Well. Here I am. Where I was always so terrified of ending up.

Well. You see, what happened is, the blog post I just published, I started it on Wednesday. But I didn’t finish it, as you can see. And boy, is it ever a fucking hilarious coincidence that that’s what I was thinking about…when yesterday happened.

See, it began when I grabbed the mail, as I always do when I get home from work. There was some weird medical bill from an appointment I hadn’t known my husband had had earlier this month. I didn’t think a great deal of it, I put it on the fridge with its many brethren bills. It wasn’t until I was discussing money being tight (a common topic) with my husband and I was like “Yeah, I finally pay your dentist bill and now we get a new one for some doctor’s office…..what was that appointment for?” Something about the fact that he’d kept it from me seemed off. He acted like he didn’t know, but I told him to go look to see what it was from. When he came back from the kitchen, he was trying to act nonchalant, but it was so noticeable to me how pale he had suddenly turned. I asked him why he was so pale (though a thought was beginning to form at this point), he played it off. I stared him down for what was like an uncomfortable, silent three minutes. He could meet my gaze but he couldn’t bring himself to smile at me, like he would have in a normal situation.

But this was no normal situation, it was the moment it was going to dawn on me that my husband had cheated on me. Yes, we both had had sex with other people before. But the BIG difference between all of the others and this one was the secrecy. Cheating, by definition and connotation, lends to the idea of lying, sneaking, dishonesty, that was NOT what was going on with any of the other situations. Even with R, my husband was 100% aware of every moment I spent with him, it was never secretive.

And, to stagger me after the initial blow was the idea that THAT was how I found out.

See what happened was, he cheated on me with a girl he found on CRAIGS LIST. A complete stranger. He then began to feel worry about possible diseases such a person might be curating, so he got STD tested. And, I guess thanks to my shitty medical insurance, I got a $108 bill in the mail, and I thought to ask what the hell it was from, and after some prying, he told me it was from when he met a stranger online and hooked up with them.

My reaction….it was not good.

When I realized he was actually confirming my worst suspicions, I just remember realizing that my heart was beating really, really fast. Like that’s what made it dawn on me that I was very upset by this revelation. We were sitting in our living room. I stood, and walked through the kitchen to the utility/storage/washing room at the back of our house.

At this point is when I started screaming “Are you kidding me?!” and “You cheated on me, and you fucking lied about it!” over and over. When he tried to talk some calm into me I started breaking shit. I pulled the laundry rack over and threw it against the ground. We have that plastic 4-tier shelving instead of a food pantry. So I tore that down in a few swipes. I have an owl-shaped cookie jar from my mom that I keep the baggies of bulk spices I get from the Farmer’s Market in….miraculously it didn’t break. I think one jar of pasta sauce broke but I wouldn’t be certain. I didn’t clean it. Because after I did that, I pulled two decorative mirrors off the wall and hurtled them at the floor. But then I stopped because some tiny part of me thought about how expensive it was going to get if I turned on the appliances.

Then I sat with my back against the back door drinking a tall can for quite some time. Then he tried to sit on the floor near me so I told him he better clean this mess up and went and drank more beer on our front porch.

Then I think I came inside and really started letting him have it. I told him I couldn’t believe he would do something like this after I supported him in every possible way for so long. I kept telling him he’d reached his limit, that he’d handed me too much to forgive, that I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. That everyone, even someone like me, had their breaking point.

I basically kept telling him it was over because he’d ruined it. And that half the time I felt like I was married to the world’s biggest pussy, and the other half I felt like I was married to a retarded child. I told him I hated my engagement ring and I never used a condom with R (contrary to what I’ve told him in the past). I told him I felt SO fucking stupid for investing so much in our fucked relationship. I told him all of it was really my fault because I went for something my early life had told me I wasn’t allowed to have. I just wanted to feel normal, and to not be alone. And this is what I get instead, the deepest depths of isolation.

I guess I deserve it.

But I don’t know what to do now. Out of all of the shitty things he did, I never thought he’d do this.

He says he was being selfish, he wasn’t in his right mind. He’d developed this habit of looking at porn, then looking at the sex ads on Craigs List and jerking off to them, then one night he let insecurity and selfishness drive him to reach out, and to meet up with a complete stranger who was advertising on CRAIGS LIST for sex. How is it worse than Tinder? IDK but it is so much more disgusting. I can tell you, it’s going to be a great deal of time before I am even remotely interested in having sex with him again.

If you can imagine the combination of having to process these emotions, and getting a little shitfaced took their tolls on me. I fell asleep easily enough, thanks to the booze, but I woke up a little over three hours later, and my head and neck were killing me. The huge sinuses you have below your orbital/eye socket situation, they were fucking throbbing because I’d been grinding my teeth like crazy while I slept. Then I was awake for the next three hours. I managed to nod off enough to make getting up for my alarm at 4:30 on Friday morning excruciating.

It was hard, I was in incredible physical and emotional pain…but that’s nothing I haven’t already been put through time and time again. Can I really even blame someone other than me at this point? I clearly should’ve just isolated myself from the start.

I left a note that read “I hope it was worth it. I hope it was worth losing me. You can have your shitty ring back.” And I left my wedding ring and a bracelet he gave me for my 28th birthday.

He of course sent 20+ text messages that day. He said the same horseshit he always says when he really fucked up, followed by a period of extreme inaction.

What he’s blaming it on this time is his “addict” behavior. Because he quit drinking, and he went to a few AA meetings, but he’s claiming because he never dealt with the addict part of himself so that’s what led him to be “not in his right mind” and led to him jacking off to Craigs List sex ads, which led him to reach out to one, and when it wasn’t a hooker or a bot, he couldn’t stop himself I guess.

Please, this is NOT me saying I buy his bull shit or that “I couldn’t help myself” is an excuse. It’s not. Yes you could. You actively and willingly chose to do what you did. You grabbed the condoms leftover from when we were swinging (You know, when it was okay because nothing was secret), you wore the really expensive cologne I bought you (though you’ve never given me perfume even remotely as nice), you drove all the way to the edge of Detroit, and you fucked a stranger, then you’d planned on lying to me about it for the rest of our marriage. He keeps saying, “If you’d asked me if I slept with anyone else, I wouldn’t have lied to you.” OH, OH I SEE. I should’ve known to ask. I should’ve figured that like 6 weeks ago you were so “frustrated” and “feeling low about myself” and “insecure” that you did this. What the fuck else is he capable of that’s completely disgusting and fucked up? Because this is unreal.

He’s claiming he’d convinced himself it wasn’t a big deal before he did it, that it was like the other things we’d done. Which I guess if some arrogant/judgmental clenched asshole read this they’d just be like “Well that’s what you get for opening the sexual borders at all,” but this was different, this was grimy fucking gross cheating. I cannot even begin to imagine how long it’s going to be before I want to have sex with him again, if I ever do again.

Because I still don’t know what to do.

Because all the more disturbing than what his pathetic insecurity and low, low, low self esteem made him do one night last month, is how now I am REALLY beginning to see a pattern of self sabotage in his life. It’s one of those things that gives an eerie feeling when you find it. Like an extra hand in a photograph.

Because one of the main themes of the many texts he sent me on Friday was that he was going to be a better man and husband to me and he was going to get a better job and finally be able to support us…blah blah blah, heard it all before (YEARS AGO).

