by rheeb

I’ve finally decided to take the time to write this post.  Why the introduction?  Well, so much has changed in the past twelve days that I could write a book.

On May 31st, “Tea,” SuckaMC’s best friend, moved out of our house.  He’d been living here for about six months, because his anti-gay mother threw him out.  But that’s another story.  Then, of course, on June 1st, I turned 27.  But THEN, June 2nd….

Let me start a new paragraph.

My mother, “Cod,” had been going nuts lately.  I mean, full blown depression.  She’d come home and go straight to bed.  She was touchy.  It was getting to the point where something had to happen, and by something, “Nark” had to go.  Earlier in the week, he accused her of cheating on him, telling her that he hopes that her new boyfriend will be wonderful for her (just in a more assholey kinda way).  The false accusation was wearing on her.  Sucka and I discussed this matter and realized that he, by his accusation, was calling her a slut and a whore.  His own wife.  And for no good reason.  Sucka mentioned that “slut/whore” phrase to Cod when she got home, and it gave her the juice she needed to actually, finally, make a move.  So, she went to their room, packed all of his shit, and waited for him to come home.  My heart was racing.  A few hours later, he walked in.  Cod was upstairs.  Sucka and I said “hi” to him and carried on with what we were doing–nevermind that my asshole was clinching by the second from sheer fear.  Nark went upstairs, and all I heard was Cod screaming, “You’re a monster!  Get out of my house!”

I was playing Mario Kart.

Nark came storming down the stairs.  As I stared at the TV, he said, “She told me to leave.”  I said nothing–just looked at him.  He said, “Why are you looking at me like that?!”  I said, “I’m not looking at you like anything.”  Ugh…  Anyways, so, I don’t know how, because, again, I was immersed (or trying my damnedest to be immersed) in Mario Kart, but Nark went back upstairs.  They screamed at each other again.  Then, I heard him kick his bags down the steps, literally, each heavy bag falling loudly on each wooden step.  What an ass.  Then he sat down in the room with me.  That, for me, is a oh hello no moment, because, as has always occurred in my life, if he and Cod have any semblance of a dispute, he makes certain to bring me into it.  Thankfully, Sucka came back into the room right when he did, so I turned off the system and went upstairs.

I had to pee, so I went into their room (the other bathroom is being renovated).  As I was about to leave, Cod asked me to stay and sit with her.  As I did, I heard Sucka and Nark talking very low.  I got up and went to the bedroom door to listen further, and Sucka was saying, “You are a bad father and a bad husband…”  Cod said, “Rheeb, go down there and get her, please.”  So, with that intention, I went back downstairs to retrieve her.  But then, I found myself sitting on the couch and getting into the conversation–or rather, hijacking it.  I allowed Nark to say all the usual bullshit that he says, but then I told him everything…and by everything, I mean EVERY THING that I have never ever said to that horrible evil piece of flesh.  While I don’t remember every detail, the main point I said was, “I am so afraid of you.”  And it is true.  I have been terrified of him since I was about seven years old (reasons of which you can read thoroughly here).  And I told him that.  It was crazy because I had no intention of yelling (or talking), but then I found myself screaming beyond my control.  It was insane.  So, about ten minutes in, Cod comes downstairs and says, “This needs to stop” to all of us.  Prior to her arrival, I’d already declared that I wouldn’t entertain the conversation longer than an additional five minutes (because the last time Nark and I “had a conversation” it went on for hours and hours.  He loves circular talk, like any true narcissist).  So, I finished what I had to say, and I left.  Nark declared that he wasn’t leaving the house.

This whole situation had me torn to shreds.  I don’t do well in heightened atmospheres, although I’ve been in them for the majority of my life.  But you know, I’m an adult, and I own a car, so I decided to leave the fucking house.  I went to my room, got dressed, and headed downstairs.  By this point, Nark was in their bedroom.  Sucka was still downstairs.  I went to Sucka and told her that I was leaving.  She broke down in tears saying, “I just don’t want him to kill himself because of something I said!”  UGH!  Can you believe she was even thinking that way?  It was so sad.  Fucking narcissists!  I comforted her for a bit, and then I left.  Tears streamed down my face as I drove up the highway.  My life, I thought, was insane.  I made it to the next town when I got a phone call from Sucka.  She said, “He’s gone.”  I said, “Gone, gone?”  She said, “Yeah.”  I said, “Gone, gone, like, all his stuff is gone, gone?”  And she said, “Yes, that gone.”  So, I sat in the Food Lion parking lot, cried a bit more, and headed back home.  God, how I wished Butch Pam still worked there!  On my way back, the oddest thing happened.  I felt so guilty about being honest with him.  I just felt like the worst daughter in the world.  The guilt was about to consume me.  When I got back to town, I was at the light and thought, “Fuck, I could just go through this light and end up on the interstate.”  And I really thought about it in that moment.  Regardless if he was still there or not, I didn’t want to deal with any of it.  But instead, I made the turn, crying all the way home.

Cod and Sucka were sitting together in the family room.  Nark was really gone.  Sucka, then revealed the extreme guilt that she felt–same as mine.   And that is when the paradigm shift commenced.

The next day, the remodel crew came and demolished what was left of the hallway bathroom.  A day or two later, Nark called Cod to ask her how he could send me the money for my health insurance.  I was so upset about that, because, he, as a narcissist, was only using that as a way to get back into our lives.  So, Sucka, against anyone’s knowledge, called his phone.  She left a message telling him to leave us alone–that we don’t want his manipulative money.  I felt so guilty when I heard the message (she recorded it and played it back for me), but then I thought, Fuck, he can’t be upset about that.  The horrible things he’s said to us?  

