And then what?

All right. I’m beginning to worry myself. I’m doing something I haven’t done since high school. Because, mostly, I’m a social person, in the sense that as long as I can stand someone a little, I’d rather have a conversation than sit in constant, awkward silence. But, last week some piss-me-the-fuck-off stuff happened at work that I don’t have time to get into so I didn’t speak for like half a day, and I could tell everyone noticed. Then like today I just didn’t really talk because I was SO FUCKING BUSY. Without going into extreme details, they basically gave me 7 projects to complete in 1 weekend. 7. When I usually will do 2-4. 4 would be A LOT, actually. But oh no, we got 7 in there. And like I can’t control how long they take, like each task (of which there are several hundred to do for each separate project) takes 1-2 minutes. That shit adds up into hours really fast when you have thousands of them. So like I didn’t have time to talk, nor did I really want to. Because frankly, since Christmas, about 1200 different things have been grinding my gears. I mean look at me, I’m actually writing this. Granted I took last week off but that wasn’t my fault, every day I came home from work and my husband was awake and we ended up talking for a few hours then getting dinner, so there really wasn’t a time to break off and write a 1750 wordpress. He’s usually asleep when I get home from work, that’s where that time comes from. Then of course, usually there’s Saturday morning. But oh no, I was at work for 5 and a half hours on Saturday, WORKING ON THESE FUCKING PROJECTS. But usually, I’m free that day, and my husband for certain will sleep in a long time so I have all morning to create something of actual depth.

Which I’ll have time to tonight, as well, considering I’ll be alone for quite awhile. See, what happened is, my in laws have been giving us $500 towards our $960 rent payment, which is great and awesome of them and all, not trying to demean that at all. But, because I was getting shortened paychecks due to the holidays up until two weeks ago (since they’re 2 weeks backlogged) and since I’m obviously the only one bringing in money right now, but still having to pay for everything for two people. So, we need the entire rent payment. Also, fun fact, the house we’re renting is actually in my name, and my father in law’s name. My husband wasn’t employed at the time of signing the first lease for this rental house, so my father in law had to apply. They’re still aware Andrew and I live here, but it makes it so he gets really jittery if we’re fixing to pay the rent late. Which, given how long that second check would take to transit down here, would probably happen. SO, my husband had to drive to a city famous for its stupid outlet mall (I hate stores, and collections of stores, for the most part) to meet with his parents for the second check. I shouldn’t be one to complain. I’m not complaining. But it’s just. On top of working an 11 hour day (6am-5pm, though I was late by 7 minutes this morning because I stopped for a Tim Horton’s Mocha, one of my many guilty pleasures) I’d been all sullen and depressed and quiet all day. It’s gotten to the point where my only male coworker commented to me this morning that I’d been quiet lately, and asked if I was all right. But like really what the fuck else am I going to say besides that I’m fine? I mean I’m not a dick, I do realize it was really nice of him to even give the slightest fuck enough to ask, but I mean…what do think I do in that situation? Open up? *internal laughing that becomes out loud laughing* So on top of super crap super long work day (after a more or less ruined Saturday) and honestly I should go in at 6 again because I have so much to do, so I should go to bed in like an hour tops. It’s so bad. But oh well, I need that sweet, sweet overtime right now. Want to know why? Well, some of the following has been stressing me out:
-Three of our cats need intensive (expensive) dental work PRONTO for their health
-We’re going to owe like $1000 at least in taxes because we’re stupid people who stupidly fill out the stupid W-4 wrong. My husband had like 3 shots to get it right and failed each time.
-We’re going to move in June (to a cheaper rental in a sketchier hood unfortunately) and that gets expensive. Especially since I REALLY want to hire movers, at least for the terribly heavy stuff. Like this beat up desk I love so much that my mom bought for me. And our king sized bed we bought exactly one week before we got engaged. I’ve moved SO many times in my life, I feel like I deserve it. But I know movers are also super expensive.

Write what scares you, huh?

I saw a meme instructing that very thing. I don’t think i want to.

As you can see, I’ve been robbed of every writing opportunity this week. Yet again I had to work Saturday. Who doesn’t want to work a 6th day in a row? So I was there 9:30-3, then other Saturday stuff got in the way. My husband has a conniption fit if I work on this in his presence. I think I mentioned (maybe) that at first I’d said I’d let him read these. Then, as I realized I didn’t want to be  worried about censoring myself for him, I told him I’d changed my mind. He’d said “Uh…huh…” in that slow, unsure way he does when he wants to tell you he thinks you’re being unreasonable but doesn’t want to say that out loud. Then like a few days after that uh huh happened, it was the weekend, I’d gone to a friend’s and had like 5 beers, husband went too and DD’ed me home (as always). We’d gotten Taco Bell on the way back, but then as we sit down to eat, instead of eating, he’s scribbling something on a piece of paper. (SIDE NOTE : A piece of paper that will be left out on our coffee table, or on the floor by his nightstand, though nightstand is a generous word, it’s just a set of those 3 plastic drawers, left for me to pick up and preserve and store and keep, because my husband has raging OCD about pieces of paper he might have written something important on. He won’t clean out his disgusting car because mixed in with the empty energy drink cans, sports drink bottles and fast food bags he thinks he’s written something life-shatteringly important on a scrap of paper while stopped at a stop light. I understand OCD isn’t logical, and he is actually diagnosed and has been for a long time, so it’s not like I think it’s fake or didn’t know about it a long time ago, but I still have to live with it). And, in an effort to be fair, this is pretty much how the rest of the situation went:
-He was indignant then furious that I would imply his writing whatever he was writing at that moment was an unwise decision. He took deep offense to my implying his writing was unimportant.
-He chose this moment, when I was 5 beers deep, to bring up that ‘Well, you won’t let me read your WordPress’ (more or less)
-My response was “Yeah, you’ve mentioned.” To imply of course that I was mightily tiring of his mentioning that I’d said one thing then changed my mind about it. Like…it’s MY goddamn WordPress, and my thought and feelings and shit. He’s just making me deeply regret ever mentioning it to him, but even slightly buzzed I’m not going to say that much. That’s the thing, no matter how INSANE he can become over my “emotional abusiveness” when I’m drinking, it was 1000 times worse when he was drunk right along with me.
-But even sober, he then chose, after I said “You’ve mentioned” to slam both palms down on the coffee table (that’s where we eat, we don’t have a kitchen or dining room table, or a dining room for that matter) and stand up and tear away, violently grabbing his food and muttering to himself about how drunk I was, in a way loud enough for me to quite distinctly hear him
-Later I would learn that he felt like I was belittling and insulting his writing (it was a rap lyric, which like OMG FINE I GET IT. Like I have a fucking Masters in Lit, but no I definitely look down on any sort of written creative enterprise. FFS, if there’s like ONE thing that I truly feel is sacred….then it’s like does my husband really know me this little? We’ve been living together for almost 8 years. BUT ANYWAY, I’m to get over all that and not mention it. It’s hard to bring up past arguments because my husband, despite what he says, has a hard time of letting go of hurt. He’d much rather not deal with/process, and hang onto it, and let it all accumulate into this really unhealthy breakdown, and again, when he was drinking it was about 1000 times worse, the mood swings, the emotional abuse, the bringing up of something I’d done 8 months before (try doing that to him, whoo boy is there is a different reaction). But again, if you’ve been paying attention at all, because of my childhood, his behavior in the earlier part (the first 6 years) didn’t seem SO strange, given what I’d been used to. The two actual boyfriends I’d had before meeting my husband weren’t exactly emotional or mentally healthy or mature. They were both really different but they both had REALLY broken father situations. And the same is oddly true of my previous side chick (the one that was causing my husband an undue amount of emotional trauma and stress that he never told me about, but now he’s telling me, he told me last Saturday to be exact, that he thinks he has PTSD from the experience. So there’s that to sort out at some point. I mean on the one hand I did feel incredibly guilty about it, but there had also been times/opportunities for my husband to do the same with someone he was into from his college days, it’d just never happened. But that hadn’t at all been because of me. It was an incredibly complicated situation for a lot of different reasons, to keep it simple, she’d gotten him a job, so making a move meant possibly jeopardizing his employment if she really only had wanted to tease him this whole time (which…given some of the things that she did, I can kind of believe that)). It’s kind of odd….but then it kind of makes sense, damaged people tend to want to be together. But then again I married someone who had like….the perfect, most stable, most geared towards his own happiness sort of childhood, particularly when compared with mine. I was just telling him last night at dinner that I can tell he grew up an only child because he also bogarts the communal items at a restaurant. Last night it was the wasabi at a sushi place but it’s a commonly noted thing in my world. I’m not trying to minimize the struggles he had, because there were some, the ADHD and frequent trips to University hospitals, the meds. His mom once told me you can tell how old he was in pictures because ages 6 and under he’s really alert and hyper looking, but then at 6 they started giving him ADHD meds and “you can tell because he has kind of drugged look in pictures,” she literally said that like any other anecdotal fact about his life. No shame they have over the pharmaceutical influence they decided to inject into their son’s development. Then last Christmas his dad has the nerve to start lecturing me about how there are studies (I guess?) linking smoking marijuana before a certain age and even after, and hindering brain development/growth/sustainability. I didn’t say it, because I didn’t think of it because I was stoned because I pretty much need to be fucked up if I’m around my husband’s family and the version of himself that my husband becomes around them. Sober me isn’t really equipped to handle that. They’re all so goddamn neurotic. It’s too much for me. That’s pretty much the last time I heavily drank GOTTA GO –  BE BACK SOON

As fucked as you want it to be

Well, work screwed me out of my magical writing time this Saturday (yesterday, as it is now early Sunday). I had to go in at 9, and I was there until about 10:30. It’s hard not to be annoyed by that. It was overtime…but does 1.5 hours at time and a half even really matter?

