Back in part two of the updates on my family’s current misadventures, my father had just been arrested for aggravated menacing, for threatening to pull a car full of people into oncoming traffic.
A protection order against my father, protecting my sister’s boyfriend, was placed and later revoked. I learned this was (foolishly) done to preserve my father’s job, which he would have lost otherwise. Why my sister and my sister’s boyfriend continue to give our father a chance, I don’t know.
During the time from mid-October (father and sister’s birthday) and up until December, I didn’t hear much. But then came the Facebookening.
My stepmother discovered Facebook for the first time in January 2014. Why so late? Because my father, jealous and paranoid as he was, wouldn’t allow her to have a social media profile until that time. That is also why my stepmother never went to college. Too many ways for her to meet someone else and leaaaave him.
She found Facebook to be a new avenue for attention, and now has over 1000 friends, since she accepts the friend requests of every single person who comes across her profile. A large, large percentage of these “friends” are foreign. I’d say out of her 1000+ friends she’s met only ten or so, because they are family and childhood friends. Real people.
As someone who has seen the worst of the internet, I was amused by her naivety. My suspicions were confirmed when many of her new “friends” began asking her for money.
The Facebookening began on December 26th 2014, when my stepmother announced she was divorcing my father for her internet fiancé who she had never met, and who lived in another country.
My sociopathic, narcissistic and angry father finally saw his fears come to light – his sickly, substance-addicted wife with no career skills was going to leave him. He made a Facebook profile in response to this, and his only publicly viewable post sums the situation up quite well.
My wife [name removed] who is having a Facebook online affair with a Muslim man in north AFRICA has plans to go there and marry him after our divorce. I feel sorry for the poor AFRICAN [name removed] or his other Facebook name [name removed] who is in for a real treat with my soon to be ex. Thinking about getting them a camel for their marriage with a sign that says Allahu Akbar on it.
Charming man, isn’t he?
In the first week of January, he moved out of the big, empty new house and back into the smaller house I grew up in, on the opposite end of town. Where I imagine he sits there boohooing and blaming everyone but himself. Where he still is now, as far as I know. If he’d managed to pull his own head out of his ass and gotten her psychological treatment five years ago his marriage would not be crumbling so spectacularly. Hell, if he’d done the head-ass removal twenty three years ago, his first born child might want to be around him. He might have had actual friends and other family he was close to. He might have invested in people other than himself, and seen it pay off tenfold.
But now he has tidily made his own bed. And he will lie in it.
As for my stepmother, from the day (Dec 26th) of divorce-declaration on she lapsed deeper into spray paint addiction and her posts became muddled and incoherent. Word salads, I would call them, probably made under the influence. Mostly about religion, traveling to Morocco and all over the world, begging for female roommates to move in to the 3000 sqft+ house she was living in (NO HOMOS PLEASE), and “plans” for her “future wedding” in Morocco.
Around mid January, on one of her huffing binges, she decided that Disneyland would pay for her rehab and started driving to California. She stopped in Kentucky, declared victory, and drove back.
My sister told me about this and the details of my father’s arrest back in October when I saw her about a week ago, the first time I’d seen her in quite a long time. She arrived late at our dinner meetup, explaining when she got there that she’d just come from the house my stepmother was living in alone. My sister declared the house was “pretty much ruined” because there was spray paint everywhere, on the floors, the walls, you name it.
My stepmother had been taken to the hospital earlier that day. An ambulance and the police had shown up to the house. Who had called, I don’t know. My sister said that the officer on scene had wanted to arrest her then, and that she hoped that my stepmother would be pink-slipped or 5150’d – forcibly admitted to inpatient care. And she was right – my stepmother was arrested soon after going to the hospital. The charge was “Abuse Intoxicnt, 1st Degree misdemeanor.” Her hearing is next week.
My sister said she had pretty well accepted that her mother was going to die. Either from her health (poor) or from her addictions, or both.
Despite that, at some point during the dinner we were happily discussing summer plans, and having a good time. And I realized this was probably the first time she had laughed or smiled all day. I felt better, knowing that I could help her that way.
And that is where I leave off for now. I have tried to tell the story as straight-forwardly as possible, with only just a smidge of my own bitterness to give it flavor. In the next and final part of this series, I will discuss my own feelings on these matters.
TO BE CONTINUED