Tell us how you REALLY feel

I sincerely HATE that phrase. Which is a catch 22 in itself because that what I just said would probably make someone want to say it again. But I feel like it’s genuinely rude. I’m sure most people don’t mean it that way but that doesn’t mean they can’t have a fucking brain about what they’re saying. I always have to.

Well, it’s Friday so my weekly ritual of depositing my paycheck and then coming home and smoking a bowl while I pay bills has passed, so I’m in an expected terrible mood. It’s like I work full time (albeit, I worked a few shortened workweeks due to the recent holidays and that’s part of my issue) and now have $128 left until next Friday. Granted, that’s removing all of the bills I NEEDED to pay this week, but those are also quite depressing/angering because I had to pay the $141.61 I pay every month in student loans, of which I owe about 90K worth. Yeah, my stupid fucking two degrees that did NOT get me my current job were not worth that but I do a lot of stuff just for the fuck of it.

Like speaking of, there’s always all this shit I want to discuss because I’ve never told anyone before – excepting mostly my husband, he knows about most of the grimy shit. The only reason I really don’t want him to read this is because I’ll want to be pissed and bitch about him. Because really the only people I have in my life that I could complain to about him are for varying reasons not an ideal audience. So it’s this. Which is fine because I think I might for the first time be successfully journaling. It’s working because I’ve finally figured if I just eat less/healthier and don’t drink every day I can manage to not have to exercise and therefore spend my evenings writing either this or my creative endeavor. This is not all that creative for me, it’s like a memoir, which is more or less a memory game. Unfortunately I have a lot of terrible vivid memories that I am going to bring up at some point. They’re no fun for me either.

But like also, and probably because of, all that kind of makes me a pissed off individual. And idk I’ve managed pretty well, I think I’m like just the right blend of things people generally just ignore/don’t fuck with, like white and female and tall and pretty. Down here, that’s the order those things matter in. But the older I get the closer I feel like I am to being confrontational with a stranger like I saw my dad do (he was probably wasted on something) as a child. The fear I’ll ever be like him is real. I’m sure I’ve said that by now but I’m not reading back through this, at least not right away. One of the more interesting things for me will be to see how many times I go back to something. Now I’m thinking about that…what is it a parable….about a dog returning to its vomit? Is that what this is?

Yeah probably but whatever. I’d be watching TV or exercising (but probably watching TV) if I weren’t at this.

One thing that would be fun to talk about is the fact that last November (the beginning of the month) my husband and I tried swinging for the first time. Prior, I had had my side chick for an unfortunately extended period of time, he’d tried unsuccessfully on his end to engage in a similar relationship with someone he knew from college. We’d decided to try an ‘even playing field’ so to speak. The first couple – lets call them M&K because I think legally there’s no way someone could claim that was libel. Plus it’s not illegal to swap partners. But that is definitely the kind of way it feels, like how I did the few times in my life I had to go out and buy my own weed. Ugh. Gross. But we met M&K at a bowling alley near home, bowled a few games, drank a whole lot of beer and talked a bunch. Then we went to K’s house, eventually after a little weed and some more beer (except for my husband who does not drink of course) we got down to fucking. I’ll give him credit, he did go down on me (second guy who I’ll talk about later I’m sure never did). But eh idk, he was kind of chubby, which is okay if you like have a big dick but he didn’t. Plus like I hadn’t ever been with a guy with that much a curve before. It’s like wow that’s unfortunate there’s not a ton of it but it still manages to veer so violently…. Plus the thing you kind of expect to happen did happen, where because he’s in an relationship he regularly has sex without condoms, then now he’s drunk and high and wearing a condom and trying to fuck a stranger for the first time. So obviously it was like 5 minutes max he and I were having sex. I remember kind of trying to you know help out but 1) it was cold AF in the room she said we should use, 2) A ton of lights were on and I HATE having sex with the lights on, that’s possibly the squarest thing about me. Then my husband kept at it for longer but because she kept telling him to change positions he ended up just going down on her for a super long time. Like it sucks being drunk and bored and cold and self conscious watching your husband eat some girl out. Like it wasn’t painful, but like that all was far from enjoyable. Then after like another 40 awkward minutes we all gave up, got dressed, we left. The next day I got a text from him saying he was sorry and he’d make it up to me. Now at this point my husband and I had both privately thought this guy is a shit bag. I responded with some like happens to everyone bullshit then he never responded. About two weeks later I inquired with him (husband/her didn’t exchange numbers) if they wanted to try and get together. He took a day to respond claiming he’d left his phone at home the night before and they were busy the night in question. Then silence until yesterday. It was funny because I’d been thinking about them during the day, then he texts me. After some obnoxious small talk back and forth he strongly implies he’s after meeting me for sex because his girlfriend is super busy with work. Like in no way did I ever imply I was into that, and he is not that good in bed and his dick is sub par, what about that am I supposed to be groveling after? I decided silence was a good way to answer his inquiry and today I got the “You there?” Like really? Who does that? Who’s like oh yeah let’s ignore this person for 3 months then hit them up for sex because I’m SUCH a god at it. Pffft. Someone thought they got my number and were wrong. Shocking.

