What the goddamn fucking shit is going on with this past week, am I on some sort of reality TV show right now?

Just absorb the message of that email:

I’ve gotten three reviews from this exact boss before. This is first time she’s ever requested we do so on a Saturday…and for the specific reason that she wants to do it when no one else is there…..BUT WHY.

I guess if I walk in on Saturday and someone from HR is with her I’ll know. She said it’ll take “approximately thirty minutes.” I’m literally filled with questions and confusion and dread. OMFG it’s been the week for those feelings, hasn’t it???

Like, I would love to say I’m not upset and angry about shit. But I am. I wish I wasn’t. If there was something I could magically fucking do to stop consistently thinking about the same shit, I would do it. I mean I tried rage stigmata, but my hands aren’t strong enough not like they were when I was a kid. At least now I just have to hold it together at work. My husband is good, VERY good, about emotional support. That and his unique status as the first/only guy to ever EVER appreciate me for the awesome person I am are why I’m still with him AND married to him AND took his last name. Again, these things did not occur magically, they are possibly my hardest “earned things that aren’t things” as I like to call them. Like my friendship with my best friend, which most people don’t have with someone from the 8th grade. Or the fact that my ENTIRE life people have been telling me I’m a strong/talented/good writer. Or that my husband tells me all the time that I’ll always have a husband who loves me.

Oh my fucking god, like WHAT IS THIS WEEK? Do you realize how normal and happy and excited I felt last Thursday compared to today?

You know what I found TRULY unfair? How misery doesn’t burn calories. I mean, it should, right? You can say the whole lost-my-appetite-due-to-sadness and yes that does happen to me all the time but I’m still an alcoholic who truly prefers beer. Jesus I haven’t worked out in like a week. But it’s cool because I haven’t been able to afford pole classes in a month. It’s $75 for 4, and it’s $ I just haven’t had. Which is so fucking embarrassing and pathetic. I’m thirty, I’ve been working since I was 16, I worked full time through a bachelors and a masters….and I’ve been living paycheck to paycheck the entire time. My husband is a barista. Yeah. I work REALLY hard at not comparing myself to others…which is good….because I really often think about how no one else I know rents anymore or drives the car they had when they were 19. But whatever. I’d trade actual, genuine friendships/FWB over that other shit. But spoiler I don’t get that either. I see my best friend roughly three times a year, on a good year.

Why doesn’t crying burn calories? It goddamn should. All it does is make my under-eye area super puffy, then the next day it’s a little more wrinkled than it was. How DEEPLY unfair is it that crying causes eye wrinkles???? Like…clearly I already HAVE problems please no more.

Speaking of, I read something that said donating blood burns a shit ton of calories and prevents cancer.

Do you think that last one is true, or is it like Red Cross propaganda? The calories makes sense because like…they steal a pint of your blood and all.

The game plan.

I am on my first tall can.

I have one more.

Before he goes to spar, I’m going to ask my husband to get my the shit for my favorite mixed drink. Prepare yourselves, because I’m about to reveal how trash I really am. It’s rum (a cheap one, because we’re broke AF like always on Thursdays, so probably Castillo…yeah….Castillo.) and wild cherry pepsi on ice. Don’t tell me that isn’t perfect and amazing. But it’s probably just as calorie-laden as beer.

BUT the drunk from booze is different than beer drunk. Personally, I HATE wine drunk. I know, revoke my vagina right now. Like most people I don’t like who I become on tequila, I don’t like any of the “brown” liquors (despite LOVING the phrase “stuff it down with brown,” I just pretend it pertains to beer…although I only like light beers like pilsners or heffeweizens or kolsch. OMFG I love Kolsch beer. Okay I sound like one of the pretension douches. Get this straight, 90% of the time I drink Coors Light from the can. I don’t even pour it in a glass because then I have to wash that glass.

