The Clusterfuck.

Some people say that bad things come in threes. Well, I’m not sure if there is any pattern or logic to shit shows. I prefer just to label a grouping of shitty things within a limited time period as a clusterfuck.

That, my friends. Is essentially the one word description of my life. However, recently said clusterfuck has exploded.

“First of all, how cool are you?” I demanded bluntly as I sat down in the fluffy chair. “Um… pretty cool I think” he responded. “Kay, sweet. Let me tell you about the CLUSTER FUCK that has been my week”. His eyes widened and then returned to a normal size almost instantaneously. “Ok then, I’m all ears”. And then it began to pour out.

“My mother went a-wol from Sunday to Thursday. I hadn’t heard from her, hadn’t been able to get in touch with her, nothing. Pissed at her, I actually became worried when my iMessages to her went from being delivered to nothing at all. Literally, what the fuck? I texted my grandmother. Here’s a brief synapses of the conversation…

  • ME: Ok, what is going on with mom? She’s unreachable.
  • GRANNY: I’m overstepping my bounds by telling you, but your father had a breakdown/suicide thing. Your mother went back to Europe on Monday, got him, and then they were medically evacuated to the States. They are back in the states now.
  • GRANNY: Please don’t tell your mother I let you in on any of this! Handle this like the strong woman you are, with grace and strength.
  • ME: Ok…

Of course, I decided the right time to text my grandmother all of this was during a class. So naturally, right in the middle of said class my eyes welled up with tears. What. The. Actual. Fuck. 

Now I’m freaking the fuck out ok, so I Facebook chat my mother and I’m like,

  • ME: heyyy, so i’m getting worried. my iMessages aren’t even being delivered to you, what’s the deal?
  • MOM: On the phone with your sister, I’ll call you after.

Then she calls. The details are limited and sketchy. My previous knowledge granted to me by my grandma helped me to realize that. They are at home, 2 hours outside of Hipsterville, the dog is still in Europe, dad’s ok, therapists, counseling, doctors appointments, jet lag, tired, breakdown, coworkers, medically evacuated, medical leave. The details blur into a dark cloud of confusion and what the fucks.”

I took a breathe. Literally a five minute backstory just word vomited out of my mouth at record breaking words per minute. He stared intently. “AND I’M PISSED!” I emphasized an extra hiss at the end of my statement, summarizing the confusing description like an audible period.

At least he’s chill with cursing.

Earlier that morning I called the Counseling Center at my university.

  • “Um hi, do you have an appointment at 9:00? It’s kind of like, an emergency,”
  • “If it’s a crisis, you don’t need an appointment, you can just walk in,”
  • “Ok, great! Ok, well then, I’ll uh, I’ll be in at 9:00 for my crisis”.

I hung up. That was fucking awkward. At 9:00 I strolled into the Counseling Center and a sassy black man welcomed me into his office.

As we stared at each other after my unloading of my insane story of the past week, the only thought I could form was God, I hope these walls are thick…

Now, I’m drained from all of this bullshit and don’t feel like elaborating right this second. I will, eventually, it is all apart of the story and of the chronic confusion. For now I will leave it that although my father attempted suicide, he is currently doing okay. BRB punching walls and eating chocolate.


Sara Wildes



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