So I probably haven’t blogged to extensively on it, but for the last few months. I let a friend of a friend stay with me in Atlanta. He’s a gay white guy, fabulous as all get out and (it seemed) just genuinely nice and thankful. I shared my groceries and my home at the the expense of aggravating my roommate, splicing the privacy I had with my boyfriend, running up my electricity bills, constantly messing my house —- all for the sake of helping. For charity. Because I’m bi and have been in love with someone who peope think you shouldn’t love, I understand feeling that kind of alienation. I think it’s something that’s truthfully only so hard because you’re the one actually judging yourself. Yeah others might, but the real battle is between your preconcieved notions of normal and your urge to try to love yourself despite the fact you don’t fit in where and how you think you should. I know how that feels; I’ve felt it, I’ve become it and it’s a lonely and isolating pain that I don’t wish on anyone, because it usualy comes with complicated other feelings, like unrequited love, like the struggle for independence from childhood vs. adulthood. It’s hard and I related. When he packed his bags and said he was coming to say, I told him I’d be waiting. Wrong of me? Maybe. But since my cousin died and my roommate had nothing to say but, “It’s just death, I’ve dealt with plenty of it” and then proceeded for the next week to kick and push and starve my cat, I have been a little less than respectful. Plus, he siad he’d help me move and drive me back to Ohio, saving my parents money and time and saving me some sense of dignity and independence that I didn’t need their help so much.
The two months with my friend of a friend there went a little less than smoothly. He got his car towed, came with me to Texas for 4th of July where he blantantly an drunkly disrespected my mother who was buying him a ticket back to Atlanta, and was drunk literally every night. I didn’t mind the drunkness — I drink my feelings too. But not to this extent. I’m talking on the ground, acting insane drunk. Which was fun for three weeks and then became profoundly alarming when he couldn’t sit and watch a movie with my boyfriend and I without pestering us about going out and drinking.
But when it came time for me to move and I had denied help from my parents (Stupid on my part, I know. But I didn’t want their help. I wanted to save their money. I wanted to be a grown up, for once. I was trying to make up for the fact I dropped out of school on medical leave again, for the fact I cost them so much money and the fact I had been burdening them for 21 years. I tried. I really really did), I lent him money to get his car out of the tow yard. 50 miles outside of the city, it promptly broke down when we stopped for gas. I was nearly broke having put the end of my money in his tank and then having to buy a storage unit when his stuff took up all the space in the car. I saved nothing by letting him stay. But I had a fun month and as irritated as I was, he couldn’t have known his car wouldn’t work. He may have been able to prevent getting it towed anyway (When his meter ran up, he was in the shower screaming along to Hairspray for well over 40 minutes, which he took after my brother reminded him to go pay for the next day). But shit happens. Right?
So when I left my cat with him in my old apartment while he arranged to get home, I never thought he’d let my bitch roommate take her to the pound, and was sure he would never neglect to even let me until over 24 hours later, when I called him to let him know I found someone to foster her and that someone would be there to pick her up the next day. And when I cussed him out for not even bothering to call me, he hung up the phone and wont answer, and is cooped up with someone he was just talking shit about, now talking shit about me. he also refuses to pay me back, which means I don’t have a dime to my name and I’m too ashamed for being so stupid to ask for anything else.
My cat is stuck in the pound and the lady let me know as gently as she could, that if I couldn’t get someone to come get her by the end of tomorrow, their policy is to euthanize her. I’ve been on the verge of, and silently crying, all day. I’m not really hungry. I don’t want to do anything but drink wine, and cry into my pillow for being so fucking stupid.
Seventeen year old Kourtney would never have let this happen to her again; not even 18 and 19 year old Kourtney wasn’t this fucking naive, not so sheltered. After all the times I’ve let myself care about anyone and anything, and how many times I’ve not recieved not even respect back. Those Kourtney’s would have bit their lip, smiled apologetically, pretended to look in their purse and said, “I’m sorry, I can’t!” and then felt bad about it later, when she could sulk and write and re-justify her selfishness in her room.
