Confessions, Pt. I

Dear Deluded,

I thought it fitting to communicate via letter since that’s how we communicated best.  I’m not trying to offend you, but I feel that there are some things I need to get off of my chest.  Nay, deserve to get off of my chest.  From a distance.
From the first evening of your arrival, I knew that you were NOT the one for me.  I’m not sure of the type of people in your life who don’t question your sanity: is no one looking out for you?  Your grandparents seem a bit oblivious to your antics in their attic apartment where you reside, but that’s to be expected.  They only see what they want to see and, of course, you are not exactly forthcoming about your shortcomings, are you?
Why is that?  Do you know that you’re insane?  That the things that you put into your body are, in fact, destroying you from the inside out?  I noticed it from your skin.  It’s pock-marked and scarred…the exact opposite of your pictures.  Is that why one of the first questions you asked me was if you looked like your pictures?  Being on the spot, I had no choice but to say, yes, of course you do.  And then as I got to know you, I think I may have the culprit and it could save you several trips to the dermatologist.  Prescription drug abuse affects your skin.
I never realized just how addictive and dangerous Adderall was until meeting you and watching you fly out of control as withdrawal set in.  Do you realize that you were frantic, IMing me at work every two minutes complaining that the pharmacy nearest my house did not have Adderall and what kind of city is this that doesn’t have Adderall when people need it everyday and that you didn’t think you were going to make it and when was I coming home?  Heaven forbid that there was some truth to the fact that there is actually a nationwide shortage on several prescription medications, but you’re welcome to call around.  Someone will have some somewhere, the pharmacist suggested.  But there’s that operative word, call.  That’s what adults do.  They find solutions to their problems.  What do you do?  Whine, bitch, moan and complain to someone until they do it for you.  But what could I do?  I actually have a job, unlike you, of which I’m very grateful.    So, like most adults/friends of adults, I reiterated the pharmacists’ advice: call around.  I’m not sure what pissed me off more – your sarcastic response, “how am I supposed to call without a phone”, or your response to my secondary solution to call from your computer – “I’m not calling a pharmacy from my computer.”  I apologize for not leaving my great job to come tend to your maniacal needs.  Someone has to work to make sure your government check for mental instability from dating a celebrity arrives on time.  By the way, how long will you be receiving those checks?  It’s a sweet deal, I’m happy to see my tax dollars at work, unlike you.  It’s not my issue that you’ve chosen to not carry a phone.  At least one that works.  Bringing your phone with you just in case you decide to renew your contract does not constitute acting like an adult.  It’s idiotic.  Is there something you’re not telling me regarding your phone situation?  Nevermind, not my issue.  It’s also not my issue that you ran out of medication on your first day of being out-of-town.  Why didn’t you plan on these things before the day you flew out?  Oh, I remember.  First, your friend who was going to go with you failed to show up.  (That would be at least the fifth time a friend of yours didn’t show up to tend to your errands.  I can’t say that I blame them and do you see the pattern here?  Take care of your own business, yourself.)  Then your grandfather wasn’t able to come home in time to go with you.  Hm.  I thought you said you had two cars?  One of them a G6, as I recall.  You sang the hit pop sensation, ‘Like a G6‘ to me on the phone, remember?  Is there something you’re not telling me?  Wait.  Don’t tell me.  It’s not my business and, more importantly, I don’t give a fuck.  Why lie?  Perhaps you’re more materialistic than you let on, but being unemployed doesn’t really support that mindset, does it?  Thank goodness for family, am I right?
That first night I came home after work, I wasn’t sure what to expect after ‘reading’ your random outbursts regarding your medication.  Would my stuff be destroyed?  Would you be waiting in the dark to shank me?  Of course not.  You were on  the computer doing God knows what.  Maybe it was looking for a job as you said you planned on doing – nope – or maybe it was chatting with a friend to tell them how boring it was after only one day…when I had to work…as I told you…before you got here.  Who knows?  But the lovely dinner you planned of frozen pizza was enough to make it all worth it…at first.  The flowers were nice, but the two bottles of wine were even better.  Later, when you complained that there wasn’t anything in the kitchen that you cared to eat (other than frozen pizza), why didn’t you get it at the store the first time around?  Oh, that’s right.  It was too heavy.  But I see that those two bottles of wine weren’t a problem for you.  That’s good.  And why complain about food when you said yourself that you hardly eat.  You’re such a healthy individual who only eats granola with her coffee and maybe a frozen pizza with her wine – I thought you were all set for the week.  My bad.  I must have misunderstood.  Of course, with the lack of Adderall in your system, your appetite must have returned.  That’s what pissed you off.  Thanks for informing me of this as your diet plan…the Aderall diet.  I should have guessed after I told you how upset I was at a random politician saying how fat First Lady Obama was and that she should take note from her own program, ‘Let’s Move,’ and your response was, “he’s right.  She is fat.”  The only hope I have is that she’ll adopt your doctrine of Adderall for appetite suppression, Klonopin to relieve the anxiety of starving to death and a double dose of Ambien each day to just sleep the pounds away.  The Deluded Diet Plan.  Sounds catching, you should definitely promote that.  For fat adults and those fat, pesky children.
I’m so sorry that I wasn’t more attentive that night until you threw a mini-tantrum after dinner because I wasn’t more appreciative of your romantic frozen pizza.  It was thoughtful and I was such an ass for not jumping up and down for ingesting a pile of crap that I’d much sooner toss in the garbage than eat.  But wanting to introduce you to fresh vegetables and a regular diet of fiber and food with nutrients that will still keep you slim, just a healthy slim, was so thoughtless of me.  Showing you how to make homemade tortilla chips with olive oil, a smidge of salt, some gorgonzola cheese and red onions made your face turn such a sour color at the thought of a healthier snack than chips out of the bag was so inappropriate.  Again, my apologies.  So that’s why I tried to soothe you that night.  Me trying to impress a more favorable diet upon you was incredulous and I just wanted to reassure you that it won’t happen again.  Ever.  A quick note, though: I never intended for you to feel obligated to put on your cheap silk nightie and entice me to sleep with you.  I expected quite the opposite.  I just wanted to console you enough to make sure that you didn’t kill me in my sleep, not attack me with overly aggressive kissing.  You should consider chapstick, by the way.  My lips chafe easily.  And it’s important to remember that oral hygiene is a major factor in any seduction situation.  That’s what you were doing, right?  Seducing me?  With your claw toes (yikes, you wore flip-flops most of the time and I don’t care how much of a ‘California Girl’ you are, it’s cold in January in Chicago and Atlanta.  Cover your feet, especially if you’ve got tore up toes.)  I think of one claw toe in particular because I am 99% positive that it’s the one guilty of slicing through my favorite sheets.  A slice that wasn’t there before you slept in my bed.  I’ll remember it fondly every time I slip into my new sheets that aren’t as nice, but the paisley pattern sets off my bedroom quite nicely.  Thanks.
I’m not sure if I found that more offensive or the smell emanating from your nether regions once our clothes came off.  It was eerie.  We didn’t have fish for dinner so where was that odor coming from?  It damn sure as hell wasn’t me.  More importantly, if I can smell it, I know it’s slapping you in the face.  In fact, it smelled like it may have been an issue for you for quite some time.  Is that so?  Again, why wouldn’t you get that taken care of before you got here?  Why would you initiate any level of sexual intimacy knowing that you were experiencing a ‘not so fresh’ moment in your life?  I know.  You’re Deluded.  But not even you could ignore it.  That’s why you brought it up.  I can almost respect you for at least facing the music, or facing the funk, if you will.

