Dilemma: I'm the Bad Guy in Current Events

Wake up in the morning feeling like P diddy

I’m groggy, I just want to get to my coffee. That’s the vibe in the morning. The coffee is programmed to be ready for me when I wake up. On my way to it this morning I was so confused to see that my roommate emptied the recycling bin onto the counter and put it in the middle of the dining area. I corrected it. My mind cursed her for being stupid. Was she sleepwalking and doing dumb shit? Then I noticed a bin sitting on her toilet. Is the roof leaking? I ask myself. It can’t be, there is a suite between us and the roof. The ceiling leaked last night.

I’ll never know why that happened. It didn’t rain. My neighbors above me, are unwell. I call it shower envy. If you shower, they have to shower too. No matter what time of day it is. We get to play tug of war with the hot water. Somebody there showers a dozen times a day. For two days, we heard water running. They must have left a tap on. I know who it is that is addicted to showering. I would probably be addicted to showers too if I were a crackwhore.

Maybe we don’t remember, which is great! I don’t want to remember either. My neighbor tried to break into my suite to kill me. It was in the middle of the afternoon. I was dead asleep. The noise woke me up. I was groggy. I was confused. I thought my roommate locked herself out. As I approached the door I figured it out. This demonic woman was a menace. She would scream from her balcony all day long. She was mad at the world. Mad at her husband and kids for leaving her. She whored herself to pay her bills and blamed her husband. Some days, I just wanted to yell Jump! Jump! Jump! from my window. It was unbearable. Our complaints did nothing.

I did not press charges but she was institutionalized. I thought this was the incident that would at least get her evicted. It did not. That was the consolation prize I thought I was getting for turning the other cheek. She sobered up since then. She’s clean and her husband moved back in. Her son comes by with his kid. She tries to make nice with the other neighbors but I get the death glare. Did she slit her wrists last night in the tub? That’s where my mind went. To the dark place.

With the work I am doing with my therapist, we are cultivating an internal family system. I am almost finished with the book he recommended No Bad Parts. I’ll get ChatGPT to explain, I’m not in the mood.

“No Bad Parts” by Richard C. Schwartz introduces the Internal Family Systems (IFS) model of psychotherapy. This approach posits that the mind is made up of multiple sub-personalities or “parts,” each with its own perspective and role. The book emphasizes that all parts have positive intentions, even those that may seem harmful or disruptive. Schwartz guides readers in understanding and harmonizing these internal parts to achieve healing and personal growth. The central message is that there are no bad parts, only parts that need understanding and integration.

We have an inner child, that’s the gist of it. Except we have more inner personalities. Why am I bringing this up? I’m trying to heal from trauma and this approach means that I have to accept that there are No Bad Parts in others. Addicts are sociopaths. They don’t care who they hurt to get their fix. I don’t know what magical land addict-sympathizers are from but these demonic people are the ones who pimp out their children. They rob you. They manipulate you and worse. I’ve been on the receiving end of worse way too many times. They drag you down with them. They give no fucks, I now return that energy. I give no fucks. Get wrecked. Get homeless. Get overdosed. I don’t care anymore. You made your bed, enjoy it. I drew a hard boundary against these failed people types. I refuse to feel sorry for them. They are complete monsters. Full-blown Wetiko. However, I have friendships with people with a past that I do not hold against them. I suppose this is because I was never burned by it. It’s conflicting. I’m conflicted. This is not an easy topic. There is no black and white but I make it black and white anyway.

I’ve done run out of patience, understanding, and empathy for addicts. I realized this when we buried my friend who lost his battle to alcoholism. I felt nothing at the funeral. There was no grieving process. There was no denial, it added up. He did the dumb things and the dumb things happened. There was no anger, depression, etc because I accepted it immediately. It’s done. The battle is over. He lost. Now we can ALL rest in peace. Of course I miss him. I think about him every single day. Tommy I will hear his voice say often. He was like an older brother to me. Something I try to give others now. He never told me what I wanted to hear, but what I had to hear. When I gave that back to him about his substance abuse, oh he was pissed. He hung up on me but then he decided to sober up. He would call me to tell me he was going to kill himself. Then the next day say he didn’t mean it. I called him out that he meant it. He was slowly committing suicide. After he hung up on me, he called me back crying a few hours later. He was terrified. He had his mother drive him to the hospital so he could detox.