Okay, since I’m on a roll, second guy wasn’t too long after that actually. We met this couple through the same website as the first, but these ones we met at a swanky bar downtown, you know where everything is overpriced. I remember it being cold as shit out. The three of us got really plastered, we barhopped for awhile. Then they seemed to be getting cold feet about the situation so they were going to drop us off at our car, then like we started making out, and they decided they wanted to get a hotel room instead. So we drank at one last bar, the one in the hotel, then we went to our overpriced room. And the guy in this scenario had the same issues, and this one didn’t even smoke weed. But I guess he wasn’t used to that level of alcohol intake, neither was she. I was hungover the next morning but not nearly as bad as the two of them. I don’t think he and I ever actually had sex. I remember sucking his dick a lot and almost vomiting on it a few times (which makes me think of the Sarah Silverman joke where she says that’s okay to do if you can save it at the end with a “Ta-da!”). My husband got to have sex with the girlfriend so that worked out. Then we parted on amicable terms with them the next morning. I was so hung over the rest of the day.

Then, about two weeks after our initial downtown overnight date with V&K (second couple) we were invited to his cabin. I was like how am I friends with someone with a cabin? It was really nice, it was a fun experience, I don’t want to get into extreme details but it was on a small relatively private lake, they had a hot tub on a deck facing the water and for the first time in my life I skinny dipped. There was a cold fall rain that made being in 100 degree water feel awesome. I was also really wasted. Like I just KEEP drinking sometimes. Like I don’t want to stop because that’s going to make me realize that I want food/water/sleep/to be at home. Again my husband and the girlfriend had sex, but again the guy’s dick didn’t work. Like really sometimes this shit makes me feel like my pussy has some kind of repellent in it. But also I guess this second time I fell asleep on him, so who knows? My husband told me this happened because he was having sex on a different bed in the same room. The morning after this night at the cabin things seemed fine, we all sat around drinking coffee and talking for awhile before parting ways. But that was like a little less than 2 months ago, and it’s been radio silence ever since. I can’t tell if I said or did something terrible that I don’t remember? It seems unlikely my sober husband would’ve fucked up enough to make them want to stop communication. Or maybe they just broke up, it could’ve been anything. Both sets of couples weren’t married, in fact the other two sets had both been together for less than a year. The first ones met on OK Cupid the second ones met through friends from college.

So yeah, that’s the not incredibly fabulous story of our brief foray into the swinging world. I feel stupid because I paid for a membership to a website I suddenly have no interest in using. The number of couples looking for couples that are our age bracket, our preferred races (not saying which ones, but lets be fair we can’t help what we find attractive right? this isn’t any worse than fetishizing a race you dicks), smart enough to carry on conversations with, interesting enough to spend “dates” with, etc. it’s a very limited number.

I’d be open to something that comes about organically in the future, and maybe next time I’ll talk about what got us started doing this in the first place.

 

~Cass

The physical pain of sadness

Today at work I felt so down it made my neck tense. Which sounds like the least important thing in the world, but there are days I get excruciating tension headaches, and it makes it impossible to function. I’ve left work sick twice, both times for headaches. It’s embarrassing. A lot’s embarrassing.

Speaking of things I felt embarrassed at work, today it really hit home how embarrassed I am by the fact that my husband is unemployed, and has really only worked shit, dead-end jobs since he graduated from college (he did not work through college, like I did full time while also taking care of all of our household things). It’s like does this not make you feel like shit? But it’s not like i can ask him that. He’s more defensive than I can even comprehend why.

