I guess it’s a fine line, between despair and hopelessness

I don’t know what that line is, but I feel like I’ve been straddling it for too long.

I started writing yesterday, about how computer system updates at my mom’s employer resulted in my being unable to send her emails. And with that update, our last line of communication was slammed shut. So my idea was that she still sends emails like normal, but my response would be posted on a blog that she checks via her work computer. But today at work she tried to access WordPress at work and she said it took her to a page that said it cost $2.99 a month, so I don’t know I think she didn’t go to WordPress.com Trying to counsel my mother via text on how to look up a blog online is inhumanely frustrating. Because if this doesn’t work…what else is there?
No, I can’t call her. Her phone usage at home is heavily monitored. One of my dad’s favorite tricks was waking up from a nap but lurking behind his closed bedroom door to eavesdrop on a phone conversation happening nearby while the speaker assumed they were still within the afternoon nap reprieve. Or he’d be in the den watching TV and upon noticing I was in my bedroom on the phone he’d mute the TV to better listen in. And yes, I could call her at work, but am I really making her have a hyper emotional conversation on the switchboard with a coworker sitting right next to her? I could send letters to her at work. I guess that’s the one option left to me if she can’t figure out accessing this site. To me it’s not hard, but I guess we all understand things differently.

It just tears at me, the guilt and pain I feel over this situation with my mom.

There are those who tragically lose their mothers all too young. And there are those who do not want a thing to do with their mother for valid and real reasons (I feel that way about my dad, so). But think how hard it would be to just be losing all of this time, time that you won’t ever get back, that you want to have. I spend all this time I don’t want to with my in-laws, and frankly I know that wouldn’t bother me if I ever got to see my own mother.

It’s not even for me.

The despair I feel about this situation, it stems from the long-established notion that my mom needs me. She always has. I probably seemed like a really shitty little brat to a lot of the adults in my life, but I acted like a grown up because that’s how I was treated. I was all she had, that and her mom, but her mom was the source of some strife, to be sure. Not to say I don’t love my Grandma, but she was kind of really emotionally manipulative. And she taught me to hold shit over people’s heads, and to bring up terrible things they’d done years before, and to never forget a slight. I guess today they just call that pettiness, but yeah, it was a thing in 1920s Wisconsin as well. But, I’ve told you how hard she must have had it growing up, so it kind of makes sense she was like that. She couldn’t forget the times when she had nothing and felt like nothing. And in a lot of ways, she was your typical stereotypical grandmother, in a good way. And in even more ways, I had a better/closer relationship with my Grandma than anyone I knew. Like I said, you don’t appreciate it when you’re young, but you certainly will when they’re gone and you’re grown and you realize you miss being with those you always took for granted. Teenage Cassie never would have realized how I would feel now as I near the end of my twenties. I have less than 9 months until I’m 30. I’m very unexcited. I mean I will be glad to live longer, don’t get me wrong…but like…okay being in your 30s means you shouldn’t literally always just be scraping by. Which is all we’ve been able to accomplish. And we’re poor cliches, we spend a ton on credit because we want nice shit just like everyone else. Plus because my Grandma was so into buying me stuff, I genuinely associated presents with real affection as a child. I know that makes me sound insane and materialistic, and insanely materialistic, but I also don’t care I’ve come to find out it’s the truth.
The point of all of this is figuring myself out. Because there’s this disconnect between my negative emotions and their root causes. Or at least that used to be the case. And I guess identification is half the battle or something.

So, as you can see, I have/had kind of weird and complicated emotional relationships with my mom and her mom. I was also very close with my mom and Grandma for most of my childhood and adolescence. Things tapered off a bit when I started working. But frankly I feel like that was insisted upon, by my parents. Both my brother and I obtained employment and driver’s licenses at 16, many of my friends did neither at that age.

