Get Up, Stand Up
Joe P will be in the office starting next week. Seamus attitude has grown increasingly worse. When I saw Seamus on Tuesday, his face had a hard, dark look to it. I spoke with him briefly, but I was so frantically busy, I didn’t have time to dote on him. He talked to me briefly, but the couple of times I bumped into him in the hallway, he looked sort of angry. I didn’t like his expression, and it bothered me.
He called me when I was driving home, but I could hear a different sound to his voice. Normally, when all is well with Seamus, his deep voice has a low, monotone timbre to it. When he’s agitated, even though his manner of speaking doesn’t change and the volume of his voice does not increase, his voice raises in pitch and takes on a menacingly sharp edge instead of its usual softness. I knew I was in for trouble. However, the conversation started with some talk about the stock market…totally inocuous. But after a while, talk turned to work, and Seamus mentioned seeing a white female co-worker whom he despised. He asked me questions about her, and I provided the answers. I saw no harm in it, and I’m still trying to build Seamus’ trust that I am forthcoming with truthful information when he needs it…yes, I’m trying to feed the bears again. You’d think I’d learn, but I get tired of being accused of lying or holding back information.
Anyway, after Seamus collected his gossip, he said,” See that, I’ve turned into a stupid gossiping animal just like the rest of you.” I bristled at this; after all, he and I were very close and he had asked me for this information. I told him, but that didn’t mean I had been running around the office telling everyone, and I trusted him not to tell others. I didn’t really consider that to be the kind of malicious gossip he did.
“Oh, so you’re saying I’m a stupid animal,” I retorted, “when you’re the one who brought it up and kept asking questions.”
“Yes, you are a stupid animal,” he responded. “But,” he added, “I’m saying that I’m a stupid animal, too.”
This was too much. I kept my voice pleasant. “Well,” I said, “it looks like our talk time is up. We’ll talk again another day.”
Seamus sounded surprised, “Wait a minute, what’s wrong?”
I told him, “I’m not going to let you insult me today. I’ve got too much stress and pressure on to put up with your sh*t, too. I’m sorry, and there’s no hard feelings, but I really think it best that we talk another time.”
So, Seamus says, “I don’t understand. I’m simply saying that I’ve come down to that point now.”
“Oh,” said I, “so you’re saying that you’ve come down to my level, is that it?” Oh, boy…that was mature of me.
Seamus then said, “No, I don’t think I’ll ever get that low.”
Geez, that hurt. “Well,” I said, still sounding reasonable and pleasant, “it’s statements like that which make me say that I’d rather just talk again another day.” Seamus, his voice dripping with sarcasm, said “Very well, then,” and hung up.
He did try to call me one more time later that evening, but I didn’t answer, and he left no message. There were no calls on Wednesday. I anticipated Thursday would be the day, because we both had to be in the office to do our production reports in the morning.
Thursday comes along, and the only contact I made with Seamus was when he started down my corridor. I guess he didn’t realize I was standing there when he made the decision to go that way. Not that he wasn’t going that way to make a point: he still likes to parade by my cubicle on these fake errands, taking great care to not even look in at me, almost as if I didn’t exist. My corridor is a very roundabout way to get anywhere, so there’s no real purpose for him to walk this way except to continue his display of nonchalance.
Anyway, so, here comes Seamus down the corridor. He spots me, hesitates, then makes an exaggerated but silly show of looking around as if he wanted to run in the opposite direction, then he continued on in my direction. I laughed, dutifully, and he smiled a bit, but his face still had a forbidding, hard look about it. I said “What’s up?” as he passed, and he sort of waved, but kept on going. He later paraded by a couple of times, but never really spoke to me.
Later that morning, we had a celebration for a coworker who was leaving. They paged “all employees” to the breakroom, but Seamus was absent. My supervisor told me afterwards that Seamus took off for the field, that he didn’t want to participate in the celebration. It seemed fitting with the way Seamus’ expression appeared: he didn’t look very celebratory. My supervisor also told me that Seamus had been in to see our bigger boss. Apparently, Seamus was so worried about the arrival of Joe Picamosca, he went in to make a pre-emptive strike, telling our big boss that he had a history with Joe P, and he was worried about some retaliation or revenge efforts at work. My supervisor said the the boss tried to reassure Seamus that he and my supervisor were on Seamus’ side. Who knows how much effect that will have.
Seamus tried to call me last night. The phone rang a little after nine, but I ignored it. I didn’t fee like giving Seamus the reassurance he wanted by my phoning back or answering. He had hurt me unneccesarily, and then he had all but snubbed me at work. What exactly did I owe him? And what do I owe myself? Just like the reggae song says, “Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights.”
Something has changed a bit with my feeling for him. I still love him, but it doesn’t feel so ardent now. I’m beginning to look around at a couple of other boys who have, in turn, been looking my way. I doubt they’ll be anything like Seamus, and that’s good and bad. It’s bad in that I doubt they’ll provide me with the mental challenge that Seamus does, but it’s good in that perhaps they won’t be so cruel or need to tear me down so often.
Most importantly, I don’t feel butterflies and pangs of yearning when I think of Seamus right now. Instead, I feel a grinding anxiety and an uneasiness, a distinct discomfort, when I think of talking to him on the phone, or even being out with him, which was what I was always after. And when I saw him on Thursday, I saw him a little differently. Instead of the adorable, somewhat disheveled geek boy, I saw someone who indeed looked mentally ill, an angry, dark look on his face, unspeaking and unsmiling, wearing his “uniform” of an ancient, wrinkled, rag-like white shirt and Dockers so faded that they look khaki when they started off olive green…the same outfit he wears every time he comes into the office. He told me he only owns one pair of dockers, and two white shirts for work. Casual wear is between some white tee shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans. And one pair of military surplus shoes that go with both casual and workwear. I used to think that was part of his charm, now I’m thinking that it’s just another sign that this guy is too far gone for me to be with him.
This may or may not be a turning point. I realize how ridiculously noncommital that seems. That’s because I know how easily I’m swayed when Seamus turns on the charm. We’re going through another fallow period right now, so it’s easier to embrace the growing distance. But if Seamus lays it on thick, I may just be swooning and happily obsessed again. For now, though, I’m going to ride on this roller coaster of emotion, and hope that my feelings will be more clear with time. This situation with Joe P could just make or break the fragile relationship between Seamus and I.
Houston, We Have A Problem…
The worst has happened. OK, maybe not the worst. But this is bad…bad, bad, bad.
One of Seamus’ former antagonists from his past in another office has been transferred to our own office. To add insult to injury, this person, Joe Picamosca, has been assigned to the very region that Seamus and I work in.
