#dad this week dropping he thinks he's a little autistic which is like. well bitch this information could

[chasingfictions]

the fact that almost all of my personality is from my mother except for All of My Mental Illness which is from my father .... that's just showbiz baby!!!!

[kyurilin]

2010-2019 Or The Overly Non Dramatic Story of How Kyuri's Decade Went

Technically this isn't a part of this decade review but I'm posting this on December 24th specifically because 10 years ago today I spoke to @mist-over-water on the phone for the first time after having known her for three years and I'm pretty sure we both cried

2010

met @mist-over-water for the first time in person. Took her to the beach where she promptly got roasted by the sun. Took her to the mountains. Took her out to practice driving in a local high school parking lot because why not. I cried so hard when she had to go home and God help me I'd only known her four years at that point.

Flunked a math class for the first time. Funny enough, it was because I'd been put in the advanced math courses for years and that was the year I both had a teacher I hated and could no longer reasonably fake my way through understanding math. Don't put your kids in advanced courses unless you're certain they can keep up with it people I only really was an advanced reader.

My dog Scruffy passed away :(

Started my senior year of high school

2011

Managed to graduate high school on time despite having to take 2 whole math courses during senior year (and with @mist-over-water 's who will now be referred to as Gabby because simplicity buddies sending me 'GRADUATE' messages so I'd have the motivation to go see her in person)

Got to go to England to see Gabby which, dream come true. Had a blast. Met the two precious nieces she had, her brother who's accent I couldn't understand, her mom who is one of the sweetest people, and her grandparents who I got to watch a lot of old British gameshows with.

Saw Wicked from second row seats in London.

Saw Cars 2 three times with Gabby which is why I'm still emotionally invested in Cars 2 because boy getting to see the sequel movie to the movie that ended up allowing you to cross paths with someone you really clicked with is AN. EXPERIENCE.

Cried when I finally had to leave because I was 18 and terrified of the future and didn't know when or if I'd ever see my friend in person again.

Started at community college in the film and video program

2012

Finished my first year of community college

Wrote my first original novel that will honestly never see the light of day. It's terrible ya'll

Through circumstances I still regret started losing my friendship with Gabby and boy do I hate who I was a person during that time

Started my second year of community college

2013

Worked on the X Factor as a production assistant.

Probably around this time that Gabby and I stopped talking which was better for us at that point. Still took an emotional toll to lose a friend that I'd known for 7 years at that point but in the long run we did need the distance (and I'm sorry to throw it all out here like this Gabby if you want it edited tell me I'm just putting it all out lmao)

Through a cosmic aligning of the universe by which I mean a special interest in both Minecraft and Achievement Hunter at the same time, I found a small Minecraft server that I could play on and met some really great people

Started my third year of community college

Oh yeah met @inspector-starfish from the Minecraft server for the first time in person, me and my brother stole her from her college and took her to the state fair with us.

2014

Started easing into talking to Gabby again (I remember the message with new baby Imogen!!!) Which was a blessing

I can't remember if it was 2014 or 2015 but at some point Gabby also hung out with me on the Minecraft server with my other buddies

Worked on Catfish as a Production Assistant for like 2 days and I still think I was fired lmao

My dad was arrested. Which is... The hardest thing to type out. Because everything before 2014 feels so distant because of the events.

He got put in jail and we bailed him out, but a month later he got arrested again and we couldn't bail him out this time.

God help me I'm so glad I had gotten back to talking to Gabby at this point I vaguely remember a sobbing Skype call between us.

I don't even remember what classes I was in at community college anymore that's how bad it is.

I basically dropped out though.

I stopped writing, I stopped drawing, I stopped... Being. That's really what it narrows down to. Only one of my real life friends knew what happened and I broke down everytime I thought about it so i'm pretty sure at one point I had a panic attack on my way to hang out with Friend A, who knew, and Friend B, who didn't.

I did start talking to @rhysispiecess that year. Through a post on here actually (we were also on the same Minecraft server but because I didn't really play that much that I remember after this whole thing I kinda forgot who he was).

