Thanks for the Bail — NOT!  Truly a lousy cocksucker calling yourself my brother, but what a perfect example of Christianity you portray!

Just wanted to let you know I wrote a poem on poetry dot com and they are going to publish it. You inspired it. I have also decided to create my own blog. Look for it coming soon. It’s called blogilude dot com.

     Good luck with your blog, you lying sack of shit!  Even my Wildcat knows where I’ve been 24-7, so when did this happen, or should I post the rest of your emails, fuckwit?  If you lost a thousand, maybe your wife might be interested to know where — judging by your insanity, and your blog-a-lude, I have a pretty good guess.
     And seriously — “Everyone in the family knows I loaned you money” — how would they know that except from you running your mouth trying to get out of paying me the money you bet me that I proved that you still haven’t paid?

     Lousy cocksucker.  Go rot in Hell!

     My tolerance for asshats is at an all-time low.  It’s probably a good thing, as it’s helping weed out a Hell of a lot of crap in my life.  It’s also keeping me from bottling it all up so badly.

     It’s apparently not enough that I’m getting my daily dose of death threats and slanderous screaming at me over and over from a bunch of gossip-mongering asshats.  It’s also not enough that I’m having to deal with way too many lawyers and police officers for no apparent reason as we’re all trying to figure out exactly what the Hell is going on in several instances.  Nor is it enough that I’m not calling these people, not screwing with them, pretty much minding my own damn business, and having to pick up the phone to this crap no less than eight times a day.
     And I can’t change a business phone, mind you, which is where they always call.

     Then, I get to put up with it from so-called “family,” as well.

     A week ago Friday, I got a phone call from my brother.  He was actually decent for a change — well, for a while, anyway.  Said my parents were going to sell the house, and he wanted me to have a share.  I thought, hey, cool, considering. 
     Of course, by Saturday, he’d twisted everything I’d said around into some insane, lunatic garbage again, going off — per norm — about me being a liar, that I am insulting, that I don’t care — and never cared, and hate him — about anything, and all sorts of pathetic bullshit.
     Thanks…

     He started calling again on Thursday, acting all apologetic and telling me how much he cared, and I was actually stupid enough to fall for it again.  It wasn’t long before he flipped it all around again… then there was an argument about something he said, which I say he didn’t, and that if I could prove it, he’d give me a thousand dollars!
     I thought, “Great!” and I sent him the voicemails he’d sent, and sure enough, I was correct… Of course,  after another rash of psychotic e-mails, he says that not only is he not gonna give me the thousand he promised, but he also talked to my parents and will “make sure they don’t waste their hard-earned money” on me.
     Thanks…

     “I just don’t get it. I don’t understand. We aren’t mean. We are just normal people. I’ll leave you alone Mark,” he says…
     …but I’m the one sitting down here minding my own friggin’ business and not starting shit?  And still I get more even after that?
     Thanks…

     Seriously, twisted toxicity.  It’s the same old abusive behavior my immediate family does, and somehow they’re able to twist things around to make them look like victims.  It does nothing but piss me off.
     And, of course, they know it, use it, and when I snap, they point it out to everyone as evidence of my bad behavior.
     Thanks…

     Any logic might show that, perhaps, since I’m so willing to give these asshats more chances, that it might not be me that has such a problem… save that I’m gullible enough — after many names, many states and many countries — to get sucked into their vicious bullshit again.

     Certain families just suck like that.  They suck you in, and suck the life right out of you, and then have the audacity to say that you were “playing” them the whole time. 
     I know at least one other person who’s struggling with kind of bullshit on a daily basis, and in her case, it truly saddens me watching her go through it.  I know exactly how it feels, and how damn difficult it makes everything.

     But basically, it comes down one simple truth that’s sometimes really tough to get through your head.
     Though there may be relation by blood, there is nothing those situations that even somewhat resembles “family.”  If they gave a damn at all, for all the love they profess, they simply wouldn’t be doing this kind of bullshit.  And after a while, repeatedly putting yourself in the situation isn’t the brightest thing to do.