You see, our giant district offices contain several smaller regional units. Each regional unit has a supervisor, but some are big enough to have two. The regional unit that Seamus and I belong to have two supervisors. One, sadly, is retiring, and this makes way for Mr. Picamosca. While Mr. Joe P will not be directly supervising Seamus, myself, or the rest of our sub-crew, he will be interacting with the rest of us due to the nature of belonging to the same regional unit.
There is much history between Seamus and Joe P, and absolutely no love lost between them. They’ve had several run-ins in the past, but it’s amazing to hear how differently each has perceived the situation to be.
What I’ve heard of Joe Picamosca is that he’s a volatile type who suffers from some sort of Napoleonic syndrome. He’s of small stature, but he body-builds so he can look more buffed. He has a volatile temper and a history of uncalled for outbursts, yelling and screaming at subordinates for varying transgressions such as driving poorly (as he sees it) in the parking lot or arriving back from lunch 10 minutes late. He had been a trainer twice to train new professionals like Seamus and myself. On his second stint as a trainer, he had not one, but three trainees file formal grievances against him. So, he was shuffled off to another district office. There, Mr. Joe Picamosca got into further altercations with employees. Mr. Joe P seemed to consider the office his own personal dating pool, and he actually got into a physical altercation with a male clerk over a female clerk he was interested in. And all the while, Mr. Joe P is part of professional management, a supervisor no less, while he continues to participate in inappropriate behavior. And, so, he’s been shuffled to our district office in hope, yet again, of a fresh start.
Seamus, of course, has a different way of looking at Joe Picamosca. Seamus says that Joe P is a macho animal, too stupid and addled by sports and testosterone to know any better. Seamus, who worked with Mr. Picamosca in a different regional unit before we consolidated into districts, claimed that Joe P always tried to intercept Seamus’ attempts to chat up some of the other girls in the office. He made some other vague statements that Joe P constantly tried to intimidate and harrass him. Also, and I was witness to this, Mr. Joe P tried to get Seamus in trouble with our own supervisor by saying that Seamus was falsifying his production report when we were doing some loan work for the other regional unit. Joe P’s claims were bogus, and our supervisor could see it immediately. Most noteworthy was the fact that other employees that were on loan to Joe P’s unit had submitted the same type of production reports showing the same patterns that Joe P accused Seamus of falsifying. It did seem that Seamus was right, and Joe P was holding a grudge against him.
A grudge against him for what, you might ask. Well, a couple of years back, when Seamus and I were in Phase I, I had the opportunity to meet Joe Picamosca. Myself and another employee were sent to another district to train the supervisors and upper management how to use a new production reporting system. While I was there, Joe P asked me what personalities we had out in my district office, and he specifically brought up Seamus. He said that he had several run-ins with Seamus, and that Seamus liked to say snide things to him to bait him into arguments. He told me that he felt fairly sure that Seamus had issues with “latent homosexuality” because Seamus always picked at or taunted the men, but rarely approached the womenfolk. Joe P claimed that this behavior indicated Seamus wanted to be gay, but his frustration in keeping it bottled up was leading to this behavior. He also told me that one day he became tired of Seamus’ baiting behavior, and he waited for Seamus along his bike route home (At the time, Seamus still had a suspended license from a DUI, so he rode a bike from his apartment to work). He told me that he grabbed Seamus’ bike by the handlebars and told him that he needed to stop taunting him or Joe P would beat the crap out of Seamus. Mr. Joe P seemed very proud of himself about that. Even at the time, I remember being disgusted by Joe P’s machismo and swaggering ego, and this was before Seamus even mentioned his side of the story.
When the news came the other day about Joe Picamosca coming to our district, indeed our region, Seamus was upset. I called him by telephone to let him know since he hadn’t been in the office that day. I tried to reassure him that he had our supervisor who was on his side, that he had our senior manager, who was on his side, and our chief, who was on his side. Still, Seamus was agitated. He told me that he wanted to speak to our senior manager about the possibility that Joe P might be looking for revenge. I thought this may be a bit rash, and that he should take a wait-and-see approach, but Seamus sounded adamant.
Then, Seamus started plotting and scheming how he could bait Picamosca into inappropriate behavior. Seamus said that he wanted to be seen talking extensively to a female in the office because he felt certain that if Picamosca picked up on the fact that Seamus was interested in a girl, that Picamosca would try to come between them. He felt that Joe P would behave so poorly that either the girl would file a sexual harrassment charge against Mr. Joe P or that Mr. Joe P would be so overcome with upset that he would behave inappropriately to Seamus, thus getting Joe P in trouble and perhaps sending him packing again.
Of course, Seamus couldn’t let that get by me without taking a shot at my self-esteem. When he told me he was going to find a girl to chat up in order to bait Joe P, I told him that I wasn’t fond of the idea…meaning I was not fond of the thought of him chatting up another girl, not that I was worried about Joe P harrassing me, although I didn’t clarify.
Seamus seemingly misunderstood why I wasn’t thrilled with his plot, and said, “Oh, you won’t have to worry, you don’t fit the bill to even make Joe P notice. It would have to be someone a little more…you know.”
Oh yeah, I knew, all right. On several occasions, Seamus had mentioned that every time he tried to pick up on a girl in the office, his “white, nordic-loving viking wannabe” coworkers would thwart his progress by running over to intervene, or ”poisoning” the girl’s mind against him. When I said that no one had tried to do that since he’d been seen with me (as a way to gently show the irrationality of his thoughts), he told me that of course they wouldn’t, because I was fat and unattractive, and I’m not the type of girl they would worry about protecting, that they only protected the ones that were actually f*ckable. I knew that’s what he was trying to say now, as if I had dare let my ego run away with itself to think that Joe P would actually take some interest in me.
“That wasn’t what I meant, ” I finished.
And Seamus just said, “Oh, what, are you worried I might start flirting with Barry Zeller over in the other region? Or maybe someone who looks better in a dress?” He said that jokingly, but he got his point across. He knew what I meant: that I would be jealous, but he wanted to point out, as he likes to do, that I’m not desirable in the least, that there’d be nobody fighting over me.
All that aside, I’m worried that Seamus, as antagonistic as he can be at times, will do something stupid to get him in trouble with our personnel office again, and maybe this time he will be fired despite all my heroic efforts to save him over the past couple of years.
Growing Distance
I last posted two weeks ago or so, having not heard from Seamus on our typical day to go out.
I had another task to do after work on Saturday (the 15th of March), a task that took me near Seamus apartment. I decided I was tired of waiting for Seamus to invite me out. If the mountain would not go to Mohammed, Mohammed was heading to that mountain, baby. I decided to give Seamus a call and ask him out myself.
I don’t know if any of you have had a panic or anxiety attack before, but I sure did when I got ready to dial Seamus’ number. My heart thundered in my chest, my respirations were quick and shallow. How had things gotten to this point, where my anxiety about Seamus’ unpredictable responses had become almost crippling? Is this the sort of damage that’s to be expected after having been exposed to verbal abuse of often the most vile nature?