I try not to talk about work, or the political state of the world, which is difficult because the 45th president was inaugurated last Friday and yesterday millions of Americans shows up in cities across the country for the Women’s March. It was inspiring to see so many people I know at those things. But then, of course, we all know conservative idiots who think Jesus wants it to be the 1850s again, women the same age or younger than me sharing memes about how THEY certainly were not being represented by the “Women’s March” and they wished they’d used a different name and bitch bitch bitch. Like it’s so easily to be so fucking disgusted by humanity after about fifteen minutes on the comments sections of any given social media. So many women were like “I HAVE rights, what are all of these people whining about?” First of probably don’t you’ve just internalized your role in the hegemonic discourse of daily life so seeking something better (dare I say, equal) doesn’t seem possible. Also, there are plenty of people who don’t have the rights you’re apparently so inundated with…so….maybe let them protest? Then of course all the brilliant people who are like “Abortion is murder, don’t have sex if you don’t want to face a possible pregnancy!” Those are also the same people who say they don’t “believe in” gay marriage, but they still “love” homosexuals. Uh….denying someone equal rights as a human being because it violates YOUR PERSONAL religious beliefs is some goddamn bigotry. Not that I like throwing that word around. It sucks being called that. PLUS, actual bigots do this thing where they’re like “By calling ME a bigot, you’ve actually just made yourself one!” so…idk it’s annoying. It’s all annoying and people disgust me. Nothing new I guess.

So my writing time got ruined on Saturday, which is typically when I’m most prolific. So I figured I would try waking up earlier on Sunday and getting into it. But I searched my social media on my phone for awhile before this so now I’m just pissed the shit off. I’m a creative type, but I actually work in conservative field, for a pretty conservative company…so….idk I’m like one of those German citizens whose boss was a Nazi party member pre-1939. That’s a bad analogy. Maybe I’m just arrogant because I’m white. I probably wouldn’t be cracking jokes if I wasn’t just the gender minority. I mean that’s bad enough. I am married to a white guy though, so there’s that. But now I’m distracted.

Okay I guess I’ll pull one from the archives. Again, this is a story that I feel like you should know, but it embodies the spirit of what my adolescent (final) years were at my parents’ house.

But, real quick before that. Okay so I told you about my best friend. Remember how I said I’d have been in 2nd place for cumulative GPA for my grade school? That’s going all the way back to 1st grade too, but then my best friend and her twin transferred in from home schooling, and she was valedictorian and I got bumped. THEN, she left halfway through senior year, right? Well, the yearbooks had already been printed, they always sent the proofs in in December so they were printed by June when the school year ended. I was 11th (GPA-wise) in my senior class. My best friend was in the top ten. She left. If she’d left at the beginning of senior year (i.e. junior year was her last time at the Lutheran high school) I would’ve been in my classes Top Ten. But she was there through December, I think one of the reasons she stayed for that long is because she had a good chance at being valedictorian of that class too, but ruined it with an elective literature class. That and her twin’s REALLY creepy ex were probably huge motivators in leaving. But I just find it funny that two different times my best friend kept me out of a place I kind of deserved. Like with the grade school I remember my dad losing his shit over the idea that these two transfer home school kids were just going to “coast in the last year” (as he kept putting it, that’s one of the mental tortures he’s most fond of, he just keeps telling you the same things/same stories over and over until you react how you’re supposed to react (you know, how he wants not how you actually feel)). Then senior year it’s like I didn’t get to spend the last 6 months of it with my best friend…or with any friends….but I still wasn’t in the class’s Top Ten….even though one of the people pictured in the Top Ten didn’t even end up graduating with us…. As you can tell teenage me was pretty bitter about this. I had a right to be bitter about stuff.

Speaking of being bitter in high school, I think honestly one of the more crushing blows I felt was not making it into NHS junior year. That was another thing I definitely deserved/qualified for. It was really hard not to notice that everyone who’d had a religious mentor (pastor, DCE, etc) write their letter of recommendation was chosen….I’d unwisely picked a teacher I was student aiding for. They told my mom (because I think she called the high school about it because I was that upset…she hadn’t contacted my school about something that upset me since like 8th grade) I was really close to qualifying, I was one of the very last undecideds, but I just quite didn’t make it. Yeah, that’s what I sure wanted to hear. I’d always prided myself very much on doing well academically, I always had. It’s just very devastating to expect something like that because you’re certainly the sort of student who belongs in societies that claim to honor those who do well in school and make time to be well rounded. Like how did they not take into account the fact that I was working as well as doing this well in school and being in extracurricular things? I was a cheerleader freshman and sophomore year, I was in 2 plays. Then I stopped getting picked for parts. But you know who always got parts? Any teachers’ or pastors’ kids who tried out (and there were A LOT of those there). BOY did the faculty look mad whenever you pointed that out. So yeah, I already had some Oh-I-see-how-it-is experience at this place, then this NHS bombshell happens. I remember senior year I was told, and my mom was told, that I should reapply, that I might make it in for that year. I told my mom my application would be a xerox of my middle finger. THEN…a week or so after I found out I wasn’t in, after I had to tell my friends who’d made it in that I didn’t. I remember one friend who probably really resented me because I was the thin, attractive brunette version of herself with a slightly less grating personality, was telling me about some gift her mom had gotten her as a reward for getting into NHS and it REALLY bummed me out. Almost as much as the time I went into school after a night of no sleep/vomiting because I REALLY wanted to audition for the spring play…only to not get a part…not even like a bit/pity one.

In fact…the same teacher who wrote my non-getting-me-into-NHS letter of rec was the SAME teacher who directed that play…who didn’t give me a role. Damn, maybe she hated me. I bring that out in some people. My fifth grade teacher…omfg she was a raving lunatic bitch to me sometimes, like I REALLY was not that bad, and she had it out more for me than the dried up cunt that I had for 4th AND 6th grade. For YEARS I told myself my 5th grade teacher couldn’t help it, she was settling into the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s (her mom had died quite tragically/young from that). BUT, she’s still alive and well! Like…19 years later! I mean, that’s good for her and all, but she REALLY WAS just being a big fat bitch to me all those years! I always told myself not to focus on it but I accidentally came across her FaceBook….she’s not suffering from Alzheimer’s at all! Agghhhhh! My mom always says my brothers “problems” started when he was in the 4th grade, the teacher he had had it out for him, and it changed his personality forever. Of course if you knew my mom, you’d understand why she thinks that. I’m sure she was an insufferable bitch towards my brother (I had this teacher for a single class in the 4th and 6th grade but this particular bitch teacher liked girls and was only irrationally harsh on boy students, so she and I were on fine terms) but I think my brother’s problems stem from home/genetics more than from school. Like a lot of people have an absolute shit time in grade school and high school. It’s kind of better that way because you don’t miss it. Like not for millions of dollars would I relive a year of my first 18. NOPE.

It’s always progressively gotten better, that’s always been true, every year. There have been some BAD years..let me tell you…since then. When I first met him my husband his this naive, rose-colored-glasses, everyone-wants-to-be-your-friend-and-is-trustworthy, dazed, out-of-touch perspective on life. I saw him learn the hard way a few times that he was stupid to trust people who were clearly only out to take advantage of him. And someone like my husband back then is going to attract those sorts of people, so it wasn’t hard for him to get mixed up with shadiness. But, he never got in trouble, he has no criminal record. And I get he was only 20 when we met, but I was about 2 decades older in a lot of ways. But if he read that, I’m sure he’d be upset by it. At first I told him he could read the blogs I was going to write, but then I changed my mind because I didn’t want to have to censor myself. There’s A LOT of this that he could read, but he’d get mad if he saw some of things I said about his sister…and his mom….I need to be able to get incredibly emotional and be honest for once. I think he would understand my need for that sort of platform. Because, he has certainly gotten better with age, with his ability to understand my issues. Just this week something kind of funny happened concerning that…

I’d been stewing for several days (my desk job affords me a lot of stewing time, unfortunately) about some things concerning my mother in law. So I was discussing them with my husband because I didn’t want to keep stewing. He agreed that his mom is hyper sensitive towards her own daughter (his other half sister is his dad’s daughter) but that’s because she has no choice really, and that the relationship she had with her stepdaughter, and with me, was her trying to make up for what she didn’t have with her own daughter. Because her relationship with her own daughter had pretty much always been the daughter unloading her problems on her mom, being emotionally and financially and mentally dependent on her mother. He didn’t say that second part, that was me just now but it’s true. And after 4+ decades of that…it’s drained her.

That I can acknowledge, and I guess for her part, she probably doesn’t feel like she has too many options at this point other than to continue to support her daughter even when she makes terrible, horrible life decisions then unloads the resulting backfire directly onto her nearly 70 year old mother. It sounds so bad to say, like if either of them ever read this I think they’d have a fucking break down.

Because, I didn’t really ever think about it…or want to acknowledge it before…but it’s REALLY hard to tell how I really feel most of the time.

The way my husband put it, he was like “Well [his mom] thinks you’re a lot more normal than you are, it’s kind of hard to tell how upset you really are by things.” Which I kind of found this funny, the normal part. It wasn’t even that long ago, but I said something to him acknowledging that I wasn’t at all normal. He seemed relieved I’d said it first. Which again, that’s kind of funny to me. Like I don’t know, you don’t NOTICE how fucked up something is unless someone blatantly points it out to you. But, one of my biggest issues in the dating department was an inability to express how I felt. I always seemed to come across as something different than what was going on in my head. It’s not hard to trace, because I have SO many memories of having to hide how I really felt, because it was the only way to save face/protect myself from the deep, innate stupidity that drives cruelty that I just felt emanating from others most of my childhood. From the kids at school. The teachers at school. My parents, my brother, my ever changing circle of friends…. Try as I might I never proved successful in my quest for a best friend until my now best friend and i like got back together after a few different periods of not being on speaking terms. That also happened with other friends of mine when I was younger. It was a strange concept to me. When I was in…I like the 4th grade….my dad changed our phone number as a final *fuck you, I’m done with you* to his sisters. He’d (naturally) gotten into a feud with the both of them over a few different long-standing beefs, and decided he was once and for all never speaking to them again, so he changed our phone number. I remember ALL of my friends asked why the number I’d had all my life (listed in the school directory for all those years) was disconnected. I’m sure some of the bitchier girls said it was because we hadn’t paid the bill, but we had a new number right away so maybe not. I think I made up some elaborate bullshit story. I certainly didn’t tell anyone the truth. The way kids reported gossip to their parents there, that wasn’t a wise move if I didn’t want it getting back to my mom. She wasn’t part of the inner circle at all, but some malicious, “concerned” person would bring it up to her, more out of perverse curiosity and nosiness than actual concern for our family’s well being. So, having all out ghosting-wars with other kids didn’t seem weird to me. And idk, I feel like the special grouping of kids in my parochial school was a bad sample of society. And certainly, at home, it was always best to just hide how you really felt. It wasn’t going to gel with the general atmosphere my dad created, trust me. BUT, fucked up people like my dad do NOT like it when they see they’ve genuinely upset someone. Like it reflects the negativity of their own actions back to them, reminds them they’re shitty human beings, and they don’t like it. So, I spent many years, even well after I’d moved out, becoming practiced at pretending I wasn’t upset. I mean, especially when you throw in this huge part of my young life I haven’t even begun discussing yet (the 11 years of retail).