I think (maybe???) I also met @belle-sourires and @youllthinkofsomething that year.

We moved from the house we'd lived in 13 years to a little rental house where we had the sweetest neighbors

2015

I spent a lot of time reading and crying in 2015 lmao

Also spent a lot of time talking to @rhysispiecess (the FNAF AU years God bless them for being a much needed distraction from real life)

Dad went to actual prison and boy that's an experience having to visit him there every week

We moved again this time to a small apartment

Got my first real job that wasn't being a production assistant (the same job I still have!)

Started to make actual attempts at writing again but struggled with it a lot

2016

For the first time since 2014 I actually wrote more than a simple one off story of the course of a month

Saved up my money and went to California to meet @rhysispiecess and @27thousandlizards.

Confused the shit out of Luke's (@27thousandlizards ) grandma

Was so tired I cried when I saw how little Corgi puppies are

Got to see @inspector-starfish and @youllthinkofsomething in San Diego where they were doing a robot thing as usual

Got to see the end bit of Route 66 cause wouldn't you know Rhys lives right near it (and as a huge Cars fan oh my God FATE)

Had an absolute blast with both Rhys and Luke and cried when I had to leave them because boy do I love friends

2017

Cars 3 came out and I transcended to a higher plane of being

Okay not really but I'm sure ya'll remember the days where I was mostly a Cars blog

100% I know I've said this before but all of the Cars movies have hit with specific messages at exactly the point in my life I needed to hear those messages so like. Poetic cinema.

Made some fantastic friends from those days

After 11 years of attempts at writing a redemption arc for a certain Cars character I finally wrote one and IT WAS GREAT

Cars 3 also managed to make me write again which has continued to be a struggle since 2014

Oh yeah became single again I was in a relationship but that ended TIME FOR ALONE (learned I'm still a terrible person who doesn't handle relationships well so hey not bad I'll leave people out of my overly anxious 'they must hate me' mentality)

2018

Fell out of writing again after the Cars 3 hype died down enough lmao

Got to meet @whipplefilter and @the-kings-tail-fin for a road trip around NC which was fantastic

Played way too much Nintendo Switch

Gabby got engaged and I absolutely cried for like an hour because how the fuck do you not cry when someone you've known for so long gets engaged (I'm still so happy for her @onetruejonsey seems like a really wonderful guy)

Oh yeah we moved again we have a real house now but the neighbors are redneck assholes

2019

Thanks to FNAF Help Wanted, I got whiplashed back into that fandom BUT I did start writing pretty regularly again. In fact I've written more this year than all the years since I stopped COMBINED. Which means I was both in the right headspace to actually want to write again as well as being able to keep myself focused on it.

Met Jodie Benson (ARIEL!!!!!!), Daniel Logan (KID BOBA FETT) and Christopher Sabat at GalaxyCon. Right. I went to my first convention despite being terrified of it

I cried like a bitch meeting Jodie Benson and she hugged me. I told Daniel Logan I'd had a crush on him as a kid and that Attack of the Clones was still my favorite Star Wars (which it is I wasn't lying) and he hugged me. Got to hear Sean Schemmel call Christopher Sabat out for being so friendly that his line was ridiculous which was great because boy did I not have enough money to meet more than three people. Christopher Sabat was fantastic too.

Went to DC with my 3 closest IRL buddies I've known since like 2008 and despite some arguments none of us killed each other. Nearly destroyed my feet from all the walking though. Don't know how we'd survive a trip to Japan which they all want to do.

Started formulating my next novel idea

It's been a long decade. Really the first half feels like it happened to another person.

I want to say, more than anything, if it weren't for Gabby I never would have had the courage to meet so many of my other online friends. She flew over here to meet me when I was 17 and she was 15 going on 16. We were so young and my dad and her mom worked so hard to make sure that we could actually meet each other and I'm forever thankful for that. I went across the ocean by myself at 18, an autistic disaster of a human, and somehow I didn't panic or get lost or anything. Without those experiences I never would have had the courage to do a lot of the things I've done since.

