Daily Prompt: Mad as a Hatter

Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?

There are countless memories I have of when I’ve, quite literally, gone into a white-hot table-flipping rage

But I think the one incident that tops this list belongs to one particular evening when I had a confrontation with my father on the telephone.

It was back in 2003 in the lead up to my 21st birthday. He had expressed some desire to want to visit me in Melbourne and spend time with me for my birthday. Apparently the previous 10 years of not really wanting to even be around him didn’t seem to get the message across to him, so you can imagine my confusion when he said he wanted to visit.

I should point out that at this moment in time, I had been living in Melbourne for almost two years, and made it crystal clear to my mother and my brother that under no certain terms, were they to disclose my address to him. The result of this, was that he would then send letters / cards to my mothers house, and she would then forward them on to me, along with a letter from herself as well.

More often than not, as soon as I saw his handwriting on the enclosed envelope, I’d roll my eyes, sigh heavily and mentally prepare myself for the emotional drivel that was contained in the contents of the envelope.

Then, naturally, I’d call mum straight away

And this one particular night, after a very, very long counselling telephone conversation with my mum, I reached the decision that I had to be upfront with him and that I had to tell him that I didn’t want him to come to Melbourne and I didn’t want to see him.

See, as much as I can be a bitch, I actually get stressed out when it comes to confrontation. I can’t do it. In my head I can, but actually physically following through with it is a completely different story. So, when I’m on the phone to my mum, I was getting all fired up saying stuff along the lines of ‘yeah, and I’m gonna tell him I don’t want to see him! And I’m gonna tell him not to bother coming to Melbourne at all! Why the fuck should I be the one to feel obligated to drop everything to see him, of all people I can’t stand. Fuck that. Right, well, I’m gonna go call him now and tell him and get it done with!!’.

I was ready for a fight. I called his number and waited for his rough, masculine voice to answer the phone.

Over the course of that almost three-hour conversation, not only did I bring the heat for my ‘fight’, I bought twenty years of repressed emotional turmoil that my father was responsible for. He brought me to the door, and I opened it.

And it all came flooding out.

All of it.

Everything. Every instance and memory of emotional blackmail. Every moment he destroyed a small piece of my soul. Every time he made me feel like I didn’t exist… did somebody say daddy issues??!!

I unleashed twenty-years of pain, and wasn’t taking any prisoners. I was out for blood.

Nothing had prepared me for what came out of my fathers mouth during that conversation. One little sentence, which I will not repeat here, but one little sentence that completely changed me. Permanently. One little sentence that ended everything right there and then.

Completely shocked, speechless and outraged, I hung up the phone and sat there in a stunned silence before everything suddenly made sense.

I called mum immediately, incoherent and crying incoherently.

I relayed the entire conversation verbatim to her, and tried to make more sense of it. In doing so, I also put mum into a table-flipping rage. During our conversation, I managed to briefly calm down and the sadness and the hurt and the pain quite rapidly turned to rage. It also didn’t help that during my two-hour conversation with mum, he tried calling at least 9 or 10 times.

By that stage, I’d had enough.

‘Mum, he’s calling again. I’m gonna go and deal with this….’

Just as I hung up the phone to mum, he called my phone again.


‘I, ah, I just wanted to see if you were okay?’

I needed to take a couple of deep breaths before I responded because all I could think in my head was pretty much:

I tried to remain as calm and rational as humanly possible. I think it lasted maybe three minutes… maybe. I don’t really remember much of that conversation because I was so full of rage, I was physically shaking. All I remember out of that was telling him that I was done and as of that moment I wanted nothing more to do with him, and he was dead to me.

The last I remember hearing was my father on the phone crying and apologising and asking me not to say that. Correction, asking me not to ‘joke around’.

Who’s joking? I was serious. I was done. You don’t say something like that to somebody, ESPECIALLY YOUR OWN DAMN CHILD!!! As soon as I hung up that phone, nothing would ever be the same again. I was crying, he was crying, I was in a rage. I hung up and called mum and had a complete emotional breakdown on the phone.