So now, I’m faced with the notion that I have no way to regularly communicate with my mom. And there’s no knowing when we’ll see each other again. She can’t sneak away. My father is incredibly unemployed, besides the napping he is always in their house, in the den, chewing tobacco and rocking in a Laz-E-Boy and watching Fox News or televangelists or some shit. Sure, a lot of the times he is super fucked up while he’s watching TV, but when you have the kind of tolerance he has, it just kind of either makes him way more aggressive or way more annoying. It depends on what he’s on, what he’s out of, etc, etc. So I can’t call or text her phone, for fear he’ll intercept it. Same goes for the mail.

And before you ask, I know he can’t do anything to me anymore, he doesn’t even know where I live. None of my family members have ever been to the house I’ve lived in for over two years. But he can make my mom’s life a living hell. And yes, he does that mostly all the time on his own as well, but it’s like throwing a tired politician another decades-old scandal about their opponent or something. I’ve discussed before how he uses sermon-like lectures to wear his opponents (read = his wife and children) down. He was also a huge fan of public embarrassment/humiliation as a means of control. And I don’t know where it came from originally, but my mom has a near psychotic level of fear that the people she sees in regular life (her coworkers) might know about how miserable her life really is. She has always taken privacy to a pathological extreme….and if it were some reason other than the feeling that she had to do so because my dad was doing SUCH fucked up shit…I might let it go. But that’s the fucking reason. And that’s just what I remember. Who the fuck knows what my brother remembers, he’s three years older. I’m not asking him, I don’t want to know. It probably makes me a bad person, not wanting to take on another’s psychic pain…but I got too much of that too young x 1000, I will NOT tolerate it now.

I don’t know where we’ll go from here.


And boy, isn’t that the defining characteristic of my life right now. My job is my one constant, and it’s really not that great. I mean I like it, but boy are my standards low…considering how bad I had it before. And then I’m like wait what if that’s exactly how I chose my husband…..

Because really, I still am not over things. We haven’t had a “bad” evening in a few weeks now.

But we did something that we’ve done before…and I found it fascinating.

You might have noticed me go on a bit about how awful my wedding night was: My Terrible Wedding Night, from the annals of the organized chaos that is my memories (be forewarned, it’s a LONG one, the jist of it is my husband got SHIT-FACED and ruined it by being a terrible drunk psycho and my eyes were hella poofy from crying in all of the pictures of me from the next day.

Well, one of the first things we did together that I was happy or at all positive about after the horrible, spoiled wedding night at the luxury venue with the the top floor bridal suite and the wedding night lingerie he never even noticed I was wearing he was already so mad at me for getting upset he’d invited a dozen people back to the room when the reception ended, was buying furniture. We had the wedding money, and I’d wanted a new couch and a coffee table and a TV and a TV stand that was shit for quite some time.  So we bought all of that. It was the first thing I was excited about after the ruined wedding night and transitively the ruined memories that were supposed to be among my best. Just like my whole childhood. Except even my dumb, shit family had the fucking courtesy to be cool on my wedding day, at least to me, Lord knows they must have squabbled a few times among themselves because that’s what they do.

And, to be truthful….the week before we got engaged, we purchased a bed. Before, we’d been living together for four years utilizing both of our full beds from before we met. We pushed them together to form “superbed” but it kind of sucked nonetheless, because it was sleeping in separate beds, one full is not enough for us. But something urged us to check out a mattress store that’d opened in front of my work. Then we were buying a bed. Then a week later my husband proposed.

And now…as we are at our third major furniture expenditure…..I can’t say I’m at all shocked.

Isn’t it sad that something like buying furniture is enough to make use both happy? To mend something emotional between us? I doubt this is how healthy people are.

We got a kitchen table, it was a hand me down from our in laws. It prompted the desire to purchase chairs for it. Then, since we were already in the furniture store, using the store charge, I mentioned my deep desire for a bedframe and headboard for the bed we bought a week before our 2013 engagement. So that happened. It even came with a settee AND I can finally use the bedskirt that came with our comforter that I knew I kept for a reason.

