(no subject)
You know, this whole ordeal pisses me off. It doesn't upset me in the slightest. I haven't shed a tear, been angry about it, or anything. I don't even wish it never happened, because it had to happen anyway. It just pisses me off that one person thought they had the goddamn right to treat others like a piece of shit because that one person screwed up their storytelling.
So now that Steph is off my friendslist and contacts, I feel more at ease to analyse how I feel this whole situation has gone down.
First and foremost, I've known. I've seen her telling stories and I've spotted her lies more times than I have fingers or toes. I never really called her out on them because I didn't see the point. If she didn't tell them to someone who could see straight through them, she'd tell them to some poor fool who'd believe and be hurt when the truth came knocking. I've seen her show off and I've seen it all.
I've always figured her to be, as Elisa called it (and as I did in my head), a pathological liar.
I'm a lot more tolerant towards people than folk really realise. I dealt with it and I put up with it, for four - nearly five - years. It bothered me like shit, but I dunno. I never saw the gain or the benefit in turning to someone else and saying, "She's lying -*rant*". I like to watch and I like to observe, I like to study and I like to learn. I know a lot of you better than you realise, but then there's some of you who I don't know at all.
So when this shit hit the fan fiasco started... Well, I can't say I didn't see it coming.
Would you like to hear my version of the story? You know I don't lie about this sort of shit.
First and foremost, I recieved a phone call on the 4th of june from Steph - the previous sunday - where I had a fifteen minute conversation with her. She told me the 3xnebuliser story, about how she'd gone in on the friday night after being resuscitated in her home. She told me about how her mother had done CPR and what the first thing she said was after being revived. She told me how she was at home now: still very weak, but home. She'd be taking the rest of the school week off, and how the only after-effect she'd appeared to have contracted was blurry vision which was supposed to clear up.
Okay, I thought. Okay, alright, sure. That sounds odd. The part about an asthma attack seemed plausible enough. The part about being revived sounded plausible enough, but the part about being discharged less than twenty-four hours after such a severe attack (with no cause that she told me) seemed odd. But hey, I figured. I'd see her at school next week and she was out of hospital, so there wasn't much point in doing anything about it.
So then Wednesday rolls around. I think you are all able to note this particular part.
7th June 2006
4:49pm: Friday night I died.
I mean, I seriously, died.
I came out of hospital today.
That's wednesday. And that's about when I saw the shit starting to hit the fan. I commented, and not only did I say I was sorry (in my own particular style, apologies are not something I'm good at), but I also pointed out that she'd told me on sunday she was out.
And then the next time I looked, the comment had been deleted.
To me, that's the sign of a trapped liar. From then on in, everything about the friday asthma was thrown into a new light. Why would you delete a comment like that, unless you're a) caught in the middle of a lie, or b) panicked?
Shit sort of went down the tube from there. I can honestly say that that is about when I decided fuck it. A lot of you out there are very, very right. Friendship runs two ways. You give what you can and you only take when you have to. It sort of hit me (much like a freight train) that ... well, Steph had never given me anything. I put up with her, I went out to a place I'd never been, on trains that I hate, to the place she got her formal dress from... for the sake of it. For the company; because she asked me to.
It wasn't the only time I'd done it, either.
Did you know that I've visited her in hospital before? So has Kero, and Danni, and Sally, and probably a few others. She was there (to our knowledge) for a goddamn week, for a lung infection or something. Those are bad, I know. But half dying seems hella' worse. A bed shortage at Prince Charles seems the least feasible thing they'd do, even if a hospital doesn't keep patients there for any longer than necessary.
So when that entry came, on the 9th, well... I still didn't care. I cared all the less. If there's one thing with a person like myself, I don't give lightly and I don't take people in lightly. I rarely even scrape close to an apology, and the very worst thing you could ever do to me is a shrug-off, a refusal, a 'you don't matter to me' sort of thing.
I can't say I hate her, because I try not to hate people. But I do think it was immature, and stupid; amazingly stupid thing to do. There's a thousand and one things I could call her, and I'd mean every name. But as far as I'm concerned, if she wants to treat us like we mean nothing, start this "wonderful new life", this "second chance" with a huge grudge against her and by throwing away the best possible thing she'll ever have, then that's not our problem.
Once more for the record, I hold grudges. I don't forget things that people have done to me. I'll remember this forever. I'd probably slap her if I was allowed to. But I'm not stupid like that.
I just think it was pathetic.
Purely pathetic, and I will never, ever forgive or forget her for this.
I'll never speak of it (to her or to others) again. But I won't forget it, and so help you Steph, if I see you next year, or even at the end of this one.