So I’m going to get very, very drunk tonight. I work at 6am tomorrow, and it’s going to be a day spent ENTIRELY thinking about how my boss is making me drive to work an EIGHTH time this week to give me my review when no one else is around. There’s literally no chance it’s for a GOOD reason. W used to do this to me. He’d have to break away from a lecture/screaming session because the POS needs to chill out all the time (by “chill out” I mean sit and watch TV and drink coffee and chew tobacco and get high on pain meds/booze) THEN when he’s done chilling out…if he doesn’t feel the need to nap (thank god W never had a job to get in the way of his lifestyle) it was right back to it. I’d be in my room, or watching TV in a room separate from the room HE watched TV in…and there he’d come, charging in, all angry (even moreso this time because you know, heightened level of fucked up-ed-ness) just to bring it up all over again, and just keep saying the same shit over and over. That’s part of his I’m-going-to-wear-you-down-mentally play. W never stopped being a shitbag cop. No one knows this more than his family. With my mom, he’d come charging into the room where she was attempting to dissociate and say, “AND ANOTHER THING,” that’s how he always started it. Like…keep that fight going…don’t let bad feelings die…bring up mistakes someone made 5 years ago when you’re mad at them for something completely unrelated….just you know, the mean (WOW that was a mistype but a spooky one…) the MANY things he did on a constant basis that I grew up thinking were normal. I was the only one smart enough to get away out of the four of us. I guess W’s way out is a little dark, but you know what the fucker chose his lot in life when he ruined my childhood and my brother’s sanity.

This is why, more than ANYTHING else, I’ve so far controlled my urges to contact N again. Because I’m seriously obsessed by the idea.

Not over sex.

Please.

Do I LOOK desperate? Look at my ass in this dress. You could crack walnuts with that thing.

IMG_0150_Moment.jpg

BUT, like….I fucking NEED beta readers. And who else do I know who’s smart besides my very busy best friend? My husband is already my very first reader.

Is this me lying to myself?

IDK. I don’t think so?

I don’t mean to be mean but like….it’s not like the guy is SO good-looking I can’t be around him without it getting weird for my hypersexual self. Like the MEGA fine director who sits by me who says good morning to me on certain mornings. I literally cannot look at him and talk to him at the same time without turning SO red. We had a guy in sales, one who I had to work with because I remove sold units when the buyers come get them, and EVERY time he came over and talked to me, I could feel my face turning red as the conversation went on. Omg he was so cute. I added him on Linked In and he never accepted. He left the company kind of bitterly, but he bothered to come over and say good-bye to me when he said he was probably going to be leaving because he asked for more money and if he didn’t get it he was leaving. SO tragic the day Donnie left. I said his name. It’s common enough I guess. So, I don’t have all that going on with N. Plus I’m great at looking terrible when I want to. It’s a skill if you’re trying not to get creeped on. Not saying N was creepy with me…in fact the opposite…if taunting someone with sex (twice!) is the opposite of being a creeper.

So. I could potentially see asking him to read CF (nickname clusterfuck).

But then part of my brain is like What are you doing? Do you WANT to have to kick yourself later? Why do you love that SO Cassie, mmm? Do you know? Why are you intent on pursuing the men who behave as if you couldn’t possibly matter that much to them?

I always know.

I’d say that’s the deepest loss in all of this.

God I CANNOT stop obsessing over this.

It’s just like when I was like….8-12 years younger than I am now.
Well that’s probably not the best sign.

SIGH.

Well, I think I’m going to finish this night out by writing maybe another page – because side note I want to try and write every day in November – then I’m going to drink heavily and play Friday the 13th online, which is a dope game, if you’re so inclined to gaming.

‘Til next time

The soon to be unemployed

~Cassie

I’ll be honest, I deprioritize this bitch

I’ve told you that before, but this had been my longest WP lull since I gave it a go, I think. Which is actually a good thing because it means I’ve been writing creatively every day instead. Rarely will a work day go by that I don’t make time for it, or this. I guess yesterday was an exception, but dinner was especially time-consuming to make. I’ve also been keeping with exercising at least every week day, and with not drinking. I’m not saying I officially quit drinking, but it does sometimes worry me that I know if I start stopping isn’t all the easy.

But enough on that. I know you’re not supposed to inform someone you care about something more than them, but that’s what’s happening with what I spend my time writing.

So little of my time is about me, and what I need to do. That’s life and all, and one must work, and keep a house, and feed oneself, and then you’re like well I better at least make efforts to work out because I don’t want to be in my fifties and decrepit like…some parents…I have…. My terrible father is actually physically healthy…it’s….it’s odd when you think about how mentally/emotionally/spiritually he is FUUUUUCKED. I mean he definitely has been morbidly obese before…like when i was 5 and he got kicked off the police force and he didn’t work for 3 years, his weight ballooned to almost 300 lbs. That’s what happens when you do nothing but eat and drink vodka (you stash the empty bottles in a garbage bag under the stairs and your wife and daughter find these bags on separate occasions) and sleep and watch TV. I never had to witness it firsthand, my brother does though. My mom never says a WORD about it to me either but I’m assuming she knows it’s going on too.

