Home > Travel > Entry 07/09/2007 10:30:25 AM – Mentat 342

Entry 07/09/2007 10:30:25 AM – Mentat 342

     Words fail to describe precisely how I feel at the moment about the trip to Boston I had taken this weekend to meet a man that I had a strong respect for only to find out just what kind of tiny, petty man he truly is. On the one side, there is a sense of disappointment. But there’s also a sense of relief that comes from the plain and simple fact that I won’t have to deal with the likes of him ever again. There’s the feeling of helplessness that comes from having to be there to witness a train wreck in process that’s going to lead him down the road to complete homelessness and being unable myself to stop that train wreck from happening. And yet there’s also a feeling of strength and empowerment to know that I’ve been where he is now, and have recovered and feel better with myself and the world around me than I had before the trip to meet him.
     There was in fact some sympathy for what he was going through. And yet, conversely — I don’t feel the least bit of remorse because all I heard time in and time out was the way that he used his depression as a crutch and a cross in order to invoke sympathy from me for the plight he’s been through coupled with the fractured thought of "bad things happen to good people." Particularly given that on Sunday — there had been too many times the sympathy came off as being orchestrated. But more on that in a little bit.

     Of course, the coupe de grace doesn’t occur while I’m out in Boston visiting. Instead it hits when I get home, and after starting my chores, and placating my cat currently going through separation anxiety (because I had been gone for more than a day), turned on my computer, open my inbox and found the copy of the e-mail I’m including in this journal entry.
     Yes, I was more than a little bit surprised. And as I was over-tired took it entirely too personal for my own good. But after a good night’s sleep with both me and the cat drooling at various times of the night, realized that everything turned out the way that it should have. Is it the best? Well, that remains to be seen.

     It was interesting the way that he said that he wasn’t a liar and that he was mentally or physically incapable of lying. However, instead of being able to say what he said in that e-mail to my face; played it out like a conniving, shallow queer and waited ’til I was long since gone instead. He acted perfectly demure and even friendly — evidently for the benefit of avoiding confrontation either from me or from his lover — I can’t be sure which.
     I should have known better. Humans can be quite adept at lying. I should’ve taken it into consideration. But I didn’t think it would’ve struck quite so quickly. *shrugging* Oh well… Live and learn.
     So, this to me sounds rather hypocritical. Particularly given the way this e-mail is worded which is in direct contradiction to the manner that he had acted in front of me. It also is too easily interpreted as the actions of a weak-minded and overall cowardly person. Not the kind of qualities I had expected from the likes of him — and even with the amount of depression he said he was going through. I thought he had the strength to say at least some of it to my face. How wrong I was about that impression I’ve gotten from the years I’ve chatted with him online.
     I admit that I made a promise that I would keep Frank’s information discrete. And for the most part, I still will. However, there is a caveat to my discretion that I make a habit of telling the people I converse with and chat with and call friend that know this about me, and those of you that are quiet observers (or as I still often affectionately call the lurkers), I feel this is an excellent opportunity to present this caveat when dealing with the likes of me.
     All bets are off when I have been backstabbed, been treated in a two-faced manner, and even been treated in a hypocritical manner. You no longer have the right to request discretion, or expect it from the likes of me. Certain specific information will remain discrete, yes… Such information that can be used to identify your precise location in the world. But the last thing I’m going to carry discretely through my life is the anger, the hypocritical attitudes, or even the backstabbing that people whom attempt to call themselves friend often do when they’re angry or hurt, or petty, or worse. This is especially true when someone is being a coward about it.

     This is in fact one of those moments.

     I am a fighter. I will always be a fighter. When you take a swing at me, expect me to take a swing back. And I’ll do so fairly and with witnesses present so it doesn’t look as though I’m hypocritical, conniving, or backstabbing in the process. Run away and hide, and I’ll take my swing anyway. Again in front of witnesses to ensure I do so fairly, honestly and eloquently.  Whether I allow comment as "justification" remains to be seen. 
     I’ve been wrestling the last couple of days whether I’ll allow comment from the offending party.  On the one side, there’s this thing about fairness that I would typically like to extend.  On the other — anything that he could potentially say would be either some really annoying spin doctoring (at worst), or the cries of a man that thinks he’s being unjustly treated (if that could be considered at best).  Either or, could exacerbate a potentially disgusting lesson learned. 

     So here’s the e-mail, and afterwards, my response.


—–Original Message—–
From: Frank [address deleted]
Sent: Sunday, July 08, 2007 9:16 PM
Subject: RE: – My Books –

I sent out this email to many people on Saturday morning, while you were getting read to travel to Boston.