 

Okay so between last paragraph and this one I decided it was time to finally discuss my husband’s latest two freak-outs with him. It’s really just the same fucking argument and discussions over and over again. It’s been 7.5 years already. Not of marriage, just the whole relationship.

So at any rate, I’m kind of drained from all that, and my head kind of hurts, so I’m not going to be taking long. That discussion, like most of ours, went for like 30 minutes longer than necessary. And one of us only gets a few hours of free time every day (spoiler : IT’S ME) and maybe don’t want to spend the whole of it in an unpleasant conversation. It’s annoying enough having to take the time to eat in the evening. If I could just not need dinner, life would be a lot easier. But I already have a pot of black coffee for breakfast, I think if I have 6 cans of La Croix for dinner my teeth will rot out/I will die.

Plus I have creative pursuits. The writing I’ve so strongly hinted at before, of course. I need time for those. And after eating/the tired that eating brings, it’s pretty much time for bed. It’s good there’s really no good TV shows in existence anymore because I don’t have time. I don’t have children, most days I think I won’t ever. First of all the idea of being physically pregnant freaks me out and disgusts me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m also not all that impressed by it. You know what takes 0% talent/intelligence? Getting knocked up. Plus like…okay a few things. Of course there’s the global issues, like the state the world/environment will be in when children I’d metaphorically have grew up. The general sense that I don’t want to produce another generation with the mental illnesses that run in our families. The specific sense that I’m too fucked up from my own childhood to raise children correctly and will therefore produce fucking basket cases like my brother and I (don’t let my ‘success’ as a human being fool you, the emotional turmoil and pain I’ve experienced solo is nothing anyone ordinary should trifle with. Plus, it makes you all these awful things that you can’t fucking help. Even when part of you is still capable of love, and you still definitely have feelings and it only took you like 2 decades to figure out you didn’t know how to express them – at all, but especially in a healthy manner).

Then there’s also selfish reasons, like I like my life how it is. I sleep well, and 8 hours a night. I only have to clean up after 1 other adult instead of 1 other adult plus tiny people. Don’t get me wrong, babies are cute and it’s important someone wants to you know propagate the species, but there’s enough breeders out there i don’t feel all that compelled to be one.

Plus I mean monetarily we are in no place to have a kid. We’re renting. And half of that rent is bankrolled by my in-laws. For an IMPOSSIBLY long time they paid all of our rent. I still footed the other bills (except cell phones, my husband’s insurance and any car repairs he might need….GOD I sound like a piece of shit when I list it all out. Especially when I get so annoyed by them. I acknowledge that that’s probably MY problem, like if my parent situation weren’t so fucking fucked i think I could try for a much more normal take on them. Like if I calculate how much money they’ve given us it’s sickening.

Plus like…my family has always been that ODD version of lower middle class where sometimes we have ballin’ things. Like my parents were always leasing cars so they had new(ish) vehicles. My dad charged a laptop for me when my old school computer died when I was 18 or 19. My Grandma bought me a brand new car when I was 19. In all fairness, my brother had been given a brand new car when he was 16, free of charge, then my parents PAID him for that car so he could use that $ for a new one and I could use his old one when I turned 16.

I guess when I say it all like that they don’t sound too bad. I honestly remember a great deal of fondness for my Grandma to be rooted in material gifts and shallow shit. Like her apartment complex had an indoor pool. She was my pool access. That’s really important here when you’re a kid. Plus like I wouldn’t have even gotten homecoming or prom dresses if it weren’t for her.

 

Ugh I should go, talking about my family after talking about all that with my husband, it’s just way too much. I think calling it a waste of time discouraged him.

 

I’m the worst. But it was either have this horrid discussion or have another day of my boring ass desk job, stewing about this until it hurt.

