Yesterday, after a series of synchronous events that foretold our paths would cross again, we were serendipitously met with the opportunity. You were thrilled to see me; your face looked as if you’d just found the last unicorn on Planet Earth. On my end, seeing you was deeply disturbing. As a result, I woke up this morning at 2:30am in a panic, believing that you were standing at the end of my bed in the darkness. It felt so real, I could not go back to sleep. The best I could do was leave the light on until morning; that's how convinced I was that you were there.
If you are doing that thing you do, cut it out. The phone is a very handy communication tool. Email works, too.
You wanted me to stop and talk. But I stopped caring about what you wanted months ago. The only way I'll let you come anywhere near me is if you apologize—it’s the least I deserve. And the most you'll get. Even then, unless you are no longer connected to your criminally-insane spouse, and she is no longer connected to your family or their property, it's highly unlikely.
However, if you finally stand up for yourself and turn in your resident sociopath, you might gain back some of my respect. Then, perhaps, we can talk.
You were so happy to see me yesterday that it begs the question: Why hurt me when you clearly care? We knew one another for a very long time. Though I'm quite sure you are aware the way you handled things was a mistake, the choice still wasn't an accident. No one can force you to do the things you've done. And after learning more about your world in the last few months, I believe envy was at least part of the overall equation. More importantly, I can prove it:
When I got a new gig in Chicago last year, you didn’t congratulate me. You literally said, “Fuck you.” You were angry because I was going to make more in an hour and a half of opening my mouth than you do in two weeks of heat-stroke-inducing, back-breaking, 12-hour shifts. But I killed myself for decades to get to that level; it was a 24/7 grind. Still is. While all you’ve done for 12 years, outside of what you’re told to do, is sit on your ass and play video games. Or, make YouTube videos of you sitting on your ass and playing video games. Even worse, instead of bettering yourself, you spent time and money you didn’t have chasing phantoms. There’s a reason they’re called phantoms, you know—you can’t see them. And you can’t catch what you can’t see.
But you could have used that time chasing things that can be caught, like a two-year degree as an RN, or x-ray technician, or some other profession where you work smarter, not harder. Where you can have a life, buy a house, pay for a real vacation, get good health care benefits, and start saving for retirement. And, in your spare time, which you would have had more of, you could have kept searching for your invisible friends.
So, you had the time. You even had the money. You just chose to invest both in something that had no possibility of return on your investment. A mistake you continue to make. Too bad you seemed to forget that when your otherwise blue eyes turned green at my small moment of success. I think that was the true moment you decided you’d get as much out of me as you possibly could. I guess I let you, too. But only because I believed in you. Now, the only thing I believe is that you were never the man you pretended to be.
Instead, you're the man who held a winning lottery ticket in his giant hands, but before the numbers could even be announced, you gave it away. Because you find victimhood more valuable than money. Or love. Or a family. Or anything the rest of the world holds dear.
Your life really is nothing but a series of bad choices, isn't it?
By the way, I only believed in you because you lied. That's not exactly evidence of talent, so you can stop congratulating yourself. You might be able to mimic Eminem, but you ain't Eminem....
You don't want to leave the miserable little trailer you’ve been sweating in for most of your adult life—so you try to bring other people down to your level. It’s easier than working hard and raising yourself up to theirs.
The hardest part of seeing you yesterday was recognizing you not as a friend, but as a stranger. Someone I once knew. Someone I once spoke to every day. Until you chose to disappear. It really was a choice, too. One you carefully considered for well over a month while pretending otherwise. Wow.
“I’ll miss you, but it’s going to happen eventually….”
Remember saying that? They’re your words from a voicemail you left me on October 30th. That line caught my ear, even then. Only, I thought you meant something else. Because you were lying to me. Worse, you were lying to yourself.
But you already know that; you’ve been living with the consequences for five months now. Has to be bad, or your face wouldn't have lit up like a Christmas tree when you saw mine. Can you imagine what it will be like for you in five years? Ten??? You’ll be my age, but nothing will have changed. Or very little. Just like the last twelve.
The next time Jupiter swings around the Sun, it will take me with it. That’s in less than 12 years. Consider yourself warned. Until then, Atlanta will remain my home-base. Because you and your pathetic group don’t get to push me out of my life; you all need to spend more time on your own. Your lives are so irreparably damaged, you can’t even have a family Thanksgiving without police involvement.
I’m not too concerned about any of you finding me when I move; you people can’t afford the gas you’d need to drive the 39 miles and back. And, I’ve already furnished my new #ATL pad. New stuff for a totally new life! Nothing in my current home is going with me. That’s something police recommended, as well as having my mail sent to another location—that way, my new address doesn’t show up in any internet searches. Just old information. Neither you, nor your psycho wife, or any other fucked up family members who feel it’s okay to follow me for 25 miles to a gas station in Cartersville and take pictures of me putting gas in my car, can ever find me again. You can try to follow the UHaul when it leaves here with my old things. But better save up! It’s a l-o-n-g drive….
Looks like the only way you’ll be able to find me once I shut down this house is by continuing to read my blog. Or, by cyber-stalking my public social media accounts. But you’re already doing that, aren’t you? What a waste. Even when goodness is delivered right to you, you don’t know what to do with it. I seem to have the opposite problem.
I start a new job here in #ATL this fall. Know what that means? No more public schedule to check so my locks can be picked when I’m not around. Yeah, I know. It's called a camera. About $200 on Amazon. Ironic. The person caught on mine was looking at my pictures. I can see now why you have none.
Unless you pay for a ticket to my 2016 tour like everyone else, you’ll never again be within 100-feet of my person. You've wasted enough of my time. Only a stupid, crazy, desperate, ugly bitch with low-self esteem and no self-respect would let you pull a disappearing act, then welcome you back into her life. You may know a few people like that, but I'm not one of them.
And, stop using things like skull icons to represent you in social media. You're not bad-ass. It's embarrassing. I mean, we both know you're afraid of the dark....