And yet, despite his protestations, and he did claim he was going to quit smoking weed to assist with the whole job finding thing. He hasn’t smoked since Thursday I guess….but is that really going to make a difference? Because since Friday, he’s done NOTHING, not ONE THING to move a centimeter further on the job thing.

I try to be nice about it, because if you’re even a HINT of critical in your remarks about one of the most infuriating topics in your life….he just slams shut like a clam, and like I don’t want to be the person who smashes him open over a rock. I know I could, that’s mostly why I don’t want to do it.

But all he ever seems capable of doing with my patience and goodwill is abuse it, then he gets to sit there looking injured when I’m BEYOND frustrated (In every aspect of life, might I add) with his INABILITY to just act like a fucking adult. Like WHY can’t he find a job? He won’t even try. He’s so much like my father it’s fucking revolting.

I mean….really….what’s in this for me? If you take feelings out of it…there’s nothing, and I’m very stupid for staying and thinking things will somehow get better when I’ve been taught nothing but the contrary. I’m just like my mom.

 

So. Here we are. My useless dumbshit husband cheated on me with someone gross enough to have a Craigs List sex ad, and we’re just some sickening recreated of the horrid union that produced me.

 

Thank fuck we don’t have kids.

 

I don’t know what I’m doing. I told him he couldn’t sleep in our bed Thursday or Friday, but then on Saturday I fell asleep on the couch and by the time I transferred he was already in there and I was too tired to do anything besides fall asleep. I have yet to come into physical contact with him, or tell him I love him when he says it to me, or wear my wedding ring since I found out (You know because of a medical bill). I also took down the wedding pictures I had up at work. I’m banking on everyone being too afraid of me and genuinely disinterested in my life to ask about either thing. But I’ll just say my ring is being re-sized and make some weight gain joke and laugh sardonically at it. That’s the plan. If you can plan for all the horrid shit others might say or do to you, it makes your reaction easier to orchestrate. What a luxury it would be to live in a such a life where others didn’t feel compelled to say things that scoured out my soul. Or to at least be able to be myself back to them. But the real me isn’t all that well received most of the time.

Because the real me sees the most tender parts of someone’s feelings. Not right away, but if you get to know someone at all, it’s not hard to detect what’s going on there. At least get a sense of it. And the way a preteen is going to use that is to tell her friends she knows something she can say to anyone to really, truly upset them.
Her friend is arrogant and doesn’t believe her. So the girl who thinks she can read others feelings but like can’t even begin to detect her own (Just like how she likes thinking about and dealing with the problems of others instead of possibly identifying her own. She knows her faults only too well), she says “Do you ever think about how your older half sister definitely loves her kids way more than she loves you?”
The friend got really quiet for the rest of recess as she thought about that. I mean it wasn’t a hard one. She was an only child (this older half sister was already in her twenties and  living across the country, a product of their dad’s first marriage) so only children are really obsessed with being the center of attention and getting whatever they want, but they’re also jealous of people with real siblings so they grasp for them where they can, a half sister, a cousin, a neighbor that’s slightly older, etc.
So really ever since then, I didn’t tell people that I knew how to deeply affect their mental well being. Because that’s what it was. Now that I’m older and taking the the time to be introspective I see how like damaged a lot of my behavior is. Also I have zero control over all those unnecessary “like”s in my writing. I’m truly sorry. If I edited or reread these anon-a-blogs, I would remove most of them. I’m aware they come out but I don’t know how. Like some people with swearing. Or having children.

If my story has any sort of moral, I guess it’s that things that happened to you a long time ago can still haunt you in the the present, no matter how long ago that time was.

I mean I’m clearly still not making the right decisions here, because my life is still so fucked. And one of the many things I screamed at my husband on Thursday was that he had already made me the dumb fuck who stayed after her husband was an off the rails alcoholic (they’ll be polite to your face but their eyes call you an enabler), I was already the stupid idiot who stayed after she got shoved through a closet door (it was a thin particle board rolling door, so I wasn’t injured, but it’s just the fact that he actually did that, then three different times he’d thrown empty liquor bottles at me, that’s not to mention all of the emotional abuse his drunk self loved trotting out), now he was asking me to also be the shit eating moron who stays after he cheats in a fucking disgusting way. I mean really a hooker would’ve been grosser, or an escort or whatever, a stripper would’ve been grosser….but I think he managed to hit 3rd most disgusting way to cheat on your spouse. I mean I guess this one didn’t cost anything.

He claims on the way home from doing that he began to be filled with regret, and realizing he might’ve blown it.

But really, is that how it works? Right AFTER your dick gets what it wants you’re having these emotional epiphanies about how fucking wonderful our relationship is? He literally said “I was thinking with the wrong head” to me, as if that is even something anyone is ever allowed to say. Because let’s get real…every guy probably wants to fuck other people than his partner, maybe every person I’m not trying to be sexist. I’m sure there’s a religious bunch that refuses to even mentally cheat on their spouse, but those of us keeping a closer link to what makes us human, I think it’s pretty normal. There were a few English professors along the way that I definitely still think about. But it’s been so long and there’s literally no chance of future interaction, so, it’s as abstract as a celebrity fantasy at this point. Which sidenote I do not have because what’s the point? I had a really extreme sex dream about Alesander Skaarsgard once but it was after watching Big Little Lies, not True Blood, so I think that was just speaking to some of the incredibly fucked up shit locked deep away in my mind. It’s like a cluttered hayloft, you know it’s looming up there and potentially dangerous, life threatening even, but are you really going to haul everything down there? And why? And for what purpose? There is no reason to almost probably die in the process of trying to live longer.

I talk about mental health and physical health as if they’re one in the same. Because they kind of are. It’s really goddamn heartbreaking to see someone who love slip into senility. Then you’re like wait do I envy those who lost people when they were far too young? What about people like me who lost someone who’s still alive and no one even remotely understands the situation even though it actively breaks your heart every day?

What then?

And more importantly, what now?

And wow, I’m like so fucking fortunate that ANOTHER really devastating thing has happened to me in real time since starting this anon-a-blog to write about the other devastating things from longer ago.

Ugh.

I guess I’m out for now. As you know, I can go on forever. But now I’m asking if I can do just that in respect to my marriage. Because I’m beginning to see a scary pattern and familiarity to all this, and I don’t like it.

But, let’s be real again for a moment, do you really think I want to get divorced either? But, also like I screamed over and over at my husband on Thursday, it was already SO bad, and he seriously had to make everything he’s already done that much worse??? At what point do I just say all right, no more, I’m out? When should it be too much?

No clue at this point, how to go forward. And I’m really not all that impressed with his first weekend of full sobriety’s effort towards getting a new job. Since he’s done nothing. He’s slept a great deal, he’s mowed one of our lawns, he’s gone to two AA meetings. End of things he’s done. I’m not even going to take the time to list what I’ve done in that same amount of time.

But unfortunately I’ve obviously been drinking, and I haven’t had the will to exercise since before he told me. So I might try to get back on that. But, depending on how things go from here, I might be on this bitch every day, complaining about how lonely I am. Like me with live journal circa 2007, like me with myspace circa 2005, like me with xanga circa 2003. I guess I’m still like I’ve always been. I guess this is what I get for not wanting to be alone.

Seems a bit harsh, if you ask me.

 

~Cassie

The weight of pointlessness is heavy upon me

Because, I mean really, name one thing that has a point. One can argue doing anything to prolong one’s life, or to improve the quality of one’s life. But if you knew anything you’d know that quality isn’t real and because we’re autonomous and get to define our own self interest, no one really know what’s good for them anyway. Not that I do either.