     For my part, at this point, I am anything but Rodney King about it.  I am under enough stress, and simply do not need anyone around to compound it.

     And with a little luck, I hope she’ll come to a similar conclusion, although, a little less painfully without the finality.  But sometimes, you gotta do what you gotta do for your own sake…

“everyone I know
goes away
in the end…”
— Nine Inch Nails, Hurt

     Sometimes you have to look at a whole person and take all of their facets into account.

     But you also have to look at circumstances for some behaviour.  Extreme fear and duress can try even the most sane of people.  And when family is involved, it makes situations even more painful and impossible to deal with because you expect your family to care about your feelings even a little bit.

     And that’s what a lot of people don’t get.  Some actions are made due to circumstance and not by premeditated choice.  Love makes people passionate, and when you have the duress of others atop you, making the wrong decision sometimes seems like the only possible decision.

     I can put that into perspective.  Some people I know can’t.

     Because they’ve never been through it… or only skimmed the surface.

     I am pissed.  Really PISSED.

     Alright, so I moved to this tiny, insignificant small town to be with a woman who I love more than live itself. 

     I still do.

     So, after moving to Hyden, KY and working for a sister company of Mary Breckinridge Hospital:

1. I have had someone try and charge me rent for the “closet” I lived in at $250 a month.
2. I have had the people I am supposed to be working with screw me in never giving me enough access to do my job.
3. I have had her family tell me to “drive away, and never come back again.”
4. I have had resistance after resistance when trying to train these people how to do things in such a way that it miht be helpful to both them AND the patients.
5. I have to put up with someone running aroudn town telling people I am beating the shit out of my Wildcat on a daily basis.
6. I have had my job being threatened by people who aren’t hospital emplyees, nor health providers, saying that I would be fired if I did not give them access to personal health records,  Thanks to Frank Baker and Connie Norris, the recipient of social security numbers, addresses, phone numbers, etc. of pateients without their knowlege.
7. I found out who kept giving Connie Norris access to the afforementioned records — John Hoskins, son of the esteemed womanizing-yet-prize-employee Norman Hoskins — and turned it in to my boss at the Clinics, Ben Peak.
8. I have been gossip[ped about that I beat my Wildcat on a daily basis.  (I took the joke, and said, “Goddan, I take a break on weekends!”)
9. I have been accused of criminal trespassing when going to see my family doctor.
10. I have been threatened of my life for showing up to pick up my personal belongings.  By the way, you assholes at MBH owe me EVERYTHING that was in that notebook case — not just a frew checks and paystubs.  You owe me what was under and on my desk, too, dickheads,  Severak thousand.  You ready?

     At some point, this fucking drama in Leslie County, Kentukcy has to stop.

     Even the Police Department, County Attorney’s Office, and even the Kentucky State Police have been embroiled in this mess.  FOR WHAT?  I HAVEN”T DONE ANYTHING WRONG!
     Leslie County pussies.
     You wanna use the Cops to do your dirty work, and eventually the police officers and judges are going to get sickand tired of your bullshit.  Get that, Randy?

     I have also been accused of endangering the life of My Wildcat.

     I love this woman with all my heart.

     I’ve lost my job, I’ve lost my things, I’ve lost my dignity, and for fucksakes —- WHAT FOR?

     Bullshit.

     And THAT is why I was so happy when Pizza Dave decided to push me for a change.

     He didn’t use the cops to do his dirty work.

     He was a MAN.

     It’s bad enough the people in that fucking town are lying, backstabbing pieces of shit.  I’d just hope they do it somewhere else. 

     I have a GHOST-clean record.  I do NOT need you assholes in that county trying to pull dirty tricks to use the Cops to do the dirty work you should have the BALLS to do yourself.

     And for my family, who I miss like mad, I love you.  I love every damn one of you.

     No matter what you think.