I, again, relayed the entire conversation verbatim to her, in between my uncontrollable fits of crying. By the time I had finally calmed down it was about three or four in the morning, and I was feeling guilty about keeping my mum awake for so long and listening to me. We said goodnight and I hung up the phone and fell asleep.

On the floor. In the corner. In the dark. Where I had been crying.

I woke up later that day, and dragged myself into the shower. I then put myself to bed, cried myself to sleep, and didn’t leave the bed for another two days. I don’t remember eating. I think I had a biscuit at some point, and maybe a Berocca, but I’m not even sure about that.

I do remember that when I did get up, I felt confused and disoriented. I sat on the window-sill in the lounge room and called mum and asked if what happened, actually happened, or whether it was just a nightmare, and she confirmed everything. That day, I began the start of my new life.

From that point on, my father was dead to me. He was nothing to me. Nothing. At that point I decided to renounce my fathers influences on my name – middle and last name – and began the process to legally change my name to my mothers maiden name.

It was one of the best decisions I have ever made, and since that day, I have never looked back or had any feelings of regret for doing so.


Daily Prompt: Perspective

Think about something that drives you crazy. Now, think about something that makes you happy. Does it change your perspective on the former?

How long have I got? More importantly, how long have you got. I could go on and on about what drives me crazy… it’s actually really hard to focus on just one of these things. Hmmmm…..

Okay, I think my biggest gripe in life is being surrounded by fucktards. Now before you jump on your bandwagon about how politically incorrect that term is, and how insensitive it is… perhaps you should take a step back and pipe the fuck down. Remember, I’m not forcing you to read this, and if you don’t like it, you’re more than welcome to go elsewhere. So I’m going to continue my rant, and you’re just going to accept it.

you've been told!!

I’ve dedicated a good number of hours documenting my interactions with these people, and their undeniable stupidity. Seriously, sometimes I wonder how they manage to even make it through the day. It makes my brain hurt. It’s also because of these people that I now have a zero tolerance for stupidity, and will quite happily call somebody out on it – sometimes without even realising that I’m even doing it until it’s too late. It’s really turned into a problem. I actually have a whole series of notes of documented conversations with these people, but I think I need to relocate them from FB to an actual blog instead… share my pain with the world.

Seriously though, how is it even remotely possible for somebody to walk into a reception area on street level and be so convinced that it could even possibly be the second floor? BITCH, HOW MANY FLIGHTS OF STAIRS DID YOU WALK UP?? DID YOU JUST CATCH A LIFT FROM THE FOOTPATH?? YOU STUPID FUCKING DUMBASS!!

Yes, I am more than aware that I let it get to me far too much, and I know I need to let it go, but fuck, it’s just so infuriating. I just sends me into a white-hot, table-flipping rage. All I wanna do is leap across my desk and slap some sense into them. However, I’ve also discovered that some people are just fucking dumb and cannot be helped.

This is how I feel after most telephone conversations at work…

On the flip-side, something that makes me happy. Hmmm… There are so manny different ways I could answer this, but I fear they would all get me into trouble somehow… :-/

One thing that truly does make me happy is dancing. Sometimes it might be the absolute last thing I would want to do, or maybe I really just cannot be bothered, or I’m feeling too angry at the shit day I’ve had… but after a class, I feel so much better. Exhausted, yes, but better. For that hour, nothing else matters. Nothing else exists. It’s just me and the music and rest of the people in that studio, and the outside world ceases to exist. I keep forgetting that I’m not necessarily the only people who may be having a shit day either, and that I’m not the only one who needs this hour of dance as a means to escape; an opportunity to just claim an hour of ‘me’ time. When I make myself remember that, it brings me back to reality, and makes me feel rather humbled that I’m helping somebody else escape whatever bullshit their dealing with, the same way I’m escaping my bullshit.

I think it does change my perspective on the former. It proves that I get far too emotionally involved in people’s stupidity; I let it affect me far more than it really should, and at the end of the day, I shouldn’t be at a point where I need escape time. I know that I’m like this, and I know that I need to change this… it’s just a matter of determine how to actually achieve this.

But until such time, I’ll continue to flip tables in my mind.