I had an extraordinarily difficult (to me) weekend. My home, any of my homes, have never been vandalized. Things have been broken, dropped inadvertently. Sometimes something snapped off in my or another persons hand. Wear and tear. It's normal. But this was different. Someone either from within my home or an opportunist from without actually took the moment to willfully and with malice cause destruction in my house. I expect I will never know the real story as to what happened, but it sent me into a rage. The lioness inside went into full-protect mode. Protect myself and protect what's mine. If I had to cut a swath through friends and roommates to achieve it, I would.
I felt vulnerable and not in control, and I knew I needed to act quickly to regain it. Hence the high drama of taking a hotel room for two days. Unbeknownst to them, the hotel was around the corner from the castle lest I needed to act quickly to prevent whole scale theivery. The combination lock I placed on my bedroom was mostly for show as well, The way it's installed, if anyone bothers to inspect it, you can remove the screws and the whole latch can be removed. Still, I'll be using the padlock for at least another week, just to drive the point home.
I needed to stage a throwdown with The Hellcat because I wanted to gauge his reactions. To see what would happen if I stripped off the veneer of my trying to be supportive of this, his 4th repeat at "assembling a support team" and "seeking therapy" and "going to meetings all the time" and not drinking anymore which was qualified in the next breath with a "probably not". I told him he hasn't gotten better because he doesn't want to get better. Getting better would force him to be out of bed before 5:00 every afternoon. Getting better would mean he could take (horrors!) a job. I told him his excuses for why he gets high are downright lame. "I'm depressed." Who the fuck isn't it's New York. Take the anti-depressants they give you and if that doesn't work take something different, or more. It's New York City. We exist on pills. Depression isn't an illness, it's a badge of honor. Go outside and curse at assholes. That's coping. I'm grieving. Blah, blah, blah. I take drugs 'cause my boyfriend died. Reality check, you were a meth head before your boyfriend was your boyfriend. The truth is, you're using his death as an excuse to continue. That was the shot that made him snap. When he accused me of not understanding death and positively screeching about "14 people! 14 people have died on me in the last few years! You don't know what that's like." I didn't answer, but I had obviously struck a nerve.
Here's what I didn't say: On June 11 in 2000 my sister died suddenly while I was on vacation in Las Vegas. In truth, I did get back here to New York before I got the message, and arrived back home before she died, but she never woke up and died the afternoon I got there. She left behind my five year old niece. I was heartbroken. But somehow managed to write and deliver the eulogy at her funeral.
In the early 90's I was working in the South Street Seaport and met a guy at a bar. He was extraordinarily cute and (the true deal-sealer for me) he made me laugh so damn hard. We dated several times and had great great sex. I was aware that there was a boyfriend in the picture from a relationship that was ending badly. Early the following week, I was informed that his soon to be ex-boyfriend hacked him to pieces in every room of their house. He severed both his hands completely. I spent an entire night on my living room couch, wailing at the horror.
That same year, I spent a night with a co-worker I had hit it off with, He was a cool black dude who worked in the kitchen and I thought he was funny and smart with an interesting take on life. We hung around a bar all night shooting pool and playing video trivia. We had a couple burgers and some pizza later. We said our goodbyes about 1 am. At 1:30 he was found shot dead at the foot of the stairs of a subway station. He was killed by a single bullet to the brain. The police theorized robbery, although what a line cook coming home from work had on him to rob I'll never know. I don't believe the killers were ever caught.
There were others. Some acquaintances who succumbed to AIDS so quickly. Other family members, including the suicide of my cousin last year. Also struggling with depression.
I didn't say any of this to The Hellcat the other day. He was far too gone and far too dedicated to justifying his self-destructive behavior if not to me, then at least to himself, to understand my point that using the death of a loved one, of a friend, of a sister as an excuse for why your life has spiraled out of control, does a horrible disservice to the very people you claim to be anguished by their absence. How is it that you honor their memory by destroying brain cells, or lapsing into a depression of apathy. If you truly want their life and death to have value and meaning, you'll use it to fight for your own.
When none of his screaming and refusals to take ownership that he himself is the source of his troubles worked, that his lack of self control and a basic knowledge of what is right and wrong in maintaining friendships and doing your job and keeping your promises are the root causes and failures from within that need to be fixed, well that's when he called me a friendless alcoholic. Even better a "nasty alcoholic" recovering from a night of drinking "right now". So conveniently, me throwing him out of the house, the mess he's made of things regarding laying around the house like a wasted bag of skin, failing to have a single attempt at rehab take, failing to secure any on-going therapy for his mental problems, failing to secure extra income from a job, beating up his boyfriend, bringing strangers to the house to do drugs when he was told to never ever do it, not finding enough time in his busy, busy day to get his laundry done, all of that, all of it, is because I'm an alcoholic. With a full time job. And several major credit cards. And a roof over my head. And money in my pocket. And a pretty nice looking stock portfolio. OK, my bad.
But back to the apology, Upon re-reading the histrionics of the last few days and then receiving the nice, and encouraging comment from RJ I'm also taken aback by the comment left by Alec. I feel like a total dumb-ass. 31 years in a relationship with a man who's now terminal. 12 years battling a pain condition and diagnosed with skin cancer. And you admire my ability to cope? I am truly humbled, sir. I wish all the best for you and yours, may the spirits watch over you. Please feel free to keep in touch. I'm just a guy with plenty of blessings and a couple of sucky roommates.
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