     As for MBH, they admitted to a hospital for a panic attack.  They fired me, without my knowlege, in the meantime.  Cancelled my insurance.

     Took my notebook.  Sure, it was a work notebook.  But the case contained:

1. My Glasses
2. My Contacts
3. My contact solution and case
4. My Stratitec card reader
5. My Stratictec USB hub
6. My copy of Windows VIsta Ultimate OEM (from Ebay)
7. My copy of Office Ultimate OEM (from Ebay)
8. My Intel Webcam Pro
9. My Corssover network cable
10. My 8′ Network Cable
11. My 25′ Network Cable
12. My USB Docking Station (Kingstong, I believe)
13. My personal notebook (a ring-bound notebook, black with copper spring)
14. Multiple business cards
15. Multiple post-it notes, some non-work related
16. A $50 Starbucks Gift Card
17. A couple sticks of 1GB DDR-400 Memory
18. A Sandisk Cruzer 8GB Titatnium with all my IMPORTANT stuff on it?
19. A couple of Lexar 512MB keys
20. A couple of Lexar 256MB keys
21. Multiple offbrand 64-256MB keys (at least 4)
22. My CD case full of Microsoft install disdks/

     Atop my desk?

1. An Intel Quad-Core 2.4 CPU, OEM
2. A Coolermaster CPU fan for the above
3. 2 BFG 8800 GTX PCI/E Video Cards
4. 4 Gigs of DDR2-1066 Memory
5. An ATI Video Card for a Dell Notebook
6. A large, silver N-Force Coffee Cup
7. 1 Cannister of Folgers Black Silk (given by a co-worker as a birthday prent)
8. A $15 Starbucks Gift Card (given by a co-worker)
9. Multiple businesss cards, post-it notes and personal items

     They did send me a box containing:

1. Ny glasses
2. My contacts (some)
3. My contact case
4. SOME of my expensse checks
5. SOME of my mail
6. The $15 Starbuck’s card

     Fuck Hyden, Kentucky,

     Theives,

     I have also been deprived of my personal belongings, having been threatened of my life, by one Alan Osborne, boyfriend of esteemed psychotic former landlord — and daughter of Mary Brechkinridge Hospital administrator, Connie Hubbard —- but, hey … None of that’s illegal in Leslie County, is it?

     You assholes stole my things.  You fired me illegally.  You haven’t given me paperwork one. 

     And you think that’s ok?

     And you call the cops when I come around trying to figure out what’s going on?

     Thanks, Randy North.

     Don’t you think they’ll get tired of that soon?

     I am clean.  Totally. 

     Bring it on, Asshat!  I never even HEARD you didn’t want me there til you called the COPS, asshat!  You think they enjoy wasting THEIR time on your bullshit?

     I love Ann, My Wildcat.  It’s not in me to abuse her like she always was.

     I did, however, break a wheel in trying to drive her back to the hospital we worked at during one of her panic attacks. 

     And if that’s cause for alarm.  Fuck Leslie County REAL hard.

     But it’s certainly not enough to embroil me in this caustic bullshit that seems to propagate from nothing.

     As for what went on between me and my Wildcat, she screamed.  I got scared.  I asked her to get out, and she wouldn’t.  I panicked.  I have panic attacks now.  Thanks, Leslie Country.  But I got her safely to a parking lot — safely after I hit a curb in trying to go where she wanted.  But I got her there because I couldn’t go where I wanted to — back to the hospital, where she wanted to be.
     I got admitted there against my will, where one Dr. Lauff, upon asking him for an apologiy called me a “fuckass” and told me he didn’t owe me “anything.”  Then I cussed him up one side and down the other — yet Leslie County says I attacked and cussed him and was being disrespectful?
     Fuck Leslie County.

     Fuck MBH.

     MBH fired me.  MBH fired my Wildcat.

     For shit that DIDN’T EVEN HAPPEN THERE.

     I love you, Ann. 