So help you, because I will make you regret it.
I will and I promise that.
p.s. entry made public because I want the world to see it. If you post anonymously, kindly leave your name so I know who you are.
So now that Steph is off my friendslist and contacts, I feel more at ease to analyse how I feel this whole situation has gone down.
First and foremost, I've known. I've seen her telling stories and I've spotted her lies more times than I have fingers or toes. I never really called her out on them because I didn't see the point. If she didn't tell them to someone who could see straight through them, she'd tell them to some poor fool who'd believe and be hurt when the truth came knocking. I've seen her show off and I've seen it all.
I've always figured her to be, as Elisa called it (and as I did in my head), a pathological liar.
I'm a lot more tolerant towards people than folk really realise. I dealt with it and I put up with it, for four - nearly five - years. It bothered me like shit, but I dunno. I never saw the gain or the benefit in turning to someone else and saying, "She's lying -*rant*". I like to watch and I like to observe, I like to study and I like to learn. I know a lot of you better than you realise, but then there's some of you who I don't know at all.
So when this shit hit the fan fiasco started... Well, I can't say I didn't see it coming.
Would you like to hear my version of the story? You know I don't lie about this sort of shit.
First and foremost, I recieved a phone call on the 4th of june from Steph - the previous sunday - where I had a fifteen minute conversation with her. She told me the 3xnebuliser story, about how she'd gone in on the friday night after being resuscitated in her home. She told me about how her mother had done CPR and what the first thing she said was after being revived. She told me how she was at home now: still very weak, but home. She'd be taking the rest of the school week off, and how the only after-effect she'd appeared to have contracted was blurry vision which was supposed to clear up.
Okay, I thought. Okay, alright, sure. That sounds odd. The part about an asthma attack seemed plausible enough. The part about being revived sounded plausible enough, but the part about being discharged less than twenty-four hours after such a severe attack (with no cause that she told me) seemed odd. But hey, I figured. I'd see her at school next week and she was out of hospital, so there wasn't much point in doing anything about it.
So then Wednesday rolls around. I think you are all able to note this particular part.
7th June 2006
4:49pm: Friday night I died.
I mean, I seriously, died.
I came out of hospital today.
That's wednesday. And that's about when I saw the shit starting to hit the fan. I commented, and not only did I say I was sorry (in my own particular style, apologies are not something I'm good at), but I also pointed out that she'd told me on sunday she was out.
And then the next time I looked, the comment had been deleted.
To me, that's the sign of a trapped liar. From then on in, everything about the friday asthma was thrown into a new light. Why would you delete a comment like that, unless you're a) caught in the middle of a lie, or b) panicked?
Shit sort of went down the tube from there. I can honestly say that that is about when I decided fuck it. A lot of you out there are very, very right. Friendship runs two ways. You give what you can and you only take when you have to. It sort of hit me (much like a freight train) that ... well, Steph had never given me anything. I put up with her, I went out to a place I'd never been, on trains that I hate, to the place she got her formal dress from... for the sake of it. For the company; because she asked me to.
It wasn't the only time I'd done it, either.
Did you know that I've visited her in hospital before? So has Kero, and Danni, and Sally, and probably a few others. She was there (to our knowledge) for a goddamn week, for a lung infection or something. Those are bad, I know. But half dying seems hella' worse. A bed shortage at Prince Charles seems the least feasible thing they'd do, even if a hospital doesn't keep patients there for any longer than necessary.
So when that entry came, on the 9th, well... I still didn't care. I cared all the less. If there's one thing with a person like myself, I don't give lightly and I don't take people in lightly. I rarely even scrape close to an apology, and the very worst thing you could ever do to me is a shrug-off, a refusal, a 'you don't matter to me' sort of thing.
I can't say I hate her, because I try not to hate people. But I do think it was immature, and stupid; amazingly stupid thing to do. There's a thousand and one things I could call her, and I'd mean every name. But as far as I'm concerned, if she wants to treat us like we mean nothing, start this "wonderful new life", this "second chance" with a huge grudge against her and by throwing away the best possible thing she'll ever have, then that's not our problem.
Once more for the record, I hold grudges. I don't forget things that people have done to me. I'll remember this forever. I'd probably slap her if I was allowed to. But I'm not stupid like that.
I just think it was pathetic.
Purely pathetic, and I will never, ever forgive or forget her for this.
I'll never speak of it (to her or to others) again. But I won't forget it, and so help you Steph, if I see you next year, or even at the end of this one.
So help you, because I will make you regret it.
I will and I promise that.
p.s. entry made public because I want the world to see it. If you post anonymously, kindly leave your name so I know who you are.