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.
DO YOU SEE HOW TERRIFYING THIS ALL IS?
WHAT, THE, FUCK, DO, I, DO???????
Nope to all of this.