Which I guess brings me to that topic. The biggest one is the headaches. I have them under control now, I guess? I think it’s because I stopped drinking every single day. Which I mean gee why would that be? I still smoke weed every day. So there’s that. You can seriously fuck off with your negative opinions pertaining to that topic because you will not break me, square. But I actually only drink when I go out and they have beer I like. That’s my issue, I’m a beer drinker. Which, weight-wise, is no one’s ally. So more because I wanted to cut empty calories and not age as quickly did I quit heavily drinking than you know, having dealt with my emotional problems.And here we are at my anonyblog, (get it?) The headaches are the worst, but the runner up is awful as well. Sometimes, if I’ve been crying for a prolonged period (so 15+ minutes), my bottom eyelids start swelling, from like the profuse squinting and squinching I force them to do as I weep. If I cry a great deal at night, which is typically when it happens except those few times at work (wow I got so embarrassed thinking about that I started talking to myself, I freaking hate it when i do that. It was a habit of my Grandma, and my mom as well) I feel it’s so obvious the next morning. They kind of hurt and burn, like you accidentally got oven cleaner in them. It’s then, when your sadness is literally taking a physical toll on you, you know you need to do something. So I guess this is my something for now. Maybe my other writing endeavors will be fruitful and I can alleviate my student loan debt and go to therapy.

 

~Later,

Cass

Wow. My motivation just died.

I had an incredibly long post, and now it’s gone. I published it and saved it, goddammit. Now my mood has totally changed and I am seriously annoyed that I’d already gotten SO much out, and now it’s gone, back to the realm of dusk silence it’s been trapped in all these years.

Ugh. I’d even told one of my MANY MANY personal childhood stories of anguish. Wow. Now it’s not going to seem organic at all if I just come out with it.

Because, the theme of this lost post began with my discussing first my obsession with privacy (particularly when it came to things I am writing) and my odd blend of cynical optimism, or as I sometimes call myself, the strongest coward around. Not to say I think of myself as being seen as a coward. I’m actually afraid of less of the things that a lot of grown ass people are afraid of. I’m jumpy in the dark at 5:45am when I’m getting into my car for work, but that’s because rape and human trafficking and car jacking are all real things, not because I think some demon monster or Mike Myers type character is lurking about.  But there are some things I’m like straight terrified of. And anyone finding out about any of them is in fact a huge part of why it’s all so scary. Then I was going to mention how my childhood was littered with all these different instances of affection/love/friendship being offered on my end only to be cruelly shoved back in my face. I’m not saying there weren’t times I wasn’t a complete bastard to someone else/a group of other kids when I was a kid, and it didn’t help we’d all known each other for so damn long after awhile, but there was a very disproportionate amount of times I was the butt of the joke, I was the one being treated poorly, like I was somehow less-than, I was the annoying one, I was the immoral one (much more on this later), I was the one who walked around by herself at recess and THAT seemed to bother everyone more than anything else. Like everyone (meanly) asked why I did that. I always told them it was because I didn’t have anyone to hang out with. At which point they’d stop talking to me entirely. I was made an example of by teachers too often.

And school was the good part of my life. And it was not good, at all. I mean that is how I met my best friend, but that wasn’t until the very end, the year before we would all leave that grade school and most of us would transition to a high school of the same denomination. Yeah, I went to parochial school, but believe me I did not in any way belong there. Really, if religion had been absent from childhood home, it would have been an enormously different experience (I’ll explain). That, and wondering, at times, where God was, throughout my time at home (unsure if I’ve mentioned, I moved out of my parents’ once and for all two weeks after my high school graduation, so as soon as I fucking possibly could have) are the two biggest issues I deal with. That’s another thing that I’ve never once spoken a word about to anyone, that I’m certainly not the devout Lutheran I was throughout my childhood and adolescence. I mean, my parents more or less insisted that I get a job at 16, so when you work most/every Sunday, you’re not making it to church anymore. Then, once I moved out, I became a Christmas/Easter type, if that. I used to pray every day, felt guilty if I didn’t. Then sometimes I’m like, well, God must understand these feelings, right? It’s just…is it really the Christian-Judeo God, is it something less specific? I’ve been taught that Christianity is the only one that works because it relies on grace, on God forgiving you when you don’t deserve it. All the other religions are flawed because they involved earning redemption/heaven. Then, as you get older, the concept of heaven/hell is insane to consider, like really. My husband has 3 half siblings, two of which have a different half brother completely unrelated to my husband. This unrelated half brother did mushrooms once and lost his Christian faith over it (what he saw/felt I guess). This deeply vexed the sister on that side, but the brother (married to a non-believer) probably less so. I can kind of see where the unrelated one is coming from, because if anything reminds you of religion when you’re tripping, it’s going to freak you the fuck out. Because like…okay, I’ll say it…eternal damnation/constant excruciating torturous pain for an unending span of existence? LIKE, REALLY?  Isn’t that like…using an extreme fear tactic? Is that really how it is? Like, why haven’t we invented a way to find out? Like really no one knows how we got here or where we go. Even if you staunchly believe in evolution…how did the first single celled organisms get there? At some level some shit happened. It came from space…okay….howwwww did it get there? How did any of anything get anywhere? I’d ask other people but the only people whose opinions I value all seem to be atheists. I’ve had the worst luck trying to find a decent church around me.