As the phone rang, I pondered this concept…but then he answered. It wasn’t just that he answered, but he sounded pleased to hear from me. I took a deep breath and quietly tried to release a sigh of relief. Feeling a little more composed, I mentioned to him that I was nearby and would be so for a few hours if he’d like to go out and do something with me a bit later. He was very pleasant, and he demurred, saying that it was stormy, he was in for the night with a movie and some dinner he was trying to prepare.
I was disappointed, but I was happy he was not going anywhere with anyone else on a Saturday night. I decided I would hang out with some friends at a nearby bar, and I told Seamus I would talk to him later. He said, “Wait a minute, why don’t you stay on the line for a while? Where do you have to rush off to?” Now, it was my turn to demur, and I told him my friends were waiting for me.
Flash forward another hour or so, and I’ve already grown weary of my friends. Maybe it was because I already had anticipated a get-together with Seamus that I couldn’t quite get into having a good time with anyone else. Whatever the reason, I found myself needing to get in touch with him again. Perhaps he just needed the proper persuasion to come out of the house.
But, when I rang, there was no ready answer this time. I left a voicemail, an hour went by, and no response. I sent a text message, nothing. By this time, I was angry again. I had a sneaking suspicion Seamus went out without me. He always answered his phone, and he was always quick to ring back as soon as he saw that I had called. And, I knew he rarely took his phone with him when he went out.
So, I decided to spend the rest of my evening with my friends since any hope of hooking up with Seamus seemed dashed.
The next morning, I slept in late due to my alcohol consumption the night before. When I awoke, I saw I had a missed call from Seamus. I called him back, and he mentioned seeing my call from the night before, but vaguely. I said, “Wow, that must have been a pretty engrossing movie that you didn’t notice a call or text message both. I think you must have gone out.” Seamus paused, then replied, “Was that a question? I think it was more like a statement.” I wasn’t going to let him weasel out of it so easy. “Well,” said I, the question was implied.” Seamus simply laughed, and then changed the subject. So what did that mean? That he had gone out? That it was none of my business?
The next week comes along, and Seamus does this long song-and-dance about how he needs to stop going out so much, that he needs to send even more money to his brokerage to prepare for a retirement over two decades away. Now, if I haven’t mentioned Seamus’ financial situation, this would be a good time. Seamus makes about $6K per month. Of this, he pays $800 rent, some small utilities not included in his rent, his cell phone bill, groceries, gasoline and insurance for his practically brand new car that was given to him by his step-mother. He puts the maximum amount allowable by law into our 401K, contributes to an IRA, has another deduction added to what our employer provides for pension, then sends the rest to his brokerage. All told, maybe 50% of his take home goes toward retirement funds.
Now, I shouldn’t presume to tell someone how to spend their money. But the outings that Seamus and I enjoy consist of some sushi and beer, followed by more drinks. I do the driving, I cover the gas, and I usually get some, if not most of the drinks. Seamus usually picks up the sushi and beer tab. To add insult to injury, Seamus continues to buy sushi and beer, but now he takes it home and talks on the phone with me while he eats it.
OK, so what’s wrong with this picture? He’s still drinking a six pack a day, he’s still buying food out, but he, for whatever reason, just doesn’t want to go out with me. Yet, he’ll sit on the phone and bend my ear for hours on end, all night some nights. So, he still needs a lot of contact with me, but just not in person.
This past Saturday, we talked all day on the phone while I worked overtime, and I tried yet again to lure Seamus out after work. He balked for a moment, saying he’d taken out a seasoned chicken breast out to thaw…then he changed his mind and asked me how fast I could get over to his apartment to pick him up. Just when I was telling him I could be there in about half an hour, he changes his mind yet again and says he’d rather stay home, he had just gotten two books at the library and he had a movie to watch.
So, here’s Seamus, who’s always pissing and moaning about being alone all his life, about not having anyone to go out with, and about being bored out of his mind, but now he spurns my attempts at trying to get him away from all that while indulging my own need to spend time with him. Needless to say, it bothered me, but what could I do? I can’t force him to go out. But I can’t keep from feeling hurt that he doesn’t feel the need to physically be with me like I do with him. I guess these are feelings I’ll have to deal with on my own. I should expect nothing orthodox from Seamus, and indeed, if I’m not going to get at least a modicum of my needs met, perhaps I shouldn’t beat myself up when I feel like I’m not meeting Seamus’ needs.
I certainly need to consider not giving Seamus an unrealistic amount of importance when I make plans for my own entertainment. Hitherto, I had been keeping most plans with others on a tentative basis, reserving the first right of refusal for Seamus and Seamus alone. Only when I felt certain that no last-minute invitation for a night out was forthcoming would I finally commit to other people. If Seamus has no appreciation for my company, or no desire for it, there’s no real reason why I should continue to make myself a slave for what Seamus wants. There’s no reason for me to stick out long, tedious, sometimes cruelty-filled diatribes on the telephone. There’s no reason for me to allow him to dominate my day when he shows up at work. Maybe it’s time I start living my own life a little bit more when he’s around, and let him realize that maybe, just maybe, I’m starting to grow a backbone when it comes to my own well-being.
Shock and Awe
Does it seem strange that, since I decided to air my dirty laundry via a blog, I’m a little shaken by the fact that someone actually read part of it? Or is this something many bloggers feel when they realize that their blog has actually been viewed?
I don’t know what else I expected. After all, why start a blog if you don’t want anyone to read it? Or better yet, why not keep it private? If I were to see my therapist, I’m sure he’d uncover some deep-seated need to vent my frustrations and failures to someone that will listen, and having no such thing in a real human being I’ve turned to the internet for solace.
Looking back over some of my first posts, there are a lot of things I wish I had given more detail about, especially about Seamus’ odd, sometimes violent, and often verbally abusive behavior. The verbal and psychological abuse has been the hardest to take, and it’s hard to describe the toll it takes upon my self-esteem. And I can’t overstate enough the fact that I’ve actually been frightened, physically and emotionally frightened by Seamus’ behavior.
I’m sure there are other people out there who are dealing with loved ones and family members who are schizophrenic. However, after reading about the high suicide rate among schizophrenics because they are so isolated, and because their behavior makes it difficult to maintain any type of interpersonal relationship, I am more determined than ever to try to keep this tenuous friendship going between Seamus and myself.
He deserves a friend, just like any other person who’s chronically ill. Despite my own issues, and my own general impatience towards people, I cannot find it within myself to stay upset with him despite his words and actions. This, in itself, is a huge thing, for I’ve never before found the infinite patience that a relationship of this nature requires.