So, it was kind of funny, but also seemed really true, what my husband said. His mom must not get what she’s saying it hurtful. It’s better to think that than assume otherwise. It’s just..there are some things where you want to ask her why she felt SO compelled to say that…and then other times I feel like she’s forgotten who I am entirely. Like, her daughter, the messed up sister in law, I call the other one the high-achieving sister in law, then the one married to his half brother is sister in law in law. So the messed up one actually dated my brother for awhile. Yeah. She’s about 11 years older than him, but yeah, that happened. When did it happen? Oh they pretty much started going out the night of my wedding. They were both in the wedding party (duh, I mean I have one sibling we were going to include him, especially when I could include all three sisters in law and a cousin of his) I paired them because they worked height-wise and I thought they’d get along. Get along in that not make the other one feel like a loser sort of way…not…let’s date and be ‘in love’ for a bit, only to end horribly and terribly. I finally point blank asked my mom some questions about how it ended. I wished I hadn’t. It reminded me that things are just as fucked as ever over there, only now my parents are in their 60s (my mom, almost, she’ll be 59 this year) and my brother is in his thirties. I don’t know what’s going to become of all of them. If they’ll just keep living together until they start dying off. I feel like my brother couldn’t function on his own without my mom. Their relationship just makes me really, really sad. I mean it’s not sad in and of itself, but it’s SO very much two people who are all the other one really has. My piece of shit lunatic father doesn’t count. And he might not want to admit it, but my brother is really emotionally dependent on our mom. Which is fine. I just wish I somehow had enough money to be able to send them what they needed to live on their own. And, I just don’t know what they’re going to do when my mom retires. They’re bankrupt, like literally making bankruptcy trustee payments, their home owners insurance was cancelled because they can’t afford to make repairs to the house necessary to keep a policy with anyone, they have NOTHING saved for retirement. I don’t think my mom thinks that far into the future. She has this mantra about taking things one day at a time. She especially had to do that when she was dealing with the usual emotional turmoil of her life, and was taking care of her aging mother entirely on her own. It just worries me. I know it seems like I’m the sort of person who’d scoff and say it wasn’t my problem to take care of them, but if you care about strangers but you don’t care about your actual family, what sort of person are you? I’m not including people who were horribly abused by family members, but my mom and brother were more victims than anything else. Plus I mean my brother is only three years older, and I was always arguably much more intelligent and mature. Which isn’t really fair when you’re kids but it works in your favor as an adult, for certain. I just wish I could take care of them. Like send them a check every month to cover their rent, and my mom and brother have jobs to pay for everything else, and they live together and are relatively happy. My mom can handle his moods, I’d think. Then, when years later my mom passed away, my brother would have a place already like set up for him. What sucks is I don’t know who I’d enlist to help me with him. When our mom’s gone it’s literally JUST my brother and I. I guess that’s why I don’t want to just abandon them. I guess they think I have. I guess they have no way of knowing how I really feel, because I certainly am not going to tell them. I have more guards than I realized. Like there are times when I don’t know what facial expression I’m making. Like the person behind the persona is just busting out when I’m preoccupied concealing deep emotions like rage and fury and despair. It’s not ideal. So, you might ask, in my perfect future where I can somehow support my new and original family, where is my dad? Well, ideally, dead I guess. Or just gone. But that will never happen. He couldn’t possibly take care of himself after all of these years. Plus, whatever’s wrong with him, he needs someone to abuse, someone to take it out on, someone to regale with the same long, boring stories time after time. I don’t know if he knows that or not, but I’m positive it’s true.

Sometimes I emotionally exhaust myself before I even get to the point I was trying to make, which is kind of funny. It’s not all that surprising, given how emotionally exhausting my life can be sometimes. Like I said, I recently made the mistake of asking my mom for details about when my brother and sister in law broke up. Because to hear my mother in law tell it, my brother thinks they’re going to get back together still. But, from what my mom is saying that’s not the case at all. My mother in law always talks to me like I’m not related to her daughter’s most recent terrible ex. She has A LOT of terrible exes….what’s the thing they have in common? For example, last Labor Day weekend the in laws wanted us to come visit, so we did. While strolling a local gardens together, my mother in law began telling me that my sister in law was very worried my brother would somehow find out that she was dating someone else (he’s a DJ from the club she works at). And then my mother in law is like “Oh [sister in law] just couldn’t handle another suicide.” Because her boyfriend (I guess technically fiance, they got engaged towards the end there) of I think 8 or 9 years committed suicide maybe 4 or 5 years ago. And yeah, she was a gibbering wreck of a human being from that, for sure. She was still reeling from it two years later when Andrew and I were planning our wedding. But my mother in law is talking to me about how the suicide of my only sibling would just be TOO much for her daughter, that she would NOT be able to bear it. Fuck off to me, his younger sister, or my mom, it’s poor fragile sister in law we all need to look out for. Like how am I not supposed to be offended by someone bringing up something like that, in that manner? Please. It’s like I really give off the impression I enjoy being treated like shit, and nothing you can say could possibly hurt my feelings so have at it. Like I never say that, but I’ve been singled out as the one for shitty treatment my whole life. Not at my current job though, I’ll admit. But I feel like I paid my dues to the universe when it comes to that already.

All that’s left unsaid

I am especially (personally) offended by the rude generalizations lobbed at millennials. Having been born in 1988, I’m at the older end of that age spectrum, but I’m still in it.

And, maybe you’ve gathered so far, but I kind of had an absolute shit time as a child, because of my family and because of where I went to school.

Speaking of that topic, I guess I’ll bring up a topic I tend to avoid (you’ll see why). Friends. My whole life, between literature and television, influencing my perceptions of what is normal and what level of attention and support I wanted/expected, I guess I was destined to fail at having friends. I always tried, and I always transitioned from one good friend to another, sometimes amongst different groups. I’ve told you about one time it was literally me against the world as far as school was concerned, I’m sure more will come up later. And it’ll soon establish itself that the 8th grade was one of the hardest years of my life. I didn’t know it then but I was suffering from the amount of existential dread most people only start to feel in their twenties. Yet another thing I don’t share in common with the other millennials. Like…really, you JUST noticed things were like this? You JUST got that living is just one big financial pitfall because that’s how we function as little hamsters on wheels powering the luxury of those who have? I guess it’s the bankruptcies and the mortgages, but I kind of knew that from childhood. But, one good thing that happened in the 8th grade, it was the year I met my best friend. Right now, at the age of 28, I have two friends, more or less. My best friend, who I met in the 8th grade, who was my maid of honor at my wedding, and my work friend, who I’ve known for like a year and a half now. Despite the fact that some of work friend’s traits seriously irritate me, she’s by far the most intelligent non-school person I’ve come across since I moved here almost five years ago. So, can’t just pass that up. Smart people are RARE. And I do drugs every single day. I don’t get how the sober smart ones do it, and obviously there’s a lot of those. I have certain trashy traits I can’t really deny in any sense of the word. That’s one of them. Another is I instinctively think about getting physically aggressive with people whenever they displease me. I’ve never done it, I never will, but the thought really crosses my mind, both in the heat of the moment and afterwards. Like I really do want to fight about it. I WISH a bitch would, just like so much. But I don’t because that’s a deeply unwise thing to do on so many levels. But I’ve never started any of the fights I’ve been in, and the rare ones that occurred were in grade school. Besides my brother of course. But one could at least say that meeting your best friend is a good thing, even if the rest of the year was horrific.

