Passing Through a Screen Door

Do you remember how a few posts ago I talked about how happy I am now and how part of that happiness stems from my newfound spirituality and how part of that spirituality encompasses working with crystals, setting them with intentions to facilitate change and to allow me to be open and accepting of that change? Well, something that seemed totally impossible in the past due to my all-encompassing fear of things unknown has actually come to pass, and I know it's partially, if not totally, due to that work: After eighteen years of first weeks of school at Miramar High (or twenty-one if you want to count the three years I went to high school there), I finally had a first week somewhere else. I won't lie and say the change was the easiest thing I ever experienced, but you know what? It was a lot less terrifying than I thought it would be, and best of all, I didn't drop dead.

But you know what? I don't want to write about that anymore. I thought I did when I initially started this post, but in quintessential Kismet fashion, it's been days since I started writing, and those days have led me someplace else, and while that someplace else is kind of connected, it's also kind of not.

Let's go back a few weeks to a date I went on with a guy named Dan (who, incidentally, made fun of Blink-182 at the end of the night when I mentioned having had a Blink sticker on my car in the past and then, when I showed him the Blink-182 tattoo on my wrist, continued ridiculing them and then had the nerve to ask me out again. Like, dude. As if) who told me he had two autistic kids. When I got home that night, I mentioned to--my roommate? Super good friend? Boy who calls me Emo Madre? Substitute son?--Sam how lucky I am that both Griffin and Keifer are okay. That feeling has been reinforced many times in the past week since I started at my new school where I've been exposed to far more ESE students than I'm used to and then extra reinforced when I got an email about a student who just last year was diagnosed with a rare disease that's so uncommon, it's a disease most people probably don't know. If not for the fact that when I was eight or nine years old, a former classmate of mine had a heart attack and died not long after being diagnosed with it, I also wouldn't know.

I was thinking about that kid, who also happens to be autistic, on my way home from work today, and about his poor mom, which led to more thoughts of Griffin and Keifer and how lucky I am, and in a thought process you probably didn't expect, it led to my thinking about boys and sex (but let's come the fuck on. The vast majority of my thoughts lead to boys and sex. You can't be entirely shocked).

I thought about how even though I absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent know it to be ridiculously untrue and a wild overstatement caused by nothing more than dopamine and oxytocin induced by five-heart-rated sex, there might be an itty bitty, teeny tiny, microscopic, infinitesimal possibility that I might be the ittiest, bittiest, teeniest, tiniest, microscopickest, infinitesimallest bit in love although I think the diction I'm in the throes of a crush is probably a better choice of words.  I thought about that, and I thought about how much happy it gives me, and I thought about how in the past, it would have given me lots of sad because in the past, I would have been all, What is this? and Why is this not _________? and Why does _____________? but now I'm all like, heart-eye emoji and, well, actually, that's it. I'm all like heart-emoji and nothing else.

Heart-eye emoji, full stop. That's motherfucking me.

And why is that me? And how does this connect to autistic kids and sick kids and the thought of young people dying?

There's so much bad in the world. So much. So much bad and so much sad, and at some point in my recent history, I've begun to pay less attention to the sad--in my immediate world, anyway--and acknowledge the good.

When Keifer first told me he wasn't going to college, I was upset, and when he first got a moon tattoo on his face, my initial reaction wasn't the best, but after reflecting on those things, I realized he was happy(ish) and healthy and living his life, and, really, what more could a parent want? I saw the good in his choices, and just like that, I was happy again.

When I was in my car thinking those sad thoughts today, the ones that led to the sex and the boys, I made a conscious decision to see the beauty in things instead of the flaws, to focus on that which makes my heart full instead of what could make it empty and while at that point in my car, thoughts of that which I find beautiful and that which makes my heart full veered in a direction we won't talk about, I suppose the notion behind the thought action actually does bring me back to the initial intent of this post and my leaving MHS.

