A Confounding Parallel

 

Jackson Pollock: Alchemy

    Recently, I had a conversation with a friend about relationships and how they affect our personal lives—she’s currently in a relationship with an alcoholic and seems to be dealing with the same problems I had in my last relationship; the constant fighting, the abusive and avoidant behavior, as well as the overall instability. Although I don’t regret my last relationship, it was an emotional roller coaster. Being in love with an addict is like being in love with a cancer patient, they love you, but they’re too sick to give you what you need. I realize now, that with Danny, I was simply repeating a cycle that I had grown accustomed to since childhood.

    Growing up my mom had a tendency to feign certain illnesses and encouraged me to do the same, all so she could receive a government check and not have to work for anything. Meanwhile, I was given absolutely no life skills; I was drugged, institutionalized, and surrounded by chaotic environments and unstable people. I learned to shut the world out because alone was better, alone I was safe. All I had to do to escape was daydream and write, so I could fantasize about killing people I couldn’t kill in real life. As I got older and realized I wanted more for myself, my mom would lose her shit and attempt to stifle my progress out of fear for her financial security.

    Danny was the shield, he was the one that had my back and told me that I deserved better and that I was capable. Unfortunately, he was a shield in a sense that a couple of gargantuan, soul sucking buzzards turned him into a Jackson Pollock painting by crapping all over him. This, I believe, really tore Danny down. The instability within the house compelled him to drink more, eventually making him sick and not much better than my mom who pops pills and sleeps all day. I was so angry at him, I felt like he let me down! So for quite some time, especially after he quit his job, I cut myself off from him. I crippled myself emotionally and yet, I stayed with him, trapping myself in this psychologically torturous limbo of being single and being in a relationship. I tried everything I could think of to make it work while distancing myself emotionally, all because I didn’t want to be left alone with my mom and her mountain goat with Down Syndrome.

    Although Danny helped bring me out of my shell, his addiction got so out of control that everything became a trigger, and therefore isolating. I wanted to do so many things with him—go to shows, go to the movies, travel. It got to the point that we couldn’t do anything together because he was drunk all the time, and going out with a mean drunk was not my idea of a good time. I feel shitty for feeling this way, or for even writing this; but if I’m going to be completely honest with myself, I have to admit that when Danny died, a part of me felt relieved. Relief coexisted with my rage, depression, and of course my guilt. For months now, I’ve felt a sensation of freedom that I’ve never felt before. Thanks to Danny’s support, I’m no longer my mothers cash cow. I guess that’s just how death works, just like love, it brings pain and relief.

It’s really fucked up that this is what acceptance looks like…

                                                             Jackson Pollock: Number 31

Ramblings from an Angry Widow

 May 25^th was mine and Danny’s anniversary, we would’ve been together for 6 years. I’ve been thinking a lot about his family and the things I want to say to them for cruelly giving me the cold shoulder, I’ve also been thinking a lot about how angry I am at Danny. I’m not angry at him for dying, I’m angry at him for not taking better care of himself—for drinking himself sick instead of enjoying and living life with me, I’m angry at him for all the times he made me feel responsible for his alcoholism getting worse. I’m angry at him for not being more responsible and properly preparing, I’m angry at him for not getting the help that he desperately needed until the last minute.

However, none of this compares to the anger I feel towards Danny’s family. I’m going to end this by making this out to them personally—Dorcas Marsden, you are a gelatinous slob that selfishly chose to sit in a chair and have your children wait on you hand and foot, all because your piece of shit husband died. Your disgusting, weak, and you’re just as bad as my mother if not worse. Danny hated you and his Dad, yet Danny still took care of you when he could, even if it was simply out of obligation. Oh, and lets not forget the fact that you’re the reason he felt guilty about getting to know his biological brother, and even when you knew Danny had cancer you still demanded he make you a cup of tea. You still couldn’t accept the fact that Danny wasn’t religious; when your husband was alive, you spent so much time trying to be the good Christian wife, you wouldn’t even bother to stop your husband from beating your fragile son and then locking him in closets. That worked to his advantage however, when he was 11 years old, he ate his first pussy in that very same closet. Ha! So much for your good Christian household!

Ezra Burns, you’re a sad sack with too many kids and from what I’ve heard, you’re a shit father. You’re a gross old pig that clearly doesn’t even like your wife, you only married her for money and because you didn’t want to be alone after your previous wife died. Perhaps that’s why your dad drank too much and beat your mom, he himself couldn’t stand his cunting wife, let alone stand to be around his aborted disappointments.

And Laura Burns, you denied me some of Danny’s ashes even when I offered to help you pay for half of the cremation, I was even willing to give you $1000 just for a couple of tablespoons. I know about all the times you tried to convince Danny to leave me—you respect me so little that when I got on my knees and begged you, eyes clouded with tears; your soul is so full of dust and the ashes of your dead relatives, you wrote me off as hysterical. You belittled me, patronized me, antagonized me—talking to you was like being curb-stomped after being stabbed in the back, then left to bleed out on the side of the road, which I suppose is why you’re going to just drop Danny in a hole with two people he despised, the same way your Dad dropped his dick into your rancid hole when he got bored with your mom. That's right, I know about the accusations you made against your father. It’s pretty fucked up that you think it’s morally corrupt to divide up someones ashes, yet it’s righteous to bury Danny with the woman who gave you life, then took it from you to sit in a chair, right along with the man you accused of rape. All of this you're doing for YOUR convenience! You’re a gnarled, toothless hag and you smell like your moms piss and shit—or is that your vile malodorous stench? I know you have a tendency to soil yourself, what I really want to know is…when your Dad was pumping in and out of you, did he cum inside of you? Or did he shoot it all over your fat ass because he couldn’t stand to look at your “O” face?

All those times you and Dorcas said you loved me, cared about me, and that we were family—when you found out Danny had cancer, you even went so far as to say and I quote, "If you ever need anything, Danny's badass sister is here to help." Then you hugged me, let me cry on your shoulder after shedding a few of your own; it was complete bullshit. You actually cared so little about me, you kicked me out of the house within the same week of Danny’s death because I disagreed with you. You respect yourself so little that even with kidney failure, you chain smoke, eat garbage food, and make little to no effort to care for yourself. Strong people don't need to tear others down in order to feel strong, they do it on their own. You are a dried up, burlap husk of a woman and I hope your death is as lonely and miserable as your time on this planet.

Good Riddance!