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Shouldn’t trigger, unless language/the discussion of guilt bothers you. Today, I spoke to my mother, also known fondly as the ‘Oompa Loompa.’ We were trying to finalize this week’s Thanksgiving plans. A couple entries ago, I explained how she is still breast-feeding my 30 year old sister, who just had a baby of her own. She goes there every day, cooks for her, does the housework, the laundry, et cetera, because apparently my sister doesn’t quite know yet how to allow someone else to hold the baby while she cooks or shops or does something productive around the house. So, my mother continues to enables her and picks up the slack of being a wife, mother, grandmother, caretaker of a newborn, cook and housekeeper all rolled into one. Now, this isn’t a jab on my sister - I know we all have to learn somehow. It’s her first baby. I KNOW how hard it is and how overwhelming it can be when all they do is cry, cry, and CRY. I know that sleep deprivation can render you useless at any given time…hell, I’m sleep deprived on a regular basis and don’t have a squalling infant to blame that on. So I shrug off my feelings and tell myself she’ll know the ropes by the time her second kid arrives. I do have to say though, the end result of my mother’s excessive coddling has been rough because now she’s exhausted and WE haven’t seen her in over a month. The time I planned to go and see her was derailed when J and I both had a stomach bug and we wanted to remain cautious and stayed away from the baby. Will be seeing my sister and the baby this Saturday, after Oompa Loompa comes here for Thanksgiving. This entry isn’t even about my sister, though. Or the Oompa Loompa, even though much amusement can be derived from talking about her and her shenanigans… Before we hung up, Oompa had some news for me. Her brother, my uncle, the ‘Reverend,” his unholy disgustingness, is in the hospital. Little background information. Other than looking like your classic creepy pedophile, he was always overweight and unhealthy. He’s diabetic, has bad knees and always, always seemed to have something wrong with him. Aside from mentally, of course. And now, physically. I’m surprised that no one else has the same effect from looking at him. I personally want to literally projectile vomit whenever I see his face. But I guess the point I’m trying to make…he was probably a fucking cat with nine or more lives in a previous life…I don’t understand why or how he’s still breathing. If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve the air he breathes. Yet, he keeps coming back to life. See…I remember this time from when I was eighteen and in college. I was living at my father’s house since he lived closer to the campus. I remember coming home from classes and my father telling me that my uncle was in the hospital, having suffered a massive heart attack earlier that afternoon. He survived that massive heart attack. Then, when I was somewhere between 21 and 22, my grandmother passed, and we all remember the flood of emotions that overwhelmed me. I might have cried if he didn’t survive that first heart attack, because this was before I came to realize that there was some suppressed feelings of animosity. He was Uncle L, and I hate to admit it, but on some level, there was love for him, because that was simply what being a family member entitled you, regardless of what a piece of shit you really were. And I know I’ve said it before but kids have unconditional affection for members of their families, especially the kids who don’t remember that they’re supposed to hate them. He ended up in the hospital again, after my grandmother’s death (if you read the blog entry, ‘Want Some Fries With That Invalidation?’ then you may remember a rather uncomfortable encounter I had with him there) riddled with infection, and he survived that, too. He underwent a quadruple bypass about three years ago. He was told by his doctors that he was a ‘ticking time bomb’ and the bypass surgery posed multiple risks, but if he didn’t have it, he was toast…it would just be a matter of time… Well…despite my secret prayers for a one-way ticket to hell, he survived the bypass surgery, too. Apparently, right now, his tiny, black heart is causing him some issues (I didn’t care to ask what kind of issues) and they admitted him into the hospital last night. She has plans to see him the week after Thanksgiving. In the meantime, he’s going to rot there while they run tests to try and figure out what his problem is, this time. I hung up with Oompa Loompa and felt the corners of my mouth turn upwards. Oh, my God, guys… I’m feeling like I’m a horrible, horrible person. Here I am…I’m SMILING like an idiot. I might have chuckled, too. I don’t think I’ve laughed completely yet, but…seriously? Am I that heartless? Am I capable of such hatred toward another person? A SICK person at that? I don’t think