I'm still terrified of the future though. I have no idea if I'll even save enough money to go to England to see Gabby again (and God we actually need to talk more because I feel like a terrible friend ALL I DO IS SEND GIRAFFE PHOTOS). I don't even know what I want out of life.

Here's hoping though that I can continue to have some adventures and meet more of my online buddies in the next decade!

[pixel-glow-blog]

Favoritism, emotional abuse, and bitterness.

So this is going to be kind of a long, personal post. But suffice to say, I’m interested if anyone has had a similar experience to mine, or feels sort of the same emotional turmoil that I do? I just really want to know I’m not alone. 

Right now, I’m feeling kind of bitter, and sad, and unhappy. You know, that feeling where your chest tightens up when you see some injustice or unfairness, and there’s nothing you can do, so you just sit there feeling both frustrated and powerless? And it all started with one thing. My parents happily told me that my stepsister, who is 5 years younger than me, just got a letter from Yale inviting her to tour the college because they’re impressed with her SAT records. 

Now I’m sure we all know that twinge of envy when someone much younger than you ends up being more successful, but this goes much deeper than that. You see, she was always the favorite. She was my stepdad’s real daughter, and thus he cared about her more than he did about me. And honestly, that part never bothered me too much. At least, it didn’t for the first few years our parents were together. 

Now, I’m going back to some kind of triggering memories right now, so I’m sorry if my writing seems a little jumbled or disorganized, but I really want to get this out, so I’m going to try anyway. 

The trouble started when I was about 12. That was when my mental illnesses starting showing through, and since I was under a lot of stress, I was acting ‘more autistic’ (even though I was undiagnosed at the time). That was about when the abuse started. Now, I hesitate to call what I went through abuse, because my parents never physically assaulted me. There was no real “evidence”, per se, that anything was wrong. But because of the deep psychological scars it left, I’m going to call it abuse. Basically, from the time I was 12, till I was about 16, I was emotionally abused and neglected by my parents. I almost have the urge to say “Well, other people have it worse, so you can’t claim it was abuse.” That’s what people always told me when I confided in  them, anyway. But I know plenty of other people have been through the same thing, and I wouldn’t ever minimize their suffering, so I won’t do it to mine.

So basically how this all started, was my mom just out of the blue took away my antidepressants, took me out of therapy, and just basically ignored the fact that I had depression for almost a year. I say this is when it started, because I had only just started treatment a few months ago. I had gotten my diagnosis of depression when I was just miserable and numb all the time, I had meltdowns often, and I wanted to die at 11 years old. I’m saying all of this so you understand that after I had no treatment, I went back to being depressed.

Most of the abuse I went through, was specifically related to, or because of, my mental illnesses and my autism. I’m not going to go too into detail about my abuse (that’s for another post, if I ever get around to making it), but I’ll give you the basics: I was yelled at or punished for showing pretty much any signs of autism (having a meltdown, expressing sensory sensitivities, trying to avoid overload, or not getting facial expressions), showing any symptoms of depression (being yelled at or punished for not being able to get out of bed, not being able to do my chores, being slow at understanding things or responding, self harming (the only one that’s really understandable), or expressing that I was unhappy at all. I just want to make it clear that most of the things I was abused for were not things I could control. Now I was a teenager, and there were times that I actually got into trouble for legitimate reasons. But most of the time, I was punished for things I didn’t understand and couldn’t control.

