The “T” Word

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Story time!

Last year, I invited an acquaintance to live with me. I had an extra room, she needed place to live, I was hard up for cash after the holidays — seemed like a good situation.

We met up at a nice restaurant, to discuss our business/living arrangement. At the time I was living in a 2br/2ba. I had gotten the larger, more expensive apartment because S.O. is trying to get a job here, move in, then we are going to elope. That’s still the plan, in fact. But in the mean time, I had this extra bedroom and bathroom.

This girl, lets call her Munchy… I’d known her for a year and a half. Every time we spent time together we got along.

At the time, S.O. and I were in a rough patch. It had been six months since we got engaged, and he said he’d been applying for all these jobs here, hadn’t gotten an interview. I was having money troubles because I was paying for this huge apartment with high utilities. I sold my engagement ring to pay rent (still haven’t told him, and he hasn’t asked).

Munchy had just broken up with her boyfriend of 5 years. So, once we concluded business talk, we had girl talk. I had mentioned my troubles with S.O.

And immediately she hated him.

S.O. is literally the most laid back unoffensive nice guy.

I helped Munchy move in. In my spare room, I had my daybed. I let her use it, so I wouldn’t have to store it in my closet. It had bedding and sheets — I let her use them. I shampooed the carpets, steralized everything and rolled out the goddamn red carpet. Besty and I spent an entire weekend cleaning and helping Munchy move in.

Then the indicators happened.

Munchy is Filipino. I think that is the coolest thing ever. I have no problem at all with people of color (POC). I was taught to treat everyone equally and respectfully. Some of the people I respect the most in my life are POC.

Munchy had shown me a photo of when she was thinner and expressed she wanted to get back down to that size. I’m totally supportive of that. I said she looked really nice in the picture (compliment) and asked if she tanned back then.

Hokay! I know nothing about tanning. I am middle German, Irish, and Welsh. I burn. Also, getting burned makes my rosacea flare up. So, I avoid the sun at all cost and need to invest stock in Coppertone.

Cue the triggering.

She was offended that I insinuated she looked darker in that picture. Mind you, she had bleached her hair and was wearing a white top.

Now, I’m a fucking racist.

And I hurt her feelings.

I had apologized stating my ignorance. Being the nice person.

Case closed… so it seems.

In the interim, we shared details. Within the first week she was there she told me she was molested. To make her feel more comfortable, I told her about being molested as a child and being sexually assaulted in undergrad.

Tit for tat, right?

Her molestation — when she was in sixth grade, she had a bottom locker, and the boy whose locker was on top of hers would rub his crotch in her hair.

And evidently it was such a huge fucking traumatic thing that she has PTSD.

Now, I’ve talked a bit about the crazy shit that’s gone on in my life — mom’s meth habit, homeless adventure, sexual assault, psychological and emotional abuse from a person who’d been a friend and a big part of my life for the last 10 years.

And the only real “trauma” I feel lingers is the bitterness directed toward my parents and my fight/flight reaction to other people fighting.

I have never used my experiences as an excuse to misbehave or mistreat anyone.

Now the little things — because this is my house and I invited her to live with me (just paying half the rent, and I was footing utility bills because I made more money… and I’m nice). I would ask Munchy to not do something small and insignificant and she would say she couldn’t do it because “my anxiety”. For instance, she was shaking the table with her leg. I said, “Hey, you’re shaking the table; could you stop that please?”

“I HAVE ANXIETY!” she retorted.

Okaaaayyyyyyyyy.

Also, when S.O. was over she would go out of her way to make him feel unwelcome. Talk over him, ignore him, be rude.

The night after I got my wisdom teeth out, I couldn’t sleep.

Actually… rewind.

We had a hotel lock on the door. The rule was the hotel lock would only be locked if we were BOTH there. S.O. drove me to the oral surgeon on a Friday morning to get my wisdom teeth out. When we got home, I was in pain and out of it and dripping blood and saliva down my chin. He goes to unlock the door and she locked the goddamn hotel lock and took a fucking shower. We stood outside for 20 minutes yelling into the little opening, beating on the door and calling her, while I was crying with blood dripping down my face and clothes. When we finally got inside, I collapsed and cried. Then, with my mouth full of gauze and in pain, I got in her shit. She broke the rule. In a BIG way.

Her excuse: “I have anxiety from my trauma.”

“Have you ever been burgled?”

“No.”

“Well I have — twice. And if someone really wants the fuck in they are coming in.”

Back to the next night. We’ve already discussed how codeine makes me hyper. Couldn’t sleep. Went in the living room so I wouldn’t keep S.O. awake. I heard her talking — her door was open.

“Hey, Munchy. Munchy are you awake?” I whispered, standing outside the door. She grumbled and turned over. Okay. She talks in her sleep.

Mind you, I’m stoned off my ass on pain meds.

The next morning I got a nasty gram:

And I thought that was it. I apologized.

But goddamn Munchy kept bringing it up.

Finally I asked her, “Do you want me to fucking grovel? I already apologized… several times, in fact. What do you want me to do?”

Fast forward about two weeks. It was a work night, about 4 in the morning. I know Munchy had to be up super early for work sometimes. Whatever. The banging around in the kitchen continued for an hour. Finally I was able to get back to sleep and woke up at 7 am. Did my morning stuff. Noticed Munchy cleaned the kitchen up while she was getting ready for work.

‘Well, thats nice of her,’ I thought. ‘But 4am is not the time to do that.’