I like that about myself. I wasn’t raised that way. I was raised to be warm, loving, kind. To be gentle. To forgive. Forgiveness is so tricky in this case, though. I think I’d sooner forgive the man who SA’d me in 1996 than I would my uncle, and I can’t even remember why I hate him so much. My brain simply denies me that information, and for now, that’s okay. The thought of him being in the hospital is simply delightful. The thought of him spending Thanksgiving by himself while I spend it with my loved ones, is pure joy. Of course, if someone in the family would go pick his disgusting ass up, he’d come spend holidays with us but at this point, even my mother, his own sister, doesn’t want to take the two-hour trek each way, because not only would she have to go pick him up, she’d have to bring him back home to his cockroach-infested shit-sty. Not to mention she knows well enough by now that if he is there, I will not be. I haven’t seen him since my sister’s (the new mother’s) wedding day. It couldn’t be helped. I made sure to avoid him completely. Didn’t look at him, walked away when he walked past me in church to say hello. I made sure to leave the room whenever he walked in. And that’s been perfectly fine with me because I have not one shred of love left for this man and I’ve no desire to see him until he’s laid out in a coffin, or even more appropriate, a cheap-o cardboard box. If it were up to me, that’s what he’d get, only because by law, he would have to be placed into a receptacle before being buried. Then, I can spit into his dead, lips-sewn-shut face just before they put him in the ground. And then, after he’s been buried, I, Capulet, am having a party. My house. You’re all invited. Lots of junk food and laughs to be had. I will celebrate his departure from this world, just as strongly as I mourned my grandmother’s. I will have you all know, I feel terrible for having just said that. Just plain terrible. It’s not something that as a mother, I would ever teach my kids to feel when someone is sick, in pain or otherwise hurting. The guilt over having said such cold things about another human being is present, but at the same time, I’ve been waiting a very, very long time for my non-human friend, Karma, to show up. I just wonder…how many chances at life is this man going to get? What has he done to deserve all of these tomorrows? Why do so many good people suffer, and these monstrous sons-of-bitches who prey on innocent children keep on ticking? If that’s not the most fucked up thing in the world, I don’t know what is. On another note, I’ve been told that his death (whenever Karma ever does do her fucking job) may bring forth a slew of memories, of actual remembrances. Another epiphany may occur and I’ll know exactly why I hate him. I will know why the thought of him being reduced into a pile of shit, maggots and formaldehyde makes me giddy enough to smile. Maybe I won’t feel so guilty, if I find that later on, my suspicions turn out to be the truth I seek. Is that what Karma is waiting for? For me to be ready? I seriously doubt that Karma is in tune with my suppressed memories, but either way, it’s taking too damn long for this pathetic excuse of a person to succumb to his shitty health. I apologize to you all if this has shined a different, unfavorable light onto me as a person. I’ll be honest with you all, I don’t like what I hear, either, when it comes to my thoughts. Like I said before, I never thought myself capable of taking pleasure in another’s suffering, regardless of how rotten a person they may be. But I also promised myself that I’d never sugar-coat anything in my blogs, ever again. And so, I won’t. I am sorry if I’ve offended anybody, because as much as I hate my uncle, I also hate the people who have hurt you, too. I want Karma to take care of ALL of them! I’ll not lie to anyone and say I have any sympathy for their abusers’ ‘misfortunes,’ shall we say…because I don’t. I hate my uncle and I hate that people like him are still allowed to roam this Earth, I despise that these are the people who sully our beautiful existence and make us suffer. On the other hand, I know so many others feel and hear these thoughts, too. I think, though, that we all have our thirst for justice, whether it is served by way of a painful death or incarceration, it ultimately means we are free of the mental prisons these predators have sentenced us to life in. I think I’m going to be extra thankful this coming Thursday when I sit down to my turkey dinner, for the fact that I can safely say that I am a good enough person to feel even the smallest amount of guilt. It may be misunderstood, it may be unwarranted because such despicable people do not deserve any of my guilt for feeling the way I do. I know and have accepted that there are reasons I feel this way…even if these reasons aren’t known to me, they’re there, they exist. And I can furthermore conclude that the guilt I feel for smiling at the thought of my uncle laying in a hospital bed, alone, stems from my having learned kindness, despite a tarnished childhood. I’ll be damned if I’m guilted into showing him any kindness, now. With that, I want to take a moment to wish you all a blessed Thanksgiving. Whether you’re spending it with family, friends or by yourselves, I hope you’ll take a moment or two to make the day special for yourselves because you, my friends, deserve that. I know that so many of our lives are in disarray right now, and even though we struggle with our thoughts, there is always, ALWAYS something to smile about. Love, Capulet