It’s so odd to me, to think that there are people who DON’T have innumerable memories and their dad being in the blackest of rages and him storming through the living room on his way to the bathroom (this is where you keep the vodka you’re currently drinking. On the top shelf not even that out of view) and you’re both frozen like prey animals just fucking hoping he won’t feel the need to pick a fight with you or attack you. Because, when he’s fucked up, that’s WHAT he’s going to do. He WILL get your attention, he WILL control your emotions if in no other way than by tearing you down and making you yell along with him, he WILL control all things and people in HIS house. Geh, that’s his name. Fucking gross. I seriously fucking hate him. My husband finds it comical how I react when someone mentions dads. I just fucking can’t anymore. I spent 25 years tolerating him in some way, and he was only getting worse, he’s still only getting worse, from what I hear. If you look at how fucked up and low functioning my mom and brother really are you’d see how fucking dark their reality is Being around someone like him is literally emotional cancer. It’s so bad. I Am NOT just seeing the worst and over-dramatizing everything, that’s what he always told me I did. FUCKING no. I am not the crazy one. I am the only sane one. If you’re the only sane one of four, you’re going to feel out of place. If you can’t tell I’ve thought this before.

I sometimes think about how odd it is that there are other women who didn’t grow up with dads who told them how fat they were getting. With dads who constantly berated and belittled their mother for her weight (among just a panoply of other things), and somehow even more frequently mentioned how she needed to lose weight, not to mention the constant food bullying. When he himself obviously has an overeating disorder (remember the weight problem). Also opiates make you crave sugar, so that has a strong influence on it too. Ugh, being around him when he was high was awful. He would just talk…and talk…and talk…and talk about nothing for hours. Never once noticing that the only time you spoke was to say “uh huh,” and “yeah” and the other basic social indicators one is paying attention. He did not care, he didn’t want to have a conversation or acknowledge anyone else’s ideas (because that would give them the strong misgiving they were a person whose autonomy was to be respected) he wanted a captive audience whom he was controlling by making them listen to his IN DEPTH movie scene act-outs where he played both characters. MY GOD, I know it sounds funny but it was actually SO upsetting once I figured out how fucked up he had to get to go into that mode.

See now THAT is one really tried and true way to see if someone is actual garbage or not. Do you dislike every version of them? Have you ever known someone whose bipolar who has a likable “up” side? I knew a girl like that in high school, but maybe she wasn’t bipolar as much as had violent mood swings because her childhood was chaos because of her pill head mother and non existent father and string of mom’s boyfriends, also I think one set of grandparents molested her (not lying or exaggerating at all, I would not so such a thing over such a matter). But either way. See I hate every version of my dad, they’re just all insufferable in their own fun little way. I feel that same way about my sister in law, who is certainly bipolar. I can’t stand her when she medicated out of her mind, I can’t stand her when she’s hyper-annoying-happy-make-kind-of-mean-comments, I can’t stand her when she’s…I don’t know she gets so depressed she can’t even move quickly. Like it stiffens the joints. I would know. My entire childhood was very depressing, but you know the longer I have zero exposure to my piece of shit nut job dad and brother (sorry brother but we both know who you’re like) the better i feel. Omg so hard to reason why that might be. Even with the never ending stress and sadness that comes from not being able to have anything to do with my own mother. Who, for her faults is very sweet, and a good person, and she and I were very close when I was young. I was obviously a moody distant teen, but now I guess I can say that I was steeling myself for what was to come. It hasn’t been easy, but I can say it gets better.

Am I telling everyone to cut ties with a toxic and/or narcissistic relative? Well I’m not telling you not to. I mean most people can’t even fathom it as an IDEA. It’s ALL RIGHT. Sometimes, fucking sometimes, we need to let go. You don’t want to. There’s a noticeable amount of pain involved, in a few different ways, but you’re fucking free at the end, you get that right? That’s how you know it was the right move, improvement follows. Isn’t that always the case with our decisions? I’ve had my fair share of good luck along the way, don’t get me wrong – I consider finding my husband when I did as very fortunate…despite…the terrible things we’ve done to one another…. – but I don’t feel like I have many  debits in my “karmic points” category…or however you want to think about it.