I brought you down to the basement to show you all my books to tell you in person and to tell you how much it hurt me to have to given the up.

All you did was talk about the fucking architecture of the fucking basement and every time I started to try to tell you what a horrible lost this was to me, having to give 45 years of my life, all you did was point out where the coal chute has once been.

I gave up trying to tell you, because the thing is, you fucking did NOT want to listen to me.

I found the entire weekend like that with you. You never truly fucking listen to me and when I told you the truth, you kept twisting it around to what you want to believe and thought.

That is why I said I felt I could not talk with you. Your stupid reply "You aren’t asking the right question" showed a complete failure to understand it was NOT my problem, but the fact that you were constantly interrupting me and challenging everything I said was somehow not the truth for *ME*.

The final straw was that stupid "faith" question, and even though I told you clearly I did not have faith in you, because you clearly were constantly failing to understand me as me but instead fit me into some little concept box in you head, you still didn’t get a fucking clue.

Maybe you already read the message about "My Books" below; if not, I suggest you read it now. Because THIS was want I was trying to tell you, something very, very deep and greatly personal and very, very sad for me, when I took you down to the basement. I was trying to be open with you, to tell you in person something that had extremely great and incredible important to me, a MAJOR and DIFFICULT decision in my life, to try to open up to you and to show I trusted you, and even in a way honoring you, by sharing with you IN PERSON something so fucking emotional DEEP with me, part of my entire LIFE, part of who I was as a person, even a basic part of my soul, and all you did was constantly interrupt me with meaningless bullshit about the basement. All you showed me was what I think is your true nature — that what you think about first and foremost is your fucking self and had no real interest in ME as a person or, gods help me, as a possible friend.

You were the first person I have had visit me in well over 18 months — and all you did was convince me further that the BEST thing for me to do is find a job ASAP *and* that there was no fucking point in trusting other people or fucking trying to be friends with them.

You proved to me that trying to have people involved in my life is NOTHING but destructive to me and just fucking makes my life more miserable.

You know why I left you and Tom to talk on Sunday afternoon and when into Tom’s room? I went in there to fucking CRY; that is how badly you made me feel along with the reinforce of my personal experience and knowledge and feeling, that in my life, friends are fucking bullshit who REALLY do NOT care about me. And that is what I did; I cried myself to sleep.

Don’t bother to reply to this email, Michael Andrew Baldelli, because I have sent my email program to just dump your message into a folder when they are delivered to me and mark them as read. Some day, many months from now, I might bother to read them, just to remind myself you proved you knew nothing and care nothing of trying for us to be friends.

You don’t own me an email in return. All you showed me this weekend, Michael Andrew Baldelli, is you not only have nothing to give me, but that you are as a person incapable of doing so

— Frank


Following is my response:


Frank —

It takes a truly tiny man to say that you don’t lie, and yet this e-mail is proof of just how conniving a liar you are. You worry about material things that you can’t take with you when you die. You talk about how people backstab you, and yet, this is the work of a true backstabber.

I pity Tom more than I pity you. He’s making an effort. All you do is throw a pity party for your sad and miserable existence that you continue to feed into. You use your depression like a crutch and cross trying to invoke feelings of sympathy and perhaps guilt that people should bow and kowtow to you so that you can get the much needed recognition you don’t deserve. You don’t have a stitch of self-respect or pride because only a coward throws a dart and then runs to the comfort of a kill-file thinking you can get the last word in doing so.

You’re a user Frank, and an emotional leech. Something that I don’t feed when they think they need it. May you get all that you despise, Frank. Only then perhaps I’ll pity you.

Michael Andrew Baldelli


     About the only thing that I regret in this is the partial comment I had made in regards to pitying Tom (his lover). The only thing that I would like to correct is that I pity him for having to put up with such a whining cry-baby as Frank was. But then, it’s sort of good that I didn’t say it. I know what it’s like to be in Tom’s place; as I was there with Rick. And I stuck around with Rick because I thought that Rick would eventually pull himself out of the nose-dive of self-loathing and self-hate that he had going.
The rest of my response though — while I know I rushed to respond to it, considering how surprised I was when I saw the e-mail — comes pretty damned closed to most of the perceptions that I was picking up in the day and a half I had been there. Hell — on Sunday — when we went down into the basement for him to stand there and tell me all about his books, right down to him crying about the threat of losing them, felt like an orchestrated pity-party.