But then, to be fair, four years later, when it was senior year in high school, the same shit kind of happened but in a terrible way. I remember junior year there was a huge fissure with my best friend (and when the best friend has a twin, they kind of just come as a package deal) when she didn’t show up for school one day, I called to see if things were okay/what was going on, and she was just like ‘we’re going to live with our dad now.’ Parents were divorced, had been living with their mom seeing dad every other weekend like most divorcee’s kids. But being 16 or 17, I guess they came across the knowledge that they could choose which parent to live with, so they opted for their dad. I certainly did not blame their choice, for the reasons of the superior of their two parents, and for more materialistic reasons. Their mom showered them with gifts/used gifts to guilt and persuade them but she was not well off, still isn’t Their dad is and was then. He’d remarried by this point I think. AND, the living situation was as such, their dad lived in a duplex and he owned both sides, one being specifically superior to the other, he of course lived in the nicer side, so they got their own duplex. Of course in months to come they would use this newly found freedom to the MAX. Then their brother would swoop in home from college or med school or whatever and make their (and my, somewhat) lives a living hell. But I, as a junior in high school, was particularly incised they hadn’t told me, their very best friend who always drove them everywhere because I had a car/license and they didn’t, they didn’t think it was worth the effort, informing me they were doing this drastic thing. Or at least that’s the way younger me saw it. Now, I feel my reaction would be MUCH less drastic. But, I mean 16 year old girls are going to act a certain way, I guess. At least I did. I think I pretty much stopped talking to both of them. I remember not being on speaking terms with them for prom, I had to use two fill-in, second string friends for that shit because I didn’t have a date. In my defense, that was the only one of the six major high school dances where I didn’t have a date. Though 3/6 my date was my gay friend that went to another high school. In fact, he went to the high school I got ditched for, but that wasn’t until later. All I know is by senior year homecoming (which where I’m from is early to mid October usually. It’s cold out but not real, insane winter yet). Then I had a for real date for freshman homecoming, then senior prom. So the very first and very last. But, for senior homecoming, I know I went with my best friend and our gay dates. She’d never even met her date before, he was a gay friend of my gay friend who we both knew from grade school (well, the one year my best friend went to my grade school, where she was Valedictorian of our class….if she and her sister hadn’t been in our class i would’ve been Salutatorian…more on that irony in a sec). So by that time later that same year I was on good friends terms with best friend. I remember, we spent A LOT of time together, at least that fall, but her twin had started attending the public high school now available to them since they lived in their dad’s zip code (the high school my gay friend attended). We even had like most of our classes together, except when I was in Econ and she was in like AP Calc or whatever. The only class I liked that year was AP English. Duh. Best friend was in that class (also, fun side note, another student in that class was blonde guy from high school, who I will SURELY mention at another time when I’m trying to explain this weird fetish I have). But then she was spending most/all of her spare time with her twin, which was at this skeevy coffee down in olde towne, which is a grimier part of where we’re from, where the burnouts and people who graduated from high school so they’re pretty much done achieving/putting in effort go to impress one another with how arty they are. These were pre-hipsters, now that I think about it… That and they hung out with people they knew from school, they started sneaking out because they could because of their living set up. They would stay up all night talking on message boards (it sounds so dumb to say now) then stay home “sick” the next day. I remember, towards the end of the first semester of senior year, going to school four days in a row was grounds for her telling her dad she’d gone “soooo long” in a row. We both got illegal piercings, but we did that together so I don’t count that as strange behavior on her part as much. I literally had so many piercings at one point. I don’t know why. Like….I had pictures in my underwear on my myspace, showing off my fucking weird rib and hip and sternum piercings. I have symmetrical scars in those places now, which I actually don’t mind that much. I guess I wish the ones in my cleavage weren’t there, but my tits are nice you’re not going to be like omg what is that scar tissue between those. I actually love my boob size because they’re big enough to be ‘big’ (right now I’m a D, but in my thinner days I was a C for sure) but I never have any back pain from them so they’re not big enough for that. It’s a good size.Or maybe I just don’t have back pain because I have, and have always had just like my Grandma, giant fucking feet. But anyway. Best friend was drifting away, and I kind of pieced together through Myspace stalking that she was planning on transferring to the public high school her sister attended. That really, really struck me deep. I mean, I do understand, I’m not being patronizing. She mentioned years later that she’d wanted to be with her twin, because she wasn’t sure how much longer they’d be together given college and whatnot. But she certainly didn’t tell me that back then. She never even told me flat out that it was happening, I just sort of figured really. Then, like, do you realize what it was like for someone like me when the only person you’re friends with, the person you spend most of your enjoyed spare time with, (I get that’s not her fault that the rest of my life sucked so bad, but it did and it was really wearing on me by this point) and then they start being like oh I need to be cool like my twin and drink and do drugs and not invite [me] at all…. Like it wasn’t that she ditched me completely to be all deviant, it’s that she like…ditched me instead of taking me with her. So like…I guess there’s some shit that wrong with me that’s embarrassing? I think of my brother….of how people who meet him think he’s some sort of autistic or retarded but like if I ever told him that he’d probably start crying to my face. Which to me idk I can’t help it I hate it when people cry at me. I do my damnedest to not cry in front of others. My husband sees it a lot but not really anyone else. Or like was she just trying to shake off her old life? I don’t know, to me, it seemed like she really didn’t like me or want to be friends, she just did it because we went to the same school and were in the same classes. So I spent January-March of my senior year of high school completely miserable and alone. I had people to sit with at lunch, so I was very grateful for that, but other than that…I was alone. I’d never had anything going on in the romance department back then. I was pretty, certainly, my god my skin…and I didn’t know how thin 170 pounds actually is….but after that winter, that’s what I weighed, and it was the most I’d weighed in my life. I ate a lot that winter. My dad was sure to point that out to me. To go through my trash, point out the empty potato chip bags and McDonald’s bags…yep, he felt he had a “ruffle a few feathers” when it came to me as well, if you can imagine. If you can also imagine, he doesn’t have a single positive female relationship in his life, past present or future. It’s all such a damn mystery why I refuse contact. I didn’t delete my best friend on Myspace, because that was draaastic (oh, also, to be fair for my shit ass mood the whole time, the only “like” interest I’d seriously had senior year was concerning a coworker I’d had a crush on. At certain moments it seemed like he liked me too, others definitely not. He went to the college in town that I myself would attend that next fall (2006). Things obviously did not work out and that December he dropped out of that college and moved permanently back home. THEN – actually interesting side note, it wasn’t our age difference, he literally almost immediately started dating a girl the same age as me (18). He proposed to her at her senior prom, like out on the dance floor. They have four children, they’re still married. I’m actually Facebook friends with his wife so I know more about his life than seems non-creepy. BUT that was the only thing I had going in that department, and it painfully petered out…as you can see) but I didn’t have much more to do with my best friend than that. She started dating this guy who was like 20 who worked at the same mall as her.

What ended up saving my sanity and dignity for the last little stretch of senior year was actually a person who has grown up to be a real vapid asshole (I’m NOT his Facebook friend, let me tell you). BUT, after a brief…uh…fling? with a cute guy who went to the same public high school as the twins whose cousin went to my school which EVERYONE knew about because one of the more popular couples in my high school saw us out and about together one night. He was the first guy I ever kissed, but I wouldn’t let him past second (which to me is any action above underwear, anything where fabric is between you aside from dry humping) because like….FFS what am I? Like I wanted him to at least exclusively and publicly be my boyfriend before I did anything to his dick or he saw vagina, and I knew from DEEP Myspace creeping that he was DEFINITELY talking to other girls and was way into his ex too. It didn’t take his skanky ex long to notice and get jealous either.  After agreeing to be my prom date, he promptly got back together with this skank who would immediately dump him after graduation.I know it’s hatespeech but I was SO upset by this selfish person’s actions, who certainly knew who I was and what her ultimatum-ing would do. She was literally on spring break, alone with her friends, in Mexico, and she’d told him she couldn’t believe he was thinking about being with someone else, and going to my prom with me I’d imagine because by know everyone knew because that same day I’d told someone after keeping it hush hush and that if he broke off all communication with all other girls there was a the sliiiiiightest, maaaaaybe of a chance she’d take him back. So of course he did that and was waiting with like 3 dozen roses and a giant box of chocolates at the airport for her when she got back from spring break. So, I spent my spring break working every day at the pet store I’d work at through undergrad and then this guy calls all tearfully (probably fake, now that I think about it) saying he was so sorry but he couldn’t talk to me anymore. After my best friend dropping out on my like three months before that, and the guy I liked before that immediately finding another girl my age who in my opinion is less attractive (and not me, so….) to immediately be obsessed/in love with. THAT was my track record for life senior year so far. And my dad and brother had been SO up in my business about both of those guys. I mean, if it was coming from a place of actual love and concern it’d be one thing, but I swear on all that I can swear on, it wasn’t. It was just invasive, and the need to be controlling, the need ‘to boss’ as my Grandma liked to put it. Very much the need to boss, but also deep laziness, so they’re not going to actually HELP you, they’re going to armchair lecture you with the TV on mute. It was all so horrendous. I remember my dad point blank asking me if I’d lost my virginity to the prom guy. Like I’d been hanging out with him for like 3 weeks. I mean people at school asked me that same shit (over AIM at least) but I didn’t think my dad harbored the same low opinion of me. Despite fervently hating him by this point, I was still amazed at how shitty a human being he could be. And of course I hadn’t, but it was being made to admit that, to someone who was in no ways anything a father should be, who decided to be controlling and invasive one moment, but gave no fucks about you/would do nothing to help you if he wasn’t feeling it, which was a lot of the time given his love of vodka mixed into Nyquil and downers and opiates. Granted the drinking came and went, but the fucked up shit he did never really went away. Like I said, most of the time people are going to scoff and tell me I should appreciate that he cared. But he didn’t. Not in the way/for the reasons a sane, sound person would. It’s all so fucked. I literally had to rip the bandage right off, and leave it off and just fucking bolt. It took my long enough, and I regressed once. It won’t happen again.

But back to best friend. See her disappearance is all tied up with guys appearing in my life, it’s odd. Granted i had to wait through the second worst winter of my young life, but it got all right. I never made any new friends, but from like the Easter of that year on, for the first time in my life I had a boyfriend. So that made it easier. He really did make moving out of my parents easier that June (he had a pick up). I didn’t spend my first actual night away from home alone because of him, which was appreciated. Of course we broke up that August, and I was obviously devastated….but you know who I started hanging around with that fall? The best friend. She’d always talked about going away for college, I’d stayed in the hometown area and enrolled in the hometown university though I was living by myself with  a 21 year old roommate. But, because she’d abruptly moved in with her boyfriend after graduation from the other high school, she had a change of plans I guess. So she and I ended up at the same school again. I remember her coming over a few times while I lived in my first apartment. Then, fast forward a year to when I lived in my first solo apartment. I started hanging out with best friend a little bit more as we lived somewhat nearby and went to the same college. We would go to the gym together, go out for lunch, take smoke breaks on campus. Then, I started dating one of her many male roommates (she was still living with the same boyfriend). And let me say, that relationship was 8 months long. Which was about half as long as it should have been. He sucked. Like as much as a person can suck. BUT, for the first time in my life I was hanging out with more than 1 other person on a regular basis. And breaking up would mean much less best friend time since she lived with him and was dating his best friend. Though, that relationship had run its course by this point, I just feel like she was attached to him, which is natural. But it happened anyway, right before my 20th birthday, which was also right AFTER the boyfriend and I signed a 13 month lease together. So I had the burden of the rent of a 2 person apartment for one person…with my 30-odd hour a week like $8.55/hour pet store job…I took out a $10,000 loan that summer after having taken a collective $6000 out before this $10K because obviously my shitty ex bailed and went back to living more or less as a squatter (since he always squelched/forgot to pay his share of things yet he resided in the house. Something about sleeping on the couch made him feel like there were squatters rights or something. He was an unbelievable mooch to me as well. I’m sure I’ll get into that more later). He almost immediately started dating this fat chick from his work who I STRONGLY suspect he fucked before we broke up, or he at least wanted to and was planning on it as soon as he could. He’d cheated on girlfriends he’d liked more than me. He made it obvious he wasn’t over his high school girlfriend, despite being 21 and their both having been with multiple other lovers since then. And he’d cheated on her…so…. But anyway it didn’t matter we always used a condom he seemed to lazy to really go and get checked. Plus we didn’t have sex that much because he wouldn’t try and I wouldn’t try either and to sleep we went. He would spent A LOT of nights at ‘the house’ playing video or computer games. I fucking hate gamers. My side chick was a gamer, it’s such an all consuming nerdy fucking thing…it’s ridiculous. So, the break up happened. I didn’t have anything sex wise come my way until that next fall (remember blonde guy from AP English?  That’s why I said remember him). I still spent a lot of time with best friend, but I also spent a lot of time alone. Her breakup with mall boyfriend from high school came about, actually at an accelerated rate due the end of my relationship with gamer loser (yeah, yeah, I know, you dated him and fucked him you loser whore @ me, but a lot of people do stupid shit when they’re 19, at least I was on birth control. My first boyfriend had moved to Arizona the summer proceeding my meeting gamer loser.THAT had been a mess…but that’s for another time.