When at first I put in for a transfer, I cried for days, and when I packed up my room and left? When I looked at my desk and saw this?

When this?

Great googly moogly, can we talk emotion, por favor?

It was like the finale of a long-running TV show. As I walked out of the place where everybody knows my name and into an obscure spinoff, I certainly felt sad, but I felt excited, too: excited for the new opportunities to come, excited for a new beginning, and excited that even if the change turns out to be a horrific disaster, in what was such an atypical move until recently but is now becoming a more typical part of my life, I invited and accepted change into my life.

And that, people who read my blog, is a beautiful fucking thing. 

Creep

I think we can all agree that I tend to not shy away from discussing the disturbing, and I recently experienced something that disturbed me so much, I can't let it go undiscussed. As it was unfolding, I kept thinking that it was just a typical, if extreme and weird, case of a man thinking that women belong to him or owe him something, which I discussed a few years ago here, but the day before yesterday and then yesterday especially, the situation really transcended that idea.

Now, before I go any further, I'd like to point out that not very much in the realm of girl-boy interaction shocks or disturbs me anymore, and it takes kind of a lot for me to get freaked out and worry about my safety--like I always tell people who express concern that I run or walk in the middle of the night or ask if I'm ever scared to live/travel/do things alone, the only things I'm truly afraid of are zombies and vampires and ghosts--but this guy gave me the wiggins bad. Like, bad bad, and maybe for you to understand how bad, I should tell you I recently went out with a guy who may be a white supremacist, who makes guns from a 3D printer in his house, who was locked out of his google docs account for something to do with gun silencers although I just learned they're not really called that because the sound is only reduced by a certain percent, and who, despite the warnings from a lot of people I respect, I'm going out with again.

This guy I'm about to tell you about freaked me out way worse than that. Way, way worse than that.

About two weeks ago--Saturday, July 20, to be exact--I got a message from this guy who's in the same online community as me. Think Reddit, but not. We talked a lot and he seemed nice and decent, so when he asked for my phone number and Snapchat, I gave them to him. By the second night of talking, he said a few things that gave me pause, but I guess for you to understand, you need a little more background.

First, the site where we met is sort of an unconventional one, and there's way more, um, sensitive personal information (although not necessarily identifiable personal information if that makes any sense) on it than on most websites. I know that's sort of vague, but it's all I can give. Also, he had access to--and read--writings of mine going back to 2014 that detail relationships I've had and currently have with people, including LDG, M, and somebody who I've dated off and on for years (who actually reads this blog you're reading right now, which makes this sort of weird, who I suppose we'll call Clyde since I should probably give him a name). Anyway, the point is, this guy knew going in that I'm seeing other men and exactly how I feel about each one.

So, again: By the second night of our talking, something he said gave me pause, which is, "Well I'm here watching all of them have fun." Now, remember. The them in that insanely inappropriate statement is three specific other men, one who's been around for several years, one who's been around for one, and one who's been around for three months as opposed to this schmuck who wasn't even technically around, but like an idiot, after he apologized and explained, I let it go. A few days later, though, we had a discussion on Snapchat that I'm actually going to post snap by snap so just like I did, you could watch it unfold.

Let me just reiterate before I start that this man and I never met and that he knew about the other people I see from the get-go. Also, I have to say that you know I'm not one for censorship, but a couple things seemed too racy to post plus I didn't want to post his name, not to protect him, but to protect me thus the annoying black lines.

 

At this point, I'd like to point out that the blank blank statement was about something that happened in 2016.

Okay, can we stop for a second to look at what this guy, this guy who I never met, who I'd been talking to for about a week, had the nerve, the fucking nerve to say to me? It sucks to hear about other guys and he's not getting shit? Like...what? What?? Like he really felt that was okay enough to type?

I have to interrupt again. I discard him a lot? It's called being a bit jealous? We never fucking met. We never fucking met, and he's talking about me discarding him? I, just--what?