     I love you, Jerry, Steph and Dale.

     Fuck those people.

     We all deserve better.

     And, Mary-Mary, if you open your fucking mouth one more time, you’re inviting a slander suit, bitch.  I heard that today from someone else — Not good, deary.  We’ll both gang you in court.

      Just like you Leslie County people like it….

      In court, and legal …

      Like it isn’t.

      I miss you, Junior.  You could see the bullshit.  But I promised my Wildcat I’d I’d never put her against her family.   And I meant it.  You were a father to me where I never had one.

     [ The following is angry.  If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it.  But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]

     I have no brother, either.

     After all that crap, mom coming in and trashing the place, breaking computers and beating on me because it’s “her” house (even though she lived in Indiana and I was in Powell keeping the place up and paying the fucking mortgage), my own Brother decides to turn on me.

     Check out this Audio clip.

     He’s pretty sedate on this one.  The subject matter is amazing, considering I didn’t write poetry.  And if I did, how the Hell would he get it?  That’s just bizarre. 
     I didn’t know he was even working at the time, but when I asked WTF he was on about, I was told he drove a dump truck.  And things fall out of those pretty frequently, and people call in pissed.  Me, I’m smart enough not to tailgate dump trucks and wouldn’t've called in anyway.  Besides, I was working too much to bother with bullshit like that.
     But hey, he was having “someone” come and evict me, even though I’m supposed to face “him.”  That’s sort of ironic, really … getting someone else to do the dirty work?  When the truth is, he came and put rubber cement in all the house locks, stuck nails under my car tires, and even had the audacity to come and let the air out of two of my tires while my car was parked at a client location!  Got him on camera and everything!
     And it’s amazing how he never thought that maybe I hang up when people who start cussing me out and hurling abuse from the time I pick up the phone.

     After the court case, there was this one…

     This is immediately after the Judge ripped him a new asshole for lying on the stand.

     But I wonder who I was gonna murder?

     Pretty cool!  Sounds like it make a kickass book, and I have a great name for a lead character!

     It’s kinda fitting that in October of last year, he got the same treatment outta Mom.  He gave her money for a loan he’d made, and Mommy Dearest never bothered to tell my Father.  She also tried to subvert his wife just like she did mine, and he called to whine. 
     All I had to say was, “See?”

     In March, he called me to tell me his daughter was in the hospital.  He didn’t say what hospital, what room, what town he was in, or anything pertinent.  He just bitched that I didn’t call or care.

     When I finally got hold of him a few weeks ago, all he could do was whine about all the things Mom was doing to him, since I wasn’t available as her target of choice.

     I told him to suck it up and quit whining.

     Just like he did me.

     Except, uh, I didn’t sound like an inbred, paranoid hick when I said it.

     I hope to never hear from Asshat, Jr. again.

     [ The following is angry.  If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it.  But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]

     Back in 1999, I had some pretty bad misfortune fall on me in a foreign country.  I met a woman.  I liked her.  She was hot.  She was fun.  Everything else in my life was turning sour in that damn country.  In February of 2000, I moved in with her, and she helped me out for a few months while I got everything back on track.
     I met and loved her family.  We were all supportive of one another.

     By June, things started getting weird.  She started getting emotional.  By July, she was completely bonkers.  In August, she finally went to the doctor.  In September, she had surgery.  I felt so bad for her.  And on the 29th, I married her.

     Things got better.

     We both had good jobs and were able to do pretty much whatever we wanted.

     We took out an insured loan of $27,000 so we could have a bit more cash onhand.  With the insurance, it became a $30K loan.  We needed a refrigerator, which was around $8,000 in that shitty country.  We could have afforded it in a couple months, but needed it then.  And then, for some reason, I wanted her to meet my family.  We took a very, very long trip through the United States and Canada and back to the Hell country we lived.

     In May of 2001, we moved to a new house.  And that’s when the trouble started.

     She became distant and quiet, and completely and totally demanding.  She was angry at me 24-7.  I didn’t know what to do. 

