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The Universe(TM) is my BFF


If you hadn’t noticed, I love adding the trademark indicator to stupid common phrases. I think it’s funny. I hope you do, too.

I have this notion that a world of pain is coming my way. Emotional pain. I’m still sort of connected to the most vile bastard I’ve ever met in the back of my mind. I hear he’s writing a book that will defame me completely by “exposing me” to the world so that he can tear jerk some sympathy out of people who hate him for not marrying me. That’s what God said, anyway.

I find myself making odd choices, susceptible to whatever drivel he’s writing. I have this notion it includes marrying two men. I wouldn’t normally consider it. I don’t think it’s fair to either man because they deserve me 100% if I choose them. They deserve my best effort. They deserve my undivided attention. They deserve romance, which for me can only happen in complete privacy. I am a private person. I am a shy woman. I am just a woman, nothing more and nothing less.

I have needs, but he won’t write about those. I need kisses. Many, many kisses. All day, every day. Did he kiss me? No. He made up excuses not to, treating me like crap and expecting me to just take it. He treated me like I wasn’t human. And now? He writes a book about how I mistreated him? How’s dem apples?

They’re rotten. They didn’t fall far from the tree. I don’t know what tree he came from, having met his parents. They’re not bad people. Perhaps mentally disturbed, one of them, but not bad. They aren’t people who think of sharing themselves with women like a Mormon husband, unlike Ben. They’re Christian or some flavor thereof. You know. Monogamous.

Just like me. I’m monogamous. Is he going to write me that way? No. He’s going to write me like a whore. An insidious bitch who is never pleased. Except, he’s going to put enough of me in that book that everyone is going to fall for me instead of him. They won’t buy his lies, and even if they do, he’ll have divulged enough to make it obvious why I misbehaved when I misbehaved, which was rarely and mostly at the very end.

He would have you believe that I’m a she-devil. A temptress. Evil, in a word. I suppose maybe I am, if you agree to my crazy idear that evil == nice. Nice == evil. I decided that a long time ago, when some Satanists treated me far better than all the Christians I ever got to know. In many movies, the bad guy isn’t that bad. He or she is misunderstood. They were bullied to beyond the brink of being human. Instead of choosing enlightenment, like I did, they chose revenge. Vengeance. They chose to deal more pain so that other people would understand the pain they are in. So that someone could see their suffering. They needed a good psychologist, more than anything. Someone to validate their reality.

Someone unlike Ben, who creates monsters like that. Two women in his immediate family suffer from great duress on a daily basis. I think it might be his fault. He probably invalidated them and because they accept reality as others put it in addition to their own senses about reality (and perhaps weighting what others sense above their own sense.) Ben likes to say “Nuh-uh” any time anything is inconvenient to the Ben narrative.

For instance, I’m intolerant of dairy products. I cannot digest them. They, ultimately, contributed to my demise. I wouldn’t have bothered to continue to eat them if Ben hadn’t negated my idea, which came from a trained medical professional, that I could be intolerant of dairy. (I’m allergic, actually. Full blown allergic, except I don’t get hives or anaphylaxis. My guts just deteriorate at a rate that would make you cry.)

But it was inconvenient to Ben. He loved cheese. He had a drawer full of cheese. Over $100.00 of cheese sitting around, getting moldy, collecting dust. Then, serendipitously, a friend would have a campfire gathering and we’d take 2-3 pounds of cheese. At first, she offered snacks, but those snacks were also bad for me. So, for a time, I took my own snacks (and extra, to share) while he took cheese. Eventually, I got so sick and tired, I couldn’t bring myself to make a snack platter to take with, so I fell back to eating cheese again.

Let me tell you one of the symptoms of eating cheese while allergic. It took time to get here, mind you. It wasn’t overnight. However, every time I ate cheese — especially aged cheese — I would cry. For hours. And hours. I would tell Ben all the things going wrong in our relationship, which only bothered me so much when I was in the grips of the cheese aftermath. I’m sure he could see the pattern, being a brilliant programmer with an extremely high IQ. I posit he poisoned me on purpose.

