Dear Ryan -
I came to visit you a couple weeks ago or so to help you (read: DO FOR YOU B/C YOU'RE TOO FUCKIN' LAZY TO DO IT YOURSELF, YOU COWBAG!) clean your house - a place I don't even live in anymore, so the mess isn't even fucking mine to deal with - to help you find your medications you fuckin' lost, b/c you're such a raging slob.
When we lived together, the ONLY reason that house was cleaned was b/c either I myself did it or because the cleaning lady your rich Grandmother hired for you came over to clean. SUCH bullshit. You are 24 years old, you are too lazy to get off your ass and clean your own messes?! PATHETIC.
You're ALWAYS whining about something. ALWAYS bitching about something that's pissed you off. This is MULTIPLE times a day, which makes me wary of answering my phone or when text messages come through. I don't want to turn my phone off b/c I shouldn't have to, but seriously, GET INTO THERAPY if you're so depressed!
You, everyday, on a multiple-times-a-day basis, remind me why I DO NOT miss having roommates. You're always - ALWAYS - whining that something's ailing you. Personally, I think you're just a hypochondriac. I get it that the occasional sickness may happen, but every little ache and pain?! Really?! You need to go to the ER?! No. You're always calling ME about it instead of DOING something about it, like going to be the one to make it all better again. No.
Maybe I'm too jaded to be a counselour, b/c that's all I hear is whining and complaining when it's you calling. Maybe I need to rethink what I want to do career-wise because of all the whining I've had to endure from you.
I've - on several occasions - come over and helped save your neck from Mommy and Daddy. Cleaned your house for you enough where your parents wouldn't be bitching (too much) about the state of the place. To say your place is trashed is an understatement. Seriously, HOBOS would be mortified. You can't walk 3" without tripping over something on the floor. Seriously, that's just wrong.
This is such horseshit. I spent THREE DAYS trying to find your medications, and they still have yet to turn up. I get it that you're frustrated, but if you'd have been responsible with them in the first place, you wouldn't be in the position you're in now. I take 5 different meds for depression, PTSD, anxiety, and the like. They're either in my bathroom or on my microwave in the kitchen so I can see them so I can remember to take them before I go to bed. I can understand leaving a bottle of Benadryl on your dresser and it gets lost by falling behind said dresser, but a WHOLE BAG of medications, PRESCRIPTIONS, that just blows my mind.
The day I left, it was brought to my attention that there was a small sleeve of generic Sudafed on the kitchen floor. My friend brought it up when she'd come to pick me up that she'd seen it. There is a four-year-old living with you. Granted, yes, said four-year-old does know NOT to touch stuff like that, but are you FUCKING kidding me?! I find loose - LOOSE - meds on the floor all the time when I'm there. Throughout the house. Even BEFORE I moved out. YOU HAVE TWO CATS. Your older cat pretty much leaves shit alone that doesn't belong to her. The younger one, not so much. He eats socks. No one knows why, but I'm convinced he's part billy goat. haha
You're always kvetching to me about how he eats socks and I suggested putting them up where he can't get to them, like in the closet or a dresser, something like that. You told me they're dirty socks he's eating, that you guys have a lot of dirty laundry - which you do. I've seen the basement lately, it's frightening, and not in the typical "Freddy Kruger is going to jump out from behind the hot water tank and yell 'BOO!'" kind of way. There are clothes EVERYWHERE down in the laundry area. No telling what's clean and what isn't, b/c it's all meshed together. It's disgusting.
I know you still haven't found your meds. They were pretty important, but you still have yet to find them. I get it you don't have a copay, but you still should take care of shit. Especially the important shit. UGH.
And don't EVEN get me started on how treacherous the stairs are in your house . . . . I'm lucky I didn't dislocate my knee when I fell back in January. I'm lucky, too, I didn't trip over anything, either. That fall was simply a matter of my foot gave out (weak ankles) as I was coming downstairs to leave and I ended up on the floor.
Clutter is one thing, but being an outright slob is another thing entirely. I hate slobs. It was SUCH a relief when my phone rang and it was my friend. She had told me the day before she was going to call me when she was on her way to get me, so I was nonetheless happy when she did call. You were on the couch when my friend called me, and I know you didn't like me asking her if she was on her way. Oh, well. I can only handle slovenly environments before I start to go twitchy. That much mess raises my anxiety. I can't go two, MAYBE three, days without doing dishes before it gets to me.