Because wouldn’t suffering have meaning if you somehow truly benefited from it? And how is being psychologically healthy when everything around you was not  not the best benefit you could hope for? I’ll admit, there were a few random ass factors that really influenced my natural intelligence into something a girl could really fucking use:
1) I had no competition. Aside from my father’s disappointment that I never found a sport to be good at, I outshone my brother on all plains.
2) I got a lot of positive affirmation. I was frequently praised and rewarded for both good behavior and good grades. From my parents, my Grandma, even teachers at school (sometimes….I feel like I made teachers feel conflicted because I did very well academically but I acted out on occasion, certainly much more than any other girl so I think they hated me. Some of them certainly acted like it).
3) I adapt quickly. This probably is something I learned, to just go with the flow, so to speak, from being in such a chaotic environment.
4) I had access to education and materials meant for a much higher-placed family on the economic ladder. Meaning, I went to private school until I was 18, and I did get a car for free when I was 16….then a different, brand new one when I was 19…..THEN I ended up dating someone from age 21 on whose parents paid our rent up until quite recently. ALSO because of my Grandma then later my mother in law, I’ve always had a person in my life who is incredibly generous, particularly with buying me things, especially clothes and shoes. When my dad was being a shitty prick about how expensive the Memory Care home we had to put my Grandma in cost – Because “you’re supposed to leave something for your children’s children” which I think is my dad perverting some Bible verse – my mom told me that he’d said that to her, implying my Grandma ought to have the decency to die before all of her money ran out and HE didn’t get any, and she was like “And he says that and when you were in high school your Grandma had to buy all of your homecoming dresses.” And that is very true, she bought all 4 homecoming and both prom dresses, and probably paid for the shoes and hair too. I had four fancy black dresses in my closet right now. Assuredly, they’re too small for me right now, but one day. One was for my husband’s cousin’s wedding. One was for a wedding my husband stood up in. One was for my bridal shower with my father in laws extended family. And one was for my undergraduate graduation day. All lovely, and black, and all purchased by the same kind woman. Let it not be said I don’t notice and appreciate her generosity. I did not grow up in a world where you would be like that for someone who did nothing for you. Grandma’s shit had ALL these strings attached.

So, as you can see, some people might envy me my advantages. There’s a few of them. I mean most people don’t have these cheekbones AND these tits…let me tell you. But…I mean I guess I’m more arrogant, or at least arrogant seeming, because I feel like I fucking earned a few advantages. But most people don’t even deserve to know that about me. So let them think what they want. See you don’t care so much what others think when you go about your whole life so well aware they’re so wrong. And, I mean I kind of pity the people who didn’t get to know the older, more self aware version of myself. I guess that’s why we’re hotter when we’re younger, right?

My life has gotten better with every passing year. I don’t say that as a taunt to fate, that things could get so much worse. Because, if you’ve read ANY of my good blogs, the ones people in France just fucking love (my BFF pointed out that people in France would be much more likely to understand the slight fluidity to my marriage’s monogamy….if we want to call it that….I have fucking bad memory flashbacks of the year I wasted so much time and energy and resources on a fucking hopeless alcoholic piece of shit loser….I’ll leave it to my astute readers to remember who that fucking sounds exactly like) then you’ll remember that I HAVE suffered, a lot, recently. But it’s like however low you sink, the peak to come is that much higher? Is that making sense? At this point I can’t be certain if I make sense anymore. I hate it when I lose my topic but I also can’t really help it. See how distracted I get by stories about my dad? Ugh. Must be odd to not have those dark memories.

Husband’s home. Must jet.

 

~Cassie

Nothing’s changed but everything’s better. Or something.

