What a crazy month. While people around me were going in and out of psyche wards and the last illusions I had as to the true character of certain family members were being smashed to pieces, I had to be the One With Courage once again. It has truly been a fascinating month. I am free at last. Thank God Almighty, Free at Last...
I would like to dedicate this post to Finnegan b/c reading the hilarious lies hidden beneath the fluttery words of his blythely defamatory lj post, I realized, DOOSH! I never really knew this guy. Everything he writes is a lie! He's a good writer;) Clever. He skillfully plays out his plot. My only critique is that he is missing a through-line or a genuinely new idea, a bloody !theme! to his writing. And that is because his soul is a mess.
Well, my mind is a mess right now, even with the wonderful decompression. Honestly, I wished many times this month that someone would just pack me up and put me in a psyche ward (or an isolated farm). Everyone else seems to think it's ok to play tricks with your mind with their drugs and petty-thoughts. Yes. Just petty-thoughts. I don't care how sober you claim to be, Tommy! (and we can only take them at their word). It's your petty, delusional, obsessive, self-aggrandizing and ultimately self-destructive thoughts that are your worst addiction. There they are.. these people... swimming in the shadowy part of the Lake of Life, waiting for their prey. Once they become demented by their minds and their chemicals, these carnivores are never the same. They are beastly animals.
Wow. Whoa. Woo. That felt good. Oh and my tits are flying in the breeze in the safe and solitary confines of my little home, the casa de Maux, with the jingling wind chimes and the two wonderful cats and the smell of home and cooked food and me, Maux. The sun just moved away, so I actually closed the curtains for modesty.
I will probably forget to close the curtains soon enough. I'll be sitting on a towel instead of pajama pants but I am still decompressing. I suppose I am only an exhibitionist because I could care less if someone sees me naked. I don't actively encourage the peekers. If you don't like me naked, then don't look!
In June the drama began. My friend, running away from ghosts, decided to live at my house because I had opened my doors to other visitors (aka, Finnegan), was expecting MORE! visitors and it all happened so fast. I was inundated and I freaked. We simply could not live together in Maux Casa. He was out in a day. My mind began exploding the second it became real. Like, "this is gonna happen, for realz." OMG. ...and what about the promise I had made.... to Finnegan!... ...the guilt, the fear, the "god, i'm sorry"'s all around. A total mind meltdown on the 1st of June.
And that was just the start. But it's good to reflect on how I managed that situation in comparison with today. I am still devastated by having a mental meltdown with a dear friend. I realize now that "going with God's will" means you should fucking listen every once in a while. I knew it all along... bad idea.... bad idea! Ka-boom and I renege on a friend. I made quick work of it but it is still painful to think about. So, I'll stop. Because at least I know I love someone.
...so there I was taking back a verbal promise made to a known and trusted true friend in deference to the twisted words and manipulative bullshit coming my way from a man named Finnegan. On June 12th, my nightmare begins.
Christmas lights. Lovely eyewear to bed.
Night Terrors.
Total sleep disturbance. I try to stay on a schedule in life.
Right. no schedule. no work done. nothing. imprisoned in my own house.
Talking in his sleep.
The fucking headphones on constantly creating a fucking sick, twisted version of the noises in Finnegan's own head. Yes. He hears noises. I don't. I don't like tinny noise either. TYVM.
He came here with a cold, complained about the floor and I had to give him vitamins and make him food and the list goes on. And on. I was basically his mommy for the month.
I never noticed his insanity the last time he stayed here (for free, TYVM) with his boyfriend (TYVM!), Bartje. I saw him freak out quite a few times but I thought they were lovers' quarrels. Bartje was there to care for him and I often ignored them when I thought they were fighting, especially since they'd be talking in Dutch. ha! This time, I was the babysittter. Poor Bartje. What a darling man, that Bartje from Amsterdam. So unlike the crazed bullshit artist, Finnegan, the Crap Racist Poet from New York who can't find his way to Times Square. Ok. He is slightly brain damaged. Whatever. I never signed up for this.
I got his fucking SS card from his "foster-mother"/cousin, Cynthia, in Brooklyn. (She did warn me.)
I took him to Social Security. Twice.
I took him to the shrink. Twice.
I fucking held his hand like his was a 10 year-old boy.
He has the average maturity level of a ten year-old. He's sneaky and greedy and "give-it-to-me, now!", like a ten year old. Then again, even a ten year old can sleep with the lights off. There's no monsters under the bed, sweetie.