He was the smartest dumb guy I have ever met. He knew what he was in for at the hospital. I stayed with him on the phone. It was a long battle that I tried to help him through for months and months but I had to tap out. He was bitter about it. I was enabling him. I had to step back. He was in and out of rehab and I think he was in love with me and it made me a trigger. He would call me and say so and then pretend he didn’t say it the next day. I tried to call him for a wellness check around Christmas but he didn’t answer. I was going to call him after the holidays but he died Christmas day. Alone, in bed. His heart failed him when he was asleep. He was found face down holding his chest. His morbid obesity, sorry, I mean his body-positive figure helped kill him there. He was only 30. He had the flu, he got drunk, high, and took Gravol. It was a big gasket.

I do have recovering addicts in my life. I’m weary of them. My brother is one, for instance. My brother-in-common-law as well. They turn around and tell their stories to inspire others. This is an area of influence I do not understand because I am not in it. I am not in it because I am not an idiot. I’m not in that world. I’m not that stupid and weak. Where is the song and movie about the kid who said no to drugs? Who was ostracized by their peers after they went down that path? Who makes better choices? Who gets called a shamer, a goody two shoes? I don’t need a song. When I was seven, I looked at these losers and promised myself that I would never become one of them. I knew the odds were not in my favor. Kids with my history, I know what they become. I beat those odds. I should write a rap song about it.

What makes my skin crawl is when they come out of it saying they found god. Then they act like they are holier they are than everybody else. You put everyone else in your life through hell. They found the devil because of you! They are a saint for Satan as far as I’m concerned. There is no repentance, or absolution if I’m around. I don’t forgive and forget and I don’t let them forget either. It’s the idea that they can come out of it and blame it on the addiction. That wasn’t me, it was the addiction. It was the disease.
No! It was you. You are the monster!
I don’t think I can accept this internal family system if it means that I have to accept it in others. This makes me the villain here. I am the bad guy because I don’t let them live it down. I don’t accept that they are the victims here. They are not the good guys in their made-up superhero story. Society wants me to worship them for recovering. Glorify them. Testify sister! Especially if they found god in the process. I do not glorify them. I do not idolize them. I have the psychotic, narcissistic, radicalized, far-right, unhinged idea that we should judge others by their character and choices. I look forward to the re-education camps.

My old friend Colleen, I used to visit her and whenever her daughter, when she was a toddler, did something stupid and got hurt, she would run up to her mom where her mother would just say WELL!? That’s my attitude when someone’s life falls apart because they made every decision that got them addicted to this, that, and the other thing. WELL!? What did we think was gonna happen when we started doing crack? Just get sober and start a rap career like a normal person. Mommy never loved me, my lifestyle gave me herpes. Now I’m fit because of burpees, daddy hurt me, now I’m a rich bitch, priase God, worship me. Blah blah

I watched my neighbor’s mother come to nurse her daughter back to health. She could have been incarcerated because of me but I didn’t press charges. It worked out for her. Good for her, I guess. That’s their problem. I never got a thank you, and I don’t need one. Her mother stuck by her. Her husband is back. Her kid and grandkid visit. I am dead to her and the feeling is mutual. Unless she really is dead up there right now. I doubt it. I will never know what happened but this is where my mind went first thing in the morning. It’s going to be an interesting day.

I remember the last time I wrote about my feelings on this. Oh, I was vilified for wrong-think. A man robs you so he can buy crack, I’m the bad guy. A kid steals your car so he can sell it for crack, I’m the bad guy. A woman pimps out her infant for some crack, I’m the bad guy. I’m just not good at toxic optimism. At least they found Christ who forgave them. Meanwhile, we all have to pick up the pieces. Am I the bad guy? I think I will have to go to some AA meetings with my brother-in-common-law so I can understand this… better? I have a friend who does podcasts, the Sobriety Playbook, maybe I can talk to her? I’m open to the idea that I missing something here. I’m not going to lose sleep over it. It’s cause and effect. It feels as simple as that.

Last updated July 13, 2024