The neglect showed through in other ways. Like most families, we were pretty tight on money, but I call it neglect because I was never considered a priority. For example, being autistic, I can only tolerate certain foods, (and my list of foods I could eat was even shorter back then). About 80% of the time, my parents would go out of their way to NOT bring back anything I could eat. The only way they got food for me, was if I agreed to go grocery shopping with them (which was sensory hell) and basically begged them throughout the store to get at least 1 or 2 things for me. It was bad enough to the point where I would only eat maybe 2 or 3 meals a week, and even then they were usually things that had me gagging or crying because I hated them so much (on the inside of course. I would be punished if I dared to gag or cry in front of people). When I needed things, like clothes or school supplies, I rarely got them. I was stuck in a catch 22 where if I only told my parents about it once, they would often forget I had asked. But if I asked them more than once, I was yelled at for “nagging” them. I remember one instance in particular where I needed clothes for school, because almost everything I owned I had either outgrown or had holes in it. I was told we didn’t have the money for it. LATER THAT SAME WEEK, my dad buys a membership to Farrel’s (you know, that workout place) that costs $300 dollars. I’ll never forget the feeling of absolute betrayal. The knowledge that even after bills, even after food, even after all the necessities, when I specifically put in a request, my actual needs were considered less important than his vanity. He lost 15 pounds. I’ll remember that till the day I die, and I hate it.

Now, to describe how he treated his daughter. She was his princess. I used to (and still do, sometimes) call her “Her Highness”, because that’s how he treated her. If she wanted anything, anything, she got it. She needed 1 pair of shoes? He’d buy her two. She lost her coat he bought her a week ago? He’d buy her another one, just as expensive as the last. He bought her as many school supplies as she could need, every year. I remember 1 year he bought her 3 separate pairs of glasses. Because she kept losing them. If she was coming over that weekend, the house had to be spotless. Instead of eating the cheap food WE were stuck with, we always had either fresh ingredients, or we’d eat out. It got to the point when I could reliably count on eating like a normal person on the weekends she’d come over, because he would never in his wildest dreams think of forcing her to eat the same stuff I did. She got piano lessons, violin lessons, tae kwon do lessons, she went to an expensive summer camp nearly every summer, and she always went. Even if that meant pulling money from what was supposed to go towards our bills, she always got what she wanted. Fancy dresses, new books, all the supplies she could need for her hobbies.

And the emotional treatment was even more of a gap. If I brought home a report card with all A’s and one D, all my parents would do is berate me for the one bad grade, and threaten me that it had better be higher next time. If she brought home a report card with all A’s and one D, she got $20 for every A. I’m not even exaggerating, that LITERALLY happened. I was called basically every name in the book “Lazy, stupid, ungrateful, not trying, condescending, a fucking bitch, crazy, a bad person, faking, a burden, impossible.” When I asked for help with my depression, I was told that it was all in my head, that I was making it seem worse than it was, that I could get over it anytime I wanted. When I talked about things I was struggling with in school, I was told that it was obvious, that I was stupid for not getting it, that I just wasn’t trying hard enough. When I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do in life, I was told “You’ll never be able to do that. We can’t afford to send you to college. Scholarships won’t help you. You won’t be able to make it through.” I was basically told that I was inherently a bad person. That I would never be able to achieve anything because I was bad. And even if I tried my hardest, I would never be able to be any better than I was. And when I did succeed? When I got good grades, when I was able to fight through my depression to do my chores, when I actually did something I felt proud of? Silence. Well, most of the time. Sometimes I got criticized for it not being good enough, “You can do better. You didn’t even try!” Eventually, I pretty much gave up trying to impress them, or earn their love and respect, because I knew it was never going to happen. I gave up a lot of my dreams, because either they didn’t approve, or they convinced me I wouldn’t be any good at it anyway.

Which brings me back to my stepsister. You see, we both had basically the same grades in school, before I dropped out. We were both really smart, we both were the highest in our respective classes. Intellectually, we were both equal. We both had the same potential. But she had more resources than I did. She was encouraged and praised and accepted. She had everything she needed to be at her best, and everything she wanted to keep her happy and focused. She never had to go through the abuse I did, the kind that beats you down every day until you feel like you’re a worthless speck of nothing. She didn’t have two parents who picked apart and exaggerated every flaw or mistake until she felt like she would never be able to do anything. She never had to go to school with the kind of hunger that only comes from not having eaten for several days. She didn’t go to school wearing clothes that had holes in them causing her to get made fun of by all her peers. 