     After watching 9-11 not happen on local television, hearing radio personalities go on about how we deserved it, getting a ration of shit for trying to buy cigarettes on multiple occasions and having a Prime Minister ensure her country that “The events in the United States have no influence on New Zealand,” I decided I needed to be back in the United States.  
     It was a long process.  In February, I had to beat the shit out of a Consulate guard just to get in and keep my appointment.  Everything kept getting worse.
     I lost my job in February because my sorry-ass South African bosses didn’t want to pay salary or bonus or wage increases or anything else, and decided that in order to reduce costs, they’d claim that I was stealing intellectual property.  A real joke, being that I was Senior Developer — the only developer — for that company.  
     Fortunately, our $30K loan was paid down to just over $8,000, and being insured and my just having lost my job, that was pretty well done.  The policy clearly stated that they would pay my payments for a full year in the event that I got divorced or lost my job.  It didn’t have all the fun stipulations that most do, and I’d clearly lost my job.  However, they were unhelpful.  They ignored the insurance policy and started threatening and cussing me out.
     I told them to stuff it.  It was their $8,000 to pay, and I had a signed contract to prove it.

     Finally, in June of 2002, we made it back.

     We lived in DC then.  I had a pretty cushy Government job and she was teaching school at a prestigious-yet-shitty institution who didn’t pay their staff even half of what their public school counterparts made.  It was disgraceful.
     Still, my wife was distant, angry and demanding.

     I had a six-figure job offer in Knoxville, my hometown.  And so, in June of 2004, we moved back here.  My six-figure job was a lie.  Everything was.  I started another business and kept us afloat until just after Christmas of 2005.
     Things had stayed the same between us.  She was distant, angry, demanding.  There was no budgeting with her.  On top of that, she took a part-time job working full-time hours as a substitute teacher at a school, and the school board would make no exceptions for her foreign experience.  She wouldn’t get her stuff together to get a full teacher’s license, and by this time, she wouldn’t drive anywhere.  My responsbility to drive her around, to and from work, and I’m trying to work, but dear God, would she take the bus?
     Eventually, she wouldn’t leave the house anymore… just sat there barking out orders from the couch, and spending every single dime we had if she went out with my mother.

     They were best of friends.

     In January of 2006, I felt so much pressure that I was about to kill myself.  I told her… and she responded with 847 more reasons why I should go ahead.

     I pulled myself together.  I told that I wanted a divorce and that I wanted her to get out.

     Back to New Zealand for her, a one way ticket.  Instead of feeling pain immediately, I felt a weight lifted from my shoulders.  Not long after, the depression hit.  If I couldn’t keep my promises to her, what good was I?

     By April and May, it was pretty obvious that talking to her was like talking to a wall.  I stopped for a long time.  I sent her final divorce papers in June, and she never bothered to sign them.  She said she never received them.
     In July, the National Bank of New Zealand started letting her have it good and hard claiming that we owed them $23K.  I sent her the papers for the loan, along with previous balance statements.  Open and shut, right?
     By then, I was well into a major depression.

     In November, she came back to pick up some of her things.  I thought we could at least part as friends.  She apologized for the way she treated me, and that was good enough for me.  I spent every dime I had making sure she was comfortable on the trip, as Mommy Dearest dropped her on me and took off.  She signed the divorce papers before we left Knoxville.
     For a short time, I thought we talked about reconciliation, but apparently I was incorrect, as was blatently pointed out.  I filed the papers, but the property settlement was kicked out.  I sent her an ammended property settlement to sign, and she never bothered to respond to it or the emails I sent her.
     I mailed back more of her things in 2007, all to no avail.

     Eventually, her phone was disconnected.  All of her mail was returned.

     In January of 2008, I filed another divorce, having been two years (which showed abandonment) hoping that I could finally get on with my life.  The Wildcat and I had plans.

     In March of 2008, she finally responded … that I owed her $27,000.

