What’s the number for the straight-jacket people?

It’s raining in my bathroom!  All my bathroom books are wet 😦

I woke up today, got out of bed and walked out of my bedroom to see that there was a flood in my bathroom, and the wall panels taken down to expose the pipes.

Me – What’s going on?

Mom – Can you come up here so I can talk to you?

(My mom was talking to me from upstairs.)

Me – I have to go to the bathroom.

Mom – Okay, go to the bathroom and then come speak to me.

I go to the bathroom and see where the leak was coming from on the ceiling.

“This is great.  Just Great.”

On my way walking up the stairs I say, “So is this the third house that Robert’s demolished?.  It’s looking a lot like the last two.”

Mom – It’s because of the pipes freezing outside.  It’s from all the snow.

Me – It’s not coming from the roof, mom!  It’s coming from the ceiling in my BATHROOM!

Mom – It’s happening to a lot of people.  It’s from the cold weather.

Me – You’re sounding just like Aunt Ceil (crazy aunt)!  You’re making excuses just like she does!

My dad was standing right there next to me.  He was happy I was making a big fuss.  He had a smile on his face cause I was saying all the things he couldn’t.  He pointed to a big jug of home-made wine that his friend gave to him.

Dad – Wine.

Me – Well, You’re not convincing me.  You can convince yourself because you’re already crazy.

I say this as I tromp back downstairs.  I felt great, revitalized.  I started brushing my teeth and see the leak again.  I spit and walk back toward the stairs to yell up, “when are they leaving?!”

Mom – Stop!

Me – It’s a simple question.  When?  Years from now when we have no more house?

There was no sign of crazy aunt and Robert, so I asked, “Where did they go?  Did they hop in the rental car and go to a hotel?”

Mom – Aunt Ceil is here!

My crazy aunt and her son were being quiet, morbidly sitting in a bedroom together because that’s what fucked up people do.

Then Robert opens up his bedroom door and starts his ballistic angry rampage by shouting out obscenities, letting his temper get the best of him.

Luckily my dad wasn’t there to hear him, he went outside or to the hardware store.

I just let him call me names while I went back to brushing my teeth in my bathroom.  He said I was ungrateful and selfish – Every other word out of his mouth was bitch.  It would have been too easy in telling him off, either it would have been too easy, or I just didn’t feel like spitting out comebacks while my mouth was full of toothpaste.  He isn’t worth it.  

He really is a homicidal sociopath, but he weighs like, 100 pounds.  He looks like a caveman because he doesn’t shave his beard or cut his hair.  Montgomery Burns could take him in a fight.

One of these days I’m going to tell him about this blog.  I’m going to tell him I’m one click away from sharing it on Facebook.  I’m friends with dozens of family members – the same family members that my mom and aunt lie to in order to conceal Robert’s condition.  Nobody can know about him or what he does.

I need to set up a separate category just for Robert.  I’ll do it later.  I have to go to work.


Filed under journal, My OCD cousin who wants to kill me, rant

5 responses to “What’s the number for the straight-jacket people?

  1. Steph

    OMG Mel! You need to get out of the house! Come live with me 🙂
    I’m sorry that you are dealing with this.

    • I’m not leaving until they leave. I’ve already decided this. They’re not going to get away with this. They want me to leave, that’s what they want. It’s all the more reason for me to stay and make their lives hell. I can’t leave my Pop.

  2. Steph

    :(. Sounds like a lot of misery

    • I know it sounds like misery, but I’m not miserable. I’ve done the whole depression thing, and I’m a much stronger person now that I’m out of it. I can handle this. I’m a pillar of strength and reason – thats what I keep telling myself. If I move out now, it’ll be like turning my back on my family – especially my dad. I know i’d regret it if anything were to ever happen to him after I move out. Don’t feel sorry for me whatever you do, I’ll be okay, I promise.

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