I sit motionless in this room. My stomach is killing me. I just saw a documentary about Albert Fish (a famous serial killer) last night and it talked about him inserting pins into his abdomen to punish himself. I am wondering if during my sleep I did the same thing or during some drunken episode I decided I needed to do something and hurt myself like that because this pain is terrible. I have always been afraid of living alone. This is why: No one to tell me no; no one to watch me and stop me when I start going insane. At least I mapped this one out right and I am in a building full of people who will check on me and if I perhaps die or make a loud noise, they will inquire about it. Although the last time I had my ex boyfriend over, the first night I was here, he fell into the bathtub and made a REALLY LOUD THUD and they did nothing. I think because they know about him. He later blamed me for pushing him into the bathtub which is a ridiculous accusation, considering he is three times the size of me, but that is how things seem to go in my life. I thought the other day might have been the worst day ever. That was followed by a week of days I might have thought were the worst days ever until the subsequent day happened, and I decided life could not possibly get any worse, and it did. And then I got out of that house, and moved here.
I'll not go into the chain of worst days ever, I will only talk about the final one, where I managed to get 20 cops up to my apartment in the ghetto. Trust me, if you are white and in the ghetto in the city where I live, it is almost IMPOSSIBLE to get a cop or two unless a person of color is the perpetrator. This is just the truth. I'm not trying to make any political statement. I try to stay away from political statements like the plague. But in this case, I’m just speaking the truth.
We were trying to move. I really hate writing about boyfriends or ex boyfriends or that entire label so I will just refer to him as X from now on. Shithead fuckfaceroadkillbuttholetardfatuglystupidcaveman might be more apropos, but it's too long, and I can't keep typing that. X was moving his crap into another house that he was allowed to stay out but was lying to me and telling me that he had no place to go so I would have to put him up. This whole time he was hanging out with his doll-faced, could-be-his-son, 19 year old boyfriend who I caught him photographing the week before. That whole thing continues to baffle me, but his lil’ boyfriend was helping move my stuff, so I didn't object.
After everything was moved into our separate abodes, we decide to stay at our old place until the next morning, when the lard-ass landlord (slum lord?) was going to come to collect the keys. Then we got a call from the fat, disgusting fucker. He told us three people in the building had been robbed, and he was blaming us for it and was going to sue us for everything. It turns out it was X's younger nineteen year old boyfriend's other boyfriend who had robbed and pillaged the neighbor's, and I think the only reason we haven't gotten sued yet is because the landlord is probably an illegal immigration and doesn’t want to appear in court.
I was, of course, not surprised by any of this. I couldn’t be. Before we moved into that place a very white and very old dickhole, shitbag landlord called my job and told them that my place was a mess and tried to get me fired. I got laid off. The layoff was due to a funding cut not the landlord's phone call, but they were eerily close together. So the robbery did not phase me much. I really can't be phased after the last move out. Although this one gets dangerously close to being as bad considering I almost got my freedom (hah "freedom") taken away. I actually wish they would have carted me away to the looney ward in the hospital for what I did that night, but this is what happened.
After the call from the landlord and X's new homosexual lifestyle and stupidity, and the fact that he went blind to everything else because some young, nubile, Mexican nino was carrying boxes for him and letting X photograph him, I got angry. I was very angry that now we might potentially get sued after he was responsible for letting those thieves in the building in the first place. They had already taken about $700 of my own cash. They also took his last dollar and bag of weed, but he still kept inviting them over. He then wanted to invite ANOTHER retard of a friend over, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I said no fucking way. No more of these "friends" are coming here as long as I live here (which was about seven more hours) and he could not honor that.
Now I am a small lady – dainty and petite. But X could bring out an insane, Incredible-Hulk-like rage. I'm an angry person I will admit, but he had the ability to push me way beyond angry. Going over the events of the last week, I was already way past over the edge, and he should have known not to fuck with me. I said no to the friend coming over, and of course there was a huge argument. The argument somehow made its way into the middle bedroom, where we almost never went. He simply would not listen to me and I got very frustrated and just went to the window and kicked it. I was not expecting anything to happen. I was just trying to release some frustration. I have never even been able to punch a hole in the wall or even break a beer bottle. Besides being small, I'm very weak. So It must have been adrenaline – the same kind that allows mothers to lift trucks off their road-kill babies – that helped me shatter the fuck out of the window.
It was amazing. Especially because neither of us were expecting it. The thing fucking exploded all over and glass flew out onto the street and into the room. My leg had shards of glass in it because I was only wearing shorts at the time and I had a bare leg, which made it all the more tough, and it was bleeding everywhere. It freaked the fuck out of X, who suddenly stopped being angry and had this look of terror. It was one of the most therapeutic things I have ever done. Comparable maybe to when some guy paid me $20 to spit in his face for ten minutes. No wait, this was even better. I loved the fact that my leg was covered in blood. I loved the fact that every ten seconds another huge piece of glass would fall down to the street and crash on the ground and potentially gash someone's head open. I was obviously psychotic with rage, and, after dealing with all the shit that had went on in that apartment, it was a really good feeling.