It’s been awhile, I’ll admit it. There’s a great deal to write, but not enough spare time in the day to match it. My natural instinct to form habits works out well on occasion. I end up with an hour or two of writing time every day. I truly should be producing more.
Because, as I’ve mentioned about 20 times, my 30th birthday isn’t that far off anymore. And I thought I’d have more done by the age. I’ve completed the level of work I feel like I want to put in education-wise. Though I guess that could change. Which brings me to my next thought. They told the female students pointedly in my Masters and Bachelors programs that if you wanted to have children, pursuing your ph. D. was not a viable option. I know someone who did it though, with four children. She’s married and had a working spouse bringing in money and helping with the kids the whole time, but still. But, I also had two different roomfuls of professors more or less telling English students not to expect to get jobs like theirs. The second time it didn’t phase me, because I’d heard it before. One professor from my grad school said that same ‘talk’ they gave out, about how it was nearly pointless to get your doctorate in English because getting a tenured professorship is like getting struck by golden lightning after pulling a winning lotto ticket, had made students cry. It’s easy enough to imagine, why English students would have already built this romantic picture of their older self bustling from class to class on some yet-to-be-witnessed campus in some better-than-this-one city long before graduating. Even with our other differences taken out of the equation, we were all imaginative.
So, I guess I’m trying to garble out that I’m not disappointed with myself school-wise. I think I might be done there. And I am married. I know you’re not supposed to say or think this, but this is an anonablog for a reason, and I would feel like an extremely huge loser if I weren’t married by my age. I have friends my age who aren’t married and I know their instant reaction would be to say something deprecating about me or specifically my marriage, because there’s a reason shitty people don’t get married! I’m actually very mean, deep down, I can’t help it. What would cut you to the core, that’s what I’m going to notice. And if you cross me I will spend the rest of our acquaintance/my life garnering information as possible fuel to the fire of hate I already carry for you. ON the flipside though, I always, always remember when someone did something (for me) that they didn’t have to. Because that’s what really matters, and what really makes a person. Is what you do when you’re actually free to choose. Because, sometimes you’re not. Even if the person asking you the question thinks you are. Don’t even think you’re always free to make all of your decisions, because nothing in life in absolute, including freedom.
What do I mean?
Well, take a kid who was emotionally and mentally abused, and emotionally and mentally neglected, and in general very socially maladjusted for an extensive portion of their first 18 years. By the time that kid is in their early teens, they are not going to have the ability to communicate their feelings in any way, effectively or otherwise. They’re going to be so clammed up and shut down, because they’re been living in a fucking war zone for so fucking long, they’re just going to seem fucked to anyone who’s normal and adjusted and happy and stable at home. NO, they’re not exaggerating or only remembering “the bad times” (THEY WERE ALL BAD TIMES). That’s what their narcissistic parent attempted to convince them of a few times. But they’re a little (A LOT) smarter than that. The other members of their family aren’t…but….well, they’ve known all of this for a long time. But they also aren’t FREE to express themselves, or even be who they’re meant to be.

And, obviously, that was me I was just describing…I mean who else would I get so passionate about? I haven’t drank in the past 8 days. I’m trying to not. Because 1) realistically, no one is going to lose weight if they drink every day. I refuse to believe otherwise and 2) I worry about my inability to not drink a lot when I do drink. Yes I’ve seen the pamphlets, I know that’s a huge telltale sign you’re an alcoholic…so…I mean I’ve known that for yeeeeears, even before we moved down here. I mean I think I’ve discussed a FEW times how alcohol poisoned my relationship with my husband. I’m not saying it wasn’t us, but it was us AND drinking. Which actually brings me around to today’s title, or subject or whatever.
I guess it’s only been a month, but things have been so much improved between my husband and I. Come to think of it, I was checking on how many vacation days I had left today and I saw the last day I took off, August 2nd, and I remembered why. That was a dark fucking time.
Fucking funny, isn’t it, that I start a blog to recall all my old dark times and new ones form anyway. I really am trying. And I’m not for a fucking second saying that his actions were my fault, but things weren’t like perfect for a very long time between my husband and I. And I mean now, whenever I think about the several months where I was with R and my husband pretty much an equal amount of time.and I just feel so shitty, MOSTLY because I can’t believe I put up with R’s shit. I mean, come on, what kind of person do you think is going to be available as much as he was/be into constantly having sex with a married chick? An unemployed ALCOHOLIC gamer who lived for free in his dad’s house, I capitalized to convey extremity. Sometimes I wonder how he’s doing, like if he’s gotten to DUI #3 yet, or if by some miracle (ha, remember miracles from last post?) he quit drinking for good and is doing something with his life. But I’d blocked him on Facebook before I deleted my Facebook. The idea that I’m not very hard to contact for people who don’t actually know me is pleasing to me. Of course he had my phone number, and he certainly tried calling/texting many times, but he eventually gave up because I refused to engage. That’s what you do when you’re dealing with shit (or with potential volatility), just DO NOT ENGAGE. No good will come of it, and you know that despite your DEEP need to pick at things.
And yes, I do feel really, really terrible about that situation. But my husband was trying to make sexual shit happen with girl from his college whom I dislike. There was one Friday night, after I’d had a monumentally horrid day at work, where he texted her to meet him at a bar near her place. She never responded that she was going, but he decided to just post up at the bar and hope she came through. This was when he was drinking, so he just got annihilated on straight alcohol, and he would become a DICKISH arrogant drunk sometimes, like he would get that whole “Do you know how much money I spend here?!” at a bar he frequented, and as a former retail horror live through-er I know how gratingly annoying those sorts of questions are. So he got thrown out of the bar, walked to a nearby park and ended up giving a bunch of cash he had to a homeless person and smoking crack with them. He only remembers bits and pieces of that. At one point, after 2am, he walked back to the bar and pounded on the door until someone answered, and got into a shouting match with the bartender who threatened to call the cops. He should have. But instead my husband slept for the night on a bench in the park. No one messed with him, his money was gone but his wallet itself and his debit card and cell phone were still with him when he came to. I woke up that next Saturday morning to an empty bed, thinking that the girl from college HAD shown up and my husband went home with her. This was distressing in its own way, but then I’m about to leave for work at 8am on a Saturday after bawling my eyes out on my lunch break the day before, with my husband out all night with another woman in between, and my husband comes home. He tells me she didn’t show up, but then he tells me what did happen. That was a lot to process. That was a fun drive to work. He’s always handing me all these opportunities to practice my reflexes at silently processing horror. It gives you migraines. Trust me. We didn’t have sex for a really long time after that, after he got checked for shit twice and talked to a doctor about how likely the possibility he’d gotten anything was. I’m not saying he had sex with a homeless person (that was a Craiglist person, and she had an apartment) but I really wasn’t too aware of how communicable hepatitis was through a crack pipe.
You know sometimes I think about how all the shit I just typed is 100% real, and I’m like….well….no one will eve be like “THIS boring bitch!” But at the same time, this isn’t something I’m trying for here. No one wants to have dealt with my shit, I mean I don’t. But you know, I picked up early on that sometimes you have to do shit you don’t want to. Jesus that’s the darkest thing I’ve ever said.
I guess this is the kind of mood I’m in this time of year. I have weird seasonal allergies that give me a sinus infection for several days out of a given three month span, twice a year. Other than that I really don’t get sick, but some days at work the sinus pressure when I stand is so extreme my eyes water. The migraines I get are something else. The reason I don’t go to a doctor about them is because the cause of them is always something INSANE going on in my life. But like I’m telling my boss that. Like, oh hey yeah that one day I started crying over seemingly nothing? Well, I’d spent the ENTIRE night the night before on the phone with adult protective services over the ill care my mother was receiving post-extreme-surgery. Who’s telling their boss that much about their life? NOPE. Plus…if I like…ever REALLY need it….I have the worst things that have happened in the last five years on deck as excuses for erratic behavior.