But, I will say I have been exercising regularly and recording all calories using an app that shames you for going over your allotment. But not as much as it shames you for not using it. So that’s exciting I guess. I’ve already noticed a difference, but that’s because I’m going from 0 to some exercise. So there’s that. I decided to forgo it today because it’s hotter than hell outside, even with the window ACs that we have, and when you’re menstruating and spend the entire day feeling like exhausted shit….it’s just not that appealing.

Also if I don’t bitch about my feelings to someone (something, the anon-a-blog counts as a thing), I might go crazy. I know I’m always saying that I might go crazy…but that’s because it genuinely worries me. Like how the earth will become too hot to inhabit within the lifetime of young children who exist right this second. And like how I wish I could buy new work clothes but I can barely buy groceries.

Every morning I sit down at my desk, and after the initial rush of checking through emails and awful small talk, I just start thinking about ALL the frustrations in my life. And I get so upset I feel hot and my chest hurts, after awhile. I legit started crying at my desk during my lunch break because I was emailing my mom, basically telling her how fucking hopeless I feel when it comes to our finances, largely impacted by my husband’s inability to find gainful employment (he clears less than $250 a week at his current job…that’s what I made semi-full time at a pet store like 8 years ago). It’s nice to for once talk to her about my problems, and not vice versa. Of course part of me feels bad that I might be making her feel bad for me, thus making her day worse than my piece of shit father does. She tells me about how she prays for me and Andrew every single day. And I believe her. But I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve never told anyone about this, my struggle to maintain this faith I thought I’d always have. Is that why I’m attached to it? Because it was a part of my childhood that I can cling to, when so much else is lost to me? I mean….I don’t know…..but I know it’d devastate my mom to hear that I felt like Christianity comes short. Because like…okay really, the concept of hell? Are we serious? Also, we’re just one little planet in a remote solar system, and somehow the savior of all creation came HERE? So out of the ENTIRE galaxy….only earth can sustain life??!?!? These are the questions that I have. Also, and this is a big one, and I’m like afraid to type it, but like…if God exists…where was He? Should I feel like he was there because it could’ve been worse, I could’ve gotten it worse? Is that how we rationalize this deity to ourselves, by pointing out the coincidences and ascribing meaning to them? Yeah, probably.

So today was a day while, possibly fueled by hormones, I really felt like I was at my breaking point. Having a desk job does this to me, because I’m left alone with my thoughts and they tend to haunt me. You can tell me to focus on happiness and the positives all you want, I try, I really do. There are many things I am grateful for, I suppose the biggest one is how healthy I’ve always been, and I mean my life has been made easier throughout its duration because I’m a pretty tall white girl. These facts are not lost on me. But…if I could make you live a single memory of mine, you wouldn’t think of my as the pretty white lady anymore. You’d see how damaged I am, and you’d see how angry I am. An incredibly wise woman who I had the privilege of hearing once said something along the lines of how excessive consumerism is a way to compensate for dehumanization, and boy is that true. So sometimes I’m like oh I shouldn’t be down on my lazy husband, I just want things to fill the void a traumatizing childhood leaves behind.
Like, this is something I’d never admit to anyone, but I was and still am hugely disappointed by my engagement ring. If I had to pick a reaction that I got from the well-intended people who asked to see it, it would be “underwhelmed.” Like you’re giving me a ring I’m supposed to wear EVERY day for the REST of my life, and I get a cloudy and flawed 3/8 karat?????….????????????????……REALLY?!? Like seriously people (mostly women) would ask to see it, and I would hear it in their voice once they saw it, I mostly got “Ohhh…” or “Ahhh….” a few times I got “cute” once I got “dainty” (that was from a British girl I went to grad school with so it was fun to hear her say it). It’s whatever I guess, I mean but yeah….I don’t like it. And okay, I know jealousy is for sheep…but here we go….a younger coworker of mine got engaged recently, her ring is HUGE. The center round diamond is a karat by itself, then there’s like 2 other karats of diamonds surrounding it and on the band. I shouldn’t equate emotional affection with the cost involved with a piece of jewelry…but….seriously….it’s almost like I should’ve taken this shit as a sign that I was going to get nothing but well-intended, buffoonish disappointment  from my husband. But, if I’m going to start obsessing over what was a sign and what wasn’t I’ll really go crazy. I mean I had to tell him recently that I would be embarrassed to be married to a landscaper, because like..fucking wow I SLAVED during my Masters and Bachelors to be with a guy who pulls in cutting the lawn money?!!? DA FUQ.

Well shit, I guess I do sound really shallow, don’t I? Which is odd because I’ve never considered myself shallow. And for what it’s worth, no one has ever called me that either. The only negative things I’ve ever been called are like loud/obnoxious/annoying. No one’s ever called me stupid or ugly or fat, so there’s that I guess. I feel like there might be something intimidating about me and the way I carry myself, but that’s only based on the treatment I’ve been getting from other people for the past several years. I know I’ve said this before but if I were someone else I wouldn’t fuck with me. Not if I recognized me for what I am. If you can follow that.

Maybe I am shallow and materialistic. But I don’t think so. It’s not “oh you don’t love me enough to work hard enough to buy me the shit I want” it’s “Oh wow, I thought you were going to be some kind of partner but instead I’m taking care of you emotionally, mentally AND FUCKING financially!!! BOY there’s A WHOLE LOT in this marriage for me!!!!” Over a year ago I tearfully explained the source of my rage, that I truly felt like I was the only one in our marriage interested in being an adult. I mean I’ve been a fucking adult since I was a child.

