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call-me-motte · 7 years ago

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Rant

I need a place to vent.

I haven’t use this site in literal years, so I figured it might be a good place. This will be long and if you don’t give a shit about me or don’t want to read a novel just unfollow me or scroll past. I don’t really care.

Life fucking sucks.

The last few years have been an absolute roller coaster. With a lot of those just-a-little-too-steep declines that make you seriously too aware that you’re moving downhill. They’re the ones that are just ever so slightly too steep to where your stomach flips and you feel like you might die. You know the ones. The last month I’ve been stuck on such a slope. Hell, the last year.

Last November-ish (the dates are honestly all blurred at this point): I was lonely and sought companionship.

Found a girl through work at the time who was nice. We became a “thing” for a month. Very new, honeymoon-period relationship. We shared life, laughs, and our bodies. It was nice. It was fun. The sex was good.

I was distant. As I always find myself to be after a certain amount of time. The last straw was Thanksgiving. I disappeared all day for family and apparently she couldn’t take it. We broke up.

Fast forward a month. Christmas time. The happiest time of the year.

She’s pregnant.

Are you?

“I’m late. Test said yes.”

Can we go to a doctor?

“I’ll go by myself.”

Can you show me proof?

“I was so good for you, I can’t believe you left.”

“I am pregnant.”

I offered to work this out with her. I offered to put aside my entire life to make sure whatever happened, it would be taken care of. The entire time all I heard was how I was so stupid for ruining the relationship. No shred of concern from the woman about the fact that a CHILD might be inside her.

“The doctor said it’s too soon to tell.”

That’s great. We won’t have to give our lives away.

“I lied. I didn’t want you to worry. I really am pregnant.”

What the fuck?

“I’m not pregnant.”

I was destroyed. Absolute ruin.

Everything about my life had been torn apart. I had confided in my oldest brother about this. Asked him for advice. His thoughts, opinions. He was loving, kind, and caring. Gave me genuine advice; walked me through this situation. He had been there before.

It passes over. I move on. I return to my introverted self. I don’t talk to my brother much, similar to how the last 10 years of my life had been. I don’t talk to anyone. He excommunicates me, for “only coming to him when I have problems.” I lost my sanity. My peace of mind. My trust for others. My brother. All over some girl. My life was destroyed.

I will never trust anyone again. There’s no worth in trust anymore.

I spend the next couple of months shut in my room. Only leaving for work. My relationship with my parents degrades. They start to complain (with genuine concern) that I don’t see them much even when I live with them. I just shrug it off.

I dive headfirst into depression.

No amount of friends, games, alcohol, sex, drugs, anything. No amount of anything was able to fix this.

I turn to working out to try and vent frustrations and try and feel better about myself. I have two friends with me on the path to fitness. It helps, I start to feel better. Back to being myself.

2 AM. I’m at the gym. Phone rings. It’s her.

She’s drunk. I step outside of the gym, leaving my friends inside.

“I really need to talk to you. In person.”

I’ll give you 5 minutes. You come to me. FIVE minutes. That’s it. Then we are never speaking again.

She arrives.

We exchange American greetings. You know the ones. “How have you been?”, “What have you been up to?” That bullshit.

“I really was pregnant. I had an abortion.”

I don’t believe you.

“Why?”

You toyed with me. Went back and forth. I heard 6 different answers.

“I was pregnant. I had an abortion. I didn’t tell you because I saw your Snapchat stories and thought you were happy.”

Are you fucking serious? This is something that’s OUR problem. Not yours. I made that clear.

“I was so good for you.”

At this point I lost it. I started hyperventilating. The hardest breaths I’ve ever taken in my 21 short years. I get the urge to hit something. Coming from a family of anger issues, it’s a bad habit. Thank whatever God may be out there my parents taught me how to not aim it at other people. I put a dent in the roof of my car. (Still there to this day, a cruel reminder.)

I tell her to leave.

Never contact me again.

At this point I don’t care what happens. I didn’t trust her. I didn’t believe her. If anything had happened I didn’t care. If I was hit with lawsuits or whatever. It didn’t fucking matter. I was going to end it all.

I attempt suicide.

It didn’t work.

Still not sure if that was a blessing or a curse. I’ll let you know if I ever actually find out the answer to that one.

My parents start to push me out.

I had just landed a better job with FedEx. One that paid enough for me to sustain my own life. They didn’t do it wrong. They made sure I was okay and “nudged” me out. To live in an apartment with my other brother, Evan.

Everything is okay. For a time. We get along decently well; he’s helping me adjust to apartment life. We split everything 50/50 and it’s decent for a while.

A month goes by. I get a Snapchat message from the girl’s little brother. We used to be pretty tight. We worked together as well. He was under 18 at the time and I used to hook him up with cigarettes. He asks me for my phone number. I don’t think about it at all. Dude might just need something or have a question about work. I give it to him.

She’s drunk. She calls.

It starts to escalate. My voice turns into that of a monster. Something I never knew I had inside me. I start to get angry. That voice warps into something hostile. Something pops into mind.