All right, I hear it, that made me sound crazy didn’t it?

Well, husband is home. Gotta jet.

~Cassie

I fucking hate the phrase ‘teachable moment’ but I think I need to use it anyway

Last Sunday, we had what I have come to think of as a teachable moment. And let me be clear, I really hate that phrase. Another phrase I cannot stand is when women describe abuse as “he put his hands on me.” Like….do you really have to somehow soften the action by being EXTRA vague? Others put their hands on you for not abusive reasons, so stop it with the turn of phrase, you’re talking about being abused. The two, my teachable moment and that annoying phrase, aren’t linked at all, except how I dislike their wording.

But this TM if you will happened on Sunday. My husband and I were leaving for some errand. He was looking for his socks. Because the moment he returns home from the outside world or from working out one of his first actions is to remove his socks and leave them balled up wherever he took them off. Obviously I will instinctively pick them up and put them in the hamper. I wash about twice as many of his socks as I should because of these separate habits of ours, but anyway. As he was inquiring to his socks’ presence he was pulling his shirt on (because he must be in his underwear only if he’s at home unless it’s the dead of winter) and he blinded himself as he walked past a wrought iron wall-mount candle holder I have, and have had since I was 16. I went though this weird wrought iron candle holder phase, but I got rid of all of them except this one. Just because I liked it the most and I bought it from the first place I ever worked (a Jo-Ann’s) and I don’t know when you move 7 times in 5 years you lose a lot of possessions due to breakage and necessity, so something I’ve had since 16 might matter more than it would to others. So he knocks into the candle holder and knocks one of the candles to the floor, which doesn’t matter. But I thought he’d knocked down a glass holder too. And I immediately got incredibly irritated because I’d managed to lug that thing along with me so many places and not break it, but because he was getting dressed and walking and asking his wife where his socks were HE had to fucking break it.

(I have two side stories for a minute that will maybe make my reaction seem less bitch like, but probably not)

But I just kind of went off. I don’t even remember what I said, but it was things along the lines of ‘can’t you be careful’ and ‘did you seriously just do that’ and like a ‘why would you do that’ attitude towards the idea. My husband was like “What the fuck? I didn’t mean to do it.”

And like, obviously I didn’t think he’d purposely tried to break anything of mine. That wasn’t where my anger was coming from. It was just on fucking instinct to like POUNCE on the person who done fucked up.