The feeling didn’t last long. I sobered out of my euphoria pretty quickly when, after a couple minutes had passed, X went over to the broken window and said, "Great Meg, now you've done it. There are 20 cops outside".
My first thought was, of course, “Oh shit!” Then it was, “There can't be 20 cops. Not for little me. Not for my petite white ass. I’m in the fucking ghetto!” Then I looked at my bloody leg and heard another large piece of glass crash to the ground below and went and looked down and saw about 20 cops, some plainclothes, some in full uniform, looking up at the window, dumbfounded.
Surprisingly, I have a clean record. I have never been arrested and it is mostly because I have this amazing ability to remain completely calm while in the presence of police. I am always clam and very polite. As soon as I saw them, the psycho in me switched off I went down and opened the door before they even had a chance to knock on it. They looked at me, with my bloody leg, and I spoke before any of them asked a single question. I said, "Yes, this is my apartment come on up." They all came up and separated me and X (which, from watching Cops I notice is the M.O. for domestic situations). I suppose it was to see if both our stories lined up. When they came in, they were immediately very nice to me and asked me if I was alright and if my leg was alright, and then half of them grabbed X and jostled him out into the hallway. I immediately told them that I had kicked out the window.
It was then that I could have done anything to X if I wanted to. I could tell they wanted to put him in jail so badly. All it would have taken would have been one little lie, and it wouldn't have even been a lie. We had physical fights before. This particular one did not escalate to a physical level, but if I wanted to say it did, they would have carted him away in a second. I couldn't figure it out. They kept asking me if he hit me and they would not believe that I kicked the window out, even though I had the blood all over my leg. They all thought I was covering for him. It was amazing. They were so nice to me. I have never had such an experience with the police. Every encounter since I have been 15 has involved sexual harassment, searches, seizures, handcuffs, threats, even having guns drawn. And this was mostly when I did nothing.
This time I had done something. I kicked out a window and could have possibly injured people on the street due to the fact that it was a busy street and the window was still falling apart. I remember at one point I apologized to an officer for the disturbance and he told me, "Oh, you don't have to be sorry". I was fucking AMAZED. I don't know who, why, or where this nice treatment was coming from, but it just didn't feel right. I kept thinking that at any minute I'd have the cuffs slapped on me, they'd plant 40 kilos of cocaine in my crotch, and I'd be jailed for life. All the while, I kept looking over at X, and he was getting the harsh treatment. I was still angry at him so I thought it was extremely funny.
In the end, they made X leave the apartment, and I got to stay there. Even though I did the "bad thing" that made them arrive, he had to leave. It was great. Then as they left I was trying to maybe take some of the larger pieces of glass that might possibly fall down and injure someone off of the window and they shined their light up at me and said "Maam, please don't do anything with the glass, we don't want you to hurt yourself". They really were so sweet. It was fine that glass was falling out the window and crashing down to the ground below and perhaps would crash into someone's head if they weren't careful, but they did not want me with my delicate lady hands handling the glass.
It was great. For the first time in weeks, I was truly happy. I felt like I had a huge rock removed from my back or an aching tooth pulled. Everything was wonderful, and I saw that my life was finally taking a turn for the better.
X ended up coming back and we spent the remainder of our last night in that hellhole sleeping, then we got up super early, left the keys and got the fuck out. All of my stuff was in MY new apartment. Yes, I have my OWN apartment. NO SHITBAGS ALLOWED. If I can help it. The landlord called X right after we left, and he was threatening to sue about the window as well. But I figured it was all in the past, and no one has heard from him since.
Yes, everything is finally looking up for CJ’s Lil’ Princess. X is staying in his own paradise with his new boyfriends and Playstation 3, and all the beer and weed he could ever want. And I have a beautiful little apartment in the heart of the absolute worst part of my city and share a house with Canadians and pitbulls. Things couldn't be better!!! For the first time I have a landlord who likes me. Sure I can't afford this financially, but I'll worry about that later.
As an appendix of sorts to this story, I did make the mistake – just once – of letting X come to my new apartment. During that night he managed to get extremely drunk, fall into the bathtub (as I already mentioned), get really scared that he was "trapped" inside at night, so I let him out and he got caught by the cops, and then I had to physically remove him the following morning. I realized by this it may not be my fault that all these crazy things happen to me, rather the faults of everyone who tends to parasite onto me and claims that I "bring them down". This keeps proving to be more and more true as I spend days alone and shit does not get broken, stolen, raped, hurt, etc.
I will never forget this past exodus from my old apartment. It was another crazy one. I am thinking that something positive came out of the whole thing though, besides making that jagoff landlord angry, getting to watch police badger X, and have some really tough wounds on my leg. It was all very therapeutic… kind of like going to a nice spa. Only if that spa were conveniently in one of the circles of hell…
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