When Compassion Deflates A Good, And Righteous Rage

(This is NOT about my ex.)

Part The First-a detailing of the conditions that led to Righteous Rage:

In August, when the woman I married, yet never really knew ended us I had to find a new place quickly. Being of very limited means limits choices, thus I had 2. Move in to a boarding house by Navy Yard Gate One that used to be known as a Heroin Hotel, or move in with WW, a guy I'd been acquainted with for years, but didn't know too deeply. Each had their drawbacks.

The former Heroin Hotel, while cleaned up, and no longer a center of crime, did not even include kitchen facilities. I was told by the manager that I could get a microwave, and live well on microwaved food. Cable, and thus internet were not included, and since I still owed the cable company, having not received the promised help from my ex in paying off our bills, I couldn't get cable hooked up.

It seemed a depressing situation to be in, and I was not enthused.

The other choice was WW's. It was more expensive than I was initially able to afford, but I was told it included everything.

Everything.

To me everything means Electric, Water, Sewer, Trash Collection, Cable, Internet, Heat, Hot Water, Privacy, and Safety. I was to find out there are different definitions of "Everything".

No Trash Pick Up

WW only took the trash to the dump once while I was there. I had to suggest it. Having no vehicle of my own I was reliant on his to get that job done. He generously lent me his car whenever I needed it, but in having to take the trash to the dump myself, and the high rent being paid, it seems like I was paying for the privilege of taking the trash of 2-4 men to the dump.

Add to that the fact that said vehicle didn't seem to be inspected, or inspectable, and things start getting stupid.

In October I met Andrea, and we spent much of our time together at her place after that, meaning most evenings and weekends. The trash situation was much out of mind, therefore.

Except when I went in the back yard. Where the growing pile was. And still is. Mind you it has been growing since September. Sanitary, that.

Little to No Heat

WW had told me in October that we wouldn't be getting a gas delivery until December. He texted me one evening to ask that I make a fire in the woodstove. I did. It was warm, and cheery, and I was pleased.

However, there was no cordwood to burn. Rather, it was a collection of scrap would in the basement, from rotting clapboards left over from remodelling, to broken furniture. It was a large pile, but none of it burned evenly.

At the end of October WW got us a cord of wood, and put down the rule that only one log be burned per fire, except at night.

This rule only applied to those of us not afflicted with being him. He always made fires with 2-5 logs.

Also he had a bizarre notion of how to circulate air to get heat throughout the house. He seemed to believe that pointing a fan directly down on the woodstove did something besides cool it off.

He borrowed a fan from one of the other guys there and put it at the top of the stairs where it blew against the bottom of the attic stairs creating a curtain of cool air that cooled the warm air trying to rise up the stairway. (When describing WW's fan placement ideas to a man versed in thermodynamics I was asked "Is he impaired in some way?")

The result was that T and I were cold in our rooms when WW had things set up his way. The temperature was sometimes in the 50s.

Doing it my way the entire 2nd floor was up to 70 degrees in about 90 minutes.

Having proven I was right I offered T $20 for the fan he lent WW. He just gave it to me.

This made WW angry. You may ask "He was angry about being warm?" No. He was angry about being disobeyed. Things had to be his way, even if it was proven that his didn't work. The more conclusive the proof that he was wrong the more bullshit he would spout, the less rational he would get, and the stupider he would sound.

It never seemed to be about the subject discussed, just that someone else was in some way superior to him.

He also never tried to communicate in a meaningful, or adult way rather, he just seethed until he exploded. Through Facebook.

It was sadly funny that he opened with the only accurate statement of the whole conversation, that he is too immature to face me.

Think, though, how safe I felt living with someone who felt like burning the house down. Of course it went on:
(For organization I have cut-and-paste shuffled the two longest messages in the thread together in a Statement-Response format; they were originally a list and a counter-list. He ignored any statement that he was wrong, especially statements mentioning proof thereof.)

Notice that he starts by claiming superior knowledge. His superior knowledge ignored the simple fact that, with his room directly above the stove, he would get most of the heat. Notice also that I was too annoyed to proof read properly.

 

 He ignores the "needlessly cold" through the entire exchange.

I had stack VHS tapes under part of the upstairs fan to tilt it downward to see if the fan could be used in any way. 

And who the hell thinks VHS tapes are somehow valuable, and in need of preservation?

And, as I mention, in one of WW's random, infrequent cleaning sprees he used my toothbrush to clean. He never acknowledges that.

 Again, with the ignoring plain and logical facts.

 He seems to believe that he has authority over people, but no responsibility to them.

No fuel assistance until March? So the place doesn't include heat. Got it.

I was combing Craigslist for free wood for quite a while, but WW was always having naps, because he would play video games all night long. With no assistance in getting the wood I could do nothing.