I don't care that you didn't like the fact I was leaving. I don't live with you anymore, that mess isn't mine, and when I did dirty a dish or made a mess elsewhere while I was visiting, or if I had a wrapper from a bit of food or something, I PICKED UP AFTER MYSELF. IT'S POLITE!!! Plus, I'm not going to add to a mess. That's just . . . ugh. No.
What about killed me while I was there (besides the fact you're an ungrateful cunt and couldn't ONCE be bothered to say a simple, "hey, I appreciate you being a friend and coming over to help me out with this!" or a simple "Thanks, man!") was when we couldn't find the garbage bags and you had to call Daddy to whine to him and he told you he couldn't (wouldn't, more likely) help you. You then called your sister to bring some over, and I about died laughing when she said "It's a beautiful day, walk to the store and get some!" There's a store not 900 feet from your house. It's just across the street from you, and you couldn't be bothered?! Seriously?! We did find them, under a pile of mess in the dining room. I wanted to laugh, but the way you were being such a rabid cuntrag, I didn't dare, b/c you were acting like it was MY fault, all the chaos in your life. Ha. HA. HA.
You always bitch about how your current roommates don't pick up the house, but it's not 100% their mess to clean. It's about 85% your mess and about 15% theirs. The funny thing is, too, the girl roommate is there to really replace the cleaning lady your Grandma hired. Yet. . .she's not done anything to pick up the house, but maybe once or twice that I've seen. I get it that she's got a job now, but she doesn't work 24/7/366, so she can help out with stuff on her off-days, like she's being charged to do, and, well, you're not working, and there's no reason - NONE - why you can't pick up shit that YOU leave laying around. UGH.
There is a 4y/o there, that child . . . . You don't need to be thinking about having any kids yet, b/c you can't interact properly with them. Telling people, "I love you, but . . . " especially - ESPECIALLY - to a four-year-old!? NO. This little girl is a normal, healthy, INQUISITIVE child. She does what children her age do: they do things that drive adults batty. IT'S NORMAL. I don't have a lot of experience being around children her age. My experience being around children that young is so minimal, I have consciously had to count to 10 so I didn't yell at her like I would an adult for driving me up a wall. I have to consciously remind myself that she's a little kid, and she's doing little kid things. YOU HAVE EXPERIENCE bein' around this child 24/7. You're always saying stuff like, "I love you, but you're driving me crazy." or "I love you, but you've really pissed me off and I kind of want to hit you." You'd followed that last one up with "I love you, but you need to go to your room." When you say stuff like that, I've on a few occasions told you, "You really shouldn't say stuff like that to a little kid, it's going to give her a complex." I always get shrugged off.
I get it that you have Asperger's, but being Aspie does NOT give you license to be an asshole to people. You claim that boarding school helped you learn how to properly communicate and the like, but your entire family's like that, lack of manners. The only one who's shown any sort of politeness is your sister. I'm not trying to be judgy, that's not my intention at all, I just have issues with the entitlement bullshit. Like the whole world must bend down and kiss your ass because you come from money.
You're a good friend, true. Whenever I've needed help with an issue, you've been there. You came over V-Day weekend and spent time with me so I wouldn't have to be alone because you know my boyfriend is out of state right now and we couldn't be together. When I needed help getting my electricity for my apartment sorted, you were there and helped get that situated, and I thank you. I've thanked you constantly for that. For EVERYTHING. When my phone broke over a year ago, you bought me a new one. Little shit like that means the world to me. When I've called upset in the middle of the night, you've been there. You're a good friend, you're . . . . just a pain in my ass lately. To be blunt. It's unfortunate, I can only tolerate you in tiny doses anymore. Used to not be like that, but now, lately, ugh! Used to be I'd drop everything for a chance to hang out with you after I moved out. But . . .the constant, CONSTANT, bitching and complaining has gotten to me and now I can't be around you for long periods of time because of it.
You have moments when you'll get excited over the most random, tiny thing, but Lord help us all when something upsets you. You and I had planned for a couple weeks your coming out to visit V-Day weekend. You stayed 6 weeks. Which is fine. You'd gone home for a couple-three days at a time here and there, but most of that you were here. You were excited about dyeing our hair purple and drinking on St Pat's together. You got excited about going shopping over at Rose's (think Walmart meets Dollar General) with me, little stuff. While I was there that three days a couple weeks ago, you'd gotten all excited about random stuff lie watching Ugly Americans, showing me what that show was all about, or we'd talk about your reunion for school you're trying to plan. But most of the visit was you were bitching, either at me or your niece (the four-year-old). And most of the bitching you'd done at me was over your roommates. Specifically the guy roommate, how he NEVER does anything to help out around the house. He doesn't have a job, the girl roommate DOES, AND has a four-year-old to take care of. So she doesn't have much in the way of house responsibilities to keep on top of, just making sure her daughter's taken care of (which she does a fairly decent job).