So even after the demise of gamer loser and I, which made best friend and her boyfriend argue, which led to them breaking up. Which was MESSY. On his part. He was stupid and hurtful and terrible. Like they’d still been living int he same house, though she’d moved into her own bedroom. He thought it would be totally fine (all the while under the impression they’d get back together, he’d later attest) to hang out with/get plastered with this REALLY unstable girl who was on lithium (one night she even slept upstairs in his bedroom with him, he swears they didn’t have sex, but I feel like they had sex) then he completely ghosted her because he thought it was funny or something, or it was just to make best friend jealous, which it didn’t so much make her jealous as it made her fill with indignant rage. She actually moved out on her own. I tried to get her to move in with me, given that I had the space for another person, but she didn’t like the location of my apartment she claimed. Then she told me later on that if she was going to ruin a friendship by moving in with someone, she would rather it be this bitch from her work than me. Which she does still hate that bitch…so…. I took out that loan and afforded things that way. I kind of did like living on my own. My childhood had already trained me to want to be alone, and what I liked most was getting really stoned by myself and watching South Park while eating cereal. This was the time, when I was 20, when my brother’s life started to unravel. Can’t get into all that right now, but believe me it was a stressful-ass shitshow. It directly affected me because my parents made me deal with all of their problems. My dad had this fun habit of showing up at my apartment (that I paid for entirely on my own mind you) unannounced…as if to see what I was up to….I don’t know when it’s coming from someone who’s the epitome of negative and angry and selfish…it’s unsettling. Then, that fall, as best friend and I began our third year of college together, there was the very short-lived joy of blonde guy I had had a thing for since high school. But, he was so not over his ex in any way, and despite the fact that I knew that…yeah I don’t know I guess I was hoping I’d change his mind, or something. At first I feel like he was interested, or maybe not. It got weird because there were these moments where like…I had to convince him to have sex. It wasn’t like coercion, or begging, or anything like that, but I mean he did hesitate. Which now, I REALLY have a distaste for in lovers…let me say…. so I guess I was in the wrong. I’m just always really attracted to people who I can sense are fucked up, possibly more than me. I feel like we might’ve had something of a chance if his baggage hadn’t been there. But, what does that matter now? Again, best friend relationship strong through all of this.

Then, when the 2 bedroom’s lease was up, i moved into a rental house with a friend from pet store job. The only sex I had going on when that first happened was blonde guy one last time (actually the worst time out of them all…the best was in his garage…which isn’t as greasy as it seems, it had a living room/den area to it) and then this hot but dumb and kind of mean guy I met through roommate’s boyfriend. The sex had not been worth it, despite his hotness. Then it became obvious he was only interested in some on-call booty call and I called it quits with that and was convinced by that point that I was to never have a fulfilling, loving relationship with a man. All the while, still very close with best friend and dealing with my family’s madness. I was well aware my best friend was moving to go to state school that fall, while I’d be finishing my bachelors in English at the same school I’d started at four years before. It took me five total. But that wasn’t until August or September…and that June is when I met my future husband, when my best friend was casually kind of seeing a guy who went to the same college as us but lived near my rental in a nearby town. He’d come over to my place a mutual hangout area because neither he or my best friend wanted to really offer up their apartment given his living with his mother and sister and her bitch roommate. Sometimes he would bring friends over too, it was astounding to him to be in a house where we could openly smoke as much weed as we wanted. Which we did. And one of the guys that he brought over was my husband. I didn’t know it at the time, but he was high on shrooms that night that we met. He kept annoying me with how loudly he was talking. I forget the EXACT mechanics of it, but he was invited to a group hanging out at my house once, then one time I met a few others at his house and we smoked hookah in his basement. Then we were Facebook friends. Then from there we had each others’ numbers and were texting to hang out. Then we hung out a few times. Then I guess pretty quickly after that we started having sex, but I’ll give him credit, he did wait a little and there were a few nights where you make out but don’t have sex that are like short-lived and therefore rare and all. Then we were dating, then not that long after that he moved in with me in my rental because his mom said I couldn’t spend the night at their house (he’d told me it was cool, which led to an awkward morning one morning…). Then, before that next Christmas my future husband and I were moving into our own place. We’ve been living together ever since. And he came into my life the same summer I knew was my last living in close proximity to best friend. It was fine, and so oddly fitting, to almost trade them off like that. The friendship was still there, but there’s a frequency capable from close quarters that just naturally can’t be there in different cities, now states. I finally moved from the hometown too though, and now I think of being back there and it seems terrible.

These days, best friend and I see each other maybe twice a year. Though in another state, she’s only a six hour train ride/ four hour car drive (I love the train, personally) and she does come back through to see her parents and younger sister. Her twins in another state down south now, seems to love it. Like I said she was my maid of honor. She’s incredibly busy, and I knew it was going to happen, but it was disappointing all the same not getting to include her for things most people include their MOH for – like she never went to a dress trying on session,  I just texted her pictures of the dress options for herself and picked the one I thought would please everyone the most. The only friend bridesmaids I had were best friend and her twin. The rest (4 others) were husband’s sisters, sister in law, and one cousin. I picked the prettiest cousin, I won’t lie about it. That’s how I went about it, he still have 1 more than me, but I didn’t feel like there was anyone else. The cousin I picked also invited me to her wedding, so I at least was an attendee for hers, untrue of all of his other cousins, and on both sides that’s a big number. But my MOH/best friend was super busy and in another state…so….you know that’s life. She still threw me a bachelorette party, and did the whole wedding weekend.

Now, like i said, we’re at least guaranteed seeing each other around the winter holidays, but she usually has her boyfriend with her, obviously. I like her current bf more than any of the others, who had all been like okay on some level, but a few were more…dickish….than I prefer…. but anyway. We also speak via text sometimes but it’s been over a year since we’ve talked on the phone. She doesn’t seem to like it. We were on an emailing basis for awhile…but I find typing cathartic and I have the deep need to go on and on and on (like I need to explain this to you….) and so I don’t think she liked that either. I don’t get if my issue is I’m too weirdly open to people who aren’t expecting it or….like….I just like the wrong people….or I don’t know I’m too needy? It’s something I’m doing I’m sure. Because it’s like I am married and I do have a best friend, but we have had some ROUGH patches already and I see my best friend a collective 7 hours/year. Not to diminish the fact that she does go out of her way to spend time with me when she’s in the state.

But anyway, I have to go make dinner. I tried HelloFresh and I actually freaking love it. Last night was Lemony Shrimp Rissotto and tonight is maple balsamic chicken with sweet potatoes and broccoli. I love the concept of not having to go to a store for fresh groceries. Fuck stores and the people in them.



Well. That was something.

I wonder if you’ll ever see me in a good mood. It’s hard to write about upsetting topics when you’re in a good mood, because (I feel like it’s obvious) they’re upsetting to write about. Like, that’s one of the reasons I never talk about any of this, how does on casually say things like I don’t speak to my parents? My childhood was simultaneously miserable and stolen from me. There just isn’t a way. It just makes people so obviously uncomfortable, you just don’t do it after awhile. You’ll get this “sorry I asked” look with someone who probes. They’ll learn how barbed you are soon enough.

At the same rate, now that I know for certain at least part of my life is becoming a concrete narrative every day, in the sense that I’ve been writing frequently enough to start to make actual progress with telling someone ABOUT me. Which, to me, includes a great many things. I’ve been trying to refrain from lists, because I don’t know there’s no real stream-of-consciousness feel to a list no matter how haphazardly you write it.

I just read an article about the Mother Wound. I swear to you that this is the first time I’m hearing about this. Which, considering my background, that’s fucking insane. It seems like it must be a sham, having evaded my knowledge for this long. I’m not being full of myself, when you’ve paid (borrowed) what I’ve paid (in-debted myself) you feel a little entitled to certain things. Not because I should just be handed these sorts of bits of wisdom, but because I worked very hard to get through graduate school. The fact that I went to grad school more or less for funsies, and was always pretty open about that, that’s irrelevant. What if I’d gone with the certain sure impression I’d get a full-time teaching gig with insurance that paid more than a shitty retail manager position (which I had by the way the entire I was in grad school, and undergrad)? Would that somehow make me more respectable in your eyes? I’ve literally never been disillusioned by anything before in my life. I mean I got my hopes up about things, but like…I also secretly also always expected horrible disaster. I guess if there’s one thing my family prepared me for…it was that.

That’s the thing, there’s odd benefits. I don’t talk about them much, because 1) talking about them makes you seem like you’re protesting too much, if you get my reference, 2) they tend to make people want to point out times that wasn’t the case. I don’t deal well with being argued with. I know it’s not like…the normal people’s faults…but…it happens none the less. I avoid a lot of it by just staying quiet about things, it’s tremendously easier that way. Except Sea World. And circuses. And the ivory trade. FUCK those guys. The dickweeds who think tiger parts will make them virile too.

For one, I’ve made my peace with the after affects of smoking this much pot. It’s not my fault I need drugs to be happy, and I refuse to believe weed is any worse than an anti-depressant, it’s just a different kind if you ask me, so no hate to pill-takers, I just don’t want to be in that group. I’ve never been in that group. I mean I did Adderall in college, a few times for fun but mostly to stay up all night to get homework done because that was literally the one option open to me when i worked full time at my retail job, went to college full time, managed my boyfriend’s/my apartment/lives, worked a part time pet sitting job on the side. That was hard to fucking manage at times. But my now husband then boyfriend and I got into some pretty nasty fights when we were on that, coming off that. Not anything physical, but just out of control things being yelled back and forth. Stuff that’s pretty scaring in and of itself. I mean you kind of have to write all that off, when you’re both at fault. It almost makes it a relief, when you’re both at fault for something really bad, because then one of you doesn’t feel forced to be the all-forgiving, all-graceful, always-grinning-and-bearing-it being all the time.