It’s pathetic to admit that having new and different objects in your domicile are enough to improve your happiness. But then it’s like…are people who don’t take joy in things just jealous they need stupid other people? But then they’ll just argue that the joy you get off of things is fleeting. But…have you met other people? As if they or any of what they offer is permanent. I mean people like vow it in front of their respective gods and their families all the time, then they break up anyway. But not all, so do what makes you happy.

But I guess not if you’re like me, and material things make you happy. Not because you don’t also want immaterial things…but because you’re like bright enough to not really expect those. They didn’t happen when you were a kid and things were supposed to be easy. They were the opposite of easy.

That’s how they still are.

I still don’t know what to do.

About my mom.

About my husband who claims it was his “addict” behavior that drove him to fuck a stranger he met on CRAIGS LIST. He’s been going to AA very regularly since I accidentally found out, by noticing how pale he’d gotten over an innocuous enough question. You can’t lie to someone like me, not if I’ve known you a long time.

I mean, if I were to speak plainly (which I don’t do in real life), I just want to be able to see my mom on occasion, and to have a husband who I won’t always secretly doubt a little bit now.

So you see, since both are impossible, what am I to do? One thing tears at me. One thing drags me down. And yet I am surrounded by those who wonder at my inability to walk upright. If they notice me at all. But I do my best to avoid them. I do my best to avoid everything. I’m good at hunkering down, waiting out the storm, just hoping my POS dad dies before my mom…but if he doesn’t….I might never see my mom alive again.



Just some of the MANY thoughts that plagued me today. And today I was distracted by the imminent arrival of the new furniture.



I have to start a second WordPress

It’s an odd (and depressing) reason why. I now have 0 ways in which I can communicate with my mother. Previously, our one link was her work email, since my dad can in no way check or monitor that (as he can with USPS, her cell phone and personal email). But something changed, maybe it was all of my swearing, but now no matter what email address I use, it’s blocked from reaching her. Her workplace recently updated their entire operation system, so it’s possible there’s a new level of security to go along with it.

And I know that what HR-IT dork hybrid is monitoring and blocking my emails to my mom is doing their job, but they don’t realize what they’re actually severing.

So now, the plan is that she will continue to email me and I will post my responses on a WordPress blog she can read from work. So as long as she has access to WordPress at work, this plan will succeed. She’s checking tomorrow and will text me. Texting is possible but not wise, because there’s always the possibility my dad will see the message first, or just go through her old messages. I asked her once if she knew how to delete old texts, she didn’t. It took years to get her to learn how to look up a contact in a cell phone. She would open it and dial, and answer it when it rang, end of list.

So, here’s hoping that that idea works. If not, I guess I’ll have to send her written letters at work. Which just sounds insane given what year it is.

It’d be nice to just get to see my mom, and to have a normal family situation.

But I am NOT, ever, wiling to deal with my dad.


more on that at a later date



Well. So great. 

Well. All right.

So when things were going on with R and I, my husband was trying to make things happen with a girl from his college. Things were always weird with her and my husband. She got him a job once. She also got him a full time volunteering gig. Both times it meant they’d work together.

She is presently as I type in my living room, on my couch with my husband. I’m sitting nearby in the same room.

I might just be crazy but it kind of seems like she feels hostile towards me. I’m probably just being nuts, but given what happened eight days ago, I’m not like shocked that I feel this way right now. 

It’s been almost two hours since she got here. I truly wonder how long this will go on. 

I’ll be honest, I smoked a lot of weed with her. My husband has of last Friday quit to attempt to broaden his job search horizons. So it’s just been her and I. Now I’m typing this as she and my husband have a REALLY boring political conversation and I know this is how my husband felt when he and R and I spent time together. 

BUT, this is a much different situation. I wasn’t already egriously at fault when the two and I hung out. 

It’s all so weird. 

I kind of like how  weird my life is though. Like I like how messed up it is. Because it feels normal? Idk.