As I was walking out, I saw Munchy… fast asleep in bed.

Motherfucker.

When I confronted her about it:

“I have anxiety and couldn’t sleep.”

Are you fully fucking serious!?!?

I have a diagnosed anxiety disorder that I take meds for. Never once have I ever used my anxiety or past experiences an excuse for wrongdoings or bullshit. Never. I have done thing out of my control because of my anxiety, and then promptly apologize. Like when I noped out of my birthday party after a fist fight started.

And she would bring it up in every goddamn conversation — “My trauma.”

One time, she had done something nice. Can’t remember what it was. I sent her a thank you text:

Munchy later told me thanking her and showing gratitude made her anxious and uncomfortable. I told her that is not a normal reaction and she should take it as a compliment and a positive thing.

Then she said, “Maybe I should live in my car for a few months to learn gratitude.”

Hold the goddamn phone!

Wow… thanks for trivializing the worst time in my life because you are a spoiled, conceited cuntbag.

The final straw — a few days later, I was mostly over my cold with a little residual phlegm. S.O. and I came home from dinner and Munchy was there. It was a Friday or Saturday. Can’t remember. Earlier, S.O., Munchy, and I were just shooting the shit, and she would ignore and talk over S.O. like he wasn’t there. At dinner he told me Munchy told me she made him feel completely unwelcome. When we made it in, every thing I touched, Munchy literally was right behind me with a Clorox wipe and was being snotty about it too.

Finally I just broke down and told her — you are making the both of us feel unwelcome and that is unacceptable.

Cue the goddamn theatrics — 31 year old woman slamming doors.

Munchy had left and I’d had enough. I was tired of her perpetually hurt feeling and her “PTSD” from her not so traumatic trauma. I was tired of the eggshells and I was especially tired of her making S.O. feel unwelcome.

My ultimatum (please excuse typos; it’s what happens when you type with your thumbs and angry):

The next day, S.O. and I went to lunch. When we got back, Munchy’s family was moving her out. Didn’t tell me. I guess she was trying to be sly.

When I walked in and saw her, I read her the riot act right in front of her family, God, and everyone else. S.O. thought it was gonna come to blows, but it didn’t.

And she was gone. And promptly after she left, S.O. and I made love on the couch, the floor, and in the kitchen.

Munchy and I have a lot of mutual friends. I got invited to a dinner and she was there. And as I expected, she showed her ass the whole time even taking shit about me to a friend while I was right there.

I told the hostess she needed to stop this petty bushit or I was going to bring out my redneck credentials and make her stop.

My favorite German phrase accurately describes her behavior:

“Sie hat ein Backpfeifengesicht”

Translation:

“She has a face in need of a fist.”

It was also completely and utterly disrespectful to the hostess. I kept my mouth shut throughout the night, taking the moral high ground, while she continued her cunthattery.

Moral of the story — I cannot abide people who use mental illness as an excuse to misbehave or be an asshole. Especially fabricating and embellishing traumas. I’ve had real and awful trauma and bad things happen in my life and I never once used it as an excuse to mistreat someone.

What I realized about Munchy is, yes, she is mentally ill, but it’s not PTSD from her “molestation”. See, with my training and research from my degree work in criminology, I actually know something about mental illness, specific to criminality, recidivism, and victimization on a graduate level. And from my research and experience in dealing with people in the field, I can safely say Munchy has a form of Munchausens.

Most of ya’ll know about Munchausens by proxy, where a parent fabricates an illness or actually makes their kid sick for sympathy or attention. Munchausens itself is essentially fabricating or embellishing upon a trauma (physical or mental) and using it to garner sympathy, attention, and/or control people.

And, after dealing with Munchy and all her supposed trauma, the word “trauma” is now in a category of words that make me cringe…. like groin or moist. And triggered… that word has taken on a new meaning and I despise using it.

And this is not demeaning people with actual mental illness who have gone through actual horrible, life altering shit. If anything,  it’s people like Munchy, and her perpetual hurt feelings, who invalidate the experiences of people who have experienced or endured truly bad things physically, mentally, and emotionally.

And that, friends, is why I don’t identify with any SJWing. Because if me asking if a Filipino girl tans is perceived as horrible and racist, then it invalidates actual racism — it’s like crying wolf. It relegates the earnest struggles of people who actually fought for freedom from tyranny and fight their damnedest for equal rights to petty little quarrels and nit picking seemingly insignificant perceived sleights. It exhausts people and turns them away from the cause because they deem it inconsequential and stupid. Like bitching about manspreading being this magnificent sleight to women the world over, makes people not like feminism because they are perceived as annoying, pedantic, and ridiculous, which takes away from actual sexism like female genital mutilation and women forced into chattel slavery through human trafficking.

In sum — it is people like Munchy, whose chronic attention and sympathy seeking behaviors, make people not take minor (able to function, but have difficulties) mental illnesses seriously. Society considers it a joke now,because of entitled, special snow flakes who use (mostly) not professionally diagnosed mental illness as a tool to manipulate people to get their way. Triggers are no longer raised voices, gunshots, alarms, cars backfiring, fireworks, and other actual things that can cause a panic/anxiety attack. Triggers are now mean words on the internet which hurt people’s feelings. They “can’t” turn their goddamn phone off, not read something, or shut the computer of down.

Even telling others fighting will trigger a flight/fight response makes me cringe inwardly.

Whew! This was a long post!

Pardon typos. Was typing with thumbs.

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