Monday, November 17, 2014

Deleted Messages

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!

HAIL SMM SMM!!!!

Even before I became a born-again Satanist, I was blessed with many internal wicked traits that helped me cope with life at home growing up. I like to think of them as natural gifts given to me from the Devil himself. Not many people out there are given natural gifts directly from Satan, so, as you can guess, I was definitely meant to be a Satanist.

One of my favorite Satanic abilities that I had was my ability to completely block out most of the messages my evil mother used to leave for me on my cell phone. I wouldn't simply listen to them and block them out as many lame, non-Satanic people do. No, I simply would delete them as soon as I could hear her bitchy, dry cunt voice playing from my speakers. I didn't always have this beautiful wicked trait; it sort of came to me as I got older and developed a deeper hatred for my mother as time dragged slowly on.

I remember one very specific event in which I deleted my mom's messages without even taking the time to listen to them. It was when I was eighteen years old and still living at home. My mother refused to let me live in the college dorms when I was eighteen because, as she put it, I was "Not totally cooked yet." Whatever the hell that meant is beyond me. All I know is that she was grasping at straws so she could keep me captive at home longer and longer. Anyway, I had decided to go to Florida to visit my fake dad Tim. I hadn't cut him out of my life yet and I thought that Tim could replace the empty hole in my heart that my real dad had once occupied before he died. I didn't really believe that Tim could totally fill in that void for me but I thought that he might be able to fill at least some of it. Boy, was I absolutely, one hundred percent wrong on that one!

My mother Jennifer had been dragging her feet the whole time about whether or not she should allow me to go to Florida to visit Tim and the rest of his relatives that lived there. I finally got her to let me go by saying to her, "If you don't let me go this year, I'll just go next year and I won't spend the holidays with you, I'll spend them with Tim and his family instead. At least with this visit, that is, if you let me go this year, I will be back in time for the holidays."

So she finally gave in and drove me to the airport, taking extreme measures to be careful so that her boyfriend at the time wouldn't find out that I was going to Florida to visit the guy who had held a gun to my mom's head and pointed it at him.

Jennifer was always extremely overbearing and super clingy. It was like I was somehow a part of her very being and to separate me meant that her whole life would fall apart because she had nobody else to boss around and abuse and bully. It was very difficult for her to let me board that plane to Florida. She kept giving me filthy, wet kisses during the whole time I was waiting to board the plane. As soon as I got on the plane, I scrubbed the skin where she had kissed me, determined to get her slime off of me. Then I turned my cell phone off when the flight attendant instructed all of us passengers to do so, and heaved a great sigh of relief when the plane lifted off and began ascending in the cloudy, night sky. I was sure that when I landed in Miami, Florida, that I would have a boat load of messages waiting for me. The majority of them would be from my mother and there would be quite a few from my grandma Giovanna, too.

Sure enough, when the plane landed and we were allowed to turn on our cell phones, I found that I had seven unheard messages in my mailbox. The first one, as I knew it would be, was from no one other than Jennifer. I listened to only half of the message before I got disgusted and deleted it.

"I'm watching the plane take off from the gate," she announced mournfully on my machine. Since she was a flight attendant herself, she was allowed to stay in the gate where my plane took off and watch it leave the runway.

"I'm going to miss you so much. I already miss you. Please call me when you arrive. I love you Ashlee."

There was more to the message but after she gave me the "I love you"; I found that I had had enough. I hated it when she told me that she loved me because I knew, even from a very young age, that her love was not unconditional like every parent's love should be. Her love was conditional so long as she got her way with everything that she wanted. If you messed up even once, there would be hell to pay and her love would vanish until you managed to make it up to her. Hearing her say that she loved me made my blood boil and my skin crawl. I REFUSED to let her anger me right before my happy vacation away from her and all of her drama began.

The next message was also from her.

"Okay, so now I'm---"

DELETE! I really didn't give a rat's ass what she was doing now. I hated her guts. The only message I would have listened to from her was a message from her telling me that she was in the hospital on her deathbed because she had gotten into a tragic accident of some sort. That would be the only message from her that would bring a huge smile to my face and a huge sigh of relief as all the tension left my body from eighteen years of being burdened by her.

Next message:
"Hi Ashlee---"

Delete. On to the next one.

"When are you---?"

Delete. Next message:

"I miss---"

Delete again! God, would all of the messages on my damn phone really be from her? It wouldn't surprise me in the least if they were.

Next message:

"Are you---"

Delete. Jesus H. Christ, only two messages to go before I had gotten through them all. Seriously Mom?

Next message:

"Ashlee, call---"

Delete! Okay, one more to go. I kept my fingers crossed, hoping to hear a different voice for a change, a voice from anybody else would be greatly celebrated.