I’ve been cattily texting my bff from grade school (the one I always talk about, my maid of honor at my ill fated wedding) the whole time. That’s so fun for me.

GOD they’re so compliment-y towards each other. 

I hate it .

I’m also very drunk and high, obviously.

But at least this is an interesting evening.

Interesting af I guess. 

I’d prefer not to

I think we all know what that’s from. Today marks one week since I caught my husband cheating. 

It’s difficult because choosing to be miserable isn’t healthy, yet neither is acting like everything is fine when so certainly it is not. 

Last night he told me I can face time him whenever I want, to prove where he is, and he wouldn’t find it controlling because he knows he has to earn my trust back. 

But of course, I’d prefer not to. I’d prefer not to have to. Besides, the one time he snuck out and fucked a stranger I was asleep for the night….so…..how can that stop him?

I know no one is completely one thing or another (i.e. If a spouse cheats there might be blame on both sides, but not always I guess), but my nature is to assign blame to myself. I wonder what would’ve happened  if I woke up that night and saw that he was gone. 

Maybe it was when in 2015 we decided to try having sex with other people. Or when I had a really long lasting tryst with a guy from grad school that was more or less a boyfriend in addition to my husband for almost a year, but I’m drawn to lost alcoholics so I got sick of his addict behavior (who else got to know addict behavior really well as a kid?) after awhile. I now have him blocked on everything because he would occasionally try to contact me and I was like…oh wait I thought you never paid me back the two times I bailed your DUI having ass out of jail but you bought yourself a PS4 and that when I said I didn’t want to hang out one weekend you said you needed to ghost me. Oh no. You do not speak to me with disrespect. I was literally the one good thing in this guy’s life (and even that was fucked because he was just my side chick) and he’s like oh I better knock her down a few pegs. Like ohhhhh no, no no no no, no.

Or maybe it was because like three months after I broke it off with grad school side chick (this was June 2016 if you’re keeping track) three times in the same month (November) my husband and I had a foursome. They all kind of sucked. If a guy is used to having condomless sex with his girlfriend,  he isn’t going to perform well when he’s drunk and stoned and trying to have condom sex with a stranger. With the second couple I did way more stuff with the girl. 

But that was last November, and we got burnt out on it. But I guess that level of depravity is something my husband still needs. I never liked it. It was fun in its own way, I didn’t feel like I was coerced into going along with things, but like eghhhhh I’d rather not, I’d prefer not to.

But my husband, he much prefers, I now gather. It’s probably what led to my intense anguish over the past week. 

But, I don’t know, I’ve always been an onward and upward sort, and like I said truth be told I’d rather not be 30 and divorced. And I was made quite unhappy by my lack of communication with my husband this and week. And I don’t have anyone else in my life who even comes remotely close to meaning as much to me. I mean I love my mom and best friend too, but I can’t make my mom leave her toxic, abusive marriage, and my best friend has her own life to live, my husband is supposed to be here with me. Which he is. Most of the time. 

I’d prefer not to have to deal with all of this, but that’s always the case no? So, since I’m here.

So, is the cruel irony that IS my life actually God? I mean, really.

It’d be 20 (20!) days since I’d written an anon-a-blog. Everyone feels mentally healthier in the summer, right? I started one a week ago. I’d been having a rough week, I’d been emailing with my mom about how I didn’t know how much more I could take with my husband’s constant lack of gainful employment. I’ve always supported us. For quite a long time it was alongside the assistance of my in-laws because their son couldn’t earn. Like 7 years a long time. I was tears welling up in my eyes upset about my life on WEDNESDAY last week.