Not that I should have to explain myself, but this whack job was texting me all the time. I'd tell him I had to go or was in the middle of doing something and the texts and snaps just would not stop. To be honest, that should have been my first clue. Even the first day when I told him I had to get ready for work, he wouldn't stop sending me texts. Like, dude, back the fuck off.

*If you're looking for a clue that unveils who LDG is, you're not going to find it. First of all, you don't know him, I promise. Second, it says Gavin under the black because that's his name in the elsewhere that I write; however, it's not his name in real life.

I'm pretty sure he meant follow his cues here since he's never talked to M to get any advice.

So I'm going to be honest. Up until that last thing that he said, this guy probably could have talked his way out. But as soon as he typed the sentence plus the fragment, I'm here talking about being bf and gf. While he gets all the fun, any chance in hell he had was one-hundred percent done. Nobody, and I mean nobody is entitled to any fun--or for that matter, anything at all--from me, least of all this namby pamby little bitch boy who I never even met.

He doesn't want to hear any of this nonsense? Is he kidding?

Low blows? Low blows? Yes. That I-choose-not-to-have-coffee-with-you statement was really below the belt.

So were you surprising me or someone else? Could this motherfucker be any more of an ass? Like, he's an imbecile to boot.

Okay, so this guy, who I never met, who knew about these guys who had been around way before we in any way existed in each other's realities, went on and on about everybody else having "all the fun" and then actually had the gall to tell me that I'm mean and harsh with him? Let me tell you something, he is so lucky he met the Kismet I am now and not the Kelly I used to be because he has no idea what was going through my head.

I didn't reply to that last snap because why? He has no idea what's going on in my actual life and I certainly didn't feel any need or desire to explain. Instead, I took my sister's phone and took pictures of all his snaps because I was too afraid for him to know I took screenshots. Two days later he sent me a text saying he hoped I made it back safely from my trip and the next day he messaged me, How's your weekend been, to which I replied (copied and pasted with the omission of his name so nothing is misrepresented), Listen, F, we decided the other night we’re not doing this. I don’t want to not respond to you because I think that’s shitty, but we should probably stop talking. 

The following day he replied to a snap story saying I have a beautiful smile, which I ignored, later he snapped that he was sorry, that he didn't mean what he said, which I also ignored, and the next morning, which was yesterday, when I woke up I had a snap from him that I put off opening until finally curiosity got the better of me, and God, I wish I weren't such a curious fucking cat because it was a video of him jacking off.

I physically recoiled. Immediately I told him he was revolting and never to contact me again, waited to make sure he saw the reply, and went to block him, which I did, but not before I saw his response of LOL.

I swear to you that when it comes to sex, few things bother me, and it's not like I haven't seen or gotten videos of that ilk, but when I opened that video and saw what it was, the disgust I felt, I couldn't explain. He didn't send that video to me to be enticing or because he thought I'd think it was hot, he sent that video to me in a sick, sinister way, a menacing way, and I have the heebie jeebies thinking about it now (and the fact that he's a resident or intern or something at NSU and is actually going to be interacting with women on a somewhat-close, intimate basis one day makes it even worse).

And that, people who probably wish you'd stopped reading way at the top of the page, is my sordid tale. What I at first thought was a garden variety, albeit somewhat extreme tale of a man feeling entitled to a woman turns out, at least in my opinion, to be something worse. Not only did our final communication lead me to believe he's threatening in, I don't know,  a sexually predatory? way, upon rereading our messages, I also think he's mentally disturbed. A normal example of entitlement would be this DM from A, who tried to reappear in my life about a month ago after being out of it for a little over a year and who told me he reads my blog which I only mention because he obviously knows the hierarchy of things yet somehow thought it wasn't applicable to him.

This is the kind of masculine entitlement I've learned to expect. I hate to say it, but this behavior is normal.

A guy I never met not only thinking I owe him something and need to change my clearly established behavior but also acting as if we had some type of relationship and were, like, made for each other or something delusional like that?

That is some sick fucking shit.