If I ever have a child, it will NOT be with somebody like you.

Not good words to ever say to anyone you’ve ever been with. I don’t care how much you dislike them. It’s not a humane thing to say.

I start crying. She’s crying. We’re having probably a Guinness-record-winning yelling match over the phone. My brother hears me, knows something is wrong, and comes out and forces the phone out of my hands.

I cared about her. So much. It wasn’t easy to deal with this. It didn’t feel good to act how I did.

I’m sitting in the fetal position outside on our patio. Digging my fingernails into my arm. So hard that I draw blood and leave scars. Trying to make the feelings stop. Trying to find a reason to be alive. I can’t escape.

Thank God for Evan. He tells them to never talk to me again. If they do, he’ll call the police. Tells me he’s never seen me this upset before and he was ready to go fight someone if he had to. What a guy.

He hangs up. Throws my phone somewhere I can’t find it for the night.

The next morning.

I wake up to death threats from her little brother. Saying he wants to fight me, and that if I don’t he’ll kill me.

I call my dad. My extremely religious, ex-pastor father. I tell him everything. Out of concern. They know where my parents live. He assures me he’s well armed and that it’s nothing to worry about.

A few months pass by, I land a new job at the same company Evan works for. It pays extraordinarily well for my qualifications. Only bad thing is that there’s an exam. Pass, you work. Fail, you don’t.

My life is comfortable. I can afford anything I want.

I’m still just as alone as ever. But as I was told multiple times: I have no right to be upset or sad about anything. I have money and comfort.

What could go wrong?

I get comfortable with the job. I study hard. Everything is looking good.

I fail the exam.

No amount of studying could have prepared me for that test. I could not pass it.

So I leave the exam center and head back to the office. Hopeful that with my high metrics scores and positive attitude that they’ll find a position for me somewhere in the company. Windows rolled down, smile on my face, music blasting. It will all be okay. It will be okay.

A mile from the building. My car starts to stutter.

Oh it’s probably nothing. Just a weird, one-off thing.

Nope. Radiator literally explodes. Smoke starts to emerge from under the hood. A lot of smoke. Like I threw five steaks onto a pan with the burner turned a bit too high. Enough to worry even a fire department. The car shuts off. I pull over. I start losing my mind.

I’m crying. On the side of the road next to my busted car. In freezing weather with no jacket. I call my dad.

Dad, what do I do?

Find out about the job. The car doesn’t matter.

I wish it was that simple.

I manage to get the car running well enough to pull it into the office lot. I park and walk inside. Security guy gives me the same friendly greeting as he has for the last two months. It really will be okay.

I take the elevator to the 6th floor. My supervisor sees me walking in. He smiles at me, and catches up with me as I walk towards his desk. I show him my score. His face goes blank. He walks me to the copying machine and makes a copy of the scoring paperwork.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you. I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

I step outside. Light up a cigarette. I’m still smiling.

I sit down on the pavement at the smoking area. I text all my close friends.

Hahaha, hey guys, I got fired.

Then I remember: I don’t have a car anymore.

I call a couple of people. Nobody answers. So next on my list is my friend Katie. We have kind of a weird past but she’s still one of the few people I have left that I can trust.

She answers, “Hello?”

I start to talk.

Hey Katie, can you give me a ri-

It all kind of dawned on me.

I’m alone. I have no job. No car. I won’t be able to afford rent next month. My life is over. I can’t go back to my parents. No, I won’t go back to my parents.

I break down. Tell her the story. She has to work in an hour but she can make time to take me to my apartment. Thank God.

That brings me to now. I went a little over a month without a job. I have rent covered to the end of this month, February. I accepted a job offer that doesn’t start until the 25th. My car is repaired, but I owe my dad over eight-hundred dollars. My credit card bills are due. My bank account is empty.

I’m just as alone as I’ve ever been.

I started hanging out with an old friend the last few weeks. We hit it off really well. But my stupid head decided to catch feelings. I told her. She politely declined and we agreed to keep our relationship as that of friends. It was fine.

Then I got drunk and sent a text that I regret ever conceiving. I haven’t heard from her since.

I lock myself in my room in this cramped apartment. I act like I’m happy and alive to the people I interact with. But I really just want to die. The hardest part of my life is just now starting. I have a feeling it’s going to be worse than anything else that I’ve ever dealt with. I still think of ending it all on a daily basis. I’ve compiled a list of different ways to do it. Ranked them by effectiveness and level of impact. I genuinely think it might be detailed enough for me to be locked up in some ward somewhere. But I know that I’m too much of a wimp to ever do anything. So whatever. If I disappear one day, don’t be surprised. That’s where I’ll leave this.

To any of you I know still follow me, if you use this site:

I hope you’re doing well!

This was all over the place and misses a lot of details that should probably be in there but it’s almost 6:30 in the morning. I can’t be arsed to go back through and add anymore. If you read this, thanks for your patience. I know it’s probably cringe-y and stupid to read. I just had to get it out somehow.

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