Why Dr. G'ovich is the Devil, pt.1: The Three-fold Path to My Insanity

Welcome to the inaugural posting of "Curse you, G'ovich!" a semi-regular blog designed to chronicle all of the Eeeeeeeeevil deeds of Dr. G'ovich, because not even Infinite Monkeys can contain all of his wickedness.

Following a train of thought from CoIM, I give you my three-fold set of issues with Dr. G'ovich back in our days as roomies:

Warning! Just like on CoIM, all of the following observations are to be considered highly suspect, in light of the Cap'n's unstable mental state at the time the observations were first formed; take the descriptions of the subject’s actions at face value at your own risk

(1) Communication Barriers: Have you ever met someone who looks at you like everything you say is gibberish? Who reacts to every joke or quip you make with a look that says “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard?” Who questions your logic, pokes holes in your statements, and generally makes you feel like the dumbest person alive? If not, then let me introduce you to the Doc sometime.

The Doc had always been argumentative; at one point in time he told me he argued the best when he knew he was wrong. But during this time frame, I was so busy trying to figure out what I had done wrong to make everything so uncomfortable that I took everything he said at face value; I also, for some reason, found myself unable to come up with any sort of adequate response to anything he said. Before then, I had always considered myself a bit of a witty person, and a whole lot of a smartass; but suddenly, my mental faculties were in disrepair; I was constantly on the defensive, not something I deal well with, and any verbal confrontation between us ended with me tongue-tied, confused, and ready to lock myself in my room for the rest of my time there. Plus, every time I would try to talk to him about whatever was bothering me, I would get maybe a sentence or two in before he would hijack the conversation and I, like a good little lemming, would follow his trail until I fell off the cliff.

Most common conversation between us:
Me: It bothers me when you do X.
Him: Well it doesn’t bother me when other people do X, so it shouldn’t bother you.
Me: But it does.
Him: But it shouldn’t.
Me: But it does.
Him: But it shouldn’t.

Do you sense a pattern here? As much as he might have had a point that X was nothing to get upset about, the fact that he wouldn’t even acknowledge my problems with anything other than a “That’s stupid” response drove me to distraction. In my mind, he had transformed from someone I could talk to about anything into someone I couldn’t talk to at all; and of course, I blamed myself.

(2) Condescension and contempt: At some point, I began to feel like everything G’ovich said to me was tinged with contempt and/or condescension. It was particularly bad when we were competing against each other, whether it be playing video games, shooting baskets, or beating the crap out of each other; I didn’t have a thick enough skin to handle trash talk, especially when the trash talk echoed my own fears and insecurities. Very few things could ignite my temper as quickly or as easily as one of the Doc’s preternaturally well-aimed barbs.

Here’s one of the most vivid examples I remember: The Doc and I were trading punches one day in the hallway between our rooms and the stairs at the house. He, of course, was kicking my ass. I was totally focused on trying to at least hold my own, and dimly suspicious that I wasn’t doing a terribly good job of it. Suddenly, out of the blue, he looked at me and said “You realize you aren’t hurting me at all,” with what I perceived as a tone of utmost contempt, that tone that says “I can’t believe this little twerp thinks he can compete with me.” It went all over me, throwing my inadequacies in my face, putting a lie to my idea that I was even close to being on par with him, and, worst of all, making me think that he looked down on me for it. So, I did what any sane, rational being would do . . . I turned, punched the wall and let out a scream of frustration. He, of course, having no idea why the hell I was so pissed off just shook his head and walked off. For the next several years, any and all comments from the Doc which followed the structure “you realize” would flash me back to that moment, and I would be lost in that fog of anger yet again.

Over time it became so that even the most constructive of criticism made me see red; it was probably this factor more than any other that led to the eventual shut-down in communication, as G’ovich became increasingly reluctant to take a good-natured jab at me, not knowing what would or wouldn’t provoke an over-reaction from me. Of course, a lot of my rage during these instances was really rage at myself; whenever I would find myself lagging behind everyone else, I would feel such self-contempt and self-loathing that I couldn’t focus on anything else; many times my snappish behavior would not be intentionally directed at anyone besides myself, but others couldn’t tell that.

(3) Aiding and abetting my Cellophane and Outsider tendencies: The tendency for me to feel unwanted and forgotten multiplied tenfold during my time in the house; I began to feel as if the Doc’s claim back in the dorm that he would let me know if I was unwanted was merely an empty promise; every time I turned around I seemed to notice some activity or gathering to which I had very purposefully not been included. Even if I was able to convince myself that my not being included was out of forgetfulness and not out-and-out malice, it did little to improve my mood; I mean, how the heck could they forget about me when I lived in the same house? I developed a “they don’t give a damn about me” sort of attitude, and was able to turn just about everything happening around me into confirmation of this. I also developed a reluctance to leave the house more than absolutely necessary, for fear that my absence would happen to coincide with the one time they did decide they wanted me along; I begged off of a lot of invitations to hang out with a friend from work due to this stupid idea. Trying to forcibly insert myself into social outings resulted in my becoming clingy and needy; again, not the most attractive personality traits.

Another one of those really vivid examples: I had just come home from work to find St. Flunky, Clan G’ovich, and Clan Stoneheart sitting around visiting with The Old Man. For some reason I had not stopped to get food on my way home, so I said I was heading down the block to get some fast food; by the time I got back, all but The Old Man were gone. When I asked where, he said they went to see The Birdcage. Now, at this point in my mental breakdown, I was well past the point of just feeling depressed; I was furious. Maybe if it had just been the couples, I could have accepted being excluded; I was used to the couples-only phenomenon by then. But having St. Flunky along sans Flunky Lover, and not a single one of them saying “Oh, we’re going to the movies, want to come?” was to me, at the time, inexcusable. While I’m sure there were any number of logical, non-malicious reasons why I wasn’t invited, my mind fixated on the worst ones. I sat around the house for the next few hours, fuming; what happened next did nothing to improve my mood. For you see, a few hours later, in walked Rocket and Flunky (he loses his sainthood for this story), both of whom were acting a little off; they proceeded to ask me if I had seen The Doc, since, they said, he had gotten up and left the movie in the middle of it, and now, they claimed, they had no idea where he was. Now, maybe if it had been the Doc spinning the story about one of them, I might have bought it, but Rocket and Flunky were nowhere near as skilled at deception as the Eeeeeeeeevil one. I wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but I could tell I was being scammed, and I was most definitely not in the mood for it. I responded in monosyllabic grunts, and they soon seemed to realize I wasn’t in the mood for their reindeer games and wandered into the other room; a little bit later the Doc called from Rocket’s place, and she left. It would not be until I saw the Stonehearts again several weeks later that I would confirm that the Doc had, in fact, stayed through the entire movie, and had been dropped off at my house along with Rocket and Flunky. I think the thing that bugged me most at the time was that there was never any reveal of “ha-ha, just foolin’,” no attempt to make me a part of the joke, rather than just the butt of it; I was the Outsider again in every sense of the word, and as much it shames me to admit it, a part of me hated them all for it.

Boy, way to end on an up-note, huh? Don't worry; I got over it.

So, there you have it, the three major issues of my life with Dr. G’ovich; don’t worry, I gots tons more where that came from!