And what was my blog I never got around to posting on Wednesday about? How I feel like the Almighty likes toying with me. And (very quickly) here’s my main examples:
1) The millennial Christmas (I was 12) when I was pissy nothing was going to make it special or memorable, then my uncle dies after like a 2 month battle with lymphoma and it just wrecks my mom and Grandma. And, to top it off, my mom had a broken foot. It was just all around one of the worst times of my life, but only in the long-lasting-misery sense. Now that I’m on my own I can get fucked up in-between horrid, horrid shit happening. (Yes, I know how that sounds).
2) How desperately I adored my pointless asshole first boyfriend, and how he shattered my heart like 3 different times, and it’s like I knew better but I still decided to hope things would somehow work out by fucking magic or something.
3) My wedding night. All of the attention and affection most people spend their lives sharing with their parents and siblings and friends and significant others, almost ALL of that was still in my possession when I met my husband. I’d always wanted to have a long term relationship with another Christian that turned into marriage and then children. I never cared to focus on it, because I didn’t think it’d actually come true. I got completely fucked when it comes to who your family is, why wouldn’t that also happen when I trusted that someone loved me? But somehow, it worked out with my husband. I don’t know when the first really huge warning sign was….there were a few years in a row where we got into a nasty fight on my birthday, made all the worse by both of us being drunk…then that all just bleeds into the night of our wedding, when he got shitfaced and became the absolute WORST possible version of himself, and he said and did horrible shit, and I spent the majority of my wedding night just infuriated and crying and thinking about how much pretending to be happy was ahead of me the next day. It was supposed to be the happiest, or at least one of them. Or, if he just had passed out or something, like maybe he could’ve gotten that wasted but then he just fell asleep…but no….he was too practiced an alcoholic by that point, they (we, I guess) don’t pass out so easily.

And the next day,  the NEXT day is when I accidentally find out my husband cheated on me. With a stranger with a Craigs List ad. I mean. I guess its good that’s like the least emotionally involved you can be, so there’s that, but like…fucking gross. How do you GO through with that? Today I actually texted him at work because I was sick of his silence, and he sent me a picture of a picture of us from a long time ago that he keeps in his wallet. He’s saying all the right things, that he wants to do anything to get us back to how we were in that picture, that it’s all his fault and he’s being “destroyed inside” because he knows how badly he’s made me feel.

But…saying a ton of good-sounding stuff without really changing a single core problem is kind of his specialty, so….WE’LL SEE.

And yeah, there’s still the unreal situation that I only found out because the doctor’s office overestimated how much my shit insurance would cover. I mean, really.

So….I mean it’s like when I finally get up the nerve to complain about the deeply unfortunate things (some of them) that have happened to me….and I’m like setting the most perfect stage ever for what happened last Thursday. I knew when I saw how pale looking at that bill made him. I still had to pry it out of him, but it was so apparent, he can’t remotely hid it when he’s terrified. He’s looked like that before when cops were at our door.

I’m almost kind of proud of how violently angry I got. And I got to tell him like everything I’ve been feeling about him…like ever. Like I was JUST saying how I’d never tell anyone but I hated my engagement ring…well I definitely brought THAT up…along with a lot of other things….

I mean, if I’m being 100% honest…I don’t want to break up. But 1) I’m sure not telling him that and 2) Maybe we still should. Maybe my feelings don’t know what’s best. My feelings are so across the board right now anyway. But I really only trust me. I’m not one for asking the advice of others (excepting outfits). I also don’t ever blame my decisions on other people. I mean you can blame your trauma on your traumatizers, but like…you know, it’s not wise to just be like oh all things are my parents’ fault because where does that get you? But I mean, I’m deeply obsessed with discussing my childhood so I get wanting to thoroughly analyze trauma. I understand other versions of art can also be used, but I really only know about this one way. But writing has been a part of my identity for a very long time. Maybe one day when I’m in a better mood I’ll tell the stories of my earliest writing endeavors. For your sake I hope not though.