If people read this blog or these posts, self-indulgent though they are at times, maybe someone will find something that will help them. I’ve read some other blogs about schizophrenics and by schizophrenics, and I’ve come away either feeling not so alone in an ordeal of this type, or I’ve come away with a better understanding of how the world might look to Seamus. All I can endeavor to do is make sure I express myself as clearly as I can and try to be a better storyteller.
What About My Needs?
On Tuesday, I had a pretty bad day. Seamus’ former supervisor was invited to help out with planning a retirement party for another supervisor in my region. Myself and another coworker had already done most of the work, and when this supervisor, Marge, joined in, Marge took it upon herself to seize the mistress-of-ceremonies position (Marge is an attention whore of the worst order), yet not volunteer herself for the grunt work. I was angry and upset, and Seamus saw that. Whether or not that influenced Seamus to ask me out on Tuesday night, I cannot tell. But, the call came in, the invitation went out, and I gladly and graciously accepted. I let my gratitude show, and he seemed surprised but pleased that I was more than happy to go.
Tuesday night went without incident. We went for sushi (readers can pretty much assume that, unless stated otherwise, all dinners are sushi dinners, accompanied by giant bottles of Kirin or Asahi beer) and talked for a while. I related the entire Marge issue, and Seamus commiserated with his own experiences with her a couple of years ago. We chatted and had a nice time.
Seamus, though, can’t quite make it through any evening without being a little difficult. He is often contrary, and I believe he’s contrary for contrary’s sake. He started to suggest we go for a nightcap at a local bar that we had been to before. I should have remained carefully neutral when agreeing to go to the bar. However, I responded enthusiastically, saying I liked that bar and that I especially liked the jukebox. Immediately, Seamus said “I don’t want to go there. Take me home, we’re done.” It surprised me, but I realized that he was just being him. I know he’s unpredictable and there’s no point in fighting over it. So, I took him home and we said we’d talk later.
Seamus returned to the office on Thursday. I hadn’t heard from him via telephone, but that didn’t concern me too much. So, as Thursday morning passed by, I received no visit from Seamus. He even walked by briskly once, but he didn’t acknowledge me in the least. Finally, while I was visiting our supervisor in his office, Seamus walked in, told our supervisor that he was off to the field and would be back the next day for his public service duty. He didn’t even look at me.
Needless to say, I was dumbfounded. My confidence had been badly shaken after Seamus seemingly “dumped” me almost two weeks prior. Then, I had felt much better after Saturday, and even felt happy after Tuesday…I felt reassured that Seamus still enjoyed my company and wanted to be with me. And now he wasn’t even talking to me? How did that happen?
So, I called his cell phone. I knew he didn’t carry it with him, and that it would probably be waiting for him in his apartment when he got done with his field checks. Being the incredibly mature, even-tempered girl that I am (written in a sarcastic tone, of course), I left a voicemail that said “Hey, thanks for stopping by my cubicle to say hello while you were in the office, that was really cool of you…oh wait, you didn’t stop by, did you? That’s not really cool of you. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And no return call.
So, Friday comes, and I’m more than a little upset again. What possibly could have happened between Tuesday and Thursday that he decided to stop talking to me again? I mean, I hadn’t even seen him or talked to him, so how could I have offended him? The only explanation was him…his mind, and how he takes little details, blows them out of proportion, and dwells and festers on them until they become transgressions of an unforgiveable nature. But the question was, what exactly had he seized upon and what weird assumptions had he made about me or my behavior or something I said.
Friday morning was passing by quickly and Seamus didn’t stop by. He walked by briskly once, but I had company at my cubicle…a young Latino coworker had stopped in to chat, and he was hanging on my cubicle door in a pose that rather suggested he was hitting on me. Later on, our supervisor, who is aware of the relationship between Seamus and myself, told me that Seamus kept returning to the end of my row (out of my eyesight) to see if the other guy was still there, and would frown everytime that he saw that this other coworker was indeed still there.
Well, I knew then that Seamus was wanting to talk again, so I decided to take the initiative (hey, my horoscope told me to do it…true story) and go to Seamus’ cubicle. Sadly, I failed to notice it was lunch time, so as I got there, Seamus was just getting off the phone with his public service lunch coverage. He stood up and smiled at me, that lopsided but genuine smile I get everytime I see him in person. I said “So, what’s your deal now?” And he said “Nothing, I was just about to go to lunch.” Curses, foiled again. “I guess I’ll talk to you later,” I said, unsmilingly, and I walked away.
After he got back from lunch, he did, to his credit, finally come by my desk. “I came by to say hello,” he said, looking pleased with himself. “So,” I said, “what’s the problem now? Why don’t you want to talk to me?” “Well, I had to go to lunch,” he said. “No,” said I, not then, but yesterday? Why didn’t you come by or even speak to me?” “Oh that,” he replied. “Well, I don’t think it pays to be seen hanging around your desk, because I got in trouble for that before.” [Note: this was two years ago, when he was working for Marge, and it was when he was at a male coworkers desk] “And why didn’t you call me back?” I pressed on, relentless. “Well, he said, “I had some movies to watch before I needed to send them back to NetFlix.” Nice. So, he’d rather watch movies than talk to me. OK.
So, the rest of the afternoon passed as it typically does when he and I are in the office together. He either was calling me on the phone or over in my cubicle. And I was in heaven. Until it was time to leave. I waited for him so we could walk out together, but still no invitation for a Friday night. I finally decided to take the law into my own hands and ask him myself. His response? “I’m not going out drinking tonight.” And he got in his car and left. No further discussion, no phone calls.
And today finds me working overtime at my desk. Last Saturday, as on several overtime days, he has called to keep me company on the phone while we looked up stuff on the computer and talked about the world. Today, nothing. I just don’t understand it.
What’s worse is that I’m feeling especially needy. I need some more reassurance. And he’s not giving me that. He is, in fact, making me feel extremely anxious about our situation together. I don’t know if he’s just going through a bad cycle, if he’s upset with me, if his delusions are in control, if he’s trying to protect me from what he knows will be a bad attitude…I can’t even begin to speculate.
But, I’m really fearing the worst. I’m on edge and full of turmoil, and I might just break down soon. I need him near me now, and I will be dreadfully unhappy unless I can get some sort of declaration that our friendship is still OK.
I don’t ask for much out of this relationship. We go out where he wants to go, we eat what he wants to eat, we listen to the music he wants to listen to, we go home when he says so. I’m simply happy just to be with him, but all I need is for him to reassure me from time to time, and spend a little time with me, and give me a little attention. I didn’t think it was too much to ask. But then again, I never ASKED him for that…
R-E-S-P-E-C-T, That’s Not What He Has For Me…
So, Seamus and I were out together on Saturday.
It had been a couple of weeks since our last outing, and I had missed him terribly. I was happy that he had at least spoken to me at work, especially since only a week or so prior, he had told me he didn’t want to associate with me. Secretly, though, I was longing to be out on the town with him.