I get the venting that needs to come out, but it was DAILY and MULTIPLE times a day that I'd have to hear about it, and it was the same shit over and over and bloody over again. I wanted so badly to go off. I asked you why you don't tell him to just shape up or ship the fuck out. You said because he doesn't have a job. Well, if he's planning on leaving, anyway, and he's planning on getting a job, not really much in the way of job hunting's going on that I've seen because all he does is hide out in the bedroom playing video games and watching Sports Channel. (I like sports, too, but c'mon, man, it'll be there when you come back. And there's always the internet to catch up on what you've missed when you had to work all day.)
When my ex-husband and I were together, we had an agreement: since I wasn't working, it was my job to take care of house stuff - laundry, dishes, etc. - while he worked all day. Normal, right? Well, since D isn't working, and since you're not working, it should be up to you guys to keep up the house. D should keep up with their end of things, messes, etc, and you should keep up with yours.
While I was visiting you this last time, I wondered if you were ever happy anymore. Like, truly happy. You're single and have two beautiful cats. You often joke that you're going to be the crazy cat lady, but you're trying to find a mate. You had a boyfriend back when we were roommates, but y'all split up because of his bullshit. I do feel bad you can't find a mate, but honestly? I can't help but wonder if you're bitching to these guys you're talking to and refusing to acknowledge it's your negativity that's scaring them off. I can't help but wonder that. I mean, here's a bit of irony for you: Remember when I first moved in? Remember how I used to be so bitchy and downhearted? YOU were the one who knocked my head around out of that shit and got me thinking clearer. I've told you this on multiple MULTIPLE occasions. You had told me in the first 20 minutes of my being there that I take life too seriously. Now here you are, doing the same thing that I used to do, but you won't listen to me. It hurts, I won't lie, but I don't know how to help someone who doesn't want the help. I endured that for many years with my ex-fiance', both during our friendship (that fucker put me in the mental hospital twice before we got together, and once after we got together) and after we'd gotten together. I thought I could save him, that's why I stuck around as long as I did. I got my ass burnt for that one. I will NOT go through that again for ANYONE, for ANY REASON. PERIOD.
I don't know why you reach out to me so much. It could be that I'm older than you are, it could be because I've been married twice, and I've got a little bit of wisdom (I guess?) about life. I'm also told (not by you) that I'm a good listener. I've done everything within my power to be there for you as best I can, and not once have you thanked me for being a friend. Not once. NOT ONCE. I've not run from you, but I won't enable you, either. You don't have your Mom to talk to - Lord have mercy, your Mom's a fuckin' drunk, verbally abusive and does not care - and your sister's always doing stuff with her friends, your girl roommate is always working, your guy roommate is a dipshit and thus completely useless, and most of your friends live elsewhere, so you don't really have much in the way of anyone to latch onto when you need someone. You know I'm brutally honest and don't live my life by what others think of me. If you don't like me, don't talk to me, that's my philosophy. I guess I put forth an effort for you that not many people have in the past, and that hurts me to see, it does. You have scores of friends, and I know I'm one of only a few girlfriends you've got locally. I can understand how much that sucks, but YOU'VE GOT TO STOP WITH THE BITCHING. IT'S PUSHING PEOPLE AWAY.
You go to the ER for EVERY ache and pain. I had a friend like that a long time ago, she's since passed on from leukemia, and I worry about you, that you go for the most minor shit. You'll call ME and bitch about it, and I'll tell you if you think it's serious enough to go to the ER. Usually that ends with a text in a few hours of you being in the triage room waiting to be seen. Yet you won't sign up to see a therapist for your depression issues and your loneliness issues. A therapist can better help you, I cannot.
I gave up trying to understand you.
The seldom times I talk to you anymore, I keep VERY brief. I think the last time I called you on my own to just talk was about three weeks ago when I was waiting for my ride to come get me after I'd gone to get my knee looked at. It surprisingly wasn't a bad talk, but it was still guarded on my part because I waited - as I always do - for the part where you start whining about your family or whatever else that's pissing you off.
