As of 2016, after mother died (and my family along with her), I was hit with consecutive blows of treason (according to me, at least) from a close circle of alleged friends. Up to then, I was rather rambunctious in asserting, even boasting, that I had never known or experienced being backstabbed by a friend. This was close to my 40th birthday, so it was truly unexpected, after all these years, and once my mother was out of the picture, at that. It was as if the poor woman had installed security webs that guarded me from falling, or that buffered me against any nasty allegations, which we were both unawares they existed.
Boy, was I in for a nasty surprise! You live and learn, I survived and hopefully learned, at least to cut these fuckfaces out of my life for once and for all, without shedding tears after the little shits. I know I'm a big-ass softie at heart, the problem is, everyone else knows it too, as I take pride in adamantly remaining myself with those whom I take as friends. And though it is obvious that my judgement, at times, is flawed, as any human being, at least I try to remain true and loyal to friends, as much as I can. At least, I know for a fact, it is highly unlikely I shall move the way I describe below. The reader here, is obviously, no one, neither do I write these so the culprits read and see themselves in the lines (they're too oblivious to read anything in English, or that is grammatically complicated, and with the article signed by me, it is doubly likely they would sneer without even casting a quick glance. So who do I write to here? Nobody in particular, perhaps to myself to read later in life, to posterity, as notes of a past, however insignificant they may be, but mostly, and this is the plight I have not been able to have anyone listen and sympathize with, I write because deprived of loved ones who unconditionally love me for who I am, whatever I may have become in time, I faced a truly challenging fact of life I had never known existed before: That is, first of all, society hates mostly its own members, and orphans are among the easiest prey, as their support system is practically nonexistent. So, I write these as a sort of mirror image that counters my thoughts at the time of writing, whose reflection will only take hold once I rest my gaze on these lines, however many years from now onwards. I do not presume to change anyones' opinion about so-and-so, or to become agents of a smear campaign against such-and-such, but wish to understand in later years, where I might have misjudged or misinterpreted.
Although I am not going to fake modesty in such cases, I have had enough of being gaslit into thinking my own judgement is skewed, while crap artists both shat on me and told me I was the one who smelled bad. Before mother's death, there seemed to be weight to my individual voice, integrity when my name was called. And this remains still true in some cases, but in others, who would've known I could've been so hated by those so close? How did I never see this? I do not blame myself any longer, as no one has been able to come up and tell me in my face, whatever fault I may have made. There is plenty of talk in the background, but if you're not telling me such intimate opinions bound to break hearts to my face, but have no qualms about jabbering in the back with others, I feel no responsibility to self-analysis. First stop acting like a 5 year old coward, then we can come to my part to blame. Yet wielding such power over others really blinds certain people, and they would rather die than let go of said power, never mind destroying our relationship.
Moreover, I have to also admit, there is some strange sense of sensationalism to gossiping about my life, which many people are drawn to like moths to a flame, and as if they would discuss the mock history of a super hero, so they take delight in conjuring up lies, exaggerations and other hideous, juvenile untruths when it is me who is the subject. I see this now, I don't understand, nor do I like it, in fact I downright hate this conclusion, and whatever has led to this I wish I could overturn, yet alas, it is solid as stone, and I have had half a century to observe this reality, and it does not help anyone to insist on claiming that anything but the stark truth should prevail
So the first skeleton was later in occurence in fact, wasn't blatantly scandalous at first look, but in retrospect, it is actually among the worst betrayals I have experienced in the nastiness and disgust it unveiled.
This was a surgeon friend, who became first my tutor of english, then the doctor of the various vaginas in my life, including the hands that brought my daughter to this world. Thus, there was heavy emotional investment to say the least.
Yet that was not all. This person and I went through events that bring people closer, invariably knitting tighter knots in their wake, never mind the tragic content of our respective personal histories. There was also much drinking and drugging, sex and decadence, escapism of all kinds of the spectrum, with each to their own excuse and also, to their own preferred poisons. His was booze, mine was narcotics. And though he was the one who had more than 9 veins replaced in the heart, a belly the size of a medieval tub, and a track record of a bottle of whiskey a night. To my mind, his death was and is closer than mine could ever be, and I must admit, I secretly thought his personality and profundity to be lacking to handle anything less stupefying than regular, high-proof, liqueur, never mind the gamut of substances I very heartily indulged in, while he drowned himself in booze. So this was one schism indeed. Yet, I thought, this is ridiculous to hold a grudge for; to each their own, plus, dude your belly is like Pinocchio's nose for fuck's sake, who are you to tell me to smoke less and drink more?