     You know… Sitting here and thinking about it; I felt as though I were walking a fine line between manners, common sense, and simply pulling a Pontius Pilate on the whole situation, bowing out when I had the first opportunity on Sunday morning. I was actually given the chance to, given that I wanted to head out into the city, take pictures, check out some of the places I used to stomp around when I drove and came up to Boston — but the tone that Frank had taken with me — almost pitiful, and cloying — I thought it better to drag him along if only to get him out of the house.
     Given the manner for which he wrote these things however — it would appear that he was simply being two-faced and lying. Next time I deal with anyone of this sort — rest assured, I will simply pick up my things and go. Seems better than getting a false sense of niceness, only to end up coming home and finding e-mails such as this in my inbox.

     On the whole though, once getting away from the black pit of despair and depression that Frank oftentimes created — sometimes even appearing to have orchestrated for specific responses, and heading through Boston, I admit that I’ve truly missed going to the city like I used to in the past. Like coming home to Rhode Island, I got that particularly eerie déjà vu feeling that comes from some things changing, but not enough for me to recognize the changes. Now that I know that it only costs $7.75 one way using the Commuter Line from Providence to Boston, all I need to do is get an idea on how much it costs to find a hotel room in the area a couple of weeks before, and I’ll foray up into the area on my own.
     I did a preliminary check on the prices, and those that are within the city while being a little steep, are still significantly easy enough for me to handle, given the money that I make. Besides, it’s not as though I’m staying for more than a day and a half – two days tops. If I were staying longer, I’m sure I would choose somewhere else to stay.
     I’ll include some of the better pictures on my trip on my Live (http://mbaldelli.spaces.live.com), MySpace (http://www.myspace.com/mbaldelli) although I’m not sure of how much space I have for pictures there, 360 (http://360.yahoo.com/mbaldelli) which will cross over to Flickr (http://www.flickr.com/photos/mbaldelli)

[Last Edited: 07/11/2007 09:55:00 AM]

     The drama, as expected from anyone that calls themselves gay, continues.

     There’s yet another response to this debacle — one that addresses my response to him, further providing proof that he is working up his Internet Courage to say the things that he couldn’t say to my face. I admit that I had only half-read it, and what I half-read was enough to send me printing the thing up into Adobe so that I could work on it during lunch at work…
However, as I was heading into work, and meditating to the hard trance/techno that I have in my iPod, realized that any response that I put together would serve no better purpose than to give him the reason to justify whatever vitriol and loathing he has going for himself and for the world at large. I mean, really think about it. The bottom line is that he’s got no friends in real time, he’s one house payment away from foreclosure, and anything that I say to him is only going to further give him reason to focus any anger or frustration in a specific direction rather than at the problems at hand that he continues to avoid. I’m not really a friend — acquaintance is as close as I got at this junction — and based on the e-mail that I have actually read (above), it’s pretty apparent that all that’s going on is foolish pride.
     When I got into work, I deleted the PDF from my thumb drive, and have made the decision to simply let him get his last word in. The e-mail itself — which had been sent to not two but three different e-mail accounts (now that he has my hotmail address), and from not one but two of his own accounts is only proof that all he’s doing is ensuring that he gets the last word in (at best), or attempting to invoke a rise out of me (at worst).

     Unfortunately, what thoughts I wanted to think about when I sat down and wrote this entry yesterday, had been driven out because of my inherent fighter instincts to work out a damned fine response to his.
     Tsk tsk, I really should know better, huh?

     Oh, I’ve got a couple of ideas.
     All this scar comparing needs to stop. While it’s nice sometimes to do once one gets familiar with a person, it’s quite another to start any friendship off with it in real time. It just shouldn’t be done. Friendships are supposed to be built on mutual interests, and sometimes mutual pains, but not on the idea of sharing damage and hurt and pain from the get go. Friendships aren’t supposed to be started as surrogates for therapy. Especially considering that one can get therapy for cheap or free if one does a little legwork to find it.   I admit as of late, I seem to be doing this entirely too much – even though I don’t usually make it sound as though I’m a walking crater (anymore).
     I shouldn’t feel the least bit guilty when I set a time limit for a visit, and the person who has extended the hospitality questions my time limit. Yes, I felt quite guilty a number of times when Frank had asked me why I was only staying a short time, and try as I might, he simply couldn’t fathom it. I have my reasons, and I explained them, and it should have been left at that. Unfortunately though, I extended my time a bit longer than I should have, because I silently (and unconsciously) tried to negotiate my wants with his needs. Bad thing, because apparently based on this e-mail of his appears to only have fueled his slant and perspective on things.

     I’ve got more to think about.  Unfortunately, I’m not up to thinking at the moment.  Until the next time.

Categories: Travel
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