My sister in law gets this extra-special treatment where her mom has to “respect her decisions” AKA sis-in-law gets to do WHATEVER stupid, idiot, moron, fucked shit she wants to, and it doesn’t matter if it all goes horribly wrong and blows up in her face and leaves her holding the bag/broke, because she can just unload ALL of her problems right on her mother, who told her not to do the thing that caused the problem, but “respected her decision” enough to offer constant coddling/support throughout. But THEN, on the flipside, whenever sis-in-law does something horrible or fucked or terrible, it’s because she’s “like a little girl” (because she was molested by both her dad and her cousin…separately of course….and then there’s all of the alleged sexual abuse she suffered throughout college…but like…IDK S-I-L is so fucked and crazy and autistic that I wouldn’t be surprised if she were lying about that to keep the cycle of dependency going). The most recent instance of SIL being “like a little girl” concerns my brother. His birthday is May 17th. She sent him a card, despite their HORRIBLE break up, my mom truly thought my brother was going to take his own life over her. BUT not only did she send him a card, she sent it in a bigger envelope to my mom, with a note reading “Oh I don’t know where he’s living right now, so can you give this to him?”
That’s a Level 10 out of 10 BULLSHIT sentence right there. My brother has nowhere else to go, OF COURSE he’s still living with my parents, she just HAAAAAD to involve my mom, because that’s her stupid idiot stripper whore instinct, involve mother as frequently and deeply as possible. My mom made the executive decision to not give my brother the card, but when I brought it up to my mother in law as  HUGE ISSUE that SIL almost caused, she was so dismissive of it being a problem. She was like, oh well WE discussed it and thought it was all right because your brother is “in the family” (SIL is a hot ass mess who never sends ANYONE birthday cards, not her mom or her brother or my parents, but oh no she definitely is within the bounds of normalcy to send MY BROTHER WHO SHE DATED FOR OVER A YEAR one….) and then mother in law trots out the “Oh well she’s like a little girl in that respect, she thinks she can still be friends with her exes.” OH yeah, LITTLE GIRL indeed…more like stupid fucked idiot who I fucking hate (I mean I hated her before she ruined my brother a little bit more than he was already ruined…..so I guess imagine the depths of my fury now) who fucking needs constant attention from ANYONE with a dick who is willing to give it. Case and point, every Christmas Day my entire in-law clan has to spend multiple hours making awkward small talk with her ex boyfriend (FROM COLLEGE…she’s in her early forties….annnnnd this college boyfriend cheated on her with his own cousin while he was working on the family dude ranch one summer, and he didn’t tell her about this incest-cheating until after she’d saved up the money to fly out and visit him…of course the little girl made the adult decision to “forgive him” and dated him for many months after he fucked his cousin behind her back, THAT guy is the guy who ruins Christmas) with his weird German wife and snoopy little shit of a son. Last year the son (who’s like 7) snuck away from the adults and crept up the stairs, he reached the top of them at the EXACT same second I emerged from their upstairs bathroom in my underwear. Fucking weird is what that was. Luckily he bolted as soon as he realized there was someone up there, I guess it’s not usual that a 28 year old takes a lengthy bath while her in laws entertain a fuck their daughter (step daughter in FIL’s case) dated decades ago. Like it bothers me SO MUCH that my MIL doesn’t just tell SIL to NOT fucking invite her weird ex boyfriend from a million years ago over on Christmas Day. I know she doesn’t say anything because she operates under this terror of upsetting my SIL, since she’s SO prone to any illness/malady, mental ones notwithstanding, she’s as delicate as an antique hollowed out eggshell. And for someone who turned tough as nails because they got treated like they were tough as nails when they fucking weren’t, they were just raised by soulless hardware….okay the analogy’s gone sour but sometimes I ruminate on the holidays particularly when I’m made at work.

Ever since I stopped talking to my parents (beyond emails to my mom) and therefore obviously spending holidays exclusively with the in-laws, I’ve been REALLY bothered by things that occur there.

God, that’s going to be longer than my blog about my wedding night. But, I mean for what it’s worth…I think about how awful my wedding night was, every single day. I’m a vain fucker (as if you didn’t know that by now) and I have a lot of my wedding pictures around. They are perfect. I look exquisite in every shot, extraordinary in some. The photographer used them as advertisement examples for quite awhile after the wedding. They’re up at work, they’re up at home, they’re up at my in-laws’. You can in no way tell it’s one of the most haunting memories I have, just looking at those pictures. My fucking family didn’t ruin the night. You know, if anything has ever made me believe in God, it’s the concept that sometimes I get slapped right in the face (hard) with my grim expectations. It happened when I was 12, and it was the millenial Christmas, and I was pissy nothing was going to make it memorable……then my mom broke her foot and I had to assume all housecleaning, laundering and cooking duties….then her brother didn’t do so well after his November surgery and went back into the hospital on Christmas day…then he died two days later. He was 49. Both my mother and my grandmother would never be the same, he meant a great deal to the both of them, I think in part because he stayed in their (my) hometown and never married or had children so he kind of stayed “theirs.” I’m not saying I brought that about being mad we weren’t doing anything beyond the ordinary for the 1999 Christmas-New Years season. But I’m saying I DO remember being like “Wow self, you fucking stupid moron…boring Christmas would have been great compared to Christmas break spent planning a funeral with your mom and Grandma like literally just OUT of it with grief while playing Pokemon Silver and Gold on your Pokemon-themed Game Boy Color and dissociating like fuck.” It happened when I was 18 and my first boyfriend ever/first person I had sex with broke up with me a few weeks before college was starting for both of us (although we could’ve made it work I felt, obviously) only to agree to get back together with me, only to the next day actually decide to want to really break up with me for good. He drove that point home by inviting me to a canoeing-type day trip with his father’s family…only to leave that morning before I got up, then after being gone all day, after i had to spend a Saturday completely by myself because I’d taken it off to spend the day with him…it was such a blow after feeling such elation over getting back together. Then I had to work the next day, because my prick job boss ALWAYS made me work Sundays, and my bf had stayed the night, but in the living room. He waited until I’d gotten in the shower for work, that’s when he took all of his shit out of my closet and bedroom, he remembered the booze he’d paid for from the freezer. None of it made sense to me at first, until I saw the copy of my keys I’d given him on my desk. Having to go work 11-5 after that, and take to idiots about turtles and shit….it was one of the worst memories of that year, I’d say. And it’s not really the guy, he wasn’t that great, looks wise I mean yeah he’s okay, from what I’ve seen on FB, he’s stayed pretty in shape too, which is surprising given how many video games he plays. He’s on wife #2. Shocking. He was a fuck stick, personality wise. I mean I was honestly desperate and grateful for the last minute prom date he turned out to be. And as luck would have it, he owned a pick up truck. He played a very important role in assisting my leaving my parents’ home. My dad tried to take my car away when he found out I was moving out, because I so obviously kept it from my dad and brother for as long as I could because I knew they’d tried to sabotage or prevent me. But, I should have broken it off then, and concentrated on finding good friends at college…but that’s not really something depressed, broke, sad, alone, broke, Cassie is going to do. I was 18 and living with a stranger i’d met on Rent.com and the only normalcy lifeline I had was my boyfriend. But I knew he was going to end things when he went to college. He really didn’t even try to hide it, towards the end. But still I clung to it for a long time after that, as lonely young girls are wont to do. So getting my hopes up that it would work out,

My Terrible Wedding Night, from the annals of the organized chaos that is my memories

It’s been awhile. I’ve been busy. Like i said last time, it’s FINALLY warm enough where I life to bike outside. And biking is the one version of exercise that brings me enjoyment, so I try to embrace it as much as possible.
It does kind of depress me that the reality is that I don’t have time to work then exercise then write then cook dinner then go to bed at a decent hour. I have to choose between exercise or writing. And one could make strong and valid arguments for either. Wait, let’s do that I’ve been wanting to make random lists and complain about my parents for a LONG TIME. I’m starting to get the tension headaches I get when I haven’t psychically cleansed myself recently. Just like I’ll start having dreams during which I orgasm if I fail to have sex or masturbate for a few weeks but only then will I have such dreams so they’re rarely worth it. I’ve never told anyone that. It’s just never come up.
Exercising:
-Gives endorphin and dopamine, also lends to a good night’s sleep
-Burns calories/tones body, it needs any assistance it can get
-Because I bike outside, slight tan
-Negatives: Might get hit by a car or kidnapped. UV exposure. Exhaust exposure from a nearby highway (like REALLY nearby). Bike upkeep is a slight expense. I’m going to end up getting a flat and stuff from riding in a stop and go city. I stick to residential side streets but enough people around here drive like asses.
Writing:
-Journaling soothes psychic distress…it lances some of the poison out, if you will. I’ll feel better when I feel like I’ve talked about it all. Which will take awhile. But there’s no word limit on this shit, so.
-Working on my first Great Novel is what I consider the point of my existence, and is therefore quite fulfilling in itself
-One day I might do/be something great. I might actually get to help other people, profoundly, through the only methods I’m genuinely capable. The worst thing you could do to your enemies is taking their children from them. And there’s only way to truly ‘take’ a person. You teach them, and they come to you of their own accord. Then, it’s fucking real. So maybe everything I write is just one big attempt at revenge. And you know what, I’m fine with that. I am horribly traumatized I was the victim of and witness to a horrendous amount of abuse throughout my entire childhood. You don’t even realize it’s abnormal. Not for a long time. And when you get older you’re like..oh no matter what I achieve or have, it won’t feel like its enough, because I felt critical inadequacy from a young age. So all that’s left is creative expression and genuine thought and the profoundly rare ability to help others who are under the same straits you once were. You can aspire to be who YOU needed growing up. And that is real. But, sometimes you feel so far from that, and you’re tired and worn out from life and in so much debt and you miss your mom so much and you’re broke all the time and EVERYONE you know seems to have more fun than you…just….you know, the usual.
-Negatives of writing: Can be extraordinarily time consuming. Sometimes will amount to garbled gibberish or something worse AND a waste of a bunch of time. Involves spending even more of my life sitting in a desk chair, starring into a computer screen. Because I don’t do that 9 hours a day at work as it is… Also involves getting drunk and high. I haven’t written a word sober in like…..10 years. All the greats had substance abuse problems. It’s like the people the muses inspire, they also torment them. Just a theory I’ve always had.