And….it takes no deep digging to know where that’s coming from.

And okay I’ve been watching this Netflix show called Girlfriend’s Guide to Divorce (I know I feel like a douche typing it, but I love any scripted TV anymore) and I am frequently just appalled at how lenient their parenting is. Like a six year old dumps a smoothie into his mother’s Mac book days before an important presentation of hers (saved solely on the laptop) and blames an imaginary friend. The stress registers, but not the fact that it was solely caused by a little brat’s cry for attention. And like….I think the reason I hate kids is tied in real strong with all of this. Because in my head I’m like “well you know what, [this] happened to me, so why shouldn’t it happen to others too?”

And that, THAT, is how really fucked up, abused people think. It’s how really terrible people think. I mean I kind of figured I was terrible by how I was always treated. And then you relate to those dickweed memes that are script that say “Why should I apologize for being a monster? No one apologized for making me this way” and then you REALLY know you’re the fucking worst. Because only very small, worthless people

We’re not all like that.

But I think I am. My brother sure is. That’s my test group. But I’m also like smart enough to see all this (spoiler, he is not). And we both got the addict gene, but he solely prefers opiates, I solely prefer alcohol, then we meet in the expected agreeable middle with weed. Whatever it is, I think I’ve identified it at its roots. If I were a poet or a painter I would have a much dreamier way of telling you, but all any addiction really ever is, is this voice that whispers ‘You need more.’

Didn’t mean to deviate but I’ve been meaning to write that one down because like every addict ever was just like yuuuuuup. I’m not trying to make light of it. I’m just at the point where I’m like, all right, let’s call everything what is it, be harshest to yourself first before anyone else steals that right. Because if history is any indicator, others are not going to be kind.

But then on the other hand I’m like….is ALL of this bull shit? Maybe I’m just a bitch and I can learn to not be if I want to actually try and stay with my husband. I mean he quit drinking maybe I could bother to not ALWAYS be mean, especially when I know I’m doing it. The problem is I’m always going to act first then realize how shitty I’m being after. Which sounds awful, but at least I know what’s happening.

If you’re wondering if I admit this to my husband, in part, yes. But not totally. In large part because I have to realize all of this by thinking about it all day at work. Less and less i think about my other writing. I can’t call it my novel, that sounds so douchey. I can’t with the ‘manuscript’ it’s its own thing, like contained chaos, at this point, so no labels and shit. And if I keep blogging at this rate, I’ll never get anywhere with all of that anyway and it’ll haunt me for all of my days. And so I don’t come to these conclusions until a few days later, and by then I really am not looking to restart an old fight so we can be upset with one another more.

No, I did not at any point say I think ANY of my behavior is healthy,* so please don’t start

*Disclaimer – when I say one of my recipes is healthy, it is. I do have this weird natural affinity for vegan/vegetarian dishes, though I am neither*

So I don’t always tell my husband I know how fucked my reactions are.

But I mean, as good as I am at obsessing over my own behavior like I’m observing some thought to be extinct animal I just don’t have the ability to call back anger. And anger is where I ALWAYS go. I don’t feel like that can helped. In part because okay remember my two parenting examples were a COMPLETE narcissist who was also a pretty incredible failure at life (think dishonorable discharge but that’s just a metaphor he definitely wasn’t in the military). Yet through it all, my mom stuck by him, and kept us, her innocent children, in the same house as him. What’s so fucking sad is how she thought she was doing the right, strong thing. But the abusive behavior started long before I was born. She told me. She didn’t mean to always tell me things a child shouldn’t hear. She just didn’t have anyone else. I’ve never doubted that my mother loves me, just that she probably was always too far gone to save herself, much less me. Which is actually an incredible gift to give someone, because when you get thrown off that dock you’re going to sink or swim, and us kids turned out to be a 50/50 split.

So those were my examples of adults growing up. The father I just described and have discussed so much before, who I haven’t seen in person in almost three years. And my sad, lonely, abused mother. Those were the options.

My brother had the revolting habit of acting SO much like our dad. It’s funny, because when someone hates someone as much as my brother hates my dad….and yet he acts so much like him….you’re just like….is it that invisible to the recipient of abuse? Does their trauma make some of them become just like their abuser but then tragically also blind to it, destined to always push normals away and repeat the cycle if they should have children?  That’s so fucked, if you think about it.

Because if they were strong enough, and smart enough, and have been handed just the right number of get-ahead-of-others passes in life, they’ll see that, they’ll see all of it. And then you’ll have someone like me. I’m still figuring out the rest as I go. But that’s always been my style.

