MAGfest 2013- My Before and my After:
Forgive my grammar, spelling, whatever. I don’t feel myself, and honestly I have been tossing around the idea of making this a video. After looking in the mirror a few times, then a few more times… I’ve come to the conclusion of what a terrible idea that would actually be, and I also refuse to cry on camera…at least when I can help it. So fuck that, and here’s this and no one has to read it, but I feel like I should throw it out there. Unlike many of you, who think so right now anyway, and especially after reading this- No. I do not need any help…in the professional sense. I have it here in NY, and being honest as fuck, it’s a laugh to think as if that shit’s ever helped me in the first place. If anything, it’s made me worse, and quite possibly ruined everything I had and had always wanted in the first place, things I had, that I only imagined having, and how fucking tragic, blah blah…I’m a mess, but not a fucking martyr-type asshole, so enough of that.
That is *not* a dig at anyone, not ever, and I’ll get to that later. If anything, there is going to be some questionable things I’m going to say in this, and I just am asking not for a million DM’s or PM’s (Since I need to put that stupid fucking Facebook back up for work purposes…if I even still have my job) and for the very very least that no one tries to find my mother and show her this. It’s a risk, and my relationship with her is pretty trashed at the moment, including my mom’s boyfriend, whom I absolutely adore, so let’s leave that shit alone. This doesn’t concern them, and everything I’m about to say, they already know. So keep it in your internet pants.
For 10 days, it’s been the name I dare not say, unless just in full out anger, but let’s just let that go for at least this sentence. My ass got fucking dumped. Why? Good question. Do I remember much besides packing at mach speed and just screaming obscenities that I cannot believe the cops weren’t called? No. I don’t. Was I drunk? No, actually. I had just come from a football game, and I had such an awesome time. I was really happy, and very glad to be “home”. Do I have some idea? Of course, I’m not fucking stupid. I’m sure you all do too, and if anyone is smart in this piss poor of a situation, it better be that person. My reputation is fucking shattered, and it was going into Magfest to begin with. When you go through something that, and it’s loud, fucking messy, I can just imagine posted all over the motherfucking place, huge amounts of money are lost, and you get beat up by Transit (airport) police when landing, you know there’s shit that went down in your emotional life. Not “went down”…fucking was just set ablaze. That’s enough of that, because I seriously cannot talk about it anymore. I was engaged a long time ago, to a guy who beat the living shit out of me for no reason, got me in law trouble, and may or may not have tried to maim me.
This. All of this. This was worse, and when I look back on everything between that and this. I’d rather go through that 3 times over again than this even once. That sounds like heartbreak, and perhaps it is, but the worst thing about actually seeing it written down, is that I know it’s true. I could go and go and go, except I’m not and never have been THIS familiar with hating someone to the depths of their being and loving them just as much, if not more. It’s odd, it makes no sense in the feeling of any emotion I’ve ever had, and I think I should leave it alone now. When a situation is better than fucking Fahad, my Saudi fiancé, with the fun habit of getting violent, things are pathetic. Trust me, it’s not fun walking into The Gaylord hotel with a massive black eye, and having no way explaining how it got there without admitting a horrible incident.