So hopefully you can see my dilemma here. Like almost every aspect of life, this has both good and bad qualities. But, the fact that I haven’t been on here in so long seems to be wearing on me. It’s odd to think you have to stay mentally fit as well, but that’s like what is happening. And, I mean for my it’s just important to talk about everything.

And you know one thing I’ve never discussed in detail, and in fact have time to discuss right now? What happened on my wedding night. Oh it was a fucking horrible nightmare shitshow, let me tell you.

Nothing terrible happened before or during or directly after the ceremony. My mother in law came up to me when we were taking pictures before the ceremony and angrily informed me my family (parents and brother) were late, and might not get to be in any pictures. They were late, but this was grossly unnecessary. I guess she was stressed. But other than that, everything went very well, though it’s all kind of a blur. It’s very surreal when you actually get to it. At least that’s how it was for me. I guess because I never expected it would actually happen. I don’t have the easiest personality to match with, as life has shown me.

Then, besides being stressed and already worn out before the reception even started, my husband and I were doing okay. I felt like it was kind of unfair, we got no down time. After the ceremony there was like an hour of pictures in the church. Then we were to drive to the hotel/reception site and meet the photographer at a nearby picture taking site. It was the end of September, but it was still a HOT day. My dress was too tight, and with the underwear you have to wear with it…it was like I was in a straight jacket, at least my torso (thank god it was sleeveless). I still kind of cringe to think about it. But I guess I looked better than I ever would have otherwise…so there’s that to consider. The photographer made us take a picture with my husband dipping me, and it hurt so bad I thought I was going to scream. They took this candid shot of us walking away from taking those outdoor pictures, we both look stressed and worried, I’m carrying my now-dirty train piled up in my arms. I’ll post it if I can manage after this account. Who cares.

I would say that I didn’t notice a problem until after dinner, after the reception was in full swing. Honestly, I’m not outgoing at all and my husband was so drunk by the time the meal ended he completely disregarded any need for any social decorum. It got worse as the night went on. He just got drunker and drunker. He had already had many recent bouts of drinking getting COMPLETELY out of hand. Particularly,  a night only a few weeks before the wedding, at my friend/coworker’s place, my then-fiance got shithoused on Jameson and made SUCH an embarrassing asshole dipshit fucktard of himself. First, he took his shirt off and went into my friends bathroom and slumped up against the toilet. He then refused to leave their bathroom, broke a glass, and kept telling me to leave. Then when I thought I’d convinced him to stop embarrassing me in front of 3 coworkers and 1 other person, he storms out of the apartment altogether. He threw a liquor bottle at me as he charged down their stairs and out of their building. He’d thrown a liquor bottle at me one other time. Even though, if I were to mention this, even now, he’d become completely injured that I still think that’s what he did. He swears up and down that he wasn’t throwing them at me. But they were. They were at me. He follows and listens to his impulses too much, he’s too good at trying to explain them away with his goodness later. I don’t buy it. He whipped both of the bottles both times in my general direction and got pretty close right after I’d said something he didn’t want to hear. Because that is my fucking specialty. I can destroy a person sober, but drunk? Ah, ahhahahahhahaha. Please stop. So after he whips a liquor bottle at me for a second time in our relationship, he storms out of their apartment building, through the parking lot on his way to the road, I follow him in my car. He refuses to get in and keeps telling me to fuck off, that I’m a bitch, that he is going to walk home. Somehow, I get him in the car after awhile. (all of this is happening in front of my three coworkers). The car ride home was a wake nightmare. He said the meanest most vile shit I can even imagine, and like I said I’m good at that. He was such a fucking piece of shit bastard. I had to spend the whole time concentrating on driving, not responding, because if we’d interacted with the cops at all this night, it would not have gone well for my husband. We get to our apartment building, he takes off out of the car, I don’t even try to chase him. I spend the next three hours looking for him. I go to every nearby liquor store and bar. I remember standing in our apartment, my forehead against the glass balcony door, wondering if he’d passed out in the street and been run over by a car yet, feeling just so forlorn and so alone. I’d called the jail to see if he’d been arrested. After waiting in agony for an hour or so I get a phone call from my coworker. She’d followed me home and had spent a long time tracking him down, and she finally found him, passed out in the dirt next to an entrance to our apartment building we never used (it had 4 on the ground floor). He didn’t have his glasses or his shoes (I was in possession of his phone/wallet because when he stormed out of my car in a rage when we got home he forget it in the cup holder , which was good but also sucked because I couldn’t track him with it). My coworkers help me get him into the apartment and then leave. Shortly after he’s tossed inside he comes to and is REALLY and scarily angry. He INSISTS that he be allowed to leave the apartment. I stood between him and door, my arm braced against the doorwell, and he fucking shoved me so far out of the way I went through the coat closet door behind me. And that is by far the most physically abusive he’s ever been with me. And I don’t know how to think about it, even all these years later. It’s never happened again. I guess you can say it was the booze…but…plenty of people get shithoused and don’t shove their fiancees through a closet door….so….. But then he ended up passing out in the doorway, on the dirty fucking cheap vinyl tile they used in those apartments. He slept there until I went to bed. I (OF COURSE) had to work the next day. He texted me the next day, upset and very hungover with no memory of why his glasses were missing. He asked me where they were via text. I was like I don’t know, you lost them. He didn’t believe me. He called me and was tearful when I told him what he’d done the night before. I didn’t care I was excruciatingly angry. THIS all happened less than two months before the wedding. And frankly, on our wedding night, he became that same HORRIBLE person again. One big thing that really pushed that descent downhill was the sudden impulsive invite of a guy my husband knew from when he was 18, we used to buy weed from him on occasion before he went to jail for illegal firearm/heroin possession. He met him because he sold his Saudi friend crack. This guy. For some reason, my husband has to act like a big man and invite this hood rat guy and four of his friends to the NICE fucking ritzy hotel his parents paid for us to have a reception at. Someone he hasn’t seen or spoken to in years, someone who only ever bothered to contact my husband by writing from jail, asking for commissary money.