See how quickly I can start rambling about religion? But, keep in mind I only got away from parochial schooling when I went to college (so that was the August of 2006, if my age fascinates you in any way). Plus it had an abrasive and obtrusive presence at home as well. That my dad, in a nutshell, he was either awful, in your face, being unpleasant or downright frightening in one way or another, or he was completely checked out (AKA – on drugs or drunk or asleep). For a few years, he had a job that entailed driving about 90 miles one way to work. Those were the best years. I think that’s why I valued my time with my Grandma so much, it was the least likely place to find my dad. He tolerated my Grandma for my mom and our (the 2 of us, my brother and I) sake, but I’m sure the constant financial assistance she gave was part of the brokered deal as well. I recall one year when we weren’t allowed to be on speaking terms with her (at my dad’s command, obviously). I remember going over to her apartment in secret like 2 days before Christmas to get my gifts from her. I guess it was really memorable because I got this set of really big/nice Winnie the Pooh stuffed animals that I had for years and years after that. I remember my mom putting them (still new in box) in garbage bags to sneak them into the house, so my dad wouldn’t know we’d been to my Grandma’s. But, as it would turn out, that was something my mom actually put her foot down (even back then) about. It only happened that one year. After that, things were at least relaxed enough for my Grandma to be able to come over. My mom had one brother who stayed local (another in another state whom my dad had cut all ties with before I was even born over the spending of money that had been sent with the intention of starting some sort of savings account for my newborn brother….there was some odd reconciliation when I was 5, but of course my dad saw to ruining that because my uncle was ‘nothing but a drunk’ and ‘couldn’t take it with him.’ That’s referring to the idea that material wealth doesn’t transfer into the afterlife. Which, as I am now older and actually writing this out, is exactly what someone who was made jealous and insecure by the success of a relative would do. Better to have nothing to do with them and say its over some bullshit moral ground than like…be made to feel inferior by your millionaire brother in law. Which is what he is, literally. It doesn’t do me any good, he has kids and grand kids of his own. But he did come to my wedding, so that was nice of him.) and things remained strained with the local, younger brother for longer. When her one brother, the younger one who’d stayed nearby and was obviously my Grandma’s favorite, died of cancer very suddenly when I was twelve, it certainly changed everything and my mom and Grandma forever. I think my mom was really devastated because she’d wanted to be closer with him. She’s always really wanted family, it’s obvious. It’s too bad she was for some reason drawn to the world’s most precocious asshole and married him and refused to divorce him even when she certainly had the grounds for it. I guess I wouldn’t exist if two sets of Depression/WWII era couples in two different states hadn’t both accidentally had children in their forties, then those children hadn’t both been at the same hotel bar back in the early 80s. My Grandma told me my Grandpa (who died when I was 5….more on that in a sec) was engaged to someone else when he came into the drugstore she worked in (which..for the 1930s was kind of weird for a girl her age but her family was POOOOOR it was just her and her mom and her alcoholic WWI shell shock/injury father and some grandparents, and only children weren’t really a thing back then, and her parents married in the April of 1918 and she was born in the November of 1918…I did that math when I was a kid and thought it was funny, but now that i think about it, her dad was probably gay. Maybe that’s where my weird gay dude fetish comes from) and he saw her and like…decided to marry her instead. They got married in his living room, she was in a navy blue suit. I wish she could’ve been at my wedding, or even met my husband. But, that’s a normal kind of sadness. The fact that I did not go see her right before she died, nor did I go visit my mom the day she died, is not. That’s on me I guess. I was really fucked up and strung out on adderall (sp? idk?) and my dad had told me half a dozen times before that that he thought it was my Grandma’s ‘time’ or whatever (almost excitedly, of course). So I didn’t really believe him, and when I told him he’d told me that so many times before his response was ‘Yeah, and I’m telling you again now.’ Just always the worst kind of asshole all the time for fun. Then my car had honestly had a flat tire the day she died, and I didn’t have the money to fix it. I am aware there were other avenues I could’ve taken but I chose not to because, like I said, I was fucked up from adderall. Mostly it was the day after having been high on it all night, when literally everything is the worst and you’re super angry and emotional, and like hungover from the cigarettes and no food and no sleep. It was how I managed to work full time and get through the tough, last few semesters of undergrad. Proud to say I didn’t do any of that shit in grad school because I was like uh this could possibly be causing brain damage. I can’t tell if it was all the adderall or ALL the weed but I’m one of the only people I’ve ever known of that didn’t have horrific, terrible, sweat-inducing nightmares from taking Chantix (that quit smoking drug).

