There ARE certain advantages to being anonymous on your blog that no one in the world reads. One of these is that if someone pisses you off, you are free to talk shit about them and no one is the wiser. So here I go, talkin’ some mad shit… (and apparently lapsing into some gansta talk! (I am the whitest white girl you could ever find))
So I have this…well, I was going to say stepmother, but she really doesn’t deserve a title that has “mother” or “mom” in the title, so we’ll say I have this person who is my father’s wife. Let’s say her name is Nannette, which is shockingly close to what her real name actually is. Nannette has unfortunately been in my life since I was about six, when my dad started dating her. At first I thought she was okay, mostly because she lived in a cool apartment and had these awesome magnets on her fridge that I loved to take down and play with. Then she moved in with my dad, and it all went downhill. The first thing she made my dad do is sell his house, the house that I was conceived and grew up in, where I took my first steps and the last place that my parents had ever been seen happy in the same vicinity. But of course, when you are starting a new life together you want to start fresh, so I’m willing to give that one to her. Team Nannette-1. In her new house, Nannette went completely batshit crazy. She had all these weird rules and was constantly telling me what a brat/slob/whiner I was. I remember one incident when I dressed special for her, because she was always telling me that my clothes were ridiculous and I wanted to make her like me, so I picked out an outfit with great care. A peach and grey striped shirt with a little ruffle on the bottom, jeans. She took one look at me, told me my shirt was wrinkled and that it looked stupid with jeans. I was crushed.
They had a little dog and he would sit under the table while I was eating and paw, paw, paw at my legs with his razor sharp nails, but Nannette would never scold the dog and would yell at me if I lifted my legs up because that was bad manners to not have your feet down at the table. When her and my dad got married, my dad insisted that I be a part of the wedding. Nannette picked me out a beautiful outfit, right down to some lacy socks. I loved that outfit so much; I thought it was the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen and thought I was a fairy princess when I put it on and spun around as fast as I could. Wedding day came and went, and I asked my dad if I could take the dress home. Nannette said no. She kept everything, including my underwear and socks. Nannette has no children, and is not sentimental in any way, so really the only reason that she had to do this was just to be a bitch.
Over the years, there were more and more of these little incidents, nothing outright abusive but just designed to make me feel as worthless and pathetic as possible. I stopped going to my dad’s house to stay overnight because I couldn’t stand it, and we started going on weekly dinner dates (alone) instead. I tried to limit all contact that I had with Nannette, really only seeing her on the holidays when I was forced to. We had a situation when I was starting college but my mom put the smack down on that one, telling Nannette on the phone that “you better hope you never run into me in a dark alley,” and then hanging up on her mid-sentence.
Which brings us to the present. Nannette and I are aware that we can’t stand each other, and that’s okay, and we just avoid each other. But the other day I opened my email to see that I had received an email from her. Our car broke down earlier this week and it was more expensive to fix then the car was worth, so we decided to scrap it. I asked my dad if he could give me a ride home from work one day because I needed to stop at the store, and he agreed. Apparently this was a huge taxing thing to ask of him according to Nannette, because this email told me in no uncertain terms that my dad was not “allowed” to be my “personal taxi or chauffer” and that I was NOT to bother him for a ride ever again in my whole life. She wrote about how she was “onto” me and she “knows my game” and my dad might not tell me this but he DOES feel this same way. She wrote that pretty much everything out of my mouth is a lie and that the only time I contact my dad is if I need something. She even called me “Missy”, as in “you better clean up your act, missy.” It went on and on, and at the end said, “Feel free to respond if you want, but we all know you won’t because you’re not man enough. Your father’s wife, Nannette.” I sat back in my chair, so angry that I was experiencing tunnel vision and shaking all over. I didn’t even know how to process these feelings, didn’t know what to do. No one has ever ripped me a new asshole like this, never. Of course I fired off a reply which I barely remember because I was too upset; not the optimum time to send emails. I know that I told her to never communicate with me again, that she was bitter and mean hearted, and that out of respect for my dad I wouldn’t tell her what I REALLY feel about her. She replied, of course, with more of the same awfulness. At that point I decided I didn’t want to do the back and forth, so I told her that I didn’t wish to speak with her anymore. My final words were “I truly hope you find something that will give you some happiness, someday. Good luck with that!” Of course this was sarcastic, but obviously SOMETHING is missing in the woman’s life, so I kind of do hope that she finds something to make her happy besides treat me like shit. And do you KNOW what she replied back??
“That is funny coming from someone who’s been on anti-depressants her whole life.”
How dare she!! If I had diabetes, would she berate me for taking insulin? If I had asthma, would she tell me how stupid I was for using an inhaler? WHY do people not get that this is a DISEASE, something that can’t be controlled. Does she think I WANT to feel like this?
To sum up: I.hate.her. I really do. I’m hurt and embarrassed and ashamed and mad and pissed and angry and confused and I don’t even know. Who the hell treats other people like that? I just want her to leave me alone. I just want to be left alone. Fuck you, Nannette, fuck you forever.