Look, I get that life isn’t an even playing field. I have a developmental disability, and she doesn’t. I have several mental illnesses, and she doesn’t. Our lives would never have been perfectly equal. But much of her success is directly tied to my lack of it. So many of the things she got, she didn’t just get, she got them because they were directly taken away from me. They money that should have gone towards food for me went to violin lessons for her. The money the should have gone to clothes for me, went to expensive clothes (that she didn’t need) for her. The money that could have been used so I could practice my art, which I’ve always wanted to do, went to horseback riding lessons for her.

So much of the success she’s had in life is directly tied to everything I didn’t get. And it hurts. There’s the pain of realizing something’s been taken from you, something you can’t ever get back. There’s the guilt that comes from realizing you should be able to be happy for your little sister’s success, and instead you’re a bitter mess. And there’s the injustice of having it not be your fault. If I had spent my teen years drinking and partying, and I had thrown away my own future, I would be fine. I would write that one off under “oops” and move on. But I can’t. The future I could have had was stolen by parents who didn’t care about me, and basically did everything they could to make me feel like garbage. And there’s the frustration of not being able to talk about it. I can’t tell her I’m not happy for her because my parents screwed me over to make sure she succeeded because then SHE’D be guilty, and I don’t want to put her through that. My parent’s have made a commitment to doing better, and I’d no longer classify them as abusive, but I’m not allowed to bring up anything they did. Anytime I try it’s “Why are you bringing up the past?” “It’s different now.” “Just let it go.” They’re willing to treat me better, as long as I don’t get any closure. 

It’s just not fair. It’s not fair how two people who you trust and rely on can just decide to ruin your mental health, and leave you with psychological scars that will last a lifetime. And then they get to move on while you’re stuck holding the bill. I’m still dealing with the consequences of those 4-5 years, and they get to just pretend they never happened. 

And now I’m the terrible person who hears their little sister got an invitation to Yale, who’s dreams are starting to come true, and can only think “Fuck you.”

[regrettablewritings]

Storytime: Crazyass Theater Mom

In continuing with swapping stories with @xemopeachx, I gotta share this one. I pray to God my sister never finds this because then she’ll know I run this blog because this is an extremely specific sort of story. First, though, lemme set the stage with the “players” (names have been changed):

Rachel: My younger sister, acts in a theater group

Mr. Delfine: The founder of the theater group, here called CMK (City Musical Kids)

Ms. Theresa: Mr. Delfine’s wife, works with CMK and does party planning in her free time

Mr. Mack: Director

Bitch Mom: Bitch mom

Get it? Got it? Good. Let’s begin.

So last summer, Rachel was in CMK’s summer program. Now, CMK was the winner of their age group or something for five years in a row at an international theater competition that happens every year in Atlanta, so they’re the real deal. Their summer performances tend to be plays they did in Atlanta that year because they have the licensing and costumes, might as well get one more go out of them. Last year, their Atlanta show was James and the Giant Peach. Now, we’re gonna put a pin in this because it’ll matter in a way later on.

For now, let’s talk about Bitch Mom. Bitch Mom was, big shocker, a bit of a bitch. Ms. Theresa had apparently met her by doing party-planning for her for BM’s eldest daughter’s 12th birthday and apparently BM ran her ragged. By the end of it, according to my mom, Ms. Theresa mentioned being glad that she had reached the end of it. Well, either Ms. Theresa mentioned CMK around her, or BM searched for theater camps because soon after, BM’s two daughters were signed up for the summer group.

Everyday, Rachel would come home from practice and be on her phone with friends gossiping about the daughters and at first, I thought nothing of it: they’re 12-14 year old kids, they’re going to gossip. But then I heard her talking about the mom. Now, why would tweens and early teens feel the need to talk about somebody’s mom? Well, my own mother filled me in on both:

The daughters, ages 8 and 12, were headache-causers for Mr. Mack and the dance instructor. During practice once, the 12-year-old told the dance instructor specifically that her little sister “needed to be upfront so everyone could see her.” A pretty bold statement. Honestly, a statement that just sounds . . . weird coming from a kid. They apparently did other things, but they all just sounded strange and arrogant even for kids. But when my mom got to explaining BM, it all made sense.