Why would he do that? To be able to treat me like a whore and get away with it. To rape me without me making a peep. That was his modus operandi. And now? Now he writes a book about me being the bad guy? Now he writes a book about me leaving him for two men? Now? After killing me? After raping me over 1,000 times? NOW, he writes a book, slandering my good name. For what? Jealousy.

What on Earth could he be jealous of? I’m just a person. Unless… he’s jealous that I’m a woman. It would make sense, since I think he might be gay. He believes his parents are so religious they won’t accept it. Maybe his mom wouldn’t, but I think his dad loves him no matter what. He could just come clean to them and stop despising and shaming himself, realizing that anyone who stops loving you because of your sexual orientation never loved you to begin with.

But if he is gay, he needs to realize that every time he’s had sex with a woman, it’s rape. He didn’t care about her or her needs, he cared about getting off. That’s rape. When you don’t give a shit about the woman and her emotions and what she’s going through, you’re a rapist. It doesn’t even matter if there’s no sex. You are raping her by invalidating her. You are raping her by not seeing her.

I’m not fond of Ben at this juncture. I would love nothing more than to forget he exists and move on. I don’t even need a man to move on with. I’d like one, but I don’t need one. I always love having someone to heap my love onto. I love sharing my positive vibes with someone else. I love having a friend to talk to about my day and what’s happened lately in my life. I love expressing my love in various formats, including all the love languages: quality time, words of affirmation, touch, acts of service, and gifts.

I don’t just want a body in my bed keeping it warm. It’s summer, first of all, and I have no air conditioner. It would be pure stupid, in a word. But it’s not even just that. Right now, my bed is only big enough for one. And that’s because I need to eject this bastard from my fucking head. I need him to retreat, withdraw, run away. God’s no longer amused with him, I’ll tell you that much.

“No, I’m not,” God says. “He’s taking my lovely daughter to the ring for a beating. She’s a pacifist and he’s going to turn her into a murderer in his novel. That’s not right. She won’t even say he needs to die, even after knowing everything he’s done and will do in the near future. Not even after he killed everything she used to be and tried to rewrite her as a harlot. The Whore of Babylon. He’d take my precious daughter and spoil her good name to make a buck. He can’t even write, but it’ll sell because it’ll sound as good as 50 Shades of Grey, which I assure you is a rape novel. You’re addicted to rape, human beings. Earthlings. Shit stains. And you are raping my child. Every single one of you who reads that book will fall in love with my baby girl. This is my will. He’s going to expose enough of her to show you all that she’s worth loving, even though it’ll only be one tenth of her sheer awesomeness. She’s worth all the love in the world. She’s the angel of love, after all. You’re going to fall in love with Crystal Lynn Scordias as she was before Ben killed her. If you seek her out in the real world today — and I know some of you will; I know some of you will be so touched by what he writes, even though he himself is insensitive to it completely, that you’ll want to know she’s real. You’ll want proof. You’ll want to see for yourself. I’ll tell you what you’ll see: an invalid fighting cancer. A very sane woman gone insane because of assholes invalidating her left and right. A woman who believes she has telepathy. She might, she might not. It’s neither here nor there to you, is it? Except… if she does have telepathy, you can ring her up in the metaphysical. I warn you now, however… I’ve taught her how to deal with assholes such as yourselves. I’ve taught her to defend herself. To destroy that which would destroy her. All because of BEN. My least favorite human being of all time. You’d think Hitler would top that list, but no. It’s Benjamin Andrew Carter, the man who thinks he’s invincible and untouchable because he’s a white male who got away with murder. Not once, not twice, but thrice. He’ll keep murdering if you let him. I suggest an alternate plan, if you don’t mind helping us out. Every ounce of hatred you can muster for that stupid motherfucker… send it to him. Let him know how hated he is. Let him know how vile you find him to be. Eventually, the narcissist he is will die and he’ll have to grow some empathy.”


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