I remember being fascinated by porn as a child...my grandmother walked in on me watching it once and she said to turn it off when mom and dad get home or I'll get in trouble. She was a really mean old lady and she made me sleep with her at night I hated it so much. I shared a bed with her and my cousin Frank. Same age but oddly enough I was never attracted to him and we never did anything that was sexual. He is the closest thing to a brother I had. We don't have that relationship anymore since of last year when I called the cops on our grandmother Rebecca. I thought she was abusing my child but I really think that I was triggered and started to see things that were similar to my childhood. Anyways she moved out of my house and into his. That was December 15. 2015. I did it bc Summer was showing signs of abuse and I was acting super vigilante. After her being gone for a long time I started to get better the flashbacks stopped I believe because she was so verbally abusive towards me as a child that when I would see her it would remind me of much abuse I went thru as a child and I'd be damned if it were to happen to my child. I hate myself...or when I'd see my daughter with her I saw me as a child hating my life bc she was so horrible to me. I just didn't want my kid to suffer like I did....so I don't know if she abused her or not. Everyone says she didn't and that I was having PTSD moment...it doesn't matter anyways she died in September and now my family hates me.especially my brother.Frank. Those are assumptions. I didn't even attend the funeral out of shame.
I was going out with a friend of mine who I had known closely for many years. He was even my ‘bridesmaid’ at my wedding. (He did not wear a dress, but was my gay best friend.) I was no longer married at the time this incident happened. He had called me and asked me to go downtown for a stand-up comedy show he was preforming at, and there would be beer and wine all over. It was August, and I had nothing better to do, so I said sure, sounds like fun! Since I was no longer married, and my friend knew I had not had sex in a very long time, he was set out to get me laid because “that’s all you need right now!” he said. I kept telling him I was not really out for that, I just wanted to hang out with him and have a good time and not worry about guys. All night long he introduced me to his comedian friends, and after each one he would ask me if I was interested in taking that one home. I would say no and repeat myself each time that I was not out to get laid that night. As the night went on, and things started winding down, we had both had several glasses of wine, and I befriended a man. We talked and went to another bar with my friend and a handful of other comedians. We talked and played pinball, but then when he asked if I was interested in going out on a date with him later, I politely said no thank you. I then returned to the friend I came with. The friend I had come with had his eye on a kid who had red hair, and asked me, “Hey how about this one? I know you like red heads!” I said eh, not really into him and don’t want anything to happen tonight anyway. He told me then that he wanted him and so I agreed to be the bait and do a switch when we got back to his apartment. So, that is what we did. The kid’s name was (we will say) K. (My friends name was B.) So B drove the three of us home, and while I was PLASTERED, K kept trying hard to get me interested in him. He was also very plastered, so much so he pulled his di*k out in the back of the car, which was exactly why I had rode in the front – NOT in the back with K. K kept reaching up and touching me, kissing on me, and I thought in my drunken mind that if I kissed him he would have gotten what he wanted then he would stop. B at the time was speeding, and was pulled over. He did the test, and was let go on a warning. We returned back to B’s apartment. K was ALL OVER ME, kissing me while having me pinned up against the wall as soon as we got inside, and I was extremely uncomfortable. The only way I thought I would get out of it as discussed with B as a bait and switch was to turn dominate. I told K to lie on the bed after removing his pants. He did. Then I told him to let B take over and do as he wished to his body. K said