Anyway, the first time I knew something was wrong, was when after my mother's death, I was dumped viciously by my then girlfriend, who had herself proposed me in marriage a month back. She dumped me with others present, and never once took my calls afterwards, avoiding me like leprosy. I never saw her again, nor did I ever see the horde of friends she travelled everywhere with. And this I also couldn't explain to myself. Ok she hates me for whatever reason, unpronounced as of yet, but eventually once things cool down, can be discussed evidently among more adult heads. AT least this had been the way my relations with romantically-charged individuals that came and left in my life. Hadn't this ex met my ex-wife, and the 2-3 ex-girlfriends? Hadn't everyone seen how we could and did remain friends, and that I made this a point, that after 5-6 years of romance, those people are in my life to stay, regardless of the frequency with which we may mingle later in life. What happened that made this fact suddenly change so drastically? And what is wrong with the entourage of my ex, who dogmatically remained glued to her and thus my free time all those years, but couldn't bring a single soul to stand and explain to me the inhumane treatment full of gaslighting, ghosting, manipulations, all the while I kept on mourning my dead. Nobody had the gall to come up and tell me what I had done wrong, but they all had concretely strong sentiments and opinions as to what led to this. Yet, here I was in the middle of storm, cast off from one pedestal to another, without a clue as to what made me persona non grata ultimate! We had not had any screaming fights, nor reproaches from one side to the other, no claims to adultery, no claim to nothing, just a cold-blooded dumping act that took place within a circle of friends. People that knew us were as dumbfounded as I was, yet the script was well written in advance: oh don't you know how unreasonable he can be, don't you think I tried talking sense into him? she and her cronies chimed, and most poeple objected, no, you may very well talk to him, and he says he doesn't know what you're talking about, why don't you let him talk to you? No answer there. I was the unreasonable oaf, the unspeakable peasant, the rude, obnoxious narcotics driven lunatic, from which she had to escape... Who also had, among other factors, a dead mom to mourn, but nobody paid attention to that, or me anyway. Nobody had any patience to listen to any cause to serve to decrease my sentence. I had it all coming for me, oh the way my misfortunes were cherished, celebrated even. The wickedness of harboring such evil towards a person you acted exactly the opposite for years on end...
I will never forget who stood up for me that day. My dealer in charlie, was the one who asked her straight out: When was the last time you asked him how he had been feeling? She paused and couldn't reply. She hadn't, did not care for who knows how long, I wasn't counting the months, but I was very aware of being left so alone, completely unheard, unlistened to by anyone, even my old friends who barely knew this woman. Suddenly they chimed in, ah who knows what she went through with you? What? I'd exclaim, what is it that I put people through to warrant such behaviour, tell me examples from our past. To which the reply, that I know to this day is perfume to cover up a foul stink if there ever was one; oh, if you are still asking, then what good will I be doing pronouncing it? Right... Sometimes people forget how stupid they can be, and how dumb I was considering them my peers... A Turkish saying goes, yeah and if my aunt had balls, she'd be my uncle... A weeping woman always trumps any tragedy, write this into your booklet of famous sayings, folks, this is one solid lesson I can easily state and remain steadfastedly behind as an ugly fact of life at that. There is very little that can resist a grown woman crying, bellowing like a child. Oh the horror she must've gone through!!! yeah, the horror is right here, you're just looking over it. I digress... Where is the surgeon bastard in this story?
I'm coming to him. Now having established our proximity, I would consider him to be a shoulder to cry on, and when I tried to do so, I was immediately cut off, heard my ex being defended as if I had to rein in my rabid impulses, and if not, legal measures would have to be taken. He said in the most cold and dry voice I have ever heard from someone close: You have to stop chasing her (who's chasing?) she is over you, and will not love you ever again (ok? and why do you know all this? I never told you of my relationship?) so cut your shirt short and stop getting in touch.
He never ever asked what I had gone through, meanwhile.