Let’s fast forward to Sunday, June 8th.  I was talking a walk around the neighborhood when Cod drove up, coming home from church.  She said, “Rheeb, Nark called and told me that he will be picking up his Mustang today.”  Panic swept through me.  Oh Lord, I thought, I’ll have to see him.  I was so anxious that I started running to get the adrenalin out of my system.  I began praying, too, so that I wouldn’t fear seeing him.  So, I took a few more laps around the block and then, across the street from our house, I saw a cat.  Now, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this on the blog, but I LOVE CATS.  Love them.  I mean, loooove them.  I saw this cat, and I yelled across to Cod, who was pulling weeds, “Cod, do you see the cat?!”  She said, “Yes.”  So, I slowly approached it, and it was the fucking sweetest baby ever.  She was purring at me, rubbing on my leg, and allowing me to pet her.  I mean, we were having a full on love affair.  She even laid down on the pavement so I could continue to pet her.  It was pure heaven.  So then, my neighbor (whom I have never spoken with in my life–and we’ve been neighbors for about fifteen years) comes out of his house and starts calling for the cat.  I said, “Is this your cat?”  He said, “Yes, we have two.  The other one is in the house.”  He kept calling for the cat, but she kept staying close to me, until, suddenly, she ran off.  I told him how cute she was and then turned around to go home.  Upon turning, I saw the Mustang being backed out of the driveway.  My fucking life, he was there!  Thing is, I completely missed him.  Like totally.  And we live on a small street, so it was amazing that I missed him!  A miracle, really.  Really!  I was stunned for several reasons.  First, according to Cod, Nark walked to the house.  Mind you, I was walking in the direction that he was coming, and I completely missed him.  Two, they had a conversation–again, that I missed.  And three, the big one.  I just finished writing my screenplay (which, as an aside, I entered into the Big Break Contest and the Austin Film Festival Contest).  Anyways, in the script, my main character, keeps seeing this cat after she has been in a horrible situation.  The cat distracts her and then runs off.  And THAT is exactly what happened to me!  My life!  I mean, crazy stuff.  CRAZY stuff!

Later that afternoon, Cod and I were having a conversation about everything.  I don’t know how we got on it, but she said something to the effect of not having sex for the last fifteen years (hold on while I fucking gag).  And then she said, “Rheeb, I have been raped three times in my life.  Twice in college and once by Nark.”  Fuck?  Excuse me?  Uhm, the fuck infinity?  She continued, saying that back in 1995, while they were away, he’d raped her.  Now, I remember the time she was talking about.  My aunt had come up to be with Sucka and I.  Sucka was two.  I was seven.  Cod was going on a business trip to St. Louis.  This was during the same week of the Oklahoma City Bombing, because I remember watching the breaking news with my aunt as it happened.  Anyways, Nark wouldn’t let Cod go on the trip by herself, so he went, and, according to her, he was being a mean asshole the entire time.  Then, one night, when she got back to the room after working that day, he raped her.  Then, the next day, when she confronted him, he denied it, telling her that she was crazy.  I know this is true for many reasons.  One, on the 2nd, while I was yelling, he said that he never hit me in my life other than once (please see here).  In addition, travelling with him is hell on earth.  He gets abnormally angry and mean, like back in 2000 when we took a trip up to Manhattan for Christmas.  He was so mean to Cod on the drive that Cod and I had to switch seats in New Jersey so that he would stop abusing her.

So she said that he raped her, and then, that abnormal guilt that I’d been feeling vanished in one fell swoop.  FUCK THAT DUDE, YO.  FUCK HIM.  My life, everything, ever, suddenly made so much sense: her abandonment of me at seven, my excessive weight gain at eight, and why she never protected us from him.  Thing is, subconsciously, I think I knew.

I had so many questions for her–the main one being how she could stay with him for twenty years.  But then I decided not to ask.  How do you add logic to a woman who was traumatized and abused?  What do I even say from here?  Words fucking fail me, you know?  I always knew that there was something creepy about him–I mean, I could feel him leering at me.  Sucka and I have had several disgusting and uncomfortable conversations about how he’d look at me.  He’d hug me from behind.  When I’d dress up, he’d always comment on my legs.  I fucking HATE that dude.

Oh yes, and this is the final piece that I need to say regarding him.  A few weeks ago, Sucka said that she was searching the house for candy (which Nark always has), and she stumbled upon a fresh box of condoms in his drawer.  Remember, Cod said they hadn’t done anything in fifteen years.  In addition, a few months ago, he asked me to clean his car after he came back from a trip to Georgia.  When cleaning it out, there was a map of Texas in the passenger seat.  I know he has someone.  People who accuse others of cheating are cheaters.  That’s just the bottom line.  The hatred I have for him couldn’t possibly grow any larger.  Like, the world…the Universe cannot contain it.  At this point, the hatred I have for him has reached its limit, and I sit in silence, doing nothing.  There is no action that can be taken to remedy it all, so I sit in silence.  That is it.

So here I am, ten days later, and I haven’t said a word to him.  I don’t know where the fuck he is, and to be honest, I don’t give a shit.  I’m certain, too, that we will not talk again for many years–if we ever talk again.  This doesn’t bother me.   When I wrote this, I imagined that my joy would be instant.  Instead, the recovery from a lifetime of fear, anxiety, and torment is in it’s beginning stages.