 

Because he had been taking psychology at Great Bay he felt qualified to diagnose everyone with something that justified his treatment of them. (Interesting coincidence: around the time he and his 18 (19?) year old (non) girlfriend broke up he stopped to going college. She was proof reading his papers. Not saying the two facts are related, but it's interesting.)

 

My keyboard developed aphasia while I typed. It should have read "no need of more fires", and "where you put it".

Regardless, he ignored what I was saying about the temperature again.

 He never got the thermometers, nor addressed my experiment.

Not only was his math wrong, but he wanted me to change how I'm paid to account for his lack of organization. At one point he had asked me (after I moved in) to pay weekly because "Too much money at once confuses" him. I told him 'no' then, too.

He feels guilty about my having to do more, but not about making my doing more necessary.

In my reply the stove mentioned is the gas range in the kitchen. From the time I moved in until December the oven didn't work. I figured out the problem, and ordered the part. WW was just leaving it, having no oven. (Pete is the landlord's assistant.)

So No Trash Pick Up, Insufficient Heat, and No Oven. And No Logic, or Adult Communication. For $700 a month. At least we had all the cable channels except the porn.

He presumes that only someone not him could be wrong. Also that I care if he likes me. He always goes on the presumption that people think as highly of him as he does, and thus crave his approval.

Considering I was angry enough to not feel pain, I think I kept reasonably calm.

Notice he doesn't examine any of his own behavior. When he mentions my attitude being "threatening and unappreciated" understand that we had not been in the same room for hours. He was only going by my words, which, in my opinion merely refuted his statements. Sometimes with proof.

So he finds being shown that he's wrong threatening, and doesn't appreciate it? This should have given me the clue for later, but I was a little stressed and unable to see it.

He says here that the "obviousness" of my "bristling nature is palpable", yet he started the whole thing off with "since i am to immature to face you and discuss this" to justify sending a Facebook message. BTW after hitting send he literally ran to his car.

"deal with the cold better"? Not at $700 a month. Fuck that.

Again, he only accuses, never looks at his own actions.

Again my keyboard developed aphasia and skipped words. They should be obvious.

Because he was not going to get his way he relented about the money.

But notice again he doesn't respond to direct questions about his behavior, or statements that he has caused others problems.

This is the end of the conversation. He eventually texted me the number, but it took my harping on it. WW did not seem to want someone else in contact with Pete for some reason.

Drunken Teenage Parties

WW is sober. He just passed 5 years. However, from the time I moved in until the (non) girlfriend stopped coming around there were drunk teenagers in living room, dining room, and kitchen most weekends. He would buy them beer.

Some of the teenagers were Calvin, and his friends, and they didn't bother so much. Calvin was the Young Punk Who Lived in the Attic. Nice guy. Had the consideration to knock and ask if I minded him drumming.

Regardless, the sober guy was buying them beer. A 38-39 year old man providing alcohol to teenagers, primarily girls is not sketchy by what rules? Factor in that, unlike certain friends of mine who've dated much younger, WW stated he could get women his own age.

Considering, also, that he did not lock the front door (I never received a key to the place) it never felt safe there.

Dubious Circumstances Under Which Others Moved Out, And Keeping Their Stuff

Soon after I moved in, one day before going to work WW said to me, that a previous tenant may stop by and try to get his stuff. I was to prevent him. "Kick his ass" WW said laughingly. Knowing that not even the owner of the house had the right to keep someone from their stuff without due process I said "No thank you." The attic and basement are chock full of stuff that I began to wonder the origin of.

Tim, whom I've mentioned before, lost his job in December. He had to go away for a week in January, and, rather than return straight away, he sent a mass text to all his friends that he was staying with friends near Manchester so he could to the VA and try to get benefits, so he could pay his delinquent rent.

WW asked me the next day if I'd talked to Tim. Feeling that it was worth it to split the hair and not-exactly lie, I said "No, I haven't talked to him". He didn't ask about other means of communicating with him. WW told me that T had moved in with a girl he was in love, and her boyfriend, that he'd found god, and was going to church, and wouldn't be back.

He actually seems to believe this.

After about a week WW removed all of T's stuff from his room, except the bed. He moved a table downstairs, and put most of the rest in the attic. It's fair to mention at this point that WW had lost his own job in December due to a chronic pain condition. The condition seemed to clear up in time to remove T's stuff.

And then rented the room (including T's bed) to a young guy new to sobriety.

This was the end of my trust. WW had made up something about someone else, and punished them for it. While I kept my room padlocked I knew it would only take a crowbar to break in to my room, and pilfer my stuff. Obviously I didn't (and don't) believe B&E beyond WW.

I was always on edge because of him, and I hated him, monster that he is. I felt sick, and poisoned, and afraid, never knowing when his behavior would get worse, matching the scary stories people who've known him have told me.

It had gotten to the point where I was actually hoping that WW would lose his shit and attack me. At least then we could achieve some finality.