Saturday found me working overtime, and Seamus called on my cell phone during the morning hours, seemingly to make conversation. Usually, though, these calls are the beginning of a long and elaborate dance that Seamus goes through prior to asking me out. Strange that he’s still so insecure that, after 1 1/2 years of Phase Two, he still can’t just call and say “Hey, you wanna go out?” Poor Seamus. Poor me.
Anyway, we talked off and on throughout the work day, and indeed my time at the office seemed to speed by. I had an appointment in a nearby suburb immediately after work, but I told Seamus I would be in the area for several hours, and that if he was interested in doing something to give me a call. He assured me he was well set for the evening, he had a video to watch, and he doubted he’d want to go out. “Yeah, right,” I thought to myself. But I kept quiet…I didn’t want him to realize how predictable he was about these things…and I went about my business keeping half an eye on my phone, waiting for it to ring.
Sure enough, a couple of hours later, Seamus was on the line (what a surprise). Indeed, going out did sound like a good idea after all, and he asked me to come pick him up. I told him to give me and hour and I’d be there.
Once we hooked up by his apartment, he decided he wanted to go for his usual sushi and beer, so off we went. As we sat and talked and ate and drank, I noticed that he was a little more on the ready to attack than typical. He apparently had taken umbrage that I had the audacity to disagree with him on a world issue. He went to great lengths to point out that I was nothing but a drunken pothead, that I had never read anything substantial in my life, that he had read tons of material that I could not even hope to digest, and that any attempt I might make to get up to speed would be futile. He told me that he had absolutely no respect for me whatsoever.
“Yeah,” I protested, “you might be right about all that, but none of it means that I’m not capable of a valid, common-sense opinion.”
Seamus was on a roll, though, and he was not about to stop until he had invalidated me, my lifestyle, my intelligence, and my opinions. I had a long day already, I was tired from the previous evening, and I wasn’t in the best of moods, so I let my guard down and I started to become angry. I excused myself and went to the restroom, where I sobbed briefly to release the hurt and tension that Seamus had caused within me. As soon as I regained control of myself, I went back to the table.
Seamus is no fool, and he saw the change come over me. Despite the fact that I cleaned up my crying, my face undoubtedly bore the signs. The change in Seamus was now palpable. He actually tried to stop himself from hammering me further. “Let me take it down a notch,” he said. He’s said that type of thing before when he starts to get out of control with his words or actions. It’s like he can feel himself spiralling away, and he actually has to get a grip on himself before things go awry. It’s interesting that he makes that check on himself audibly, too. Is he telling me this to reassure me? Or is he talking to himself?
Anyway, we went to a Latino bar for a nightcap. We continued to talk for a while, and Seamus revisited the fact that he thought I was an idiot and that he had no respect for me. But, at this point, I was no longer becoming angry. I knew he was drunk already, and with the drink came a lot of words, words that Seamus himself had told me in the past to disregard when he’s on a drunken rant. And I knew his illness was just exaggerated when he was intoxicated. So, I told Seamus that, regardless of his feelings for me, that I loved him very much despite his emotional cruelty to me, and because of that, I would always forgive him. He looked somewhat embarrassed and quickly made a dismissive gesture. But he didn’t say anything to refute what I had said. It was a very emotional moment for me, because I was completely vulnerable to him. At one point, I excused myself to the restroom again, sobbed briefly, and returned to the bar to offer to drive Seamus home. And drive him home I did, although in relative silence.
Strangely, Seamus again seemed somewhat repentant for his behavior. At the very least, he could see I was upset, and he kept trying to be funny so I would crack a smile. He always does that, whether I’m upset with him or someone else. If he sees me upset, he tries to make me laugh. Even if I’m determined NOT to laugh, he’s relentless until he finally forces a chuckle out of me. Nothing seems to please him more than making me laugh.
I couldn’t seem to find a laugh on this evening, though. I was tired and demoralized. I dropped him off at home, but told him that I would surely talk to him later (to possibly reassure him that my upset would not be permanent). As I drove to my own house, I reflected on the evening, and I was glad that I again told him how I felt, and that I would always take him back. I didn’t want him to be afraid to approach me because of something inappropriate he said, especially knowing that even he had little control over the words that escaped him.
Back In Business?
Well, he’s baaaaaaccckkkkk. And, I’m talking to him on the phone as I type this. We’re talking about stock portfolios…no wonder he’s so much fun at parties.
Just when I thought all was lost, Seamus has taken up with me again.
It started again when Seamus showed up to work on Thursday. I was heading to the lunchroom to wash my coffee cup when I saw him heading down the hallway towards me. As soon as I saw him, I tensed up, not knowing what to expect. But he immediately smiled when he saw me, and he fell into step beside me as I headed into the lunchroom.
”Who are you smiling at?” I demanded. “I thought you didn’t want to associate with me anymore.”
“I don’t think I said exactly that,” he said. “When I said I didn’t want to associate with anyone who worked here, I didn’t mean you.”
I was exasperated. I knew that wasn’t what he said, and definitely it wasn’t what he meant at the moment. But, who cares? All that mattered was that he spoke to me.
He still hasn’t asked me out for a date yet, though. I think that’s odd, but I’m not going to push things. I’m just glad he still wants to talk to me.
It’s time to let nature take its course, I think.
Misery
“I’ll take back all the things I said. I didn’t realize I was talking to the living dead” – Muse, “Escape”, Showbiz
Well, here I find myself again, without Seamus. The prior posts have outlined our history together, the victories and the defeats. There is much more history there, of course, and I will probably edit some of the previous posts to fill in some blanks.
But, suffice it so say that I am still in love with Seamus O’Reilly, even though he has kicked me to the curb yet again. There’s a part of me that is carries the hope that he was really drunk when he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore, and that any minute, he’ll call and ask me out, and all will be well in the universe. He’s probably just too embarrassed to come back to me again after harsh words…yeah, that’s it. I just have to wait him out.
However, there’s another part of me that’s considering trying to turn this little break into a permanent one. I think Seamus will eventually come back to me when he wants something, probably information. And I don’t know if I want him back under those terms. I want him to come back because he misses me, because he misses our outings, and because he misses the difference it makes in his life to have a friend.
I also have to consider the fear of violence from Seamus, which I think is a very real fear based on his past actions and his words and attitudes toward seemingly innocent people. Even if they are just thoughts and he never plans to do anything that he’s said, those thoughts are still black and evil and heinous, and very disturbing.
Furthermore, I have to come to grips with the fact that I will NEVER have a normal relationship with Seamus unless he decides to get serious help and medication for his problems, and I doubt that will ever occur because he keeps trying to pass himself off as normal (although he has, on occasion, admit to his paranoia and having “certain pre-existing conditions”). He’s far too irrational, he seems to remember things differently (and far more harshly) than I remember them, and he draws bizzare conclusions from seemingly unrelated events. He’s unpredictable in mood and response. And there is no right answer, since he seems to want to be contrary no matter what your view is. I hate to sound like my co-workers, but I think Seamus is impossibly insane.