I’ll be back, but I want to make sure I know how to fucking save blogs, because if i lose another one of these i’m going to freak out.

 

~Cass

Hey Fucker, this doesn’t concern you!

Forgive the tagline, if you must feel offended by it, it’s for my husband. Not to say I’m decidedly hateful towards my spouse, but he knows, he knows very well, that I cannot deal with it when people read what I’m writing. It stems from being treated like I’m not real person (and therefore am not entitled to my own emotions or privacy) for a really long time (just a few months past the 18 year mark, if you must know). The general sentiment that sentence conveys pretty accurately sums up what I wanted to scream at most (all) of my family for most (all) of my childhood.

I’m going to say that word a lot. You’ll kind of figure out why that is after a short while, I’m sure.

It’s funny, because no one can really relate to how invasive I found it, when I’d be typing away at whatever terrible novella/novel I was at that week, and my grandma or mom or brother or dad would just barge into my room, and I’d IMMEDIATELY see their eyes shift from looking at me to the screen behind me, after I’d defensively turned to see what they were doing. My husband did that last weekend, when I was trying to hammer out a blog post before he woke up on Saturday. He KNOWS how agitated I become when he reads my screen, but I saw him do it anyway, I naturally loudly pointed out his great fault, he repeatedly stated the words were really big, which is what he does when he knows he doesn’t have a leg to stand on, he just repeats his flimsy excuse as if repetition is the hidden key to validity. But no one else got it back then, or now, because no one else at least in my circle does that. I know one girl from grad school who’s already written an entire book, it’s with an agent but I think at this point it’s a waiting game for a publisher to pick it up? I don’t know I’m too jealous to ask any details. Although I’m also seriously not jealous because now it’s like, oh shit you actually can’t edit it anymore, it’s all off floundering on its own (I hate that word, why did I use it?) and that seems terrifying.

Plus, like I don’t know what it’s like to not feel like I have a purpose in life. I always have, I’ve always known. I guess I’ve never, deep down, felt that specific existential crisis. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like straight don’t believe in myself enough to like spend my actual time pursuing my purpose. Which I guess makes me the worst kind of coward.

That was actually going to today’s title, or theme or whatever the fuck. How my issue is I’m not brave at all, I’m just really strong. I’m what you get when you’re like 2% the first thing and 98% the other, as if cowardice and strength have some symbiotic relationship within your psyche. I guess you can’t really prove that they don’t. I’m strong in the sense that I can persevere and endure. The opportunity for both of those acts was ever-present throughout my childhood. There it is again. I feel like this blog would generate the most depressing word clouds.

But I’m really not like all that brave. Or at all. I’ve really never taken a leap or a plunge in my life, I’ve avoided almost every major confrontation of my life. The only person I don’t leave things unspoken with is my husband. Because, well, that’s not going to last if I did. I’m going to need more from a spouse than from anyone else. I feel like that’s how it’s going to work. I kind of feel like I have all of this love that I never got to give to anyone because for my entire life, up until my husband (and, intermittently my best friend) in general is nothing but memories of any sort of affection or outreach being cruelly shoved back at me, in an intentionally stinging and disgusted way most of the time as well. Yes, I know right now you might be thinking I was humiliated by the rejection of a crush– that happened too, one time in the 7th grade some of the boys in my class dared the boy everyone knew I had a crush on to ask me to “go out” ((that’s what they called it back then))  in front of everyone, and even though I 100% knew what was going on…I said yes anyway….I don’t know why. Then when everyone started laughing, I remember walking to the bathroom and just sitting on a toilet, not crying, but just starring at the dark blue stall door, feeling like shit about myself. Two ‘friends’ came in at that point to ‘check on me.’ I sarcastically single-quoted there to remind that these two had been among those who’d just decided to play a mean trick on me so they could all laugh at me. They just wanted to be able to tell everyone I’d been in there sobbing to myself. So, after all of that, I didn’t feel bad when I’d spit on food and give it to the boy who’d orchestrated the whole event. He was one of those tall, skinny guys who ate like a horse and was always trying to scam food off of people. Plus, if we’re being honest, Facebook is telling me his life is not what I would call enviable — but my issues are far, far beyond all that. The shitty, awful way I was treated during my horrible time in grade school (which, for me, was the ages of 3-14 at the same Lutheran elementary school, straight to a Lutheran high school after that) was only a small glimmer of the bullshit shower that was my youth.