My ex-husband and I had a long talk with my friend (the one that came and picked me up) the day I came back home. He'd been here that three days babysitting my dog and cat so I could come over and help you out. He'd mentioned that he's sometimes tempted to tell me no, that he can't pet-sit for me, so I can tell you I can't come over. You know what, though, I really wish he would sometimes. You've offered to let me bring my pets over there, but OH, HELL NO. NOT with the way the house looks. NO. Plus you've got two cats now, one of which you got while you were visiting me, so you had him overnight here. He did NOT want ANYTHING to do with my pets, which is fine, he was scared and confused, but I'm NOT going to bring my pets over and confuse him even more. HELL to the no. Not only that, my pets need their shots updated. More to the point, though, not the way the house looks and not the way you talk to my dog. Calling her "dog" and not by her name. THAT shit pisses me smooth the fuck off. I know it's probably trivial to some, but with the shitty beginning my dog had (she was horribly abused) I've made it sort of my personal mission in life to make damn sure she knows how much she's loved, cherished, wanted, and NEEDED. The way she's talked to at your house +smdh+ no. I just can't. You're always griping at her and accusing her of shit she couldn't possibly have done - ie pissing in the hall (the doorway was blocked off, so my dog couldn't have possibly gotten into the hallway, not only that, but dog piss smells nothing like cat piss, and it was cat piss we were smelling), like that one time it was your cat that had done it, but you decided Kitty does no wrong, Doggie does. Just b/c you're not a dog person. FUCK. YOU.
I remember last summer you'd been kicked out of your house for a couple WEEKS so your Grandmother could get the house back in order. You threw a tantrum when you found out your roommate (who wasn't living with you at the time) had a key but you didn't. I can't say I really blame your Grandmother, either, b/c she and your roommate were the only two cleaning your house. They knew YOU wouldn't lift a finger, you'd just sit down and throw a tantrum about what's being boxed up and what isn't. Within days it was trashed again. I say let you live in your own filth and eventually you'll get sick of it and get off your ass and do something about it, but that remains to be seen. You're so used to everyone else doing for you that you don't know how to do for yourself, which is sad. And you want to come over and babysit my pets while I'm in Oregon this summer?! OH, HELL THE FUCK NO. I've already promised that job to my ex-husband and I'm paying him $100 to do it so he has a little money for smokes and what-not. He doesn't have a job right now - the economy sucks balls where we live - so it's helping him out a bit, plus he's great with my pets, they adore him and I know I can trust him to make sure the house is locked up when he's not here and when does go to bed at night and I can trust him to make sure the stove is off when it's not being used and I know I won't come home to a trashed apartment (your irresponsibility caught your kitchen on fire last December and that was an electric stove. I have a gas stove. HELL no.) My ex-husband's at least not lazy when it comes to cleanliness.
I'm at a loss. If I do go over there anymore, after the bullshit stunt that was pulled several months ago when I'd gone to visit - I was guaranteed a ride home at 3p, I didn't get home till almost 10p that night because no one could be arsed to get off their lazy ass and follow through what you claimed they said they would do - I was exhausted and just wanted to go home, take off my winter clothes, pour myself into some sweats and a t-shirt and just veg in front of my telly with my LotR DVDs. NOOOOOO. I had to wait on you to call around to your entire family that had vehicles before FINALLY securing me a ride home, when you'd told me I'd have a ride home by 3p... and the person who'd taken me home was your drunk cunt mother who was already three sheets to the wind. I was so tired at that point, tired and pissed off. I got home safely (surprisingly), and swore after that if I didn't have a ride definitely secured, set in stone, and one back-up as a just-in-case measure, in case the initial ride didn't pan out, I would NOT be going over there again. I won't go over there unless there's a damn good reason, either, and I will NOT be taking my pets, EVER. NO.
You're an over-privileged little prat. I told you the other day - because you'd asked about my hearing - how things went with the Judge last week. You keep asking me how much my payments are going to be (I got approved for disability). HOW is that any of your business, I wonder?! I told you I didn't know yet, and asked you why you wanted to know. You said you were "just wondering." Uhm . . . NO. When I do find out, and if you bring it up again, I'm just going to tell you finally enough to keep myself afloat without having to depend on friends and family for help for once. I know it won't be a shit-ton of money, but I don't have expensive taste in stuff and I know how to keep things simple. I've managed for almost two years to live on $96/month, so I know I can do this.
PAIN. IN. MY. ASS.