We’re supposed to talk when he gets home in two hours. The plan is to drink until then and ask him to cook dinner. It’s hard because I want to be mad, and I have a right to be mad, but then I also feel bad. Because maybe I’m taking way too much enjoyment out of getting to be the vengeful victim, which is something my cunt father would do. Then I’m like….am I the my dad in this situation? What a nauseating notion. But then, I will ALSO hate myself if I try to move past it and be nice as a gesture of good will, while the whole time I’m actually still seething on the inside, because that is an exact description of my mother’s lot in life.



WHAT, THE, FUCK, DO, I, DO???????




Nope to all of this.




All I have left is this list 

…..I’d say this was all unbearable, but whenever I think that about my life an even worse calamity is just waiting around the corner…so…..all I know is that I need my husband to do these things first, before I can even begin to think on what I am doing. 

#1 – Accept total and complete blame for YOUR OWN ACTIONS. #2 – Accept that your low self esteem and inability to grow up and be a man has been sabotaging our relationship for years 

#3 – Accept that you’re clinging to this relationship as the one thing you have, the one thing that brings you joy. But I’m a person. And I’ve had more than enough of being “the center of my universe” or the “bright spot of joy” for others, all those sorts of people do is drag you down because they’re too fucked to help themselves 

#4 – Accept that I do not know if I will ever be able to trust you again 

#5 – Accept that I am very afraid if I do stay that in 2 or 5 or 10 years, something even worse will happen and this decision will haunt me like all the other times 

#6 – Accept that I don’t know what to do but so much of me feels like I have to go, that I can’t keep wondering why I’m miserable when I stay with someone who makes me miserable 

#7 – Accept that when you break something, apologizing doesn’t fix it.


I did not need one more day when 100% of my mascara was removed by my crying.

But, no joke, it happened, again.

See, we had a pretty level-headed weekend. I think my destructive and hateful spree on Thursday last week used some resource of energy I had. I couldn’t go the whole weekend maintaining the whole I’m-hurt-and-showing-it thing.

And I’ll be honest, I am getting more pissed by the day, because he now is ignoring me. Before, he would always text me at least once during the day. Now he’s not. I know if I bring it up he’ll just say he was “giving me my distance” but SO funny how giving me my distance coincides so goddamn perfectly with his inability to deal with his issues. In fact instead of dealing with them, he manages to make them worse. He makes things harder on himself. Like he’s one of those addicts whose his own worst enemy. And goddamn stupid dumbfuck moron Cassie fucking married him.

I was really nice, though, all weekend. Do you really think I still wanted to meal plan and grocery shop and launder his dirty clothes? But I fucking did. I did everything I normally would, house-cleaning wise. Because that’s just how I operate, even (or maybe especially) when I’m nearly crippled with depression in other aspects of my life. I was even nice yesterday, despite the fact that he worked until 8 then went to an AA meeting, so we saw one another for about an hour before I needed to go to bed. He’s stopped trying to come into contact with me when he says goodnight. He still says I love you at times, but I never respond.

Today, however, I decided I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I was at least going to fucking remind him how fucking upset I still am. And the deep insult on top of egregious injury, it’s just too much. So I was sure to be crying in our bedroom when he came home from work. He sat down near me on the bed, but didn’t touch me. He asked if I was okay, and I said No, I wasn’t, in an obvious tone. After awhile of sitting in silence I got up. I decided that if all else is fucking failing in my life, I still need to exercise and write every day, because that’s the key to fucking success (I think). Yesterday it was fiction. Either is fine, I guess. And the only exercise I’m willing to do is ride a stationary bike in front of my TV, but that’s better than nothing so whatever. I guess I always try to cling to any tendency I might have that involves not acting like a depressive loser. Because boy, have a known a few of those. If you’ve been following along at all, you just laughed darkly with me, because that’s all I seem to know.

Sometimes I wonder if all of my shit relationships with shit guys wouldn’t have always devastated me so much if I’d had a good, stable, normal relationship with my parents, especially my dad. But I mean, no matter how smart you are, or how strong, you’re still human. You still want that sort of security with someone in your life. It’s not fucking rocket science, you just have to think about what truly upsets you. Like I probably wouldn’t hate so much on my unbelievably generous in-laws if I didn’t have such an emotionally abrasive situation with my parents.