In blatent ignorance, considering the warnings given to me by his "foster-mother", he shorted me on funds once again. And had a plan which included no intention of paying me back. He is a snake.
You may ask or I may ask myself, "Since he didn't pay me (or seriously shorted me) last January, why would I let the guy near my studio again?" Good question. I put up both he AND his boyfriend, Bartje, in January and received no real compensation. He would owe me thirty dollars and then go on some shopping adventure, come back with a gift and then say that I paid for it! And, yes. I only asked for fucking 30 dollars a week for two boarders in January. I had just been through a tumultuous experience with one supposedly-paying visitor and wanted little to do with more filthy money. I had saved some money anyway and just needed a month to recuperate from modeling. Those two were such a distraction that I still didn't notice how physically ill I had become. (I just saw a picture of me from January. I look like a balloon.) Bartje and Finnegan are both great company. Together. Bartje is a real man. A fine honest man. Finnegan hid behind him last January.
I wouldn't wish anyone the horrible fate of being Finnegan's babysitter. I am bloody exhausted. Even the cats are wiped out.
I very slowly got to know WTF I was dealing with. Umm. Why can't he sleep in the dark or go out in public, his fear that everyone is staring at him when he dresses like a character from a horror film? What is the "fancy dress" all about? Mystery wrapped in a whole novel of bullshit is what it is. It's called playing the Helpless Game. And Finnegan is a master. Suffice it to say that I soon realized I was NOT going to New Mexico as planned. Even if my mother had not reneged on her promise of a plane ticket, there was no way I could leave this man alone in my house. And the terror mounted. As soon as I was able to voice my opinion of his mental illness and tabulate it with all the supposed symptoms, nothing seemed to add up. Hearing noises does not explain why he can't give me the money he promised me; some of the the money, fer Christ's sake, that I helped him get! Unlike January, I had extracted a monetary pledge and he refused it to me. He's a piggish snake.
He may hear noises, but the frail little boy act that he plays is simply that. An act. The play is now over.
I had to throw him out in the exact same manner as I did the kids last summer. I suppose I was a cowboy in my past life and my sidearm is my mouth. I held my ground. "Leave now!" I shouted only once or twice but to such a pitch that my voice is now hoarse. And he left. And I feel fine. I did not lose my mind like I did with my dear friend or my brother. I was not confused. My rage was as clear as daylight. I did not remotely "lose it." I see now that I can get angry and not have my mind muddled. Rage as a weapon of choice, a fearless choice. And there's the silver lining.
To round off the cowboy act, I refused him his shit this morning after reading his obscene (but funny!) post about me. I also checked his bank balance for grins. I told him more than once that I refused to be his banker, but curiosity struck me this morning and I checked. Indeed, his account was near empty. Hum. What could he have done with the money that he too ashamed to tell me about? He was completely silent yesterday. I asked him over and over again. No answer. It's hard to judge a lie when nothing is being said and he knows that I have an inner lie-detector - built in. I just wanted the fucking truth about the money, even if he spent on drugs. OMG. I just realized that Ketamine can't cost that much and he rarely went out, so the money was sitting in his pocket the whole time. Wow. He's good!
After his new boy-slave buzzed my apartment this morning, I came downstairs to meet him and his new boy-slave (very nice and sweet as they all are!). I told Finn to get out of the apartment building. My super was there. I didn't need a scene. And to go get my money. Finnegan called the sheriff. I was gonna wait there but then he started screaming obscenities. I winked at my super (no scene!) - so I retreated to my apartment. I later found out that he had stayed two days over the 30 limit and he had a legal right to his stuff anyway. I told you he was clever!
The lawman don't bother me, though. I went up to my little studio, thought about the wagon-circle that was going on and decided to put his bags in the hallway. I went back downstairs and told Finn's new boy-slave to collect them. Finnegan had been asked to leave the building by my super, so he was outside. A minute later, the coppers arrived. One cop and I had a good laugh when he was gonna tell Finnegan that his boyfriend was already collecting his stuff. I shushed the cop, saying, "Shhh... Don't say anything yet. Let him fucking stew for a little while longer." The cop laughed. I blushed for saying the F-Word to a cop. And Finnegan continued to stew. Boy! Was he confused when he came inside and saw his new boy-slave dutifully dragging his bags out of the elevator?!? You should have seen the look on his face. Shame.
You deleted my reply to your post, Finnegan! Coward. I already got words of condolences from strangers, you king of self-righteous bigotry!