Given how guilty I feel, felt, about the whole situation, I wouldn’t be surprised if deep down that wasn’t a big motivator for my…let’s say excursion into keeping a mistress. Like….when I think about….ugh. Yesterday I stopped before I’d concluded my original thought because I felt guilty, I didn’t want to keep writing, I wanted to go cuddle with my husband, so I did as much as I could. That’s all. Because like no matter how much I talk about how fucked up I am, what’s possibly the most fucked up part is how I also know how normal some of my needs are. Like I really do have feelings, and I really do want other people to love and accept me. If that doesn’t sound important to you, you’ve probably never lived with people who wouldn’t be able to say that in earnest. That’s all.


No such thing

I’m bored. This is not a feeling I’m used to having. At least not recently. My childhood was more or less one long stream of being bored and lonely, trying to cheer my mom up, dodging my brother’s intermittent narcissism and need to control me and just avoiding my dad at all costs.

But, I guess there isn’t much time for boredom when you’re supporting yourself by working full time while simultaneously going to college full time. I really felt like i never got enough credit for that. In undergrad, and especially grad school, it was a lot like grade school in the sense that it was the same small group of students in all of your classes. It was a far more enjoyable experience in grad school than the first two times. But being so intimately associated with maybe a dozen other students (about two dozen in undergrad, a lot of education majors with a concentration in English and all that) definitely made one thing abundantly clear – I was the only one who worked full time, and I was the only one who worked full time at a shitty retail job. I’d never had a choice. Just like I couldn’t move into a dorm that August in 2006 like everyone else was because I needed to leave my parents house for good, what was I going to do, move back there that upcoming summer? Hell to the no. So I had to move out into an apartment, that and I couldn’t live in a dorm because I wasn’t just going to leave my cat at my parents. So I had to find an apartment when I was 18 and still in high school. I did, and I remember quite distinctly when I first broke the news to my mom. She did not take it well. She trotted out what would become one of her favorite self-deprecating phrases for years to come, it “made her feel like a failure.” I guess it made her feel like a failure that her 18 year old daughter was bolting from her familial home as soon as she possible could. She then told me she guessed it didn’t matter what she said because I was going to do what I wanted anyway. She always said that when she was in her worst moods, implied that was I just so awful because I seemed like I didn’t even care about her, like I cared about my friends (what friends?) and music and anything else in the world more than her. So, in other words, she wasn’t able to emotionally manipulate and control me like her mom could with her, so I must be the rotten apple in that equation. I distinctly remember my mom asking childhood me why I always had to be so different, very much implying it was wrong (possibly sinful) of me to be that way. So my mom was trotting out the big guns that late spring day I told her I was moving out right after graduation.

Of course, we didn’t tell my dad or brother until the very last minute. Somehow, they didn’t notice my room slowly emptying of all of its possessions as I gradually moved in. Of course they freaked the fuck out. My dad decided to try the you’re-a-nasty-little-girl (my Grandma screamed that at me a lot) approach too. I remember he called me out to the lecturing room, and he’d do this thing where he’d summon you, mute the TV then when you appeared before him he’d point where you were to sit or stand. Sometimes he enjoyed making you stand before him, slightly to the right (so he could watch the muted TV still) because that made it a lot easier to pick apart your movements and actions, to pull his I’m-a-cop bullshit that makes me hate and distrust cops to this day. There’s a certain fucking evil mentality that’s drawn to that job, and I’ve seen it in other prick cops, and it makes me almost glad when they got shot in the line of duty (of course its never the ones that need to go that do, is it? the “few bad apples” we call them. Like brutality and the death of innocent, unarmed citizens are unfortunate but necessary byproducts of allowing shitheads an undeserved level of power). I wish my dad had been.  Like when you’re an angry teenager and you’re already being forced to stand at attention while some undeservedly smug fat piece of shit chews tobacco and rocks in his lazyboy and drinks coffee sermonizes you over and over and over, saying the same fucking sentence twelve times over, giving you the opportunity to answer how he wanted you to answer and nothing else (if the baited answer was not given, a punishment of at least 20 extra minutes of lecturing was to come) and then in later lectures that baited answer would be trotted out “Well, YOU said…” see how it works? Well when that’s all already happening, and then on top of that he’s asking you questions in his I’m-trying-be-obnoxious-on-purpose tone of voice about why you’re standing with your arms crossed, why are you looking at the curtains? Or, better yet, he’d just tell you what your body language meant, well you cocked your head to the side while you were talking, so that means you didn’t mean it, so another 45 minutes of nothing but the grating, horrid sound of his voice. My mom of course would do NOTHING to help or save me, because she herself was trying to avoid the lecturing stance. That was his favorite. He was typically unemployed, or if he did work it was at some trash job that I was embarrassed to tell people about on the rare occasion someone asked me where my parents worked. He would call my mother out into the lecturing room around 11pm or so, the time she would normally be looking to go to bed because she had to work in the morning, and that’s when he’d launch in on her about whatever egregious sin she’d committed that day (hour). He especially loathed it when she stood up for my brother, but I think he was jealous. He obviously never got over his own childhood, he somehow thought marrying and having kids (not raising them, mind you) would normalize/fix him. But when it did the exact opposite, being a small/shitty person he just kind of decided to give up and he took 2 out of 3 down with him.

There was more than one price to pay for my escape though, trust me. Like it really did forever put a rift in the deep, huge, disproportionate, frighteningly large hopes my mom had for our relationship into my adulthood. She probably never forgave that, along with like 10 other things I had to do that she chose to be hurt over. She told me in these exact words (years later) that “my whole world fell apart when you moved.” I’m sorry (no I’m not really sorry it’s an expression) but how is it MY fault that you decided your “whole world” (i.e. her personal happiness) depended on me? How is that on ME? It’s not MY fault you decided I was your reason for living. Like, I KNOW it sounds ungrateful and shitty, but it is NOT COOL to tell someone that they’re the “one bright spot in [your] life.” Like…not when your addled mind makes the instant conclusion from there that I OWE YOU something. It was too much, dealing with my psychotic, vicious drunk drug addict POS father, on top of my mom and brother’s and Grandma’s problems,  it was too much. What’s funny to think about now is JUST how hysterical they all were about keeping everything hush-hush, about seeming normal. My mom’s level of concern over what others think of her is immeasurable. It matters much, much more than anything that could possibly happen behind closed doors. The podunk phrase she always used was “I don’t like nobody to know my business.” And you would be AMAZED what fell under the category of “my business” to her.

It was hard, it was hard and it made me so terrible and angry. Like I literally don’t know what to do most days because really I’d just be so much better off if they all were gone. Which makes me terrible sad, because my mom really does love me, she tried to be a good mom. But she was too weak to leave, for a plethora of reasons I’m sure, and we suffered so greatly because of that, and there’s no side-stepping that fact when it’s always glaring you in the face. I’ve noticed, in probably the past year of our secret correspondence, she has COMPLETELY stopped mentioning my dad. She’ll sometimes mention my brother, but really only in relation to something else not on his own. There’s probably nothing to say. He had a job for awhile but he quit (unsurprising). As far as I know he’s off of heroin and just smoking insane amounts of weed because he grows it in my parents’ basement. That’s my brother for you. You can really tell my dad is slipping in his old age (drug and alcohol abuse will accelerate that, after all) because like 15 years ago this would NOT have happened. But I guess things were a lot different then. In a bad, bad way, at least for me. That’s the thing, as much as I’m like, agh,  I’m aging/weighing more than I ever have, my life  is still inexpressibly better now than it’s ever been, because each year is another year away from all that shit. It’s too much for me to bear that’s why I have to do this. Like it’s like there was this poison I was forced to eat (in secret) all my life and now, as I am an adult and see that like most other people were given non-poisonous options as children, I’m like…why did my mom keep making me eat this when she could’ve made it stop? And that’s a hard thing to think about because I’ve spent all these years sanctifying her, but like she was there the whole time, aware of how terrible it was. And now, I’m trying to have things in my life not smeared all over with this shit (the poison, I’m running with simile, hold on). But there’s A LOT of it in me still. From like, way back. So, if I could afford therapy one would imagine that’s where I should start, but I think I’ve explained like 4 times that I can’t. And Word Press is free…so….

I am quite fortunate I look the way I do. Which, because this is all anonymous and shit, I can say the following for the first time in all honesty. If I had to be honest and rate myself, I’d say I’m like…a 7.5 out of 10, looks wise. I mean I’d say 8 but the drinking/desk job have taken their toll. You don’t realize how much exercise your job entails until you start a new one that involves sitting all day. But if you like the kind of personality I have (and let’s face it, if you get above 6 on your personal hottness meter you’ll usually start running into intellectual low hanging branches (I bike, to me those are the worst sort of things) so the fact that I have personality/intelligence going on at all is usually met with surprise) you might just think I’m a 10. But I don’t know if things would’ve worked out for me romantically if I looked like…average. I met my husband shortly after my 21st birthday, when he was still 20. It’s insane to think about everything that’s happened since then. I’ll say this, there are times when I require extreme patience on someone else’s part. But there have been so many times when I wonder what would’ve become of this relationship if I didn’t have the enormous tolerance that I do for…well I guess let’s keep calling it poison. Even though that’s one of those words I always classically misspell. I mean some seriously fucked up shit has gone down. Most of it was due to alcohol in some capacity. But I always think about how, despite the shitty times, my life would have been/would be much less fulfilling and happy if I hadn’t been spending those years with my husband. Which, as it turns out, I guess that matters more than wanting to not get over stuff, as you can probably tell by now is my nature. I mean it’s not like I’m over some shit, but certain things get easier as the years pass. Other things don’t.

Like, okay let’s be real, if you’re going to have a side chick, and you’re going to be open about that with your spouse, it’s going to be weird. It did. One could argue I took it too far because my husband let me. I guess you’ll have to take my word for it that even when I was enjoying myself, I felt terrible about it at the same time. Like I think about it now and I honestly feel terrible, about my husband not about the other guy, he was well aware what he was getting into. It got kind of complicated and fucked then I got so sick of all of it.

