Author of the novel WHEN YOU LOSE CONTROL

You purposely kept all that things correspondence. And tried to explain it away. Fucking really?  Do you enjoy how much this hurts me? Do you enjoy how that thing used you and then spit you out? Is that a happy memory for you? Is my crying? I am tired of this thing haunting me. Evil cunt poltergeist.  It will never go away; it's my cross to bear, apparently. 

It is very reasonable to cut people out of your life who are evil, using, selfish, toxic, rude, and inconsiderate. People who do not value your life shouldn't be in your life. How else can one phrase that? What if Sylvia Plath had told Ted the PoS to take a hike at the first sighting of his true colors*? What if I hadn't wasted 34 years (and especially the last 16 of those 34 years) chasing the unicorn that was my parents love, approval, support, etc.? What if we put self-worth first and never accepted poor treatment? What if?  *I know it was very different back then, but maybe if she'd been able to rid herself of him, maybe she would've gotten the help she needed, and maybe she's still be alive. She would've turned 92 on October. What if?

Because of course she is.  I thought, for like five minutes, She was gone for good. She should be gone since she said your life didn't matter. Remember?  She actually said that.  But she's back.  Because of course she is.  The obsession with her, The memory, Mean more than my ache.  Her presence is always here. It's down the hill, Where we eat, And in the living room. Her vile things are my telltale heart  She taints everything.  Everyone close to you fucking hates her. Everyone points out that she's a user. A selfish pile of 'human' garbage.  But here she is! "I just said, 'Hi.'" No, you just invited her back in, But the welcome mat was never gone. Because she's never left.  She's the shadows, the tears.  She's my ghost, my problem.  She's the organs buried not in floor boards but sitting in a box. It drives me crazy. Fucking crazy. Can't you have some self respect? Can't you see how much she hurts me? Do you care? She...

 "I don't know what it is like to not have deep emotions. Even when I feel nothing, I feel it completely." -Sylvia Plath It's the nauseously repeated story of I can't keep up because I'm autistic. It's the shock at the accusal that I care about shit that doesn't matter. It's the putting on a fake smile because not showing my best side at all times leads to fights. Dismissals. It's the probably stupid at this juncture in my life shock (should  all that be hyphenated?) of trying so hard and putting in so much effort that no one appreciates. What did I expect? I put my heart and soul into a job, and it's either ignored or exploited, or I'm told point-blank that it doesn't matter. And people get mad that I feel bad for doing something for naught. Why am I the bad guy here? I love the Twilight Zone, but I didn't want to live in the fucking thing!  It's what feels like a noose, the constant constant of being misunderstood. I expla...

Gaslit at her convenience Because it's her She's everywhere, everyday Her slimy sludge has stuck But why her? And never the others before her? The others were important at a time, no? It's her. Always.  At my inconvenience No amount of begging or tears  Has made the cockroach go I'm dismissed Told it's in my head or not that bad Crushed with utter invalidation  An evil that's said twice it doesn't value your life Twice. Once was bad enough to imagine But I've watched it happen Twice. So I cry and feel like trash Try to rinse Repeat. 

Almost nothing pisses me off more than tardiness. It is so rude. It tells others that you have no respect for their time. It tells others that your time is more valuable than theirs. It is such dickish behavior. And fine, sometimes shit comes up where you're going to be late due to circumstances out of your control. So fucking text, call, email, messenger pigeon, etc the person(s) you're going to be late meeting. That is the least, most basic, politeness 101, thing you can do. Don't be an asshole.