     After supporting her for four years and having her spend every single dime of every single paycheck, regardless that we had to pay rent or insurance or… Yeah, stress, when you have to magically pull money out of your ass for four years because your wife is too lazy to get off her butt, get her license and actually make a decent wage for a change.

     But oh, I owe her $27K.  And I still don’t have a divorce.

     Yeah, I’m still married.

     And while she’s sitting around in New Zealand making $50K a year — about fucking time — I owe her $27K when I made us far more than that for six years solid… And me, I can’t afford to pay attention.

     Right this second, I’m thinking that since we’re still married, maybe I should just move back to New Zealand and move in with her.  I mean, what could she do about it?  I mean, she is my wife, isn’t she?

     So seriously, Mommy Dearest’s bestest little buddy — GET OVER IT AND LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!

     [ The following is angry.  If you don't like anger and angst, don't read it.  But it's shit like this that's a big part of my problem. ]

     When I was three years old, some pretty bad things happened to me.  When I told my dear, sweet, innocent mother about those things, she beat the living crap out of me for it, and called me a liar.  So, at three years old, she took a wide, thick leather belt and wailed on me with it until my legs were bloody.  She did it a million times — wherever and whenever she could.  Legs, ass, arms, torso, face … you name it.  And it wasn’t just the belt.  It was anything she could pick up.

     Whenever anyone asked what happened to my legs, she’d always say that I got eaten up by mosquitos, and had scratched myself to death.  When they asked about the stripes which went most of the way around my arms (lengths of belt tend to wrap unless doubled, and she never did), she’d tell them that I was tying things around my arms, and to not let me do that.  A blow to the head, “Oh, he fell off the swing.”  A bloody nose, “Oh, he’s prone to nosebleeds.”
     I don’t scratch my bites.  Wrapping things around my arms is laughable.  I’m only clumsy when drunk.  And I’ve only had two nosebleeds in my life outside of the ones she gave me because she had no self control.

     Nobody ever bothered to think or even to try and stop it. 

     In public, she was so coy.  So convincing, calm, victimized.  There were facades to keep up, you see.  She had to appear to be financially secure, while spending every dime they both made.  And she never let my father live down the fact that she made more money than him.

     And so, I wish him a Belated, yet Happy, Father’s day.

     Happy Father’s day to my father, who watched the Devil he married beat me my entire life.  Happy Father’s day to the man who, just last year, let her come and trash my house and start breaking computers and beating me with a plastic bethroom shelf.  Happy Fathers day to the man who, when I got a restraining order against his wife, he allowed her to have me evicted, thus destroying my credit regardless of the fact that the judgement said I didn’t owe her a dime.  Happy Father’s day, to the man who got up in court and perjured himself repeatedly during the restraining order hearing, so much so that the Judge saw right through the inconsistent bullshit of his, his Devil wife and his son.  Happy Father’s day, to the man who’s whining to everyone in the world about how it’s tearing him up that he doesn’t hear from his son, and the day that I finally call, all he can do is bitch and call me a liar.

     Ultimately, it is you, Father, who allowed that situation to continue. 

     It was you, Father, who came to my house threatening me to drop the Order of Protection that I needed.

     It was you, Father, who made up your story in court.

     It was you, Father, who didn’t call me or return any e-mails.

     And it was you, Father, who turned on me — yet again.

     And it was you, Father, who perpetrated and condoned her lies and condemnation — “See?  He’s a liar, just like he was when he was three years old!” — even when you knew better.

     You, Father, are why I never had a family.

     I never deserved any of that, Father.

     And unlike you, Father, I could never do to people that I care about what you both did to me.

     So, to the biggest liar of them all, and the perfect role model of a crying, useless husband, Happy Father’s Day!

     Are you Happy now, Mr. Good Christian Man?

     I certainly hope so.

     The opposite Love is not Hate. 

     It’s Apathy.

     Something you’ve always had plenty of.

     I have no Father.