Deluded: I want to tell you something.

Me: What is it?

Deluded: I don’t usually smell like that.

Me: Oh?

Deluded: I have BV.  It’s genetic.

Me: I see.

Deluded: I called my doctor before I left but I didn’t have time to get there to get my medication.

     Always with the, “…no time to…”  How is it that you have no time during the same 24 hours as everyone else?  Let me elaborate…everyone else who has a full-time job.  You never really seemed to have time for anything.  Perhaps the to-do lists that you say you’re constantly making would be better served by actually getting done.  Just a thought.  About your genetic BV, I appreciate your honesty, but could it have come before we were intimately involved in foreplay?  I confess, while you were in the bathroom freshening up, I scrubbed my hands at the kitchen sink until they were raw.  Could you blame me?  Of course not.  I am curious though, at this point why didn’t you put your clothes back on?  It’s not like I was going to do anything further to you.  I guess you thought that you were still sexy and that it would make the body massage you wanted to give me all the more pleasurable.  I confess, I didn’t want you to touch me, but I was at a loss.  I had no idea what to do with you.  I’m really glad I decided to put the towel down.  Number one, because you gave me an oil bath instead of a simple massage and the oil splashed all over.  Number two, because you remained naked sitting on my custom-made $2200 sofa.  Again, really glad I put the towel down.  And I apologize that the massage had the opposite effect on me.  Did you not feel that there was more tension in my muscles after you were done than when you started?  Oh yeah, you did, because you pouted again and sat at your computer.  Sat.  Naked.  In my $375 dining chair.  With your infected vagina.  No worries, I’ll just get it cleaned, right?  I’m sure you’ve noticed the price tags that I’ve cleverly included in this letter.  It’s not to show off, it’s just speaking your materialistic, bragging, self-absorbed nature.  Do you get now why I was so upset?
I know you’re still wondering, if I was so upset, then why did I come over there, kiss you and drag you into the bedroom.  I wanted your ass off of my chair!  But I also didn’t want to hurt your feelings and I wanted you to feel useful.  So I put you on your knees and put you to work.  On me.  It was more of a punishment for me than you because I was the exact opposite of attracted.  I was appalled.  Disgusted.  Scared.  I don’t want you to think that I was just trying to get off.  I knew before you started that it wasn’t going to happen for me.  I seriously wanted you off of my chair and back into your clothes.  But how do you do that without pissing off a crazy person who has run out of her meds?  Exactly.  I had no idea either.  So I played to your vanity.  Looking back it was a horrible idea, but I didn’t have a clear view of any other options.
And you were a trooper.  If there was ever such a thing as ‘Oral Olympics’ you would have easily gotten the bronze for endurance.  Not so much on technique.  I understand how you were able to seduce young girls who had never been with a woman before.  You were pretty bad, but diligent.  In fact, that’s how I suspected that you may have been in the porn industry.  Only porn (wannabe) stars keep going no matter what.  You concentrated, you never tired, not even when I suggested that you stop because you were probably tired.  But you never quit.  That’s admirable.  And I have a confession.  I faked it.  I was never going anywhere.  Or coming.  But again, valiant effort.
I’m tired.  I’m going to take a break from this letter now.  Take a moment to reflect on some of the points I’ve made regarding your behavior.  It’s probably best that you take all of this in in small doses anyway.  For now, sweet dreams…well, you’re probably asleep already anyway…

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