Thursday, May 25, 2023

RFI: Migraine One

The people who read this dog on an irregular basis, and who have done so for some number of years, will have heard of Migraine One.  This is a multi-ex girlfriend that I started dating when I was 21 and finally got shut of when I was about 30.  We had an on-again, off-again, relationship that could best be described as gasoline and matches.  The real problem with Migraine One is that she's neurotic with psychotic episodes and a drinking problem.

Keep reading at your own risk, keeping the usual disclaimer in mind: void where prohibited, no deposit no return, the sleeves will ride up with wear, do not use near fire or flame, and thin skinned SJWs, special little snowflakes, and affiliated moonbats will be triggered to the point of emergency psychiatric treatment.  I recommend Doctor Glen Filthie of Someplace, Canada.

Now then.  The first question no one asks is, "If she was all that crazy, why did you keep getting back together with her?"  Well son, you ask any man who has ever had a relationship with a psycho-chick and he'll tell you.  Me, I'm not here to explain the facts of life to you or anyone else.  My certain knowledge is that the common denominator of the psycho-chick attraction never changes, and it's that same old thing that makes a bulldog break his chain.

About thirty years ago, Migraine One decided she'd had enough of living in the Gravel Pit.  She fixated on some other poor bastard, and headed west with him to Granola Land (what ain't fruits and nuts is flakes).  He was an engineer of some kind and lived on a sailboat.  Unfortunately he didn't have the good sense to wire a pair of cinder blocks to her ankles and conduct a little flotation test halfway between the U.S. and, say, Isla Guadalupe.

Did I mention the kids?  Migraine One has three from her first marriage.  She got full custody, then about three years down the road she called her ex and told him that she was sick with the flu, dead broke, and unable to care for the kids.  He came and got them, and that was that.  Time passes, and she decides to leave the Gravel Pit.  Sayonara kids.

The kids are all grown now, and all three turned out okay, except for maybe the eldest who is crazy as a  Mississippi shit house rat in the middle of August during a heat wave.  We are talking bat-shit crazy here, complete with drugs, alcohol, and loaded firearms.  The story is that one night she got hammered (as usual), got into a fight with hubby (as usual), and when things reached a crescendo she pulled out a .45 pistol and told him she'd ventilate his head.  She didn't, the cops got involved, and time passes.  It took several years for her to get straightened out, but the powers that be are convinced that she's on an even keel now, and so she's working as a licensed family counselor specializing in teens with stress and substance abuse problems.  Nice, huh?  She's licensed in California, which makes a lot of sense when you think about it for more than ten seconds.

Getting right back to Migraine One, a few years after she hit California she landed a great job and worked in top management for a number of years.  Then a competitor bought the company and closed the place down, so no more job.  That's about the time Migraine One was diagnosed with fibromyalgia, which means opioids and various therapies - fortified by wine.  Me, I don't really think she's got fibromyalgia, but she does and that's all that counts.  Last time I talked to her was on the phone and she wanted to sing with me.  Yeah, sing songs together over the phone.

A few days ago I learned that Migraine One has lung cancer, and that the cancer is inoperable.  So it's chemotherapy, which puts the odds of survival at 20%.  One in five ain't great, but it beats the alternative.  Except that she's decided that chemo is too painful for her, so she has declined treatment.  She's also declined to talk to anyone about this decision or anything else.  Knowing her, I think she wants to go out as a class-A martyr, except I don't think anyone from her family is going to rush out west to see her off, so to speak.

Six months is what they give her.  Six at the outside; less is certainly on the table.

I thought about writing to her, but what would I say?  Thanks for the memories?  Believe me, the memories are not all that pleasant.  I'm thinking about staying out of the whole mess until the fat lady sings, then I wonder if that's the moral thing to do.

So, I don't know.  Any ideas?


CWMartin said...

Wow. Can you be the "bigger man" honestly, without making things worse? If not, maybe a "thinking of you" card would be best. Not every time your conscience SEEMS to be bugging you to do something is actually your conscience- or beneficial. I'm comfortable that my ex's choices have removed her far from me. Maybe you should be, too.

Glen Filthie said...

Be a Christian Jack. Easy to say, right? Our women will be the death of us if you let them, and five’ll get you ten that they’ll drive you bonkers before they pass. It’s the times, and there’s not much us fellas can do…

Mad Jack said...

CW: Distance is important, especially in this case. I don't think I could have a conversation with her without making things worse than they are. So, a "thinking of you" without too much elaboration might be the best way to go.

Glen: Most days it's a whole lot easier to say, and that's a fact. Whenever I talk to her the clock is ticking. What really gets on my very last nerve is that she knows which buttons to push and which buttons to lean on - like the big red one. She does it until I lose my temper. CW suggested a card, and that's probably the best idea. One way communication, so to speak.

Thanks for stopping by gents.

Anonymous said...

As a woman all I can say is NO, no contact. She'll latch on to that call as you her last great hope and the calls will start if she doesn't land in your lap to die with her one great love. Send a sympathy card to the family after the funeral. There is a reason why children stay away from dying parents.

Friend was one of 7 raised by Crazy Mom. Died and only one, who was her conservator was at the funeral. They all breath a sign of relief. Son hadn't seen her since he was 18 and I knew him at 52. His sister, my friend hadn't seen her in over 25 years.

Jo-Anne's Ramblings said...

There are some batshit crazy bitches around and men who fall for them and stay with them despite the crazy, when asked why all they can say is "well.........."

Mad Jack said...

Anon: Friend was one of 7 raised by Crazy Mom. friend hadn't seen her in over 25 years.

Which is really saying something. I think you've got the right of it.

There are some batshit crazy bitches around and men who fall for them and stay with them despite the crazy, when asked why all they can say is "well.........."

Which is exactly where I fall. Fell? We had an on-again, off-again thing for about ten years, then she fixated on someone else. She called me about a year ago and started a fight; I hung up on her. She waited a year, then emailed me (a few months ago) and asked, "How did we ever get along?" I emailed back: "We didn't."

And that was that until this latest fiasco, which may be over with fairly soon.