I still don’t know what to do. Like….should I have learned my lesson by now? But what if he does end up being somewhat successful and then some ungrateful twat marries him and has MY cushy life? If he lowered his standards, he’d do okay, but he probably wouldn’t and then he’d suffer the low self esteem cycle all beta-males have.

Also, I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t be so goddamn furious if I didn’t actually love him. I mean it seems like I do. That’s the best I’ve got. I don’t have extraordinarily high standards or expectations. I want that made abundantly clear. I feel like it is abundantly clear. I can see why he did it, I guess, why he convinced himself it was okay, but I still like can’t believe he did it. Then, I mean, the fact that I NEVER NEVER NEVER would have found out, if the doctor’s office he went to hadn’t lied. Because he told me on Sunday that he specifically asked that he wouldn’t be charged anything, and they assured him insurance would cover it. And unfortunately in my anger I told him he only got caught because he was too stupid to go to Planned Parenthood, where they would’ve done that shit for free. But now he know that. So if it happened again….he wouldn’t get caught. I guess my plan of attack would have to be asking him routinely if he’d you know, fucked a stranger from a fucking gross classified ad website. Because he’s claiming he wouldn’t have lied if I had asked him. But WHY would I think to ask him when he so expertly hid it? I guess now I’ll think to ask. But, do I want to stick around and have to do so? I don’t know what to do.

This is a specifically sort of fucked situation, let me tell you. Doesn’t help I don’t have anyone to talk to, and I have to overcompensate with friendliness at work to keep anyone from suspecting the truth. It’s shockingly not difficult for me. Like I did it all the time as a kid or something. Why I always kind of bordered on annoying. There’s always been an energy to me, if you knew the public persona I adapt. But that’s all it is. I don’t know where the real me is, I don’t know where my real feelings are. It’s like I hid them so well I forgot where they were. So how can I expect anyone else to know what they are? The goal is to be as funny and impersonal as possible, without violating my ethics, which are complicated to say the least.

He’s been in our bedroom since he got home about two hours ago. I went in there to get fresh socks after working out and I’m pretty sure he’d been crying. I mean on one hand good he should fucking cry, but on the other it made me feel bad. But then if I’m conciliatory, later on I hate myself for YET AGAIN just taking glass shard coated shit and being NICE about it. But then I’ll feel bad for being mean or angry.

The only other guy I dated who saw even a sliver of the real me was a fucking Starbucks goon I dated for 8 months when I was 19. He saw me truly angry about three times. That’s what it took. It’s that stupid cliche Marilyn Monroe quote, but it’s the truth, I can’t be with someone who can’t handle how fucking deep and dark my shit gets. And he could NOT. I mean, anyone stupid enough not to appreciate how fucking amazing most of what I am capable of already baffles me, but this Sbux guy like…was almost annoyed by the fact that I didn’t like him partying with his friends 6-7 nights per week. This is one of those guys you’re only going to date when you’re very young. And I’d only had one other boyfriend besides him. And he was best friends with my best friend’s fiance (yeah, she was engaged at 17, it was a whole shitshow of a mess of a relationship by the end, but thank god it ended). I feel like no one is willing to conceded that that situation might drive someone to stay in a relationship, because it would suddenly mean spending a great deal less time with MY best friend from way back, even back then. And, lets be real, I didn’t expect that she and I would always go to the same college and live in the same city, so I wanted to spend as much time having an actual connection with another human being. I suspect it’s because she and I are fucked up in our own very special ways, that we’ve always connected so much, or maybe we just mean too much to each other because we’re the other’s oldest friendship not counting relatives. But still, I don’t know for sure but I feel like it’ll be a long time before I tell her about this. I just don’t want to. My eyelids are swollen again. It’s not fair all of this crying is accelerating the aging process.

It’s just not fair.

What do I do?