Months went by and I tried to disregard the obvious signs of a cowards' love gone to seed, having turned into some hateful bile, of which the likes I purposefully try to remain ignorant. Yet here was my pal, my pops, my bro, my mate, my captain at sea, my doctor my protector, seething with a hatred whose origins I did not know and couldn't make heads or tails as to the reasons of inception. Yet one dark day, I called him up for medical advice. This was the first and only time I begged his medical know-how to come and help me, that I felt I was to die, yaddayaddayadda. Not to diminish the magnitude of my plight, but the sheer recalling brings me to tears... He literally turned a blind eye to my upcoming death, insinuating I brought this upon myself, and that it was the least I deserved... He added, to the ears of my girlfriend who, in tears with fear of losing me, a sick tale of bizarre persistent immorality, whose origins I had no clue of, but definitely had no relation to my life. He basically was telling her to drop me for dead, take off and never look back...
Here was a medical professional who sidestepped his oath for an alleged close friend at that. He chose to exclude me out of the unbiased affection he was trained to show to people much less deserving of care, according to his priorities; if only he'd show the amount of affection he would show a stranger toppling on a sidewalk a few yards away? How could anyone deserve such spite? How guilty could I be, what could I have possibly done to leave me to die, and how can you never even feel the need to check on the coming days after. I didn't die thankfully but I asked, say you came across my obituary the day after? How could you live with this knowledge that you had been the prime cause of eventual death? The silence was worse than a bad answer. How could I have mistaken him for a friend all these years? A friend, who didn't bat an eye to the prospect of an ill-begotten, early, undeserved death of the sole remaining individual of a beautiful family that had perished in most tragic circumstances. A person whom gave you a limb when the need required (this is very much true, I literally embraced horribly injuries that lasted for months only due to his stupidity and inconsideration, to which he admitted countless times. While I was readily giving up vital organs because the captain had ordered it, albeit stark, raving absurdity, he didn't move an inch upon hearing that I may be close to death, total oblivion of which he is very knowedlgeable due to his profession. One whose mother you diagnosed with lethal cancer, who stood by during all the pivotal points that make or break character, he very easily, almost nonchalantly said, I can't, I have dinner with my wife...
There is more terrible nastiness at bay, mind you, for example him casting in front of me a photo of an ex, with his usual, dick-for-brains mischief, his oriental appetite for sex and debauchery that I found juvenile, distasteful, and very much below him, but so is life, we all have some disturbing aspect to our personalities, why should I judge? who am I to say I'm better? Well I am now, I am much much better... I wouldn't and couldn't leave anything to die, if it depended on me for life at that very instant, no matter how much personal hatred I may feel. I will never be able to get over the ease with which he cast down his integrity in my eyes. But now I see that is the crux; my opinions no longer carried any weight with him, even more, he found my presence absolutely disgusting, unbecoming of daily life, my opinions and views gibberish, and my broken feelings? who gives a fuck. Moreover, this was the same fabricated fact that all these skeletons banked on. This erasure of my public personae; they not only did not avert me to it, they relished it, slobbered over it in privacy, gave it form and blew bile into it to exaggerate its proportions, to the point where my feeble defenses did not even make it over to the first round of ears. The opposite trend in my misfortune puffed up big with the high wind behind, mostly created by those I felt were my most loved and cared ones. Nobody cared anymore whom I blamed for whatever indignity I might have felt, because my life was valid in so far as I was a open target for anyone's scapegoating of any fault. There was no defense that could whitewash my sins, no sound by no one would never be enough to draw sympathy in my name... At least, this was and probably still is, their opinion of me, their opinion of an old friend who was ready to give a limb without blinking. If there ever was a counterweight that pushed the scales away from my favour, it was the vague promise of pussy by some wicked demoness... This is all him, all 80 years old wisdom done away with a dick still dripping with pre-pubescent cum (though forcibly flaccid I must add, which was probably another reason why he hated my guts). All his womanizing had to come to an end, and I think now, shit this is not even close to decent punishment to his crimes but I'll still keep it, thank you very much. Even this amount of evil for me is difficult to write, to even think, and I love myself for this, but I also know that this is also a terrible weakness, one that will bite me in the back every single time... Yet, isn't life just one big fucking mistake, if we never trust to the point of risking our own downfall? If we never love with the possible heartache unrequited may bring? Isn't this one of the largest themes of all literature, one that still touches hearts and strums strings of mourning when recalled? Aren't there any broad red lines one must not cross when dealing with affectionate others?
Well at least I wouldn't make the mistake of showing a photo of a woman whom you treat it like a piece of fuckable meat, who turns out to be the photo of an ex of a friend, that's for fucking sure...
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