Hell No! I want you to be on my face if I let him touch me. B looked at me, and being a people pleaser, looking at my friend, I felt guilty, and agreed. I told them to turn the lights off, so no one could see me, and I was on his face for about 30 seconds before I burst out into tears, jumped off, and was frantic to put my clothes back on, and ran out of the apartment. B later found me and I told him I needed a cigarette and more to drink. (Yes I was still consuming more – straight vodka at this point.) K was back all over me again trying hard to get me back into bed because everyone was falling asleep. I kept trying to avoid it by making them think badly of me by saying – I’ve not shaved, and I’ve been outside all day and am sweaty, I smell bad, etc. That is when I remember B told me I was prude which made me feel awful and it still does to this day. So, B told me to go take a shower, and I did. K tried to enter into the bathroom as I stood there about to get in, and I shoved him as hard as I could out the door and promptly locked it. I vaguely remember showering (I think in all reality I just stood there in the water until it was cold). Once I was out and dried off, I put all of my clothes back on including my shoes. I noticed all of the lights were out, and everyone in the apartment (including the 4 other people who I did not know were passed out all over). So without knowing what else to do, and no place to sleep, I crawled into bed with B and K who were lying next to each other on the bed. I laid across the bed up where the pillows were but there was no blanket, and I was freezing. I woke B up asking if there was a blanket, and he said the only one was under them. I asked him if I could get under it, and leave both of them on top (thinking this would provide a safe barrier between them and me. K was on my left, B was on the right. I passed right out. Then after an unknown time, I woke up to movement. B had his arm reached across my body to K’s, giving him a hand job with me under the covers (them on top). The movement made me wake up and unintentionally drawing K’s attention to me. He then tried twice to remove my pants, again telling him No and trying to readjust to go back to sleep. Finally after drunken ‘fighting’ him (more like just let me sleep!!) I gave in. I was still so wasted, and was passing out every time I closed my eyes, that all I wanted was for him to stop. I told him do not fuck my p*ssy if you’re going to do anything. Just let me sleep. So, all I remember after that was somehow my pants were already off, B was standing on the side of the bed watching, and K on top of me (I was lying face down hardly conscious.) I do not remember him going in I don’t think, I do remember thinking this is the shittiest idea you’ve had but just sleep for now. And then I remember him leaving the room and the door shutting. That was enough to wake me up and laugh and say “well aren’t you going to fuck me too since you didn’t get him?” so, he climbed on, thrust a few times, and then pulled out and said “Nope, I’m still gay.” I woke up more, sat up, looked at B and asked “What the fuck just happened??” and started crying. He said “I don’t know, just go back to sleep.” I went home the next morning, and was probably still illegally driving because I still felt drunk. I got home, felt so sick, and there was shit down my thighs, which meant it was probably other places. I felt so horrible, and disgusting, and shamed. I would like to say what I was wearing that night: Yoga capri pants, flip flops, and a tank top. Nothing was showing, nothing was insinuated, and I had been telling everyone No for HOURS until I was so drunk and my people pleaser took over I gave in. So, with that all being said… I feel guilty for drinking so much, even with a friend I have been sloshed with for years and trusted to take care of me. I did allow K to kiss me once (which was uncomfortable and I didn’t want to), and I said OK to letting him give me oral sex (which was EXTREMELY uncomfortable that I STOPPED) and then I feel like I should not have done any of that, nor drank that much because that is all my fault it happened. I don’t like that he pressured me on continuously over 6 hours, but doesn’t that just mean I was weak? I cannot get over how some people tell me this is date rape when all it could have been was a bad decision because I was ran down to the point of just needing to sleep. I do not drink in excess any longer, and I hardly leave my house. I now mostly drink alone when I want to. I feel like I cannot trust anyone, including myself - because I said no for 6 hours, and knew I didn't want anything to happen, but I let them anyway. I don't understand why, or what is wrong with me that I did that. And now that I have, how can I ever even date someone? Ever? I knew B for 6 years - and if he could do that, and help K do that to me, that tells me I will never know anyone truely.