Friday, May 13, 2011

The Demise of Fuck Face...Part 2

What happened Wednesday? That's what your asking if you read Wednesday's blog entry.

If you've been following us for awhile you've heard about Fuck Face, who he is, who he's been all along...and how much we are in love with him (yes, are, you don't stop loving just because they are a completely selfish disappointment - doesn't mean we won't fuck up his life though - love can only carry you so far)

So, basically we were having a pleasant conversation over drink yesterday. He was talking to us about our writing, and other various things in life, as we generally do. We always have a fantastic time with him, whether clothed or not; he is wonderful company and we get along great, we all got along great with him. We were what some would consider good friends, as well as sexual partners.

Out of somewhere, while sipping our drinks, we don't know, we said something jokingly about hating him because we love him. Something he has known full well for months now...that we love him…

"You should really stop that," he said.

"Stop what? Loving you or hating you," we replied.



We look away. Everybody in the head starts saying different things. Tears spring to our eyes. The headache from the day creeps back in. We’re trying to keep our shit together. We fail. Massively.

We sit in silence for a long time. He stares at us; we stare, with tears streaming down our cheeks, at the television above the bar/restaurant that we frequent often enough that the waitress knows our usual drink there. Gin and water with a lime.

He says our name. "Say something".

We continue to stare; everybody in the head is saying something different. We don't know what should be spoken. We've already said so much to him in messages, to his face; he knows how we feel. He's read this blog everyday up until about two weeks ago; every single thing we've written about him.

He says something about talking to him, and says he'd rather be having a bad time right now than this silence. This, he says is nothing. He wants us to talk. He wants a bad time; that's what we'll give him.

"What's there to say,” is all we muster to start, "You're a fucking asshole. You’re the biggest asshole we’ve ever met."

"This is our last drink. This is the last time we are drinking with you." we say

"I'll keep asking to go out for drinks" he replies

“We’ll never get over you if we keep hanging out with you. We can't drink with you anymore.”

"All you have to do is say no" he says.

"Do you know how hard it is for us to say 'no'? We love you, we love spending time with you" we cry, sobbing at our table, sucking our gin and water like it's the only way to survive. Our leg on the verge of a constant twitch that we manage to control.


We continue on, berating him for his actions, reminding him over and over that he's an asshole.

"You're not telling me something I don't already know," he says, "I know I'm in the wrong" but other words he says through out the next couple of hours do not prove to us that he really knows this.

"We don't fucking care. We'll keep reminding you" We say.

There is more spoken, the specifics are unclear, we talk about his wife to him, tell him that when you love someone, like he claims to love her, you don't do the things he's done with us; pulling us back in every time we found the strength to end it. We tell him that we understand that sometimes men cheat as a way out; but not when they love their wives. You choose which side of the percentage to be on, just because you do it once doesn't mean you keep doing it.

"You kept saying yes" was his excuse.

Somewhere in the head we hear a snap. We flip him the bird and yell, probably too loudly, "Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you." Over and over in measured intervals, burning holes in his face with our eyes.

We tell him it's not fair, he wasn't on the same playing field every time. He took advantage of us.

We stare at the television again. We're flipping back and forth in the head, trying to find one of us who will stop crying. We hate crying in public, especially since we always do it with our head held high. We slowly blink...that's the cue. Sit calm, stare into the distance, slowly blink our out the one of us we need. We're desperate. We can't find anyone. It works sometimes.

"We're madder at us than anything, for letting you make us feel like a piece of shit. You make us feel worthless" we're sputtering, tears are landing all over, we are hardly able to choke out the words. We suck more gin through our straw.

We work on a little composure. Stare at the television again. Momentarily we've stopped crying. He continues to look at us.

The waitress comes to the table and says "You look like you need a hug."

"Thank you, but that's okay" and before we can finish the sentence she puts her arm around us. She's seen Fuck Face and us there on many occasions. She could probably over hear everything. She knows what is happening. We don't.

“Why? Why did you take a such a risk with us? What made you think we wouldn’t tell your wife?” we ask.

“By your demeanour, your personality” he replied. We read this as him saying we were no threat, that's why.

“Too bad you don’t know all of us” we snap at him, give him a look.

It feels like it goes on and on, us saying things to him, him acting like an ass, making no sense, like usual; unable to commit to a concept.  He says it was “all about the sex”, but then in the next 10 minutes he says “It started out being all about the sex”. We don’t know what that means. If you say it started out as something that’s an indication that it ended somewhere else, or as something else.

He’s making us feel powerless because he wants to keep spending time with us, he says he likes to talk to us, we’re interesting, we’re good company; and we know if we do spend time with him we will never be able to stop loving him, and we already know if he asks we will not be able to say 'no'. Even now.

“We don’t want you to find us interesting. We don’t want you to like spending time with us. You don’t deserve it” we spit the words at him.

He's just sitting and looking at us again as the tears stream down our face, while we sit in periods of silence. Everyone in the head churning, crying, screaming, telling us we’re so stupid; telling us we are amazing, beautiful and we can do better; saying we love him, we don’t want better, we want him. He doesn’t want us comes a response; fucking smarten up. There is so much going on and none of it makes sense. Everyone is yelling.

He gets up to pay his tab and as he stands at the bar the waitress asks, "Just yours or both."

He turns to look at us, to question whether or not he should cover our drink order, we immediately point to him, before he can make the complete move and say to him, "You're fucking paying for this one."

He pays and returns to the the table. "Drink up" he says, as he picks up his fancy leather briefcase and his umbrella.

We suck back almost an entire glass of gin and water, obeying like a good girl. We put our jacket on and as we walk out the door together we tell him he should have just let us sit there and drink by ourself.