Sometimes I worried I am the delusional one, but I feel like I have solid evidence that I actually was enduring very deep mental strife for the duration of my life birth –> when I escaped two weeks after I graduated from high school. Like how fucked up we are, my brother and I. The whole situation with me and my family is utterly fucked, really. T put it as succinctly as I can (I think), my parents and brother all still live together about two hours north of where I now reside. However, I haven’t seen my father in I think 2 years, my mom about a year and a half. I decided, once and for all, that I was through putting up with my father. I couldn’t do it, not even for my mom’s sake, anymore. He’d the kind of mentally ill that’s permanent, and severe and completely un(self)aware. I’m sure he had a traumatic, fucked up child hood, he was always dropping hints as such. I’m still able to speak to my mom via email, because she can do so at work where my father can’t control or monitor her behavior. If you Google signs someone is emotionally controlling/abusive, he’ll fit 9/10 usually. Plus, I did this once before. I tried to break off all contact and my mom freaked out so bad one day (after abut 9 months) he called and for some reason I answered. Then, of course, all of these omnious warnings were dealt (he has this godawful unblinking stare he’ll use when he’s trying to seem EXTRA intimidating, I seriously hate this person, you’re going to figure it out soon enough) if I EVER thought about not speaking to him again. I mean, really, the thing is, I don’t care who you are, I don’t care how complacent I seem or how much I put up with already, the difference between me and most of the other cowards, I have this like crazy person inner strength. And I like won’t talk it out with you, but I will fucking freeze you out so bad, you will feel the ghosting so deeply, you’ll wonder if I ever knew who you were in the first place. It’s not natural, I’m sure it’s from my inability to form a stable relationship with anyone throughout my childhood (through no fault of my own, I maintain I’d be very normal if it weren’t for them, I have all the right qualities, I was just in like garbage soil…before you go calling me an ungrateful little bitch like he would, you need to listen to me tell you the truth of what deep crazy does when it grows untended). But it’s a skill I have. It comes in handy when you’re sick of your alcoholic side chick. I’m not a lesbian, but I don’t like sexist terms so side chick refers to a sloppy, kept mistress of a discreet/embarrassing quality of any of the genders. Like, I was raised to enable and I couldn’t do it for more than a year with this guy. I literally feel like he has no hope. I know the signs. Not from myself. From my brother. My brother has totally given the fuck up. He’s three years older. Some days he seems to love me, other days it’s like we had an argument that I wasn’t there for. One of my Rockstar Badass (AKA : the best) goals in life is to somehow acrue enough wealth to take care of my mom and brother, as I am sure they will need, as the three of us age. I don’t include my father. He decided a long time ago that he wasn’t really a part of the family. And no, he didn’t abandon us, he didn’t run out on us as infants, he didn’t come and go ass he pleased. He was always there. He had it too good, he was too busy having an alcohol and, later on, opiate problem. Plus there were years of unemployment, you can’t very well move out on your own if you’re trying to drink yourself to death, and you tell your seven year old daughter that, but you were shit-faced so you probably don’t remember that. I mean he’d fucked up his life so bad by that point, I wasn’t all that surprised he felt that way as an adult.

I do apologize for the fucked up ramble. I’m trying to be 100% completely honest, because this is all true, but I have to keep it true.

I’m glad no one’s actually reading this. I spent a frightening amount of time talking to myself as a kid. I was alone a lot. I kind of hated summers, to be honest, I was mostly stuck bored inside an overly air conditioned house.

See there I go again.

Until next time,