Now I don’t even have a room. Living off of charity of friend and family, that is actually a sense of grudging obligation. I feel so trapped. And my poor kitty, who’s a melodramatic bitch, a true Cersei, a queen. Who is loud and annoying, but when it’s just me and her is quiet as a mouse and just as loving as Juno or any dog. My poor baby. I never wrote about this but I got her the day I found out my cousin Aris died, and the whole day I sat in my room in disbelief. The magazine I was writing for asked me to do a quick article about 15 minutes after my dad called, and I told the guy in a shocked tone, and while he feigned concern, his utmost concern was whether or not I could finish the article in an hour. I could. I did. Then I sat and stared at my cat, wondering what I should name her. I agreed on Zuri because my roommate wouldn’t stop suggesting it. But she was Cersei to me, and for weeks after she woke me up repetedly at 7 AM because thats when Marcie, her former fed her. And I didn’t want to get up. I kept dreaming of falling, of the sickening crack of a skull on a pavement, of all the great songs my cousin told me I should listen to. I kept trying to make myself feel better that the last thing I told her was I love you, when she tagged me in a random inspirational message about two or three weeks before her death. I remember being so surprised and feeling so loved and warm and remembered. We didn’t talk much. And when we did it wasn’t in depth. How was school? What were you doing this summer? What books had she/I read? Listen to this. Omg, did you see this post on Tumblr?
Nothing significant when you take it for granted but there’s a hole where than inconsistent conversation used to be.
I laid in bed and wouldnt have moved or got up if it wasnt for that loud white bitch cat, and I loved her for it. She snuggled with me. Lick me in the face even though that was about the awkwardest damn feelign ever. She talked to me, even though it constantly sounded like she was cussing me out or whining. And she depended on me. I needed for someone to need me so I would get up. Because I didn’t need myself. School had gone down the shitter. My boyfriend and I argued and we only stayed on teh phone together at night because we both felt shitier when we didn’t, but we didnt feel good from talking to each other either.
But my Cersei was mine, and that bitch should never have taken her away when I told her not to worry about it and that I was going to find a place for her until I came back. If I can’t get that money, that bitch essentially killed my fucking cat and I will never forgive her for it and I’ll never forgive myself for relying on people for anything. I’d rather live in a shelter than be someone’s nuisance, than expect respect and get nothing, and get played like some fool. Again. I’m going to file a criminal complaint, as Cersei was my property and the apartment is still mine, lawfully. That’s theft. And I have all my documentation but I probably wont have the money to do anything about it for a while. But as long as it happens eventually. You can’t preach what a good person you are and how you’re open minded and love animals and love people and are all these good things, when your actions speak otherwise. Karma will catch up with that crooked ass cunt but until then, I’ll let the police deal with it.
So I’m done. I’ve done enough. I keep waiting for good to come back to me and it comes in little increments, after everything goes bad, but it never outweighs the heartbreak of realizing there are no nice people in the world and that people will smile in your face and then fuck you over with no hesitation despite all you’ve done or how much you love them. I can’t understand why and how people like Kyle (Friend of a Friend) or Courtney (Roommate) or the people who have broken my heart and told me they love me and then fuck me over, how any of them can exist on the same planet as my Heiress and Aris, as my grandmother who didn’t have a selfish bone in her body unless it was to help someone. I feel like a lot of what has happened happened because I’m black and I let their white privilege go unchecked for too long. But it’s so much work to check white people who want to be ignorant fucks. I can’t do anything about that.
But my whole being hurts. My head, my throat, my body aches and my soul hurts. I don’t understand, I don’t even want to write, or read or move or speak. I don’t know what to do. I love you, kitty. And I love you, Aris, because you’re alway on my mind no matter what.
I probably won’t write for a while.