Next message:

"I'm worried---"

The hell you are clingy bitch! Delete again! Phew, I had finally gotten through all of them in a matter of seconds. The plane was still taxiing slowly down the runway, inching towards the gate where it would let all of us off.

Jesus, if I had listened to all of those awful messages, I'd be all the way off the plane and probably at least halfway to Tim's car before I had managed to get through them all. And wow, it really did feel so satisfying to simply erase them, without giving one iota of care about what she had said. I made a mental note to tell her when I got back that I had erased her messages, with hopes of making her stop calling me so much and to let her know that it was futile to call me so much because I wasn't going to listen to them anymore, especially when she called over and over and over again like she did so much of my life, needing to have that control of knowing my every move, my every thought, my every mistake.

It wasn't just my mother's messages that I deleted without listening to. My grandma Giovanna was also in the habit of calling repeatedly with nonsense drama to try and overload my head with, so she got the delete button pushed quite a lot, the rest of her messages never being heard by anybody but herself.

A few days later, when I got back, I did get a chance to tell the whore, my mother, what I had done. I can't remember exactly how the conversation came about but it did. Anyway, I remember saying to her, "You know, you really did call me a lot during my five hour flight to Florida. Why'd you call so much?"

"Because I missed you. And I got worried when you didn't call me back. Why didn't you call me back anyway? I left you like five messages."

"No, you left seven messages Mother," I said harshly.

"And anyway, I didn't call you back because I didn't know you wanted me to or that you were that worried."

"How could you not have known. I told you in the messages how I was about to board a plane to Miami myself and hunt you down to make sure you were okay. I told you how I stayed at the airport for three hours after your plane took off, just in case something went wrong. So don't tell me you didn't know I wasn't worried."

"No, seriously, I didn't have a clue," I said, trying to stifle the smile that was threatening to give me away before I was ready for it to yet.

"Well, as you said yourself, you did get the messages. Was my phone breaking up or something?"

"No, the reception sounded fine, of what I heard of your messages anyway. You see Mother, there comes a time when a person really can't take being constantly monitored and babied all their life anymore. Well, I reached that point long ago, but on the plane, when I received your messages, it occurred to me that I could simply delete them instead of listening to them all the way through. So, that is what I did with your seven messages Mom. I deleted them as soon as I heard the first few words that were uttered from your mouth."

Jennifer let out a loud gasp. It was totally obvious how utterly appalled she was that her only child didn't care to listen to her incredibly important messages. It never occurred to her that her eighteen-year-old daughter might someday want to live her own life without her interference. I could tell by her reaction that nobody had ever confessed to deleting her messages without listening to them. This kind of shocked me because, ironically enough, she is the one who gave me that idea.

Countless times I had witnessed her deleting messages without listening to them. She did that with her own mother. She would also do it when she was mad at a particular boyfriend or when she had decided that she was ready to break up with them for a month or so and then get back together with them once she got tired of the other boyfriend.

"You deleted my messages!?" she said, aghast.

"Yep, I sure did. There really was no need for you to call me that many times during a five hour flight. If you were truly worried you could have called Tim and asked him if he had heard of any problems or delays with my flight."

My mother didn't talk much after I broke the news of my wicked deed to her. I quickly found out, though, that my shameless confession wasn't going to make her call me any less in the weeks to come when we were separated. That was okay, though. I always remembered to have my finger on the delete button so that I could stab it with my finger when I heard that awful voice oozing like blood from a disgusting, over-worn tampon from my speakers.

It always amazed me how good it felt to delete her messages without ever knowing what she said. In some circumstances, when someone repeats an action the good feeling of that action wears away bit by bit the more they do the action. Well, not for me. I was on cloud nine every time I deleted her messages after only hearing the first few words. Eventually, with serious practice an enormity of calls to practice on, it got to the point where I could delete the message after only hearing one word escape from her mouth. Once I got to that point, I had absolutely no clue at all what the message was about, whereas, when I used to hear more than one word in the message, I would have some general idea of what the call was about. I used to make educated guesses on what she wanted. Now that I have permanently estranged myself from her, I don't give it even a second of passing thought. It's just delete and then I move on to bigger and way better things that are going on in my life because really, she is dead to me and she always will be.

Along with the great feeling I had when I deleted her messages, I always wondered in the back of my head whether there would ever be a day when she would realize just how futile it was to call me, even if it was just once when I finally did move out and estranged myself from her. I wondered if she would ever realize that she was wasting her breath, words, and energy she could be using to fuck another pilot or gunman instead of wasting it all on leaving me messages that would never be heard. Along with those thoughts that swim around in my mind, I also always never forget to thank Satan for giving me the opportunity to witness my mother doing the exact thing with unwanted messages so I could learn from her shining example.

HAIL SATAN!!!!!!!!!