We get to the corner where we go separate ways, but first he turns to us and says "I'll see you tomorrow."

"We probably won't be there" we say.

"You probably should. You've used all your sick days." 

"I don't want to look at your stupid face tomorrow," we say, staring him in the face, wanting to spit in his eye.

We explain that we have not, that this month we've only taken one sick day - it was on Monday. He says something about appearances for the sake of Important Boss and a bunch of blah blah blah.

"Fine. We'll see you tomorrow" and we turn to storm down the sidewalk, our jacketed arm over our mouth, sobbing into our denim sleeve, iPod jammed in our ears and sunglasses, even though it is cloudy, to mask the puffy face and the giant tears. We go in search of Fabulous Person, we need her.

We find Fabulous Person in the usual Wednesday location, a helper motions to her because she does not hear us call her name. She sees our face and immediately comes to us, opens her arms and as she wraps her arms around us we sob, full body, against her, enveloped. We sob and sob and sob. We don't even know how to explain what has just happened. We can’t make sense of where everything went wrong in the last couple of hours.

We talk with her about the drinks, about how we're feeling, sharing pieces of what we can remember. We talk about how we hate that we love him. That we don't know why we love him, we've never felt this way. We tell her we know we can do better. We tell her we remember telling him that "are you kidding, look at us" and motioning at us. We our way out of his league, we know it, he knows it, she knows it. We're helpless with our love for this creep who is not worthy of us. We tell her we couldn’t find the one who could keep us from crying. We talk and talk...

An hour or so later we walk home. We've found the strength we need. We've known we should have been taking the screenshots of our Facebook correspondences a long time ago, but some of us are weak and were hopeful for a different outcome that didn’t involve needing to stand our ground. We sit and drink the rest of a bottle of Bowmore scotch and our dining room table with it's high chairs, and take 103 screenshots of illicit Facebook message exchanges...our arsenal...and throw Tweets out onto Twitter so we don't go insane (okay, anymore than we've already become) with them rolling around each other inside the head.

Just a few of our Tweets.... [Note to The Father and The Pastor ... wouldn't go in any further if you've read this far.]

"Highlight" [there are better one;)] reel of the 103 odd screenshots from Facebook we took....
November 26, 2010

December 6, 2010

December 7, 2010

December 13, 2010

December 22, 2010

January 10, 2011

May 2, 2011

May 7, 2010 - that was just this past Saturday!

The end of the night comes. We get four hours of sleep, the usual for a weeknight. We were up before the alarm went off.  We survive the night, even though the last thing whispered was "I hate my life, I hope I never wake up." But really everyone is wishing we wake up as me.

...Come back for the next post when we tell you all about his excuses, apologies...and who did or didn't tell his wife first...

For the month of May, Mental Health Awareness Month, we will be posting this at he bottom of each of our entries, to help provide additional information about us, and about DID/MPD

10 Things You Should Know About US That MIGHT Surprise YOU:
  1. We used to be a Baptist missionary (yeah, can you fucking believe that shit?!) [we are NOT religious]
  2. We were once married (didn’t last long) [one of our stories talks about him]
  3. We have had nearly 30 physical addresses in 30 years, mostly as an adult (nothing could contain us in the early days) [we actually own a house, but choose not to live in it]
  4. We’ve lived in 2 countries: 1 province and 6-7 different states (running much)
  5. We have lost 120 pounds since the age of 24 (100 of it when we were 24) [and it's close to 140 pounds now)
  6. We have a full time job (well, now it's 32 hours a week - but they actually let us work around the other humans!) [it get's harder everyday, and this is the longest we've ever had a single job since we were 17. We've been there almost a year]
  7. We deal with social anxiety type symptoms every day (and these days we choose not to leave home much, but for going to work) [there are about three people we feel comfortable with being in public with and sometimes we have to be out there alone]
  8. We have multiple “mental illness” diagnoses (doesn't everybody?) [p.s. all misdiagnosed]
  9. We have two beautiful cats, who piss us off every day (but they are special, because they put up with us) [though one of us hates them beyond belief]
  10. We have struggled to survive, over and over, defeating the odds thrown against us (read our stories) [seriously, how are we not dead yet?]

We've copied the stories written here that are specifically about our past (mostly abuse) and moved them to our other blog, called:
Addressing The Issue of Frank: The Origins, History and Life Story of Frank, from "Just Call Me Frank: One Womans Endeavour At Being Frank"  
(this blog also contains our artwork/photography - the following links will take you to that blog)
·                     1. Addressing The Issue of Frank: Part 1
·                     2. The Emergence of Frank: The Beginning
·                     3.The Emergence of Frank: The Second Coming
·                     4. The Emergence of Frank: Three Times A Rescuer
·                     5. The Emergence of Frank: Frank's Failure
Some of our writing on this blog we like to promote, these are those entries since mid-January 2011. There are bits of writing in this blog that we do not actually promote due to embarrassment over things that some have written - they are here for our own tracking - they are angry, mean, scary things. If you feel like it you can find them on your own. Here are the highlights of what we have written so far this year:
The Mental Health Entries:
Dissociative Identity Disorder/Multiple Personality Disorder
Humour/Random Fun:
If you have any questions for us we are very open and will answer to our best ability - this is totally the month to ask us questions. You can either ask us on Twitter, in the comment section of a blog entry here, or e-mail us at justcallmefrank2010 (at)

Resources for You - facts, figures and personal stories of other people can be found on these sites:
National Institute of Mental Health:
American Psychological Association:
Canadian Mental Health Association:
Mental Health Europe:
World Psychiatric Association:

No comments:

Post a Comment