I’m not trying to blame those people, but they were the beginning of the end. Because all of a sudden I’ve spent so long running after my husband trying to control his drunken rage that I know is one misplaced phrase away from erupting, the reception is over. My brother and my sister in law are obviously obsessed with each other by this point, and my maid of honor seems like she’s in a pissy mood, goes to her room to change then just never comes back. Her twin, my only other bridesmaid who was a friend, disappeared too. I didn’t know it then but they’d gotten into a fight because her twin assumed she’d be able to mooch/crash in the expensive hotel room my MOH wanted to share with her boyfriend so when she grew vexed with her twin’s lackadaisical attitude, her twin was like okay I guess I’m leaving bye and texted their younger sister to come get her. Neither of them said bye or good night to me.

So now the party left to us are the hoodrats, my idiot brother, my sister in law (the nuts one), and two of my husband’s obnoxious moocher friends he knew from DJing back in the day. THAT was the obnoxiously loud crowd of people was taken back to our hotel room. IT WAS OUR WEDDING NIGHT. But no, he was in drunk-fun-loving-I’m-the-life-of-the-party-I’m-invincible type of mood. I remember the hoodrats had turned the TV in our suite to some music channel and were blasting music, asking if they could have one of the chocolate covered strawberries the hotel had had delievered to our room during the reception as a surprise. My brother was OF COURSE preoccupied with rolling a huge ass joint on the coffee table. I’m just sitting in a chair, by myself, with a VERY VERY VERY angry look on my face. The plan of action was to walk around outside smoking a few joints (stupid, stupid, stupid behavior for that town, and especially for the hotel and area we were in, ritzy and policed as fuck) then go swimming in the 24 hour pool. I DID NOT want to do either of these things. I did not want to spend the fucking wedding night keeping these idiot loser fucktards entertained. NO ONE cared how I felt. Or that I was so upset I wanted to scream.

That was, until my husband suddenly, after ignoring me for hours, noticed how angry I was. Then, in his words, he “had a panic attack.” Which is what he called it whenever he heavily abused alcohol then something (usually asinine) triggers him and he falls headfirst into a rage vortex. To the point where he claims he blacks out and doesn’t remember doing or saying things.

Like he doesn’t remember, he says, making me go into the bathroom with him while the hoodrat fucktard trash brigade is still whopping it up having a grand ole time in MY WEDDING SUITE. He says some terrible shit, but we agree that HE will go outside and smoke weed that he just HAD to smoke with this group, then he’d come back to the room. I wasn’t pleased, but I was telling myself I’d have time to put my specially purchased bridal lingerie, and that he’d come back in a happy mood and we could end the night on a positive note.

But that’s not what happened.

I’ve just gotten out of my wedding dress (solo) and into my lingerie (just a very see-through white lace teddy and a thong). He’s back. I remember hiding behind the door because I didn’t want someone walking past to see me. I should’ve noticed the deep black rage he’d sunk into. I should’ve noticed he stood in the doorway just seething with anger at me for ruining the night.

Apparently, the night had been going perfectly, until I completely ruined it for everyone by becoming upset at my husband for acting like a 16 year old having a forbidden party while his parents were gone instead of a fucking man who just got married. It was all my fault. He spent a VERY long time just screaming at me. I remember quite distinctly he was in the hotel bathroom taking a piss, he just yells at me over his shoulder “YOU’RE YOUR FATHER’S DAUGHTER, THAT’S FOR SURE!!!” Which, as you can possibly imagine, is the worst, most painful thing you could ever say to me. That’s why he said it. Alcohol consumption REALLY just lays bare how much an absolute shit person he really is. I know it’d devastate him to read that. But he’s the one who made me deal with a terrifying nightmare when he’s supposed to be the one to love, cherish and comfort me. It was our wedding night. And he was the WORST he’s ever been to me.

Then, he just went on a drunken rage rant. He kept bringing up how I liked other guys and fucked a bunch of guys before we met (5, there’d been 5). Then he started lamenting about how awful his life was and how nothing had a point and he was doomed to be a loser his whole life, and “why did I ever even believe in Jesus?!?” things like that. Then he was just screaming at me again. The hotel had sent a bottle of champagne with the strawberries. He opened it and threw the cork at me, then chugged all of it from the bottle. Then he threw the bottle at me when I’d told him for about the fiftieth time to be quiet or we’d be dealing with security, and there was weed all over the table. But all that did was trigger him to start threatening suicide. He kept saying he hoped he would get arrested so he could go to jail and slit his throat as soon as he got out. He would not stop using the phrase “I’ll slit my fucking throat, I don’t care!”

But, he was still determined to go smoke weed down by the river behind our hotel. So he rolled a joint, and I went with him. By this time I’d changed from my lingerie into a hoodie and jeans. I was wearing my glasses with a bridal updo. I’ve never been more miserable. Because…somehow….he decided he wasn’t angry and everything was great between us once again after we’d left the hotel room. There was a security guard right outside our door too, someone had called about his screaming.

Had I been screaming too? Of course not. He was acting exactly like my dad would, so he’d very much sent me back to a place of fear, back to being the cowering prey animal, back to this burning tension over my neck and the back of my head as I repress so many emotions I feel crippled.

That’s where we were as we walked around. He smoked his joint, I refused to. He walked over to people night fishing and held a really long, annoying, pointless, awkward conversation with them. He told them we’d just gotten married. I wanted to throw him in the river and watch him drown.

Then, that joint must have done it, after the dozen or so beers and the champagne he drank all to himself. Because he went back to the hotel room and promptly passed out in the bed.

Despite my exhaustion, despite it having been such a long, hot, tiring day, I couldn’t sleep. I laid in the bed next to his snoring, smelling body. I remember kicking his legs repeatedly, after awhile I started crying and kicking him, saying, “You ruined our wedding night!” over and over.

That didn’t help so much. These rooms don’t have bath tubs or I would’ve taken a bath. So I just took a very, very long shower. I cried and cried and thought about what my options were. I thought about just leaving for home, letting him explain everything to our families set to convene at his parents’ the next morning. I wondered if this meant I should leave him. If I was just going to be a weak worthless fuck and take it like a good girl and shove my feelings so far past my soul it probably gave me cancer.

I think you know what I did.

The next morning was just a lengthening of the nightmare. My husband doesn’t seem to remember a SINGLE negative thing about his behavior from the night before. He has the fucking gall to say something about how we should try to “use the room.” I wanted to gut punch him. The absolute last thing he was ever going to get from me right then was sex. It would be a very long time before we had sex after that night. Some images and memories and words that are hurled at you…they just like leave you perma-dry. I made some remark about not having time. See, I wasn’t going to get into it with him. For some reason, it was important to me to get through the day without acknowledging the horrible, horrible night before.

We arrive to his parents’ to be JUST in time to catch ALL of his extended relatives as they leave. They have this family good-bye system that makes me want to cut my wrists with a butter knife until I bleed out and die. I’ve seen it in action a lot at their family reunion. No matter who’s leaving, they all gather in a group for the send off. Then instead of saying good bye, fucking hugging like they always have to do and being done with it, they hug and chit chat, move from person to person, all in all just putz around instead of getting in their goddamn fucking car. What should take 3 minutes takes 30.