I certainly don’t know how I’m going to make it through the upcoming weeks and months. The depth of my grief is profound. But if I can get through the worst of it, it would probably be in my best interest not to get involved with him again even if he does come back. If I can just get over him a bit, then there’s no point in going backward. We’ll never be able to work it out, it’ll always be frustrating and painful, and it’ll only be a matter of time before I’m dumped again.
I really need to try to make a clean break this time. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it. I just know that I should try.
Wish me luck, imaginary readers!
Phased Out
“Where did I go wrong? I lost a friend somewhere along in the bitterness and I would have stayed up with you all night if I had known how to save a life.”
- The Fray, “How to Save a Life”, How to Save a Life
For no apparent reason, Seamus had decided to end his relationship with me. Phase Two has come to an end.
I’m sure I don’t have to post how devastated I am. As you can imagine, I’m absolutely destroyed. Even now, I have to blink back some tears just as I try to explain what happened.
The last outing that Seamus and I had was a couple of weeks ago. Seamus got drunk and surly, and he started to gesture angrily out the window of the car as we drove, reliving a moment when he first moved to the area, and went out to eat, and said he was “f*ked with by two white couples” who were dining there, too. He started raising his middle finger to the sky, saying “F*ck you” to apparently no one except himself. He even slapped briefly at my windshield, which got my heart pounding because of the prior windshield smashing incident. I asked him to tone it down a bit, because he was starting to frighten me. He became very critical: “What, are you afraid I’m going to attack you, you f*king tw*t?” He went on to say that he would like to have murdered the white couples, and I asked him if he really meant that. He became more angry, saying that I was ridiculous to focus on his threat of violence rather than the real issue to him, which was that he thought somebody f*ked with him, even though it had happened almost two years ago. He couldn’t let it go.
Later, that same weekend, Seamus called me on a Saturday morning, wanting to go out Saturday night. I told him I had some things to do, but that I would call him around 4:30 and see if he wanted to go out still. As promised, I called at the appointed time, and Seamus said that he was still eager to head out, and asked me to come by at 6:30. I was just ready to leave the house at 5:30, when Seamus called again to say that he had just cracked a bottle of wine and now didn’t want to leave the house. This, after I had just showered, dressed, fixed my hair and makeup. He didn’t know how badly I was anticipating this get-together, and I was angry when he wanted to call it off just because he’d cracked open a bottle of wine. He suggested that, since I was going to spend two or three hours with him even if I showed up, that we could spend that same time talking on the phone, but from the comfort of our own homes. I was disgusted, I told him that I didn’t want to talk on the phone, and that I’d see him at work. Of course, the next work-week, he showed up in my cubicle, cracking jokes and completely disarming me again.
Anyway, the next week, there were some ill-fated attempts to hook up for an outing, but the weather would not cooperate, so we wound up talking on the phone on several occasions. I have a bad tendency to ignore phone calls because I’m often not in the mood to chat. We jokingly came to an accord that I would call him back when he called, even if it were only to say that I wasn’t in the mood to talk. Everything seemed fine.
Well, except that Seamus had a brand new notion in his little head. Since my supervisor, in his infinite wisdom, had put Seamus on permanent field duty to keep him out of trouble, things had been going well. Oh, sure, on the days that Seamus actually had to come to the office, he would later find things to be upset about, but it was kept to a minimum by keeping him out of the office. However, Seamus was starting to worry that maybe he was in the field too much as far as public perception went.
Now, public perception of Seamus has long been set, and his absence was really a good thing. He had black marks against him in his personnel file due to his behavior at work at several different district offices, so it was doubtful he’d ever get promoted. And, basically, no one really wanted him around work because of his abrasive tendencies, his odd sense of humor, and the tension he carried with him that was palpable, especially when he’d spontaneously start doing push-ups in his cubicle at a frantic pace, trying to burn off his excess energy. In short, there was no real reason for him to come into the office, but he gave himself one. He was certain that people thought he was getting away with murder with his work schedule, and he wanted to show them he was one of them, too. Plus, as he said, he wanted to see how they reacted to him.
The problem with coming to work looking for trouble is that you’ll find some, especially if you look hard enough, and especially if you’re paranoid. Tuesday, February 26th, was the day he chose to come in. He came to work expecting to see a reaction, and he read a reaction into everyone’s behavior without even trying to confirm if his assumptions were correct. I didn’t know that this is what was happening during the day. I mean, he was only there until lunch time, and the contact I had with him was friendly, personable, humorous, and full of friendship. He called me later in the afternoon, after he had left, because he had forgotten to sign up for overtime work. We chatted for a while while he was starting to make his dinner. He mentioned that he had also picked up a 12-pack of Corona Light, which sounded somewhat problematic. But hey, since I wasn’t actually going out with him that night, it didn’t seem like it would pose a serious problem. Everything seemed fine.
That evening, around 6:00, Seamus phoned again. I had noticed that he had been phoning in a rather obsessive manner for the past week, especially considering that he hadn’t really been calling much over the past couple of months. Oh sure, we still went out, but he was really into watching old movies he was renting through Netflix, so it seemed to account for why he didn’t want to chat so much. But now, he was phoning with a vengeance. He left a voicemail, stating the date and time, and asking me to call him back as it would be “fun to chat”, as he put it.
So, true to my promise to him that I’d return his calls even if I didn’t want to talk, I called him back and asked if it were OK if I phoned him back after 9:00 since I was low on cell phone minutes and the calls became free after 9:00. He was agreeable to this, as he can be quite miserly as well.
It was maybe 9:35 by the time I called him back. He said he was surprised I actually did call back, since he’s used to me blowing him off. I told him that I had promised to do better and that he shouldn’t be surprised. Then, of course, he started talking about work.
Don’t feed the bears! Oops, too late! Oh, no, I’m out of bear-food, so you know what happens next…the bear ransacks my camp, and when he can find nothing, he destroys everything in frustration.
Seamus asked me why people kept giving him “funereal” looks at work, to which I replied “I don’t know.” Seamus then became angry, and told me that he had something he wanted to get off his chest. He said that I irked him because he always had to “drag” information out of me. He figured that I knew perfectly well what kind of information he’s looking for, and that he often had to put questions in different ways to “trick” me into giving him what he wanted (the reality is that I had no idea what he wanted, as the information he was looking for was often varied depending on his mood). He said he couldn’t stand to be around someone like me who knew nothing about the world, and had not put the time and effort, like he had, into reading books and gathering knowledge, and even worse: he couldn’t abide a know-nothing like me casting judgment on his opinions. He told me that he was so sick of people at work treating him like he was the last of his kind and trying to eradicate him that it had made him into a crueller and nastier human being than he should have been. He also said that he just wanted to come to work and do his job, and that he didn’t want to associate with anyone from “that place”, including me.
