Sybil...

Okay, I’ll freely admit it; I have no freaking idea how many personalities live inside the head of the Harridan.  Her text message tirades are a fragment of how it must feel to be inside her head – and it’s an ugly, lonely, place; a seesaw of rage, anger and martyrdom.

Every so often, the blinkers fall off and she gives a glimmer of insight into the real person that exists within.  I’ve always felt that her martyrdom was not born out of love for Kid 1, 2 or 3.  Instead, she is something of a narcissistic paradox.  Her suffering is not for the children; instead, it is so that she can tell the world – “Look at me… Look how I suffer…  See how I suffer for my children…”

And her madness is becoming worse with the passing of time.  Perhaps this is due to the fact that mostly, when I don’t think of her and the anchor she is to our lives – we are happy.  Happiness is not something she can conceive of.  That the Squeeze escaped her tyranny jealously seethes within.  Not because she loved him; but because he dared to leave her.  I’ve seen her text rants at him about how he left; which I’ve always found weird – given the fact that we have been friends for many years and I saw how many times she kicked him out, only to drag him back if she thought he may actually meet someone.

Yesterday, amongst her cruelness directed at the Squeeze and in fact, even her own kid; there were the odd tiny jewels of humour that I clung to.  She had called the Squeeze as he drove home, screamed abuse at him and told him she had abused the kid and thrown things at him when he got home – and it was of course, the Squeeze’s fault – because there was no “4 day” weekends worked out.  He had already told her he would arrange things with the kid and had explained to the Kid that while we live in this house, staying overnight was out on work days.  Hell, no way am I facing Mr Burns nudity in the morning again.  In fact the kid was fine with the “just not cutting it” do stuff and drop at home…  

So in utter fury at losing control of the situation, she screamed abuse and hung up on the Squeeze.  She called back multiple times and he didn’t answer – neither should he since he was in my car and the last thing I need is for him to zoom my new Mazda around a tree while arguing with the Harridan! 

Then came the diamond…. “Ring back or I’m ringing Brunhilde!”  -  And there it was.  Please God!  Why didn’t that bitch call; because unlike the Moodle, I’d have in no uncertain terms, let her know that “divorce means you stop ordering around!”  Tirade…?  She doesn’t know the meaning of the word!

Now that the thought of calling me has slithered in to her insane brain, I cling to the hope of it happening!

I’ve attached another snap shot of the text diatribe from yesterday (she is yellow, he blue) - love the bit where I am supposed to be office  works - printing CV's  And the repeated "GET HIM A JOB!" - ummm how..?  How can we do that..?

So she oscillates from morose uncooperativeness into blind fury and insults directed at the Squeeze and anyone else she can think of – even telling the Squeeze he is just like his own father which is a callous blow.  His father wasn’t much in the father department.  He was fond of breeding, obviously, but not fond of rearing.  And he loved to marry.  Marry a lot.  He just forgot to divorce in between  J

My favourite line in the whole thing is "u should ring kid and chat to him. he realy sad".
Ummm no kidding!!!!  You abused him, threw stuff at him!  You make everyone's life a living hell!

I wonder why he is really sad!!!!