Well, well, well…after all these years someone FINALLY called the police. Amazing.
I’m slightly stunned actually. I mean in all the arguing and commotion I did scream out about how no one in all these years has ever called the cops. No one has ever come to my rescue. No one has ever tried to help me. So, I figure it had to be my next door neighbor that called because he’s the only one who would have heard all of that.
Here’s the beauty of it. The cops were called on me. I was the one who lost it and threatened everything from bodily harm to burning the house down. Pretty much on everyone who lives here. What for? All of this because of a donut. My daughter went and bought donuts and HE asked for a specific kind. She came home with the wrong one. Of course, he throws a complete five year old crybaby fit, minus the laying on the floor kicking and flailing his arms. With the sound of his noise for minor things over the last few days this was just one straw too much on my back. I broke.
Ran upstairs and what started as “out loud” sarcasm – basically me saying OMG what is wrong with you how could you possibly get the wrong donut – turned into my daughter taking it out of context and as a personal attack. So she started mouthing back at me, which at this moment was obviously not the best decision. This turned into a snowball effect and I was literally shoved down the mountain. I can pretty much barely talk because I was screaming at the top of my lungs. Then HE came upstairs to yell at her and I tried to explain to him that it was MY conversation and he should not be coming up and involving himself. Then he snapped at me. Screaming at me for screaming at him. Still screaming at her for getting the wrong donut. Then on top of it my son comes upstairs and starts yelling at my husband to leave me alone. So pretty much now it is a full on yelling match.
However, my screaming is far more overpowering and because I am threatening the existence of everyone in sight they’re all trying to get me calm. I start ripping my room apart, packing up a box that I’ve had saved on the side for that exact thing. While still yelling how I am not going to be feeding anyone today so they all better figure out how to survive. How I am sick and tired of having sacrificed my entire existence for them and not one of them gives a shit about me. How if I hear anyone open their mouth one more time I would burn the house down with everyone in it. Yeah, I went there. I said much more and far worse.
And then…knock knock knock. The cops arrive. Two female cops. He’s telling me what to say to them – how they must have been called on my neighbor because he is constantly smoking pot, etc. I did say that, but as a closing. My opening was…yeah, we were arguing but everything is fine. They asked if either of us wanted to file a complaint, we both said no. They asked if there were any guns in the house, we said no. And that was that. They left.
I kind of feel weird about it. Maybe because the one time cops were called is the one time I wasn’t being beaten? I kind of feel betrayed. Almost like, because I’m the one yelling and threatening you call the cops on ME??? Are you fucking kidding me? Wait until I see this clown next door. He will have to call the cops again. So now I’m sitting here kind of wishing this asshole had been hitting me and hard enough to bruise quickly so that this would have been the time for me to act. So I could have said yes, he hit me, yes there are guns, yes there are knives….take him!! And as quickly as they would have taken him out I would have run upstairs like a tornado and got all my shit together and ran.
Bad news…that wasn’t the case and he is still here. Eating the wrong donut. Good news is…one box of my clothes is packed. And now…I want a damn donut!!
To read from the beginning… my story starts here.