Dumpsville. Just like that.
I was shocked. I asked him, “Just like that? After all we’ve done together?” Seamus replied, “Well, that’s how it’s going to have to be. Now, do you have anything you want to say? Any comments you’d like to make?”
I told him, “I’m speechless. Talk about being blindsided.” Seamus didn’t seem to think that was the case at all, though. So, I told him, “Fine, if this is what you want. We all want what’s best for YOU.”
“Well, that’s a unique world view, whatever’s best for the other person,” said Seamus.
To which I retorted, “Oh, yes, my world view is unique, but yours apparently isn’t. Yours is just like all the other selfish bastards out there. Well, have a nice night.”
“Yeah, you too.” And with that, he was gone.
Didn’t I Tell You NOT To Feed The F*ing Bears?!?!
“Maybe I’m the one, maybe I’m the one who is the schizophrenic psycho, yeah. Maybe I’m the one, maybe I’m the one who is the paranoid psycho.”
- Puddle of Mudd, “Psycho”, Psycho
From our first somewhat rocky get-together in Phase Two, Seamus was still after information.
Our initial outings prompted me to spill my guts about the email I had sent to our union in an effort to keep Seamus from being fired due to behavioral issues at work. I actually let him read what I wrote about his coworkers and supervisors defaming his character and subjecting him to a hostile work environment. He seemed to believe that I had done him a great service, and he said that the email explained a lot of things, like why many of the points being used against him from the unusual personnel investigation were being tossed aside. He said that whatever I did, it held the “dogs” at bay.
So, I thought I had finally scored a point for my team. After all, I had put myself on the line to protect Seamus. Certainly he should see how genuine my feelings are if I were willing to risk my own job (especially considering I was on shaky ground due to my own production problems) to save his.
But, not so fast there, Lilu…you forgot about Seamus’ paranoia.
Oh yeah. That.
Seamus, in his own mind being the last of the Black Irish, was so convinced that everyone (and I do mean EVERYONE) at work either hated him because of his Irish heritage and/or his Atheism, or were talking about him, or were conspiring to provoke him to the point where he either got fired or quit. Furthermore, he was convinced, due to my popularity at work, that I had the inside loop on all the gossip, especially where it concerned him. Sadly, this was not true. I picked up tidbits here and there, but I had taken more and more to keeping to myself, and I just wasn’t in the loop anymore like I was during Phase One, when I was the office PC Manager.
Nevertheless, Seamus just couldn’t be convinced of this. During our outings, especially as he got drunk, he constantly accused me of holding back information, often becoming irate when I’d deny this. Seamus’ hatred of his coworkers constantly infiltrated everything we did together, permeated every outing. The main object of his hatred, the “Viking” man who supposedly tried to keep Seamus away from the object of his desire (the cute Asian girl) and who supposedly was trying to “fuck with” Seamus’ security and employment, as he put it…well, this guy constantly came up in conversation. Seamus made several malicious comments involving the type of violence and mayhem he wanted to perpetrate upon this man whom he viewed as his main adversary.
Also, at times, evidence of the extreme nature of Seamus’ illness became exposed. Granted, the majority of the time that things got really ugly, there was a lot of alcohol involved. But Seamus seemed to carry the potential for violence, a potential that accompanied his severe hostility and anger at the world and a society that he felt had treated him unfairly for almost his entire life.
His paranoia was completely irrational to me at times. He knew that, like most employers, our workplace could check out our individual PC’s to check for illicit activity using employer resources and time. However, he was certain that “they” were monitoring his computer constantly. One time, Seamus hinted that he thought “they” had hacked into his computer at home as well. The nebulous “they” depended on what we were talking about, of course, but he became increasingly convinced that “they” were his “Viking” enemy, and one of our bosses who was a self-proclaimed macho man (Seamus thought this boss hated him because Seamus wasn’t manly enough and didn’t like sports and cars; he never bothered to find out if that were true) and friend of said “Viking”. Now, if you could see how computer illiterate these two were, the thought of them hacking into Seamus’ computer was laughable. But Seamus believed it.
Another example of this paranoia surfaced when Seamus recalled a little scrape he got involved in when he was drinking somewhere. Seamus can be extremely abrasive, and when he’s drinking, he’s capable of being offensive to almost anyone he meets. I’ve seen how infuriated people get with him when he makes obnoxious, hurtful statements to unsuspecting, undeserving bystanders. In fact, he’s infuriated me on several occasions with his views about women, or how he basically would call me an idiot for having an “uneducated” opinion. I’m often surprised that he hasn’t been beaten up yet. However, I digress….anyway, Seamus mentioned that he had gotten into an argument with a male patron at a bar, and the man went to throttle him, actually had his hands around Seamus’ neck until other patrons pulled him off. Later on, possible a couple weeks later, Seamus told me that he had heard the “Viking” talking in the boss’ office, and the boss telling the “Viking” something to the effect of “No one could get their hands around your neck.”
Now, after having spent some time with Seamus, it seemed to me that he often had a distorted perception about what he said and heard. Sometimes I think he hears what he wants to hear. Sometimes I think he tells himself something so many times that he begins to think it’s the truth. What he heard from the boss may have been accurately reported, but completely coincidental. Or it may have been something that Seamus distorted to fit the idea that had formed in his head: that the “Viking” and the macho boss had either (a)sent this guy to assault Seamus, or (b) that the barmaid had some sort of contact with them and let them know what had happened to Seamus. Either possibility was highly unlikely. This is a big city, Seamus’ pub-crawls were very random, and unless these two misfits had a network that stretched across the valley, they wouldn’t know where to find Seamus on a given night. It was completely irrational, but Seamus believed it, and it came up during Seamus’ drunken rants.
Those rants were incredible, by the way. He ranged from his hatred of American society and it’s prizing of celebrities and sports stars, to his hatred of all white people, to his hatred of women. Even though he was a white guy to my eyes, in his own mind he was a minority (Black Irish, remember?). Yet, he would even use the most dispicable racial slurs against minorities, too. He seemed to hate everyone. Women were “racist airheads, devoted to shopping, celebrities, and finding the biggest monkey in the tree to suck on. No intelligent man would choose a woman as an intellectual companion.” He often made comments about wanting white people to die, or even wanting to kill them himself. These types of statements were a bit unnerving. It was always hard to tell if it was just booze talking or not, but I’d never heard anyone talk like that, and his words were dripping with malice and venom as he got angrier and angrier. It made me wonder if he actually were capable of violence, and if his mental illness made that violence not only a very real possibility, but almost an eventuality.