You did try to call me. . . the other night, I didn't take your call. You tried calling me yesterday twice back-to-back and then about 15 minutes later. Then, you dare text me with, "You better be sick and dying." FUCK YOU, BITCH! FUCK. YOU. I just don't feel like talking on the phone. I do have a life that doesn't revolve around that piece of technology. The ONLY persons I'm willing to answer the phone for this week . . . You're not on that list. And it's a short ass list.
You texted my e-mail the other night from your phone, "I need you to com e over and finish cleaning my room." Uh . . . whut? No. I did not make that mess, I am not cleaning anymore. Yes, you have bailed me out of stuff, but I have bailed you out of situations, too, and now I'm tired. I just can't do it anymore. Not to mention my knees can't take it. There's nowhere to sit in your room comfortably so I can get shit done, and what's the point of doing anything for you, anyway, because within hours it'll be destroyed again. So, you're on your own. When I saw that e-mail, my reaction was, "Fuck that, puta!" I didn't say a word to you about it, I just put the e-mail away. We were also talking on Facebook chat, you had no idea I was online when you messaged me. We had gotten to talking about random stuff on the telly you were watching and you didn't say anything in that conversation about it, so I let it go. I'm not going to reply to that e-mail, anyway. Just . . . no. Yeah, you put minutes on my phone for the month, but that's because you're paying me for when I came over to clean for you this last time. I appreciate it, and I've thanked you - multiple times - but I was also at your house cleaning YOUR mess for THREE DAYS. It's sufficient enough payment to put up with a sassy four-year-old CONSTANTLY arguing and whining but I had to endure YOUR constantly whining and complaining about your family, your weight, all of it. I'm done. I can't.
There's been loads of people've left your ass over the years. I don't know why you haven't gotten the hint by now that people are sick of your shit. Your attitude just. . . I can't. I can't even get past it anymore. I used to be able to overlook a lot. But now . . .the more I'm exposed to you how negative you are anymore . . . . Next time you start whining about something, I'm going to cheek back with, "Are you EVER happy?!" I'm that tired of it. Venting is one thing, but there's no need to keep repeating just for reaction and attention. I can't stand attention-seekers. Time to stop with the tantrums and grow the fuck up. Put on ya big girl panties and move the fuck on, girl.
You're almost 25. I don't know why you're in such a hurry to settle down with a guy. You broke up with your boyfriend two years ago and you've been looking for a guy since. I used to be like that, too, honey, but if you can't handle being alone, you shouldn't expect others to handle being around you. It took me a LONG while to get comfortable being by myself and with myself enough where I was okay and ready enough to allow someone else to be around me. If I couldn't handle being with myself, how the fuck was I supposed to expect someone else to be comfortable with me, you know what I mean? And what about all those times you've "needed" to go to the ER, we've had to call 9-1-1 for you, and you've jumped in the shower before you made me call the ambulance for you, so you could primp and prime your feathers for the only reason of, "What if I meet a hot guy there?" or "What if the EMS guy is hot?" WTF?! Uhm . . . seriously!? Now you're on POF and you'll meet random guys, give them your #, and can't figure out why after a few texts they don't want to talk to you anymore. So tempting to tell you, "Well, maybe it's your attitude." But I hold my tongue. I've tried being encouraging to you that you'll find someone who's as big into the stuff you are, but GIVE. IT. TIME. You act like you're in your 40s and your biological clock is ticking or something. Good God.
When I was your age, I was pretty insecure myself. I've been in situations, some I couldn't joke my way out of, and some of those situations I brought on myself for the bullshit I was doing, but looking back on it, I admit I had issues back then and I did something about it. I see a bit of myself in you. Only a little bit. The constant negativity, a little bit of the entitlement issues, that sort of thing.
If you bring up me coming over there again, I'm just simply going to tell you I can't b/c I have too much of my own stuff (which isn't technically lying, I do have things to do, though not a lot), and I can't get Eric to come over and help me with watching my pets so my dog has someone to walk her, and I'm not going to just bus it over there b/c it takes too fuckin' long and I'm not having my dog be cooped up in the house b/c I can't get to her in time. I also can't afford for my friend to come over and walk her, she charges $7 a walk, I think is her rate. She's a professional dog-walker/pet-sitter. It'd be insulting to her to ask her to come over and not pay her for her job. Y'know? I pay Eric, too, but I pay him by cooking for him or helping out financially where I can to get him cigs or whatever.
Yeah, boundaries are bein' set. Slowly. You're not too happy about that, I know, but fuck you. I don't care if you like it or not, I need to preserve what little sanity I have left.
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