10.12pm
Dear Mr Good-Company,
As much as I enjoy the good bits of our arrangement there are times, like right now, when you piss me off beyond belief.
A few days ago I asked you if you were up for some fun this week, you replied 'yeah'. Yesterday, I asked if you wanted to have some fun tonight and you said 'sure'.
It is currently 10.10pm, our Facebook chat stopped dead an hour ago which I at first assumed was due the flakiness of Facebook itself, that was until in never flicked back to 'online' like it usually does. About half an hour ago I sent you a text message 'wtf? I thought we were gonna have some fun tonight?'. No reply. About five minutes ago I sent another text saying 'Christ u fucking piss me off sometimes'. So far no reply.
Not only does this seem to me to be simply inconsiderate, but the other alternative is that you just completely forgot about me. I know that you're not interested me in 'that' way, but regardless of that, being forgotten about still makes me feel like shit.
Sincerely, Jess.
Note: at 10.37pm I received a reply to my text saying 'ass to mouth is acceptable'. Still extremely angry, but knowing my anger usually calms down to a high level of frustration over night, I did my best not to really lose my temper via text and replied 'idiot'.
10.18pm
...Now are online... Jess: wtf?
Mr Good-Company: sorry busy atm mate came ova
Jess: oh
...Now offline...
10.22pm
Now judging from his last status update which does rather seem as if he was hacked, I now even suspect that wasn't Mr Good-Company in that conversation.
So I still remain so fucking pissed off!
The sad thing is that I'm used to being forgotten, It's happened many times before in my life with many different people. Grandparents, parents and family friends. The worst thing I can gather from the fact that all these different people have forgotten me on different occasions is there is something about me that just makes me not worth remembering. That makes me feel so sad. I'm actually crying! I never cry! Unless I'm watching a sad movie that is.
Now I'm angry at myself for crying! I don't fucking cry! I've always fought to remain in control and crying because of the actions of others whether it be from anger or sadness is a sign of weakness. My parents always used to tell me, no matter how old I was be it 5 or 18 'Oh look at the little baby, she's going to go off and have a cry now'. I will not cry! I hated them so much. How is it possible to hate people but still care about them? Sometimes I'd wish them dead, but at the same time know I'd miss them. They did such a good job of fucking me up how did my little brother and sister turn out okay?
Even now, nearly four years after I stopped, my friends check my arms for scars. Only last Sunday Anita asked to look at my watch. I know she's not looking at my watch and she knows I know this, but it's how we do things. Even when I couldn't stand to be in the same house as my parents, I always knew my friends looked out for me, even though we never actually talked about things. I knew that I could trust them and they knew I needed to see that they were watching me and keeping me safe.
I can remember I once ran to my room to escape an argument that I had begun to cry during. When I was inside I did what I usually do and leant against the door so that no-one could follow me. I had a missed call from Anita so I rang her. She was able to tell as soon as I said hello that something wasn't right 'Jess, are you okay?' I'd barely had time to answer 'yeah' when my father began yelling at me and pushing against the door. He pushed me away from the door, grabbed the phone from my hands screaming 'Who the fuck are you talking to?' before he put the phone in his pocket and continued yelling at me.
I was by this stage doing what I always did when I was to old run away and climb a tree, or I simply couldn't escape. I was sitting in the foetal position, all balled up, as small as I could possibly make myself, into a tight little wad of fear. My father is a terrifying man when he's angry, I inherited that. I remember as a small child seeing him smash the window in the front door because he had come home angry and couldn't find the key. I remember standing there in shock. It was the first time I ever made a connection between violence and anger.
I can't remember how that argument ended, the only thing that makes it different to the multitude of others that occurred over the years is that Anita heard it. I was never able to call her back that evening. We never spoke about it.
I am still not able to cope with anger. Both mine and others scare me. Mine because I have seen small glimpses over the years of what I may be capable of doing to both myself and others. I know how my parents tempers hurt and scared me, knowing that I will in all likely hood do that to another person both saddens and scares me so much.
I am afraid of the anger of others because I know what I am capable off, I know what my Mother and Father are capable of but I don't know what others are capable of. Do they shrug off anger quickly? Simmer for days on end? Or do they wake the next day with only a bad memory the way I do? Do they make themselves large and scary? Invade my space? Do they throw and break things the way my Father does? Or are they like my Mother? Quiet, crying but saying hurtful things. Always remembering past words or actions of yours that she can throw back at you?
I have been angry before. I have been forgotten before. I have felt truly alone before. Yet I know that if I asked for their help my friends would have a bed made up for me as quick as I could say 'thank you'. As much as I hate asking for help from anyone, be it a GP, a Psychologist a personal trainer or my best friend, I will ask for that help if I can feel my breaking point is near. I don't want to do something stupid.
I know this attitude is another reflection on my upbringing. I was always told that you shouldn't tell others your problems, that I should grow up and start looking after myself, that other people don't need to know what's going on because it's none of their business. But sometimes having someone talk to me and tell me that everything really will be okay one day, is all that I really need. That and a hug. I haven't had anyone hug me when I was upset for close to ten years now. I miss that comfort. The ironic thing is that it was my parents who used to provide this.
All in all: Anger scares me. Being forgotten scares me and being alone scares me. But after experiencing these things for so many years already, are they really worth my tears any more?
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