Apparently, BM spared none of her issues: She was always getting into it with the interns, Mr. Mack, Ms. Theresa, and Mr. Delfine. But she especially got at Ms.Theresa. I think because Ms. Theresa was just too nice to really try and bite back hard? Either way, it was awful. According to Rachel, my stepdad, and the CMK parents with whom my mother spoke, these fights occurred often. My mother, however, had not once seen it, and I certainly hadn’t and believed that there had to be some kind of exaggeration going on.

One day, Rachel came home upset and my mom started getting phone calls from the other CMK parents. Apparently, BM got into a screaming match with Mr. Delfine. Usually, parents are allowed to attend rehearsals. They just have to keep quiet and stay out of the way. Sounds simple, right? Wrong! BM was trying to take pictures and film, but kept getting in the way of the dance rehearsal so Mr. Delfine asked her to leave. This somehow transformed into them yelling at each other until he had her go into the hallway and locked her out. According to Rachel, you could still see her trying to look through the door window and film. That evening, all the CMK parents got an email saying that parents were no longer allowed to attend rehearsals for the remaining two weeks of camp.

But apparently her whole family was weird. You had the two snooty daughters, she had a son I believe was autistic but seemed nice, but then you had the dad. I didn’t see BM or her husband until the day of the performance, but my stepdad told me about him and damn was the description spot-on. My stepdad would always be the one to pick Rachel up from camp so he often found himself waiting with the other parents. Now, because this camp is in New Orleans, most of, if not all of the children and their parents are black or mixed. BM’s husband is white. And for some reason, he didn’t seem to talk to anyone . . .

So obviously, this sends the wrong idea to my stepdad. What’s more is that BM’s husband is a doctor, so the suspicion became both a thing of race and a thing of job level. It wasn’t until later, when it was just the husband and BM wasn’t around, that he would actually attempt to talk with the other parents. This, to my stepdad, set off a lot of alarm bells . . .

Friday evening: I’m in the den watching TV with my mom, stepdad is in the kitchen, Rachel is in the living room in her nook, talking with friends. Suddenly, Rachel walks in and says, “BM and Ms. Theresa got into a fight after camp. It got so bad that she cussed -- and she never cusses!” Dang. About an hour or so later, there’s a knock on our door: It’s Rachel’s friend’s dad, asking about a script. Apparently, Mr. Mack, Mr. Delfine, and Ms. Theresa had all had enough and were strongly considering dropping one of BM’s daughters from the play and replacing whichever one with Rachel’s friend. This is already shaky-looking, but also consider the following:

1. Rachel’s friend, while having done James and the Giant Peach in Atlanta, hadn’t been in camp all summer due to engagements in New York and Girl Scout camp

2. It was the night before the fucking performance.

If you’ve ever read The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, the idea of what BM might do if one of her kids was dropped fro the play was like when townsfolk started imagining what the Herdman children would do. Ngl I was expecting that bitch to go on stage, scream, “IT’S NOT FAIR!!”, and fling paint on the kids. Obviously, this did not happen. Neither did the expulsion of either of her daughters. What did happen, however, was far more than I could have predicted . . .

Saturday: the day of the performance.

Rachel was dropped off earlier, and my stepdad, mom, and I arrived later for the matinee. My aunt and uncle from Alabama stopped by as a surprise. BM is also there. My mom and I quickly usher my aunt to the side and start hyping up BM with, “So one of the mothers here is crazy--”

But before we can point out who, my aunt goes, “Is it the one in the white dress? She was starting stuff earlier.” . . . Pardon? The story was that earlier, BM was causing a scene: She was trying to drag one of her daughters off, fussing something like, “We have to go. We have to go! Ms. Theresa has no business having you look like that! She’s stressing you out!” The thing was, she was stressing her daughter out. The poor thing was crying and insisting that she was fine and didn’t want to go home. Yikes, what the hell?