So I suffer through that, then almost as soon as they’re gone my parents and brother get there. My brother’s in a fine form because he’s angry my sister in law is still asleep. She sleeps until 3 or 4pm if she can. He asked me loudly in front of our mother if I was as embarrassed as he was that she needed help getting up and down the deck steps. Then he loudly commented to me that it was nice walking into a house without the smell of cat pee burning his nose. He’s SO good at being critical of others. But that is literally the only thing he can do, it seems. Then his mood suddenly and drastically improved because my useless sister in law finally was up and he no longer needed my attention. Classic him.

The suffering continues. In all of the pictures of me from that morning after my eyelids, especially the bottom ones, are SO puffy and swollen…I don’t understand how no one noticed. My mom always talks about the wedding and day after as one of the happiest/best days of her life and she thinks about it all the time. I guess it’s good someone enjoys the memory. Doesn’t feel like they’re all tainted. Doesn’t feel this lump form in her throat whenever anyone talks about their wedding, because she’s devastated that ANOTHER major (should-have-been-a-source-of-joy-for-her) thing in her life was DESTROYED by the BASTARDRY of a mentally fucked autistic alcoholic dickwad. That’s how my wedding makes me feel. But I guess it’s good my mom enjoys the memory.

Then, as if to twist the knife just a liiiiiittle bit more….we’re all packed up, we’re saying our LONG STUPID ASS STUPID good byes, I’m SO READY to start crying by myself in my car (we’d taken separate cars because we knew we’d have so many gifts to bring back), and my husband asks me “Do you want to get a sandwich somewhere before we go home?” Before I can even answer, my sister in law (the one I can’t stand whom we can all see is clearly now into my brother) shouts, “I want to get a sandwich!” Which is SO some obnoxious behavior/verbiage their mother would do. And it is certainly a peeve of mine when people invite themselves into something. Like oh cool, now you’ve put me in an awkward position of having to tell you you’re not welcome, and you’re assuming I just won’t bother doing that so you’ll get what you want through rude coercion. Boy, how endearing this behavior is! It’s just SO cute when someone is like that! AHH!!

So, on top of several hours of family time and gift opening and dozens of hugs, I now had to endure a meal at Panera Bread with my brother and sister in law. After that ordeal was over we left separately. I was FINALLY able to start freaking out. I had a splitting headache. At the time I used an electronic cigarette and desperately needed more oil for it. I drove 80mph the whole way home, only to arrive a few minutes after the shop closed.

I’ll always remember that drive home, and the music I listened to I cannot and will not listen to ever again. I cried the whole time. I was going to tell him what he’d done as soon as I could, because I couldn’t bear more one more second of living alone with some memory of what an awful, horrible, drunk piece of shit did and said while we were alone. No, no no, no, no no, no no was that going to happen. Nope, fucker didn’t get to get off with a lack of guilt. He deserved to feel fucking guilty, he should STILL feel guilty. I’m still real fucking mad and it’s almost been 3 years now.

We got home, got all the stuff in the apartment, and I was waiting for the girl who’d watched the cats to drop off the key before I tore into him. But by then, the rage had made me so tired, I was just sad. I asked him if he remembered what he’d done, it was clear he did not.

So, the next several hours were spent going over what he’d done, me crying, him acting a little more hurt and upset than he had the right to, in my opinion. I mean, we’d both been drinking a lot, but he somehow had to always be the one to go off the deep end, into the rabbit hole. I was always left chasing him in parking lots, getting shit thrown at me, being humiliated in front of people I worked with, it just wasn’t worth it.

So, we quit drinking. Yeah, both of us. We even threw out beer we’d had in the fridge from before our wedding. Then, we also did something odd. We knew a groomer from my work with a preteen daughter who needed a place to live for a week, while they got things sorted out with a new rental. The two of them stayed with us for like 6 days. Then after they were gone, an ex-girlfriend of the mooch dipshit DJ-ing friend from the reception moved in. She ended up staying for three months. It would’ve been longer if we’d allowed it. We ended up having to get harsh with her because we weren’t seeing her make strides in her plans to save money and get a place. But I think we took in these wayward drifters as some sort of barrier/distraction. When we started getting tired of the three month one, we’d bond over complaining about her. It was annoying, because she’d said she was of course unable to give rent $ at all, but that she would do things around the house to earn her keep. She never once did anything around the house. I mean, even if she’d vacuumed or cleaned cat boxes, I would’ve been content. But no, literally nothing. I ended up cleaning up after her a few times. She would act like a roommate and be watching Netflix on the TV in the living room with her boyfriend when I came home from a day of work/school. And it’s like…you live here for free and contribute nothing….let me fucking watch the Netflix I pay for on my TV in my apartment that you are living for free…Plus her boyfriend was an alcoholic so there was bountiful drama between the two of them. It sucked, in general. But it gave us something to do that wasn’t talk about our underlying issues.

We gave up the sobriety that New Years. In lieu of a honeymoon, our in-laws paid for the fancy hotel to stay in Chicago for a few days, including New Years Eve 2014. We didn’t plan on it, but of course it happened. And we took it way too far. Then of course, when we got back, the whole “only in Chicago” rule just went out the window.

And it’s not hard to picture what happened after.

So the drinking continued. If I could have known what 2015 was going to be like…I never would have willing gone about that year. I would’ve cloistered myself or something.

One good thing happened, that year a week before my 28th birthday, I was hired at my current job, which meant finally leaving retail after 11 soul-destroying years.

About a month or so after that was the beginning of the end with my parents. My dad was acting extra insane, my mom was about to have back surgery again, my brother and sister in law were dating…it was an odd time.

The last time I saw my dad was the January of this year, 2015. The last time I saw my mom was the June of 2015. She was recovering from her surgery at a hospital somewhat near me. My dad had asked to stay in my apartment while she was at the hospital, and I wouldn’t let him. The idea of him staying in my home appalled me, even then. Plus, my graduating from graduate school perfectly coincides with all of this.

My parents didn’t go to my grad school commencement. My in-laws did, but my own parents did not. My mom was off her meds for the surgery at the hospital near my home the upcoming Monday and didn’t think she could handle the walking and pain of sitting for so long. My undergrad commencement had really done a number on her, I remember that well. My dad refused to go without my mom, mostly because he needs her to emotionally abuse at all times and to upset and to be a psycho to. If he were alone with my in laws, he’d have to spend several hours acting normal and alert and paying attention to conversation instead of just talktalktalktalktalktalking at someone as he SO strongly prefers.

And….do you remember what else happened the weekend of my MA graduation? Yeah, the whole gross, weird beginning of my shit with R started that weekend.

YEAH. So many painful endings and weird beginnings in 2015. It was also the year we moved into the house we’re still in.

Now that I say all this at once…I’m REALLY starting to see a never ending pattern to my behavior.

And like whenever I talk to people, I really do hear how all of my stories and memories involve being shit faced and high or hungover.

Like I hear it, I just don’t care that I hear it. Also, what am I supposed to do about it?

From there the shit with R lasted until…well I think the last time I saw him in person was Memorial Day weekend 2016.

Then, you know the whole…swinging with those two couples…that happened November 2016. Both couples, all three times.

I’ve been up to no good for awhile now, huh?

See I don’t even see myself as some burned out alcoholic drug addict because I was at least working and earning college degreeS and then getting an all right job during this shit show that was my person life.

It’s almost like I needed the depravity of what I did with R to balance the chaos with my family.

