RIP, my darling J...
So, I had to tell your family, on the day I spent Xmas gift money to bring them a supper, and be there for support, that I didn't want to be a pest, because Saint Cunt had made up lies about me, believed them, and I'm sure told them to you, and you believed them too.
I gave you my phone number when I got a phone, so you could text me if you didn't feel like being on social media. But you never did.
Saint Cunt was the first to deliver her memories at your Memorial last Wednesday. I don't remember half of what she said because I was hysterically crying, and it was very hard to listen to her lies she told the assembled crowd. Good choice to get her Grand Dame Queen High & Mightyness off the stage first. Good call.
It was very hard to listen to Saint Cunt prattle on about herself, and explain to everyone how she was your saviour. it sickened me, (how many times did she hurt you and piss you off, and you cried on my shoulder? how much drama did she need to dump on you when you were loaded with 5 lifetimes of it before you even got sick?!) and it was all i could do not to go up to the front of the room and tell her to "go fuck yourself, her death was not all about you!!".. but, in my seat i remained, feeling like a punching bag, my legs lifeless underneath me, as unlike her, i don't need to draw attention to myself, and cause scenes.
My legs shook and I nearly collapsed when she said the thing about your friends not wanting to be around you when you got sick, and how we all scattered. We did not fucking scatter. You and Saint Cunt drove us all away. I may not have been strong enough to deal with her, and your anger directed toward me on her behalf, but I never gave up on you, and I continued searching for medical answers for you. I continued on the support groups, and I continued to search medical journals online til 3 in the morning. I cried my eyes out at the frustration, futility, and uselessness of the so-called medical care you were not getting. I continued to read your posts on social media. I just didn't dare comment or "like" cause I didn't need the hammer coming down on me for sticking up for you. One day, I said "what the hell, I'm going to type something in support of this statement" when a friend of yours from out west pointed out the lack of care in our medical system out there, and i said its bad here in this province too, and true to form, Saint Cunt shot me down. So I deleted the post. Fuck you, Saint Cunt.
My heart told me when I squeezed your hand, kissed your forehead and told you I loved you 5 hours before you died that you believed me, and you knew deep down why I couldn't be there for you the last 3 months, and you forgave me...
I have only 2 regrets.
1. I really wish I wasn't trying and failing to cope with my own illnesses at the time, and that I had the strength to stand up to Saint Cunt and tell her where to go.
2. We never did get that tattoo together.
Thankfully, I never have to deal with Saint Cunt again.
But this is a small village. Saint Cunt's mother lives two doors down.
I want to sell my house, pack up and get the fuck out of here.
I hope you rest in peace, my darling J.... free from the physical, emotional and spiritual pain you endured for so long. When a dragonfly lands on my hand this summer, I will know its you <3 p="">
I gave you my phone number when I got a phone, so you could text me if you didn't feel like being on social media. But you never did.
Saint Cunt was the first to deliver her memories at your Memorial last Wednesday. I don't remember half of what she said because I was hysterically crying, and it was very hard to listen to her lies she told the assembled crowd. Good choice to get her Grand Dame Queen High & Mightyness off the stage first. Good call.
It was very hard to listen to Saint Cunt prattle on about herself, and explain to everyone how she was your saviour. it sickened me, (how many times did she hurt you and piss you off, and you cried on my shoulder? how much drama did she need to dump on you when you were loaded with 5 lifetimes of it before you even got sick?!) and it was all i could do not to go up to the front of the room and tell her to "go fuck yourself, her death was not all about you!!".. but, in my seat i remained, feeling like a punching bag, my legs lifeless underneath me, as unlike her, i don't need to draw attention to myself, and cause scenes.
My legs shook and I nearly collapsed when she said the thing about your friends not wanting to be around you when you got sick, and how we all scattered. We did not fucking scatter. You and Saint Cunt drove us all away. I may not have been strong enough to deal with her, and your anger directed toward me on her behalf, but I never gave up on you, and I continued searching for medical answers for you. I continued on the support groups, and I continued to search medical journals online til 3 in the morning. I cried my eyes out at the frustration, futility, and uselessness of the so-called medical care you were not getting. I continued to read your posts on social media. I just didn't dare comment or "like" cause I didn't need the hammer coming down on me for sticking up for you. One day, I said "what the hell, I'm going to type something in support of this statement" when a friend of yours from out west pointed out the lack of care in our medical system out there, and i said its bad here in this province too, and true to form, Saint Cunt shot me down. So I deleted the post. Fuck you, Saint Cunt.
My heart told me when I squeezed your hand, kissed your forehead and told you I loved you 5 hours before you died that you believed me, and you knew deep down why I couldn't be there for you the last 3 months, and you forgave me...
I have only 2 regrets.
1. I really wish I wasn't trying and failing to cope with my own illnesses at the time, and that I had the strength to stand up to Saint Cunt and tell her where to go.
2. We never did get that tattoo together.
Thankfully, I never have to deal with Saint Cunt again.
But this is a small village. Saint Cunt's mother lives two doors down.
I want to sell my house, pack up and get the fuck out of here.
I hope you rest in peace, my darling J.... free from the physical, emotional and spiritual pain you endured for so long. When a dragonfly lands on my hand this summer, I will know its you <3 p="">
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