Creation of the F*** Fest Manifesto

Christmas Day 2012 started with a race against the clock.  Eleven AM was our drop-dead time, and my son did not need to be moved again. I had a system for picking and paying for our hotels which required the internet.  Per my luck, the hotel internet was down for a few hours, so I found myself driving to our second home McDonald’s.  The streets were deserted and the parking lot completely non-existent of human kind.  It was Christmas, and most people were with their families, enjoying their own special traditions and making new ones.

I thought about how my son must feel.  Trying to explain why he was being treated like he did something wrong was not possible. He had already noticed not being invited out to my parents during Thanksgiving while his sister was in town.  Now it was Christmas and his sister was once again with them on a little holiday trip.  When he asked where his presents were from them, I lied.  The truth was, I had no freaking idea. Who does that to a child on Christmas, who is already in the middle of a mess created by adults?

I heard the “Merry Christmas” sounding exactly like I needed it to. I could feel warm childhood memories calm my emotions.  My uncle sounded just like my grandfather, and I held on to those feelings until I heard how he said my name. It was off, and I knew they had been told something by my mother.  When the first thing my aunt said was  to calm down because we needed to find a half way house,  I had to hang up. I could not believe how far this had gone.  Over what?

We had been forced out a week before Christmas with no reason. Every time I turned on my computer there was another email from King Shit. We were being slammed to anyone my family thought we may have contact with.  My son was being treated like shit. My father’s only words to me on Christmas when I called to ask him to shut up his psycho brother, was for me to do it myself.  Heartless is word that comes to mind when I think about that day.

I needed it to stop for two seconds before I lost my mind. I had not threatened King Shit, yet he kept saying how he was going to get an order of protection against my husband and myself.  I needed a break from him for two seconds so I gave him my F*** Fest Manifesto for Christmas.  He said thank you by getting the Order of Protection against me. I slept for almost two days straight after that.  It was just the break I needed and well worth the OPP.


A little Disrespect…Fest Style

boxtrashAs I handed my son his PS3, I thought about the insanity of what had just happened.  King Shit had actually told the police he had broken into my locked truck to “store” everything that had been in the room.  A few days later we stopped by to get the boxes they had so kindly packed up for us.  Upon opening them we saw a hint of the complete disrespect and hatred my family had for us.grampcomb

The boxes had been packed with trash, including part empty coke cans, chocolate milk containers and old food.  The coke had leaked onto my son’s library book and art work.  My maternal grandfather’s comb that had been given to me in 1995 after he passed was now broken.  The tape measure of his that I had cherished for eighteen years was gone, added to the fifty KS already owned.

The fact we had one day notice to get out, I thought they could have waited longer than ten seconds to start going through our room.  Starring at the trashed mess I picked out a few pieces of paper.  As I read my handwriting I started realizing what they were and I could feel the disbelief turn into anger.  Knowing how hurt my husband had been after they read through his journals, I put them away before he could see them.  Reading something that is private between a husband and a wife is not just an invasion of privacy, it is disgusting. It takes a certain kind of person to do that and think there is nothing wrong with it.

I wanted to take everyone in my family and make them watch while we went through all their drawers. Reading out loud every card, letter, or journal they may have kept through out their life.  Touch every personal thing they own. Take anything we want and break the  sentimental junk they had for years.  Drink some coke leaving some in the bottom of the can, and find some garbage from the kitchen.  Take it all and throw it into a cardboard box and tape it up. Then toss it back and forth while they watch not being able to do anything about it.

I would then go and break into their car. Spend a few minutes going through it and taking whatever I want. Maybe donate it to Goodwill, so they could buy it back at a discount. Take the boxes and shove them in. Make sure to lock it back up because I would not want anything to happen to their junk.

After, I would look directly at them and say… “I am sorry, did that bother you?  No worries, this is just beginning.  I was certain you were used to this.  I mean,  you are lower than the dog shit I just stepped in and wiped off on your son.”

Fest Fun Continues On…

I pulled up to the house and the images of a week ago came fast and full of detail.  I was living it again, feeling the coldness and watching the confusion turn to anger in my son’s face.  The mob mentality that had been created from a perception was inconceivable.  The resulting damaged was something I would be dealing with months later.

Sleep that last week had been fractional at best, making it difficult to pull pieces of information together.  I was at the house for one reason, to get my son’s PS3 back from KS.

I followed the officer to the door thinking about how KS had told me not to come over on Christmas.  Apparently, they were going to have a wonderful time and did not want any interruptions.  I was not trying to upset my grandparents, but I was already a thief to them and I was certain that KS would continue to spin something from nothing. It no longer mattered what the truth was.

KS came to the door, his face showing a small hint of concern as I met his gaze.  Once the recognition of who at his door, out walked KS Smooth Operator.  The pretty red stone walkway should have been splattered with my puke while I stood there listening to his mouth run. Motioning with his hands, he explained to the officer how they had put everything I had in the house into my truck. The same truck that was locked and not on his property.

As the lies and slander start to flow from his “Godly” mouth he smiles, as he explains about my long history of drug use. I start to say something to him, and he calmly says my name, implying how sad it is and how he knows all about it.  I stomped to my car and hit the roof, took a breath and walked back. My mental state had been pushed to the limits by King Psycho, who by now was thinking he was untouchable.

The cool, calm, and collected “XANAXED OUT” KS continues on, sighing with a sadness as he tells how he tried to help another poor drugged out family member with the same result. God’s humor was in full effect that day as that was the same cop who had been on that call.  I am not sure if KS knew or just thought he was that smooth.

The officer doing his job, questioned me about drugs and the welfare of my child.  KS had already crossed a lot of lines throughout his play in my world.  However,  putting a question into a cop’s head about the welfare of my child is a line crossed you do not come back from.  Especially after he had no problem kicking him out into the unstable care of his “drugging  thieving parents”.  Once I told that to the officer and showed him the note KS left on our door, he did not say another word about it.

When I told KS I wanted my PS3, he looked a little surprised, even stumbled a bit in his smooth talk.  He says,  “Oh, that is in the room under the TV stand”.  Really? Did  you not just tell that officer everything we owned from the room was in the truck you broke into?

He brings the out the PS3 and hands it to me.  I walk to my car telling him I will see him in court. I am certain he was saying something smooth back, but I was sick of his mouth as it was brown from all the shit he talked.  I really just wanted him to shut up for a few days and leave me alone. I got into my car and started it, but I could not breathe.  I shut the engine off as the cop came over to see if I was alright.  I said I was, and he told me relax for a second before I tried to drive.  We exchanged Merry Christmas’ and after a minute, I drove away.

Now King Shit was starting to get very board with his own life, so he created a different universe in which to tell his stories. He has quite a few followers who drank his Kool-Aid, and even a couple that must have taken an extra cup.  Because in the real world…she is on drugs + she is freaking out + she backed into the police car…would equal “field sobriety test” not “they let her go”.  That Kool-Aid must be good…