Fuck You

My brother is one of the bravest people I know.
I got angry today. I got so angry, I completely lost control and attacked the people that care for me the most.
This involved calling my mother an “arrogant bitch”, telling my brother to keep out of it or “I’ll hit you in the face”, and following this threat by grabbing him by the throat and smashing the back of his head into the stairs.
I told him if he followed me, I’d hit him again. Mom tried to calm us down. He leapt between me and mom, determined to not let me hurt mom. He shut himself in my room with me and told me to “put me into hospital, see how you feel then!” to which I responded “Fuck off, I don’t feel.”
And then I grabbed him once more, opened the door, and threw him across the hall and into mom, who crashed backwards into the wall, winding herself and falling to the floor. My dazed, supportive and loving brother then tried to help her up. A pang of shame filled me and I went to help. He tried to push me away.
I responded by swinging one arm into his chest and throwing him into a pillar, from which he then fell and lay crumpled on the floor.
Fortunately, seeing my brother crying on the floor gave mom the strength she needed to get up, pushing me aside. They disappeared upstairs, leaving behind the memory of their scared and bewildered eyes.
I packed a bag and left.
My granddad used to beat my grandmother. To stop him, my dad would provoke him, get in the way, and take the beating himself. Sounds familiar. My granddad at least had the excuse of being a drunk. I just have no control.
And now my brother is as upset with me as I am with my dad. Probably more so. It’s not like my dad ever attacked me. He just stole from me, insulted me, ignored me, criticised me, belittled me. He no longer even knows who I am. He told me today that I am “shy”. It’s like he’s been in prison for the last five years, not the last five months.
Fuck him.
And if I can hold that attitude towards my father, then I can perfectly and utterly understand how my brother feels towards me. I’ll get round to forgiving my father at some point. I hope my brother can someday forgive me.
But, I left. When my mom was freaking out about moving, when I was supposed to be organising all the moving and the packing and getting all those heavy damned things from one household to another, I left with a fucking heavy bag rolling along behind me, and sat down at a bus stop.
I watched the cars drive by, hoping against hope that the bus would arrive soon and that no one I knew would drive by. I ignored my mother when she pulled up. She eventually left.
I’d started to calm down. I’d gone from that angry place to that “what the fuck just happened, lock it behind a door and make jokes” place. Do you know how many weird looks you get when you’re walking through St Heliers in a nice jacket and cool boots, lugging a heavy suitcase behind you? Now add in talking and muttering to yourself and you end up with a bunch of fucking confused rich people.
It was a little while later that I realised I’d forgotten a sleeping bag. And my passport.
I’m such a shallow arsehole, I’d packed my bag full of clothes and forgotten what I’d be sleeping in and how I’d get anywhere. I’ve lived such a pampered, sheltered life, I don’t even know how to run away properly.
In the process of rectifying these discrepancies however, I realised something.
I’d only reached out to one person for help. She was the sort of person who’d spot an attention-seeking text immediately and just ignore it until she had time.
I’d asked her for help via text because I knew she wouldn’t respond. That allowed me to carry on doing whatever I wanted under the belief that no one cared about me and that she was a bad friend.
So I came home and phoned another friend. I told her what had happened and I opened that door I’d locked and I cried until my nose clogged with snot and then I just hiccoughed.
No, I’m not okay, but yes, I will be okay. Right now, I feel stuck in a place where anger is delicious and the thrill of a fight is beaten only by the thrill of driving sideways.
I’m lost, I’m uncertain, I’m lonely and I’m scared and fuck you if you don’t think that’s ok.
‘Cause I’m still here. And that’s all that really matters.

Fighting Minions

I had an argument with a cellphone today.

More accurately, I had an argument with a lady via my cellphone. I’ve tried shouting at my phone before. It doesn’t make much difference.

The lady in question worked for some organization to which I owe money . Having only recently found some semblance of the idea of financial security, I was finally repaying some debts. This was quite a nerve-wracking experience.

As I’ve explained before, money makes me twitchy. I decided to try a new tactic for dealing with it: Acting.

Scene one: The minion answers and takes my details, opening my account.

“Thank you sir, I see you owe -” Ha. Not so fast minion…the best line of defense is attack, so:

“$82 and 68 cents, which I have here in my account and I’d like to pay but first I’d like to talk to you about your actions over the last two weeks.” See, I’m taking control! I’m in charge! Silly minion.

“Sure Sir, but I’d like to say you owe $92.68 when you include the interest.” Excuse me? Liar. That’s not going to work.

“No, I owe $82.68 and you’re charging $10 for sending a letter.” $10. For a fucking letter. I’ll send you nine letters and include a free one if you’re not careful. My words are mightier than yours.

“Yes Gareth, that’s company policy.” What a hideous byword for “not my problem”, minion.

“I don’t care. I’m not paying it. I spoke to you last week and blah blah blah…”

At this point, the acting became pure anger (scene two) and my voice went all whiny and high. I figured this was good. I used a tactic I’m hopeless against and began talking in circles, repeating myself and adding in new and impressive points. It works wonderfully. She became quite flustered.

“Now look Gareth! Let me say this, please stop talking, You’re not listening.” Obviously, when do people in charge ever listen?

“Speak, I shall listen.” The fuck? I swear she snorted when I said that. Less acting, perhaps.

“Uh, you’re saying you can pay the $82 today and I thank you for that, but I’m telling you that your account will still be overdue by $10.” Ha. That’s where you’re wrong! Logic and derision ensue

“Is that all? You’ve said that three times and I definitely heard you the first time. To repeat myself: If that’s the case, then I won’t be paying you. I have saved up this money specifically to pay you rather than some of my other debts, and if you’re going to try take more money off me than I’d rather pay them. I’ve never missed a payment to you, I’ve had a bad few months and I’m sure you can waive the fee.” Hmm…is it too late to appeal to the minion’s nice side? A surprise attack?

“No Sir,  I can’t waive it and your account will still be -” What nice side? there’s no weakness here.

“Then put me on to someone higher.” Right. I can’t beat the minion, so let’s go for the boss: in real life, the bosses are easier to beat than the minions…right?

“Please hold.” Is that the sound of success?

I was very uptight by this point, but oddly excited. This was almost…fun…Scene 3:

“Hello Gareth, my name is [Anna]!” Well fuck. Aren’t you friendly. I guess that means….

“Hello [Anna] I’m Ga…ah, you already know that. Do you have my account details?” I have to be friendly too. It’s unsettling. I’m on the back-foot.

“Yes.” Ok. Uhm. Guess I have to talk now

“Cool, well, this is my situation blah blah blah bla-“ My summary is surprisingly succinct and polite – a careful attack.

“Gareth, I don’t want to waste your time or mine…” Oh fuck. That didn’t go so well. Putmebackontotheminionpleasepleasepleaseple…

“…so I’m going to waive the fee for the letter.” asepleaspleaseplea….what? She….what? Yay!

“Thank you Anna. That is wonderful of you.”

We talk – pleasantries and genuine conversation with someone super friendly. We complain about IT. I ask her to apologize to the minion because I felt bad. I hang up, $82.68 poorer and infinitely happier.

The first step really is the hardest.