Which is what I need to do now. I talked for a second above, but in a very short story, this is what happened. I lost my motherfucking mind. I lost it hard. My trip was literally derailed, I had no way to pay to see my friends, and I’d had to borrow even MORE money from my mother, because I blew an entire month’s pay in Illinois. A month of work which I hope to never have one like that again. I got my ass kicked at that job, and everyone knows I do not like what I do. I don’t want to cover my fucking tiny tattoo, or wear my sleeves down to a certain point because it’s “the rule”, when it isn’t and the DM just doesn’t want people to see my self-mutilation scars. Things like this, they stir in your mind. Sadly, mine all came out in the Chicago airport, where I was not only denied even sitting at a bar for no other reason that I was crying, but I needed “special assistance” aka, they sat me next to the flight attendant, who I won’t name, but on the trip from Chicago to Buffalo, all I could do was cry, and all she could do was pour Jim Bean after Jim Bean in my soda. I blacked out. I blacked out so hard, in fact, that I didn’t even know I had. My mother had to tell me, I needed to be carried out of the plane. There is no word for embarrassment like that. There just isn’t. I have no idea what happened after, but I guess I either wanted to go home, or go “home”. I wasn’t having it eitherway, and I got to screaming. Airport police were called, took me in their car. All I remember was asking for the cuffs to be taken off, and finally they did, after I had almost sliced a vein in my wrist with it. On complete purpose. This is what we call a “mental breakdown”, kids. They happen. I woke up, New Year’s Eve, which is my most favorite holiday ever (not ever again anymore) laying in a hospital bed. At the County. I’m unsure of your city, but if ANYTHING has “The County” near its name, it’s a huge piece of shit. My room didn’t even have a bathroom. My money was stolen while they took me in, passed out, without permission, and my clothes were taken…by who, I have no idea. Don’t ask me how, but I got out. It has to do with a ripped out IV, running down halls like Alice from a fucking American Mcgee game squirting blood all over, a very very loud old cheerleader’s voice, and jacking up a phone to call my mother. Happy New Year, Mantis. Happy New Year. It’s difficult not to blame the airport. I never asked for any of that. I asked for a red wine, which I got, then was told she had something “stronger”. I paid for none of it, was told I didn’t have to. *So, I guess your buddies are correct, I’m a fucking mess. You try and have everything you hoped and worked for, you have it crushed in one night, having to explain to your mother that the money your 90 year old grandfather was fucking jacked off my person, and other shit. Explain that. Then get back to me. Actually, don’t.*
I’m getting tired now. Reliving this shit is a motherfucking nightmare. I stayed in bed the entire time I was home, trying to figure out how to get to Magfest. If there is one thing I am, it’s defiant. You’re going? Fuck you, so am I. Perhaps I had this all coming. Some people know, some don’t. I didn’t want you there. I didn’t want to be treated like your fucking lackey. Be careful what you wish for, people. Seriously. Be the fuck careful.
I did get to Magfest…we pretty much had to fucking take money out of life insurance for me to get there, and I still had issues paying at the end. EMT’s for no reason (You were scared, it’s okay. I’m not mad, and if you are, I understand…because all I remember from that night was the fury that came from me after) A livestream, which, I can’t even start to bring this up. What you people need to know is I have a very very horrible level of self control/judgment. That does NOT mean, however, that words like “rapey” and shit like that can be used for people who were there even before I got there. I should have been smart and cancelled it myself. I wasn’t. I was drunk, extremely upset, and horribly confused. I blame no one in that room. Neither should you people. It was an error in judgment for a few, I included, and that is that. Leave them the fuck alone. I’m not naming anyone because I don’t A) Think I have to, since everyone and your fucking mothers saw that stream I hear and B) I don’t know if they would want me to. But I’m not fucking around when I say any of this, do not say that shit about them. It was just a very off and strange situation. That’s all.
Otherwise…I went to one panel. I went for my best friend, left early like an asshole, and I spend a lot of time in my room. A ton of you guys brought me vodka (thank you….fucking seriously.) and gifts. In general, you made my experience nice, especially the ending night. It was hard to leave, and I felt incredibly sick on the plane. I feel like if I could do the whole thing over again, I would, but just slightly differently. I miss all of you, and if any of you have anything I can actually do to help, reasonably, just let me know. The thing I guess- I wanted to write this, I just want you all to know that I tried. I made some horrible mistakes; I passed out drunk and scared the living shit out of some of you, and openly ignored the door more than once. I just want to tell you how sorry I am for all the bad moments, but how grateful I am for the good/perfect ones. My heart is broken. It will continue to be so, I don’t know how long. I wanted to marry that person, and very badly. I wanted to go to college for their beautiful Entomology program over there, I was ready to change my entire life, just to be there, and because I really wanted to be. You made me forget how painful that actually is for a little while, and for that, I cannot thank some of you enough. You all mean something to me, so please don’t forget that. You know how to reach me.
Also, I saw JonTron, before he got sick, completely randomly walking down my hallway and hugged him twice. That means…nothing in this little letter thing, but I feel I must express that I almost hit the ceiling of my hotel room jumping so high after. <3 I was just crying, now I’m smiling. It’s JonTron…after all.
-Mantis (Kelley) 01/09/13

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