One from the archives

Well it’s Saturday morning, arguably my most sacred writing opportunity. I know, if someone my age with children read that they’d be rolling their eyes, commenting on how nice it must be. Yeah, it is. Good job thinking crotchfruit was going to fulfill your life.

But that’s not what I want to get into, I think it’s been made clear I have like 12 reasons I wouldn’t make an appropriate mother. Once and only once did my mother in law make a comment to me about how she hoped she had grandchildren who remembered her. She’s 69. My Grandma was 70 the year I was born and I sure remember her. But I sure as shit am not pounding out a kid in the next year. Since then my mother in law hasn’t mentioned it, I mean really it’s not MY fault her daughter was such a dud. Like my brother. That’s probably why they dated, even though more than three of us told my sister in law it was a bad idea. But she’s not the sort of person to deny herself. I just knew it’d end and my brother would be worse off than before. Which is exactly what happened. Now she moved in with a new boyfriend, a guy who works as a DJ at the strip club she works at. She calls it “dancing” her mother calls it “the bar” but lets get real for a second here, she sucks dick for a living. I mean there’s lapdances and shit too, but the real $ is in the sex acts. Am I saying this based on supposition? No, unfortunately no. There was a time when the apartment my husband and I lived in was en route from her swanky palace of an apartment to the club in the city, so she’d stop at our place to get ready on occasion. One time, she was nearly ready to leave (so it was roughly 9 or 10pm) and I said something along the lines of “Ugh, I wish I didn’t have to do homework all night” as I was still in graduate school at this point. My husband confirmed he too did not want to spend the evening doing homework, at which point my sister in law (in a manner that she CLEARLY picked up from her mother, where she takes on the same vocal inflections as the person she’s imitating, which is a huge peeve of mine anyway, because believe me people wouldn’t like it if I started mimicking them) was like “Well I don’t feel like sucking dick all night!”

……As if…..on some planet… some way……our choices to be in college were likened to HER CHOICE to work as a stripper/prostitute well into her 40s. I of course didn’t respond, because silence is actually a great means to respond if the person knows you heard them. She even went on to describe all of the mouth blisters she was forming because she more or less guzzles cock full time. I again had no response, i don’t feel sorry for her at all, at least not when it comes to this. Yeah it sucks she had a shitty, shitty, shitty dad (Get the fuck in line though, right?) but her mom and her stepdad and three of her 4 grandparents were really, really good to her. But she wouldn’t like it if you pointed that out to her. That’s the thing, her psyche/brain is kind of like the size and consistency of a hummingbird eggshell so she very much gets to act like/say/do anything she wants and you better be cheerful and supportive and understanding even when she’s being REALLY inappropriate. Like she doesn’t understand boundaries. My husband is literally young enough to be her son (she was 15 when he was born, I work with a girl who was 16 when she gave birth to her son, which I passive aggressively bring up all the time because I like driving home how little my husband owes his sister a father figure) but really, until I started helping him see how deeply inappropriate and ineffectual his HEAVY level of involvement with his sister’s fucked up life was. She’s 15 years older than him, but when I met my husband she was calling him every night after getting home from work to talk about the disgusting shit she had to do at work (want examples? Chaldeans’ dicks even reek like cologne, and tons of guys want a stripper to lick their asshole) to like feel better about it? I think that’s something fucked people do, like if they’re doing something they know is wrong, somehow involving another person or telling them about it and to “keep it secret” assuages some of the rottenness involved in it. And she was in a very unhealthy codependent relationship with a guy who actually tragically took his own life I think 5 years ago, so he was wrestling with some very real demons and my sister in law more or less functioned as a slave and financier for him, she was afraid to leave him, even when he did and said terrible shit, because she was convinced he’d kill himself and go to Purgatory.

I know, my big issue, all right one of the big issues, is that I take extreme hurt/offense to the behavior of the truly mentally ill. And writing that makes me seem awful, which I kind of assumed I was anyway, in like a dark, ruined sort of way, not like an intentional I’m a cunty bitch kind of way. But like all right that’s fine but YOU have got to realize two things: 1) I was SURROUNDED, on all sides by the mental and emotional abuse of adults and other children, for the entirety of my childhood. The ONLY peace I knew (which this sentence is revolting because that was the name of the school I went to) was when I was alone. My parents at work, my brother off somewhere else.  2) When you’re too crazy for normal and too normal for crazy you will know what loneliness is.

And that’s really it, it was that and then like….the mental illness of my entire family. I always felt really strange and out of place, even as a child. Like i feel like I kind of maybe understand transpeople, as they like have this sense from their earliest memory that something is not right. You can’t really articulate that shit as a child, at least not in my case. Like if a kid is abused their whole life, in any way, it really like takes them a second to figure out that shit isn’t normal. I don’t feel that way in regards to my gender, but the way everyone acted and treated one another and used mental and emotional abuse as like…tools….idk it was so fucked, like I’ll describe certain incidents to certain people and they just get uncomfortable and quiet, if they let me finish. Which they usually don’t. That was one of my dad’s favorites. You would not DARE interrupt one of his pontifications, but he would ALWAYS interrupt you while you spoke. He always looks at his watch every minute or so when my mom is telling him something. When he was lecturing my brother or I (which I feel was probably one of the most profound sources of joy imaginable for him) WHATEVER you responded with, if it was a word or a sentence, he felt compelled to at least treble the amount of time he was speaking relative to yours. I know this makes me sound insane but when you spend that many hours being talked at, you tend to watch the clock in the room. It always was in the same room, like he almost had this creepy ritualization about all of it. After I moved out but when I was still speaking to my parents, he’d call SO frequently, and it would always wind up being at least a 45 minute endeavor DESPITE your many hints and pleas that you needed to go, like being busy and only speaking in monosyllables. But you wouldn’t dare not answer, because then he’d leave some nasty voicemail that started with “OH I see you’re not speaking to me,” or a text that said the same. That was a favorite, he’d text, I’d respond, then he’d call because he didn’t feel like “pushing that many buttons.” He said that every time. He was basically ALWAYS doing something that was aggravating, on purpose, because constantly poking at someone is a way to torture and control them. Because then he’d gotten you, a captive audience, on the phone. What would he talk about? Well, whatever his incredibly drunk and or fucked up on pills mind had wandered to that second. I don’t know why, it was probably something like his dad never let him speak or something, but nothing made him happier to talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk. It was terrible and makes me hate phone conversations. If your phone reciprocity wasn’t 100% there was going to be big trouble, which I know some gushy twat who has daddy issues/misses her daddy would probably be all high and mighty talking about how THEY wished THEIR dad was around to bug them with calls all the time. And there is 1 response to people that want to compare situations/fathers – I would have been so much better off without him in my life. I don’t care if your perfect angel father died when you were 12, I mean that’s tragic and all but that doesn’t mean I should tolerate the invasive, gnawing abuse that is all MY dad has to offer.  I saw a meme that was like “#ItsAbuseWhen ‘He calls you 40 times in a row because you screened him trying to avoid an argument or lecture'” and I know that was about romantic relationships, but he DEFINITELY does that shit to my mom. I really can’t even get into all that because that’s it own thing, and all of this was actually supposed to be a prelude to a story I wanted to tell. It’s not the saddest or the worst, but it’s a beautiful snippet of what my earlier teenage years were like. When my brother is 3 years older, so we went to the same high school for one year, then the next year he was still at home and working, not in college, he never bothered trying to go to college.

This might not seem like pertinent information, but it is. I was a sophomore, it was becoming fast-obvious that I would need a computer, a new one with the ability to connect to the internet (aging myself I guess, they’d been around for a quite a few years, but quick side note, you know how they make different versions of a new thing and then one REALLY just wins out? Like Tassimo v. Keurig. We all know who won that, Kindle v. Nook too. Well, my dad, persuaded by the trashy idiots he worked with when I was in the 8th grade, decided not to get AOL for our computer via the phone line, like everyone else was doing, but to get WEB TV. No one today even knows what that is, but it was more or less connecting to the internet via cable modem, you could send emails and visit websites via your TV screen and a wireless keyboard, but it sucked. I never tried it for porn, maybe it worked well for that? but either way it became obvious I couldn’t use the Web TV for anything fun like my friends could with their computers, then not having Windows 95 fucked me. Like it doesn’t sound that sad but it’s kind of sad to have been a 90s kid who didn’t get to play most of the classic 90s computer games because your dad is short sighted and gullible). So it was decreed the Windows 3.1 Packard Bell would have to go. They left it out on the curb with the crude beginnings of my first written works, and someone took it. Like literally the darkest fear I have is someone stole those ideas and formed them into something roughly recognizable as the offspring of those thoughts, like I have. So my Grandma, as always, had to step in an financially assist in the purchase of this item for me.

It was exciting, getting a new computer, finally being able to use it for all the things my friends had for years (we’re talking AIM and the Sims and stuff, okay, nothing insane? Oh yeah, also Xanga and LiveJournal) and it was set up in my room, as that was where the old one had wound up…which is a funny story, it had at one point been out in the room my dad held his lectures from, but one night my dad was particularly angry about something and maybe drunk or high on pills of some sort or another? We’re talking like ativan or xanax or shit you know and he kicked the desk the computer was on so violently, it broke down the middle being shitty particle board, so the computer was transferred into my room on my desk as  gesture of good will from my brother because he’d been the cause for the anger that caused the kick destruction of the original home of the PB. So naturally the new one went there as well. THEN, on two separate occasions, my brother and dad got really weird and really shitty with me over the fact that I had something, the most new and most expensive something in the house, that they didn’t. I’d never experienced this before because I had never before been the one to have gotten the new/best thing. The big ticket purchase were always exclusively for my dad and brother. How? Well, do you realize how expensive of hobbies hunting and fishing are? Or at least, can be if you’re a pretentious idiot who impulsively purchases things whenever they have even an imaginary bit to spend, by imaginary I mean on credit. There were hunting trips. There were fly fishing trips. There was a boat, one year. But boats are a lot of work to take out so that thing left our house MAYBE a dozen times that I can remember. There was the hunting dog that was never even trained let alone hunted like he should have been, he also died young because they wouldn’t fix him because they were going to breed him one day…which never happened but the dog got to die slowly of cancer that started in his testicles. Then the supplies, my god. The coats and waders and fly rods and reels and decoys and calls and money to the owner of the land they hunted on because he’d assholed his way out of ever using the family hunting camp again, and the GUNS. One year, when I was in probably the 4th grade, my mom and I went to an open house at a dance school that was literally 6 blocks from our house that I’d always wanted to attend. I’d assumed, as a child, that going to this sort of thing meant it was finally going to happen this year (you could start going at any time, it ran parallel to the school year most of the time, with the big recital every spring) but I was quite wrong. The point of the open house is to enroll in the classes and purchase the necessary shoes. I remember quite distinctly trying on tap shoes and showing my mom, who was going out of her way to seem disinterested and unenthusiastic, quite unlike her. I guess she’d thought it wasn’t going to be so much like the first day of school. Because nothing ever came of it, even though I kept pointing out I could walk there and back on class days, I was honestly so trying to 1) “find my sport” as my dad put it, it’s like he couldn’t accept I didn’t have one rare strange athletic talent 2) to meet potential friends that weren’t girls from my awful school. But it never happened. Then, less than a month after that they bought my brother a shotgun. A shotgun that he definitely years later pawned for heroin money. Same with the fly rod and reel. But anyway, back to the computer, but I just wanted THIS memory to be fresh. Oh also, because I showed actual upset at being denied dance school when my 13 year old brother just got a man’s firearm my dad promised to give my mom the $ so she could buy me something of equal value. It happened….after many months, but it wasn’t that much $….I inquired when my dad planned on giving up the rest of it, he told me he’d given my mom all of it. Turned out, she spent it on bills. So, weird long story short, we never had that much $ to spare again, but I was just to silently accept this and move on because insubordination of any kind on my part was not really remotely tolerated.