Moving

I had been looking for a place since early December. There had been offers: a boarding house halfway to York (no car, no thanks), an cozy apartment with 2 recently divorced women of similar age ('cause that's not a recipe for stupidity, really), a very lonely woman who offered to create a suite out of her basement if I'd help (I imagine her played by Cathy Bates), and a place 100 yards from my ex (NOT EVEN FOR FREE).

Finally I found "Boarding House. Kittery. $90 a week. Includes everything. Must be clean and sober." I emailed saying "I'm clean and sober; what do you need from me to move in? -Chris"

Reply: "Is this the Chris who lived here a few years ago? Chris Walters?"

It was the boarding house that I had moved into 10 years ago, where the landlords abide by their word, and it really does include everything. I was the second respondent. Usually they are flooded when they put an ad in Craigslist. They were happy to have me back. Luck was with me, finally.

I gave no notice, and don't feel bad. WW had gotten a job, and wouldn't even be there when I moved. I had a crew of people I trusted implicitly, capable, honest people, who would be useful in the event of a crisis. With no WW we had my stuff out in less than an hour, and into my new/old place in less than a second one.

Immediately I began to feel relief, and relax.

Part The Second-after the cessation of the stress, a reassessment, and a glimmer of sharp compassion.

A few hours after moving I was talking to various people who know WW. We shared some laughs at his expense, told stories, commiserated.

As I said I'd given no notice; I felt any advance warning would have prompted the man to break into to my room.

I received a text around 6:30 saying "Apparently your moving? Ummmmmm... you intend to pay rent I assume??"

I replied "Oh yeah. I knew there was something I forgot. I have moved. As to rent as I see it I owe you nothing. You'll interpret it differently, but there we are."

Then someone mentioned that WW's brother had stated that WW was once diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. Asperger's, being a high functioning form of Autism, is not unknown to me; Alex, my former stepson is on the Autism Spectrum, but closer to normal than Asperger's. I know too many of the symptoms, and couldn't make Asperger's fit. (I also didn't want to. I want WW's behavior to be his choice, for him to be a shitty human being, rather than a sick one.)

However, my opinion changed over the course of the night, and next day. WW sent me over 70 total text messages from approximately 6:00PM until about 9:30. At one point there texts coming so fast that I could not type out a word without being interrupted by the New Message notification.

WW wanted an explanation how he could deserve such treatment. After all his struggles how could I hurt him so coldly. He asked if he was a bad person that I tell him how. He asked me to help him understand.

So I told him. In great, exacting detail. I explained every action that I had witnessed that was objectionable, immoral, or illegal. I told him that this was a widely held opinion, not just my own.

I kept to cold, factual statements based on observations. I didn't use any insulting terms, or try to attack; clinical assessment was more than adequate.

I did this by text. And I don't have a smart phone with a full keyboard.

Of course WW couldn't see that his actions were destructive. And he blamed everyone else for not telling him to stop (though various people had, prompting worse behavior).

In a sadly pathological take on "I'm rubber and you're glue" he would then accuse me of all the things he had done.

Bottom line: he was unable to see himself as having done wrong in any capacity. He would ignore any proof, and cite his intentions, and then rant, trying to smother the uncomfortable accusations in words.

And he reminded me of Alex. When Alex is stressed out he can't accept being wrong. The more he's confronted with his own error, or guilt the less rational he becomes, sometimes leading to flagrant psychosis.

Meds did so much for Alex...

But Gods Damn It! WW had drawn a comparison to my kid! The creature I refer to as The Weasel shares some major pathology with Alex.

I WAS PISSED!

There went all my fantasies of ruining his life and laughing at him, of seeing him fail and celebrating.

He was actually pardoned from my Revenge List. Said list in not long, but some people have been on it over 30 years.

WW is the first to removed from it.

I still don't think he has Asperger's; I think the tests he would have taken would now be outdated. But I am certain he is on the Autism Spectrum. Certain of it.

And as soon as I allowed this thought to gel it actually crystallized.

Very smart in certain subjects, but noticeably impaired understanding their own impact on those around them? Check.

Obsessive collector of useless crap? Check.

Unable to take criticism? Check.

Good lord, I thought. 39 years untreated. His life is perpetually a shambles, and he can't grasp why. He really doesn't know that anyone who has left his life has likely been provoked by him. How awful.

This isn't like a personality disorder, where the wrong thinking has been learned, sometimes self-imposed and reinforced: he can't be blamed at all for what's wrong with him. It's wiring.

And there are very effective treatments.

I used to joke with T about putting some of Alex's emergency pills in WW's food. Little did I understand they may have been exactly the thing needed.

He's a monster, but he doesn't have to be.

Sadly, I've talked to paranoid schizophrenics who could have much more lucid conversations about themselves, even under heavy meds, or with voices speaking loudly to them.

So The Weasel's been pardoned. And now, if given a real chance, I would help him.

48 hours ago I was musing over the most secure way to weight his body for a little sailing trip I wanted to take him on.

What a ride.