When my mom went home from her surgery near me, my dad was supposed to take care of her, and pretty much just wouldn’t do it. My brother, worthless POS that he is, just hid in the basement and dissociated and smoked weed and wouldn’t even go upstairs to check on her. I heard all about it from my husband, who heard it from my sister in law who was at my parents’ house all the time because she was dating my brother.

I spent one summer night in 2015 on the phone with Adult Protective Services reporting my dad’s mistreatment and neglect of my mom.

To this day, I think he thinks my in laws did it, since they’d stopped over to visit my mom post surgery, and bring her baked goods that my dad ate in their entirety right away (because he’d also stolen all of her Vicodin and opiates make you crave sugar something fierce, my brother tells me). But it was me.

That was another low point in my life. It matched my wedding night, in its own way. But at least by then things were moderately tolerable between my husband and I, and things had yet to really “get going “ with R.

I’d say things hit a low point between my husband and I when his drinking was getting worse, and he lost his shit a few times over my desire to spend time with R away from home. He made an absolute fool of himself in front of his family at the family reunion that year because he was so drunk. He was repressing all of this anger and hurt over my dealings with R and it was coming to a head, so to speak, while we were at a resort with a huge assortment of his extended relatives. It was horrendous. He was also finally finishing his undergrad degree and was stressed from that. We really shouldn’t have tried to make the reunion that year, but it was our first one since the wedding and a big part of me wanted to try and act like a normal part of a normal family for once….and we see how well that hope worked out for me. Sometimes I feel like I’m fucking stupid for expecting others not to ruin things for me.

And honestly, I don’t feel like most or any of this is my fault.

I know they’ll say I was obviously an enabler. But I also so clearly have a drinking problem myself so…like…I’m busy with my own shit, basically.

Plus like, there’s a lot of people, even a lot that I know, who would hate on me or judge me for not leaving before, because of the drinking.

BUT, they could remember an important detail – well, not a detail but listen anyway:
After I was finished with my Masters program, after my husband finished his Bachelor’s, after we moved into our house, after I was underway with R and with not speaking to or seeing my parents, and then that final straw – the botched reunion – I finally had to tell my husband that if anything more happened because of his drinking, I WOULD divorce him.

I guess being told that was enough. Because he did it. He hasn’t drank since. He went to an AA meeting that night. That was August 30th, 2015.

And that is what saved us, everyone.

Things aren’t perfect now, but we never ever would have made it if my husband had continued drinking. He is now a significantly happier and healthier person.

If you need help, seek help. If you know someone who needs it, encourage or even assist them, but don’t be an ass. Use tact, I know you have it in you.

Now it’s the summer of 2017. I’d say things are good, except we’re still broke as fuck. BUT, my husband is working now and even though it’s a sales job and he’s had 3 sales in 4 months, he at least makes our rent every month. I just have to be able to handle paying for everything else for two people. That’s SO easy when you have two student loan payments, 8 credit cards, utilities, insurances, rent, groceries, etc for two. But at least he’s working. I cringe to think about those four months of unemployment. So frustrating and infuriating.

See, that’s my issue. I have just SO many memories of frustrating and infuriating things. All of which give me tension headaches. All of which make me spend hours writing pages of a single memory that bleeds into so many other memories because my actions are all intertwined, but like my feelings, they are a veiled mystery to me.
It’s the height of insulting to presume you know how I feel, because besides when I’m angry, I’m sometimes not certain how I feel. I’ve kept my true self hidden too long now. Now I’m just a weird alcoholic with a secret blog who wants to be a writer who struggles with her faith because some seriously long lasting terrible shit happened to her who works a really pointless job but doesn’t mind it so terribly and is married happily but at times is worried she doesn’t have the emotional capacity to connect with someone and truly and passionately love them and she’s always been really worried why she disconnects so much from sex, and used it to her advantage many times when having degrading sex was available and why she and her husband have always had such a lackluster sex life and why she can’t make friends or save money or lose weight or quit drinking.

Jesus, now that I think about it….I think I cut people out of my life because it’s the one thing I can do. Maybe I’m more like my loser dad and brother than I thought. Gross.

Well. I feel a little better. And, okay I won’t lie I’m out of beer, so I’m about to wake my husband from his now three hour nap to go get me more.

And no, that doesn’t make me feel like a bad person. I just…IDK, this thing like happens, when someone is SO awful to you, that even though you still love them, you’re also still really mad, and really sure that this person should try to be as cool to you as they can. Which he is, like 90% of the time.

But wait, okay there’s one more part.

I know, now, from thinking back on it, that the only reason I carried on with R for as long as I did, as frequently as I sometimes did, was because deep down, I was getting back at him.

I told myself that wasn’t what I was doing. But really, R was an even bigger loser, a worse alcoholic, than my husband. Even when I was sometimes picturing myself leaving, I certainly did not imagine that I would ever start a real relationship with R. You do not downgrade in that situation. R was for escapism and sometimes moderate fun and sometimes pleasing sex. He was not for a real thing or genuine affection. And I was perfectly frank with the lot of that from the very beginning. So, any caught feelings are his fucking problem.

And you know, I felt bad. I really did, as I was driving away all those nights (mostly in the summer, but it stemmed a little into the winter before mostly completely fizzling out by the next summer) leaving my husband alone at home. I felt a lot of guilt. I can remember its weight even now.
But it was never enough to make me stay, or turn around.
And I think the reason for that, is because I was then so much angrier than I am now about the wedding night in particular, but with the drinking episodes and drama overall. It’s just kind of like…oh right I forgot you MISS me so much because I MEAN so much to you….mmmm that’s certainly not how I felt ON OUR GODDAMN WEDDING NIGHT WHICH YOU RUINED COMPLETELY.
Things like that.
But I guess I feel better now, and when my husband actually quit drinking to save our marriage…and R got two DUIs in one year and went to jail for a few months…yeah that was a tough call.

I’m not trying to excuse myself or make it better or get people to like sympathize.

I don’t mean to sound like I scorn the opinions of others, because I want to be liked like most people do, but I don’t expect pity. I didn’t get it when I needed and deserved it as a child. No one thought to look at me and my plight in a kind light, to help me. Most didn’t even have an inkling there was such dire problems at home, so convincing was my mother’s cheerfulness and campaigning for the approval of others involved in our church/school. So I knew from a young age I’d have to get out. And I did, and the first three years were tough, but then right after I turned 21 I met my future husband, and I started a relationship that would ONE day be good.
And I guess that’s where I’m at now. I’m never one to genuinely worry about where my life’s headed. I have a place to live and a job, and there’s always something that needs writing.
This blog was supposed to be about my horrible childhood memories, but this story needed to be told in its entirety too.
If you can picture it somehow, I don’t tell this to many people. In fact…the only person I know in real life who knows is my best friend, the maid of honor. She might have told her twin, and probably told her boyfriend but they’re both extraneous to her so that’s fine. Then it was mentioned in passing the one time we went to see our couples therapist since the wedding so I guess she knows. We went to see her to discuss the upcoming stress of my dad being at my grad school graduation and my mom’s surgery and the possibility it might be time to cut ties for good. Then he said he brought the wedding night up at AA, but that doesn’t count.
And even though my best friend knows, she’s never heard the whole story. Because this is some long, involved, fucked, complex shit (like most of my life/thoughts) so it’s not like I’d make a friend listen to all of this at once.

But well, I guess you just read it, so. Remember what I said about people with substance abuse problems. There’s a 100% chance there’s a fucked psychological reason behind their addiction. Sometimes several.

 

~Cassie