My brother was quite accustomed to his place at the front of the line, I guess, because he freaked out first. I was still in high school and he wasn’t, so he came into my room after I’d already gone to bed for the night because he wanted to use my computer to AIM chat with his friends, this was before anyone had a cell phone to text with. I told him I was trying to sleep and he needed to get out, my bedroom was TINY, maybe 20 square feet and filled with furniture. He said something along the lines of I needed to stop telling him what to do with the family computer, so I quickly retorted again that he needed to get out (he was psychotic about kicking me out of his room if I stepped a toe inside) and that it was my computer as Grandma bought it for me. Which classic my brother he stormed out at that, I could immediately hear him relaying to our mom what I’d said, mimicking me in this godawful falsetto like he loved to do (keep in mind he’s like…18 at this point). I half expected my dad to come storming in, turning the SUPER bright hallway light on and then throwing my door open like he loved to do, he did that to all three of us when we were sleeping sometimes. But he must have not been home or hadn’t heard. And that was the end of that with my brother. But I guess that same super childish super petty jealousy was at work in my dad as well.

He saw a commercial, most unfortunately, about the company we’d happened to purchase a PC from this time (Gateway) and there was a current promotion involving a free digital camera with purchase. This was something he’d wanted as of late. He called, inquiring only to find out we’d gotten our computer before the promotion had begun, and there was nothing we could do to get the free camera now. He, of course– another side note, he’d worked a shitty commission job for the past few years after three of unemployment after his disgraced exit from his first career, it instilled DEEP retail bitterness in him, which I understand but he of course acted like a lunatic about it like he did about everything. He immediately informed Gateway, then me, that we were returning the computer immediately, and I needed to figure out how to pack it up and ship it back (it’d been ordered online and shipped to the house…I have no idea why they didn’t just go to a store and purchase one…aside from the fact that my dad refused to involve himself because he couldn’t bear to see that much money come from my Grandma and go to something intended for his children). He had had customers he’d worked with for half a work day buy $5000 worth of furniture, only to return all but one end table, and that made him so prone to wanting to take things back. More than once he even talked about getting rid of the hunting dog he’d whined for for so long. Plus HE always had to bend over backwards for customers, so there was going to be deep retaliation if he didn’t get what he wanted. But of course that also involved taking away something I needed AND wanted. He used his one of his favorite lines “They might not care, but NEITHER DO I!” Somehow, getting to say that about something was REALLY up there on the list of joyful activities. To which I responded, “Well, I do!” To which he retorted, “Well I suggest you stop!” And stormed off, sure once my mom got home from work he’d get his way.

BUT, something truly unprecedented happened and my mom talked him out of his direct path to sticking it to Gateway by returning this one computer. She even told me that, had it been a few years in the past, she would’ve just done whatever he wanted so she didn’t have to hear about it. That’s how she always put it. Real loving marriage, right?

BUT THEN, on another night I was again attempting to sleep  in my room and my dad barged in, wanting right then and there for me to show him how to use the computer  and start an email address. This was an extreme show of benevolence on his part as he was trying to give an opportunity to make up defying him with my own feelings on a topic. But my response that I was going to sleep soon (I’d been lying on my bed in the dark which screams come in and bother me I guess) was NOT well received. He stormed off into the living room that contained my mother, yelling to her that I was so OBVIOUSLY conveying the sentiment that that was MY computer, and I didn’t want HIM touching it. At which point my dickweed brother overhears and storms out of his room, throwing gas on that fire by yelling with agreement, that he, too, was hurt and wounded by my unbearable selfishness regarding an item that had been purchased for me. WHEN REALLY, I just wanted to sleep, and they were SO unused to disregarding every want and need my mother or I could have…it just didn’t dawn on them that that might be the case. No, I was being small and selfish and petty like they would’ve been, that was it, they always knew what I was thinking and feeling more than I did, that’s why they were so comfortable telling me how to do so. At which point I hear my dad say something about smashing the computer with a hatchet, which I mean given his history I kind of expected to happen. It didn’t, I remember my mom getting REALLY angry, because to her, her time sitting in an easy chair, eating some snack food or another, watching TV alone at night was the only part of the day she enjoyed at all, so naturally my dad was always quite keen to spoil it for her, sometimes by starting a loud and long one-sided conversation, sometimes by sneering and disparaging her for what she eating, he ESPECIALLY got angry with her if she was eating ice cream. Sometimes my mom would get mad and throw the bowl, still half full or whatever, in the sink and run water over it, which was exactly what he wanted. I remember coming up from the basement, I’d been looking for something, and I saw an abandoned bowl of heavenly hash on the counter, and I got a sinking feeling because I’d known what had just transpired. My dad was just truly convinced if he “ruffled a few feathers” as he LOVED to put it, he’d be able to berate and ridicule my mom into being thin. Granted, she does have an issue with food, she still does, she always has, at least for as long as I can remember. Given who she’s married to, and the fact that she doesn’t have any other vices (besides disassociating from your life as heavily and often as possible) it’s not that shocking. She literally just said in the last email she sent to me that she can’t go to the movies without popcorn because it smells soooo good and she eats it until she feels sick. She literally told me when I was a teenager that she would eat a lot after dinner because it was “like a release.” I didn’t even realize until I was much older that that’s a pretty sexual thing to say. I’m sure she didn’t either.

So wow, I just spent the entire morning trying to coherently get across just one story about my family’s group mental illness, as I like to describe it, but look how complicated it gets. My problems are the two things I stated long ago. And like, you might wonder what makes me so fucking wonderful? I don’t know, it’s a culmination of things. Do you think people are born intelligent or hard working or self soothing/sustaining/sufficient? Because I am all of those things, but I don’t know if it’s just the fact that their crazy didn’t pass down, or was it all the environment? I know reading had a lot to do with it but I don’t know what made me start liking to read in the first place. Plus then like if you start reading like crazy from the earliest point you’re able to (I literally remember being angry there were kindergarteners who could read and I couldn’t. I knew the alphabet and could write my name, but reading wasn’t taught until first grade) and keep doing it through most of your life, and you get two degrees in literature….and you spend all your spare goddamn time writing and trying to right yourself. Because I’m like fucked up, not fucked. There’s a pretty obvious difference. Being in the outcast position is kind of self perpetuating which makes it comfortable. I mean I got out, in more ways than one, but it makes you hard, it makes you kind of cruel. Plus, the more years I’m married, the more I realize how lacking I am in certain emotional areas. Like I’m always going to assume the worst of everyone. My first instinct is going to be to straight ghost someone out of my life. I get this really aggressive, do you really want to start this shit with me? sort of face going. I know when I’m doing it but I can’t really help it. You don’t really grow up like I did and not have a million defense mechanisms. Like I said, too normal for crazy, too crazy for normal. Plus when you don’t know how to express yourself before just assume (when you’re a certain level of pretty) that’s you’re a cold, uninterested bitch. I did not handle romantic disappointment well. I guess now it’s different because my husband and I have a very permanent view of our marriage. I did tell him I’d divorce him if he didn’t stop drinking, but really it was the only thing that was going to work. Too many incidents had happened (thankfully, nothing with the law) already, and they just kept happening. And it worked. He went to an AA meeting that night. No matter how angry I might feel with him sometimes, I do give him all the credit/respect that deserves, given how bad his habit could be at times. And he hasn’t drank at all since, not even communion wine. I’ve since given up drinking except on the rare occasions we go out, sometimes not even then if they don’t have one I like, wherever we are. Which is such a positive change from how we used to be, which was like drunk every day? Like really I don’t know where the $ came from for all the beer/booze. But when you notice your skins starting to look less radiant and you feel how many beers you had the night before, it’s not even remotely worth it anymore.

This is so terrible, I’d truly be worried about anyone who read this, unless I like asked a professional to to kind of rush up on me. Because as simple as it is to write all this while I’m high at home by myself, telling all this to another person would be awful. Except my husband, just because it’s like well we’re in this huge commitment I should probably clue you in to my fucked upedness because there are surely times he uses that to reason with himself to not get angry when I’m being an extra shitty person. Which, I mean it kind of annoys me, but I’m also kind of aware of how much more sensitive he is than me, I mean it’s obvious/natural, but I’m still like, OH RIGHT, I forget how MY being mad is the equivalent to DEEP emotional abuse to you, when you don’t even know the first thing about that sort of shit. Not to discredit his actual pain, his mom can be manipulative and purposely frustrating, but he always equates it to worry over her daughter’s bar lifestyle, as she puts it. Which I’m sure it is. Which is too bad in so many ways.

But, I guess if someone wanted to figure me out, they could. I’d be interested if I betrayed enough details to give away my position. It’s hard to never use names, but it’s worth it.

I just need to keep going until I can’t think of anything I haven’t written about anymore.

So, I guess it’s good I tend to have oodles of free time.

Until next time then,