Fast forwarding to after the performance, there was a lot of hindsight to be taken into account because my stepdad was more observant than I. But when we (my mom, stepdad, aunt, uncle, and myself) reconvened at a nearby bar for lunch, we started spilling stuff. During the group photo for the performers, my stepdad noted, the daughters were missing. They were off in the corner getting fussed at by BM. And the thing was, none of us could figure out why: To be fair, her daughters were good! One was an exceptional dancer who’s already in pointe shoes at age 8, and the 12-year-old has potential as a singer. Their acting was okay but, hey, they’re kids, there’s literally nothing that could be done. What I found more disturbing was the fact that after she’d finished fussing, my stepdad said the daughters had been tearing up but went to go join the group photos. In my memory, the girls looked perfectly fine. As if they were used to hiding this sort of stuff.

What was more was that one thing BM had fussed about during the camp’s run was that one of the songs in James is called “Plump & Juicy”, which is when James and the Bugs decide to use Earthworm as bait for catching seagulls and have to hype him up as delicious and appealing. The 8-year-old was cast as the Earthworm and BM had a fit. Not necessarily because that was the role her daughter had been given, but because she feared the song would make her self-conscious because she was already on a diet. I repeat: This tiny, scrawny 8-year-old was on a diet and I swear she was thinner than my 7-year-old sister who not only also did dance, but did tae kwon do, swimming, and cheerleading. Needless to say, BM now just seemed beyond unreasonable.

So my aunt and uncle say their goodbyes and leave, my stepdad, mom, and I head back to the university theater where the second and final performance is. We attend the evening performance and everyone lounges about in the lobby, talking. My mom and I head back stage to help Mr. Mack pack up some stuff and at some point, I head back to the lobby. Now, when I first got there, it was regular noise. But not even an entire minute later, there’s suddenly YELLING.

I look towards the commotion, and there’s BM and Mr. Delfine going at each other with some parents trying to tell BM to back off and how “CMK parents don’t act like this.” I’m hearing things like, “HOW DARE YOU THREATEN A LADY!?” and “DON’T YOU TALK ABOUT MY KIDS!! HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST I’M A BAD MOTHER!!?!” and other things. Eventually, the nearby security guard takes control and ushers BM down the stairs. When I ask somebody wtf happened, I was told that at some point, BM start fussing at one daughter, then she started fussing at the other, and then she started fussing at Mr. Delfine and it just escalated from there.

(Sidenote: If I got close enough to the stairs, I could hear thudding as if she was flinging herself to the floor and a stern voice going, “Stop it. Get up” in that voice a parent uses when their kid decides to throw a tantrum. And no, I highly doubt it was security guard brutality or anything if that’s what you were thinking.) Soon after, a couple of the interns come scrambling upstairs and clamoring, “Guys! Guys, she said she’s pressing charges!!”

Uh . . . wut.

After all has calmed down to a degree, people decide, “Fuckit, let’s get ready to go, that was too much.” I return to my mom and tell her what happened (she’s upset for missing BM in seemingly one last exploit) and we shrug and go help Mr. Mack bring stuff to his car. Rachel and my mom’s friend tag along and when we finish, we walk around the parking lot to the front of the building where we see Mr. Delfine, the security guard, the CMK parents (my stepdad included) . . . and a cop. It was in that moment that I realized I had just walked passed a cop car.

After ten minutes, the group disperses and my stepdad comes over and explains: “So BM was waiting down here and she called the police . . .” She was gone by the time we showed up, but apparently this bitch called the police with allegations of Mr. Delfine threatening her. Which might’ve been shaky enough as is, but was made worse by the fact that there were over a dozen other people around witnessing her tomfoolery.

(Second Sidenote: When I came back to witness her acting up, I didn’t see her kids or husband. According to my stepdad, the moment she started getting loud, he must’ve peaced out. It’s highly likely that he’s so used to her BS that he can feel when she’s about to embarrass the family so he took the kids and ran.)

In the end, BM’s kids weren’t allowed back due to a mix of CMK’s school year program being much more selective and the fact that, you know, she kinda blew it for her kids. Such a pity; they could’ve been nice, skilled kids if not for her . . . BM-ness.

The fucking end.