One night, when finishing up an extensive pub-crawl, I was driving Seamus back home (I always drove because Seamus had an old DUI and he didn’t want to get caught again), and he started on a rant about white people, which rapidly turned to the workplace, which in turn devolved into an excoriation of the “Viking”. When Seamus got angry, sometimes he screamed, but often his voice was soft, low, menacing, and brimming with tension. It was this low, threatening voice he used now, and he described the hideous violence he wished to commit against the “Viking”. He said “That f*king Viking wannabe thinks he can f*k with my existence, f*k with my job. You know what I want to do? I want to take a f*king knife and stick it into the side of his f*king skull. Then I want to take it, and I want to cut all the way around, cut his throat, and take his f*king head off. I want to take his f*king brains out.”
I was speechless. I mean, did he mean this? Was he just venting his anger, or was this something he’d really like to do? I didn’t have time to ponder it for long, because everything changed. He started screaming “F*k you, f*k you, motherf*ker!” into the air, and he started to pound his fist into the dashboard. At this point, I was starting to get scared. It was late, and there was no help to be found anywhere on the streets. I might as well have been on the moon, I felt so isolated and far from aid. I tried to calm Seamus. “Take it easy with the pounding, you might set off the airbag,” I admonished. But Seamus turned and screamed “Shut the f*k up!” and started pounding again. Then, to my shock and horror, he leaned back in his seat and started kicking the windshield of the car from the inside. After the third kick, the windshield shattered.
Well, this was great. I was drunk, I was scared, and I now had a broken windshield like a damned cop magnet. I said “Dude, oh my god, you broke my windshield.” He stopped kicking it, indicating that there was still some vestige of common sense that was operational in him. But he continued to scream and punch the dash. Luckily, I reached the 7-11 on the corner a block from his house. I pulled in quickly and asked him to get out. He turned and screamed “Fuck you, fatso!”, and got out. I immediately locked the doors and started to leave. As I began to pull from the driveway, I felt a tremendous blow to the car. I continued pulling into the street, and I could see Seamus picking himself up from the pavement in the parking lot. He had apparently hurled himself at my vehicle and had fallen. I hoped he was OK, but I sure wasn’t going back to find out. When I got home, I saw that Seamus had kicked a dent in my rear passenger side door. I guess he wanted me to have some body work to go with the new windshield.
He didn’t call for the rest of the weekend. When I returned to work the following week, Seamus came to my cubicle and immediately proferred $200 towards repairs. He told me to get an estimate and let him know if he needed to pay more money to make things right. I took the money silently, and he left. Later on, he came across me again in the lunch room. I told him that I just couldn’t talk to him at the moment, that I needed time to think. After all, I had been frightened out of my wits that he was going to turn his rage upon me that night. And he certainly knew that he had already upheld the image his coworkers had painted of him, unstable and psychotic.
However, my love for him caused me to reconsider. After all, I reasoned, I knew he was damaged psychologically. I knew that he needed more compassion than others, and that it seemed like he was trying, overall, to be a good social companion. In other words, I forgave him. And we continued to go out together.
And the rocky moments came and went. Some outings were good until the very end of the day, like the time we went to a war protest, then headed out to the coast, walked along the beach at sunset, all very romantic. We were together all day and night, not a problem. Or another time, when Seamus took me to an exclusive sushi restaurant with a view of our city’s most glamorous location, and dropped over $200 on dinner and drinks.
Other outings became bizarre and filled with anger and hatred. On one occasion, Seamus struck up a conversation with a white couple in a bar we had gone to. He told them that I was a “Negro”, as he put it, just to see their reaction. Of course, they seemed shocked and offended that he would refer to me as a “Negro” since that word isn’t very politically correct, and since I am quite fair skinned (despite the rather ethnic quality of my hair) they must have assumed that he was up to something. Naturally, he read their reaction as being racist.
Or another time, when he was chatting up a young male hipster, he turned to me after the young man left for the restroom and said “Look as this guy, trying to look fasionable, and he doesn’t have a clue about anything except celebrities, and sports, and cars, and what’s on the television.” He paused, then said “Let’s kill him. Let’s lure him outside, and hit him over the head, and kill him.” I must have looked shocked, because then Seamus shrugged his shoulders and said “Or not,” and moved on with the conversation. On a different occasion, when we were heading into a bowling alley, Seamus saw an older group of white bowlers come out. He immediately started cursing their presence there, ruining his evening, and said to me “Let’s attack them. Let’s go after them, and attack them, and drive them out of here.” That evening led way to a very menacing rant where he again discussed wanting to kill the “Viking”. He got in my face so much during our stay at the bowling alley bar that the bartender and another patron started watching us. They must have seen the fear and tension on my face.
Seamus often made statements that involved violence, often in a rather manner-of-fact way. In speaking of a female punk rock singer who wrote a song about Berlin, he called her a Kraut-loving bitch whose throat he would gladly cut while she slept. That’s a scary idea, and it made me think twice about spending the night with him, leaving me vulnerable to a potential attack. He was often so irrational, it would be almost impossible to imagine what he could be capable of doing.
And, violence aside, Seamus was constantly demeaning to me, and not always were he was drunk. In addition to calling me a pot-addled airhead who was devoted to television, video games, and shopping, he constantly criticised me about my weight, or told me that my social standing was poor because of my physical appearance, that I was considered a non-female in the office because the guys there didn’t want me. This is how he explained the fact that my coworkers hadn’t swayed me to turn against him. He said I was completely undesirable, and that kept my male coworkers from giving a f*ck what I did, otherwise they would have chased him away.
Yet, there were times when he was kind, and when he said things that completely validated my sense of him as being troubled still, but trying to hold a relationship together. As we approached a year’s anniversary of seeing each other, he would often comment on how long we had managed to make it in Phase Two. There were a few occasions when he’d say things like “I don’t know how you’re able to tolerate the things I say to you sometimes. I can see the pain on your face, and I’m sorry I put you through that. I knew I said something horrible, but I couldn’t stop it.” Or another time, when he told me that he knew that I was very kind to him, that I had tried to help him, and that I was there for him despite the terrible things he said. He told me that this was why he couldn’t keep any friends, and he thanked me for being his friend. Moments like that made the entire ordeal worth while, because it did validate my idea that deep inside, Seamus was a good person who just need a friend who could be patient with him while he continued to try to rehabilitate himself.
We continued seeing each other every week for over a year. There were quite a few bad times, but almost as many good times, and a lot of laughs and companionship. In Seamus, I thought I had found someone who was deep enough to understand me in all my complexity, and who wouldn’t be as likely to be critical of my neuroses since he had so many himself. Most importantly, I thought I was making a difference in his life, and after a year and a few months, I thought that I had become valuable enough not to cast aside lightly.
I was dead wrong.
