I don’t necessarily care for posting about my “real” life online, but fuck it.
Basically, I’m almost 30, and so I probably don’t need parents all that much anymore. Yet, still I have them.
My dad is a cheating alcoholic and a pathological liar. My mom is straight up out of her fucking mind. Childhood was delightful, full of emotional, psychological and physical abuse, animal cruelty, hours upon hours of tearfully pleading with my mother not to leave, for my father not to kill our dogs, and lets not forget the infamous Girl Scout incident (which we fondly recall) or the shared hallucination about demon alien worms dripping from the ceiling to be absorbed into our feet to poison us from the inside out (which we not only do not talk about, but anyone who dares to remember that this actually happened is a treacherous liar and clearly insane; which makes me wonder – if I’m insane for remembering an event that actually occurred, what the fuck does that make them, the fucking freaks that burned our clothes and covered the house in plastic tarps and made us sleep on a plastic wrapped couch and forced us to endure almost daily lice treatments for an infestation we didn’t have while expecting us to subsist almost entirely on a diet of Hostess and Little Debbie, because battling the supernatural left little time to cook?).
But this isn’t about the bullshit from my childhood (unless you want it to be, because God knows I could go on). This is about some bullshit from 20 minutes ago.
As I stated earlier, my dad is a cheater. Probably he has been since before I was born, but I know for a fact that he had multiple affairs back in 2008 and has presumably continued to have them, and is apparently too stupid and careless to make any real effort to conceal them. Not that his cheating is okay, it absolutely disgusts me, but my mom has gone through some spectacular mental gymnastics to revise reality and up until recently, the letters and texts and phone calls from his jump-offs have been nothing more than a grand conspiracy concocted by a bunch of evil women inexplicably hellbent on ruining a stranger’s marriage. So, in all honestly, I really just can’t bring myself to give the tiniest fraction of a fuck about their drama, since neither of them seem to care all that much either (past a certain point) .
Well, today I got two phone calls. My dad doing his usual (calling me on the phone under the pretense of idle chatter while he really just wants me to hear my mom screaming at him in the background) and then the second he finally hangs up, the phone rings again, and of course, it’s my mom, doing her usual (screaming at me, reading a slew of filthy cards and letters to me that my dad’s various girlfriends have written him, then hanging up on me).
I am so fucking tired of it. 30 fucking years. 30 years of being dragged into the middle of this shit that in no way involves me, of listening to the two of them tell me two entirely different versions of the same event (which I don’t care about to begin with), of being unloaded on without so much as a thank you for listening. Half the time I get caught in the fucking cross hairs myself – I can’t even begin to count the number of times I’ve had my answering machine flooded with hate messages from my mom for no reason other than she can’t get hold of my dad. I got kicked out of the house because I didn’t like my sister’s boyfriend, and then almost got disowned altogether when, having been kicked out, I had the audacity to find an apartment. Like what the fuck was I supposed to even do? Live in a tent in the backyard? She told me to fucking move out, REPEATEDLY, so I did, and then she got mad about that. And then there was the sixth grade incident in which she damn near kicked down my door because she was in such a hurry to tell me that she hated me so thoroughly that she wanted me dead, would in fact kill me herself except I wasn’t worth the jail time – and just in case that wasn’t hateful enough, she promptly turned to my sister, sitting across the room from me watching in stunned silence, and informed her that she was not on the hit list because “I love you”. All this because my dad wasn’t home.
It’s fucking exhausting is all. It’s fucking boring. All this drama, all these theatrics, and nothing is going to change. Nothing ever has. It’s going to be exactly the same as it always has been – they’re going to tell everyone in town (literally everyone, even the fucking cashiers at the hardware store must know of this) all about how they are both the victim, that he’s a cheater and she’s insane and it’s all so sad, so sad, and then suddenly, it will be over. They’ll go right back to being “happily” married and everyone will be expected to forget everything and we’ll all pretend that it isn’t bullshit until the next time.
I just. I can’t. They’re in their 50s. Grow the fuck up already. Get a fucking divorce. Build a fucking time machine, go back 30 years, and don’t even bother to get married. Spare everyone.