Scars

Cassiel C. MacAvity


      (April, with exposition written in May, 1995

      Two and a half years earlier than this, I had been listening to someone's multiple stories about what a great programmer he was. The thought finally occurred of suggesting a project I had thought of which might intrigue him. It did, I typed up some notes for him, and then would ask for occasional progress reports.

      About a year before this, I had met a now ex-lover, and given the situation, as with the above, I did what I thought was best, felt, what I though was best.

      During a phone call in April, the Monday before writing the following, I was asked about having had breeders, rather than parents, asked about the experience of having been treated as a quaint two legged convenience, screamed at and beaten when it wasn't being convenient, deliberately denied friends, hobbies, interests, any form of humanity, deliberately crushed, when it became obvious that I was not turning out as they, but was human, and better than they---at a time when I was supposed to be a child, supposed to be experiencing the world for the first time, supposed to be growing up.

      I was asked if I felt cheated. I said yes.

      The following Wednesday, everything boiled over, and I sent the following Email to the person to whom I had been speaking.)

      My turn to ramble, I guess.

      Today at work, one of the warehouse workers was taught how to close down the computer at the end of the day. The procedure is detailed, but simple. The worker, in turn, is rather trusting, and if he's given a wrong instruction, he'll cheerfully carry it out. Where I will give him choices, and let him decide, and where I, myself, can get to something that's clearly wrong, and maneuver around it, others won't give him those choices, and he can't always figure things out.

      For the last few months I've been listening to the ex-lover absentmindedly mindgaming him like an angler with a fish on the line, and she was teaching him the procedure, with the whine of the warehouse, "Everything has to be done MY way." floating around at the end, and all I could do was cringe.

      Sometime today, I remembered getting a clock radio at some point in my early teens. The male breeder immediately materialized with a newspaper or something list of radio stations. He insisted that I needed to make a list of radio stations, copying from the printed list he had, and given his statement that the printed frequency listings would be incorrect, that I should then work my way through the radio dial to match up the stations with the correct frequencies.

      I instantly saw the flaw in his argument, and pointed out that it was unlikely that the printed list was complete, so it was best that I first go through the radio dial and then match it up with the printed list, since, only then, would I be certain of what I was working with.

      Ultimately, the breeder was absolutely enraged, and screamed at me to go off and do another term through his fucking exercise abuse for no more reason than the fact that I was right and had the better way of doing something which would have been nothing more than yet another of his deliberate wastes of my time.

      In the last general while;

      I told you about the programming project. It's been two and a half years of "It's a wonderful project", "I'm having a blast", and, ultimately, the same "Well, I have to do these three other things first," that I've been hearing in one form or another for ages. He claims he's interested, but I know now it'll never get done, and like everything else he's gotten involved with, all the "three other things" he's doing "this week" will all come to an absolute, mediocre, nothing.

      And I cared, and could do nothing.

      I had a friend in my Scot's group. She was friendly, caring, and compassionate. And because I introduced her to my ex-lover, because I introduced her to something for which the word "friendship" means "the right to make one sided, absolute use of another", she died several months ago. She was told by her owner to go to someone she knew was a genuine, caring, friend, and deliberately feed him a string of absolute lies, and rather than reply "fuck off" or tell me, and ask me to play along, she agreed, and, in doing so, effectively was murdered. There Is something walking around which answers to her name, but after what the ex-lover did to it, it has no friends, no value, no care, no one that likes it, and nothing, nothing whatsoever, will ever be done to make up for this loss.

      And I cared, and could do nothing.

      I've had two sets of people announce that great projects would occur in film and computers, if only I would do certain things. Maybe I was stupid to believe, but I did, and did what I was told needed to be done, and all I've heard is more excuses, the same excuses I've been hearing from everyone else.

      And I cared, and could do nothing.

      In the last year, I became involved with someone to whom I offered love, care, companionship, honesty, and integrity. In return, I was lied to, held in absolute contempt, along with all my friends and interests, was ordered to deny friendship, was considered nothing more than a general convenience, and when I refused to put up with any of this, whether aimed at me or anyone else, I became hated, and for this too, nothing will be done.

      And I cared, and could do nothing.

      In the last year I have realized more than ever just what was done to me when I should have had family and friends and was instead deliberately savaged and broken by those to whom at first I also offered the same love, care, companionship, honesty, and integrity. I was wrong when we spoke Monday. I wasn't cheated, I was deliberately robbed, even deliberately stolen---and I may never be completely recovered, and there is nothing that can be done about it.

      And I cared, and could do nothing.

      Over and over I find myself in situations where I am clearly expected by the situations and by others to do everything I can to make things work the best way possible. Over and over, I find myself working alone and against those I need to trust, and finally realize I can trust no one.

      I am at the edge of the abyss. I will not go in, but over and over and over, I have watched as that which I have held dear has not been accidentally, but intentionally, and often gleefully, ripped from me and destroyed, thrown into the void, by those whose clear sole interest is to cause pain and misery because it is all they can comprehend.

      It seems that somehow I have never been able to let go, to close my eyes and say "Ok, let this be wrong, it doesn't matter.", but I can not agree when I know it can be better, and over and over, all I can do is stand by and do NOTHING!!!!!!!!!!

      I can only break so many times. Ultimately, I will give up. Ultimately, I will turn my back, leave, and go to where I have no more anger. I'm finding more and more that I don't feel pain anymore, just anger, at that which is deliberately fucked up.

      Since no one else seems to give one flying fuck, why should I?


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© 1997 Cassiel C. MacAvity