So, I felt myself instantly jump into bad behavioral patterns instilled in me by my separately yet simultaneously abusive parents throughout my formative years. I’m not making an excuse, but rather an observation. It’s a bad, bad feeling, to realize this sort of shit. It just makes me yet again grateful I wasn’t dumb enough to have kids at a young age. It may well work for others, and great for them, but me? NO. NO NO NO. I would be an efficient mom, but I’m sure I would be just like my parents. Granted, if I’d just had my mom and Grandma’s damaging behaviors, I would’ve been all right, I just probably would’ve turned out a lot like them. It was my dad. He was and is and always will be the problem, the true cancer we need to extricate. I know that sounds harsh, but anyone who knows the truth knows I’m just being honest.

But, I should go, this much honesty takes times.

But really fast – if you recall a few scrolls ago I said I had two examples that would make my anger at my husband for potentially breaking something of mine seem less crazy:

1) The laptop – When I was a sophomore in college, my husband and I had just started living together. We were sitting down to watch a Youtube video of Trailer Park Boys, and he sat down too quickly with an open cup of water and sloshed water all over the keyboard of my laptop. It shorted out and I naturally freaked out. The laptop had been a once in a lifetime gift from my dad, and it had not only a final paper due in a few hours that I hadn’t submitted electronically yet but also all of my class notes for that semester, and it was obviously around the end of the semester. This was a final paper of the semester paper and it was an English literature class, so seriously. So I appropriately FREAKED THE FUCK OUT when those two things dawned on me. I recall this distinctly as the first time I told my husband “don’t fucking touch me” (I’d go on to say it so many times….). He had to go to class too, because it was like an exam day for him I think. And he came home with a stuffed monkey and a Choco Taco as an apology (And that ended up being a way more thoughtful gift than the nothing he got me for my birthday a few days later…but anyway….). It ended up working out, ONLY because I’d printed a really final rough draft of the paper a few days before, and it was unscathed in the recycling bin, so I just had to remember a few edits. I got it in before the deadline, but I remember being so mad that my husband had been so careless around such an important item.
2) The umbrella plant – I worked for years and years at a pet store. One day someone who no longer wished to possess a bearded dragon dropped one off at our store in a gross, dirty aquarium. The beardie was rehomed, but his tank needed to be thrown away. There was an umbrella plant that seemed to be doing pretty well, despite this family’s obvious neglect of their bearded dragon. I managed to call dibs on this umbrella plant, even though my one coworker usually managed to snag anything good in the employee freebies market at this store. And, for the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, I was able to keep a plant alive! I have a plant stand that was my Grandma’s (that has a very checkered history, because my mom and Grandma has to go to about eight different department stores before my Grandma picked one out, and it INFURIATED my mother that she kept being so fussy about it) that this umbrella plant lived on, where my five cats couldn’t bother it. And I know it sounds dumb, but I was seriously so proud I was keeping a plant around for years after trying and killing like three dozen different houseplants.
But then, nearly 6 years ago when we moved downstate, my husband left the plant I loved so dearly at my in-laws. We didn’t want to have to bother with the care moving a plant required when we were already moving so much so far. BUT, unbeknownst to me, my mother in law didn’t want a plant in the house because her cats would eat it. So she put it on their deck, where it promptly fried to death. I’d had the same plant for like 6 years and my mother in law killed it because she couldn’t bother to put it on a high shelf for a few days. It seriously still makes me angry. I should not care this much about a plant but I fucking do.

So, those are my two things. I know it makes me seem a little like a lunatic, but seriously, can’t I have anything? And there’s something so infuriating about the oblivious carelessness with which my husband conducts himself. And it makes me realize that he’s not used to the SHARP criticism I always endured. I was astounded when he said something wasn’t your fault if you didn’t mean to do it. How could that be? How could a person learn that accidents weren’t their fault? Is THAT fucking normal? If so, I am so off.

Wow, again, apologize for length. The short of it – I probably shouldn’t ever have kids.

 

~Cass

I’ll do you one better

As of late (and by that I mean as of today) I am beginning to worry I see a dark pattern in our behavior towards one another. I am uniquely equipped to sense this sort of thing, having known it oh so well from such a young age.
Because when your mother parentifies you, and your brother simultaneously tries to father you and take out his massive anger and resentment on you, and your dad is just an absolute piece of shit narcissist, that’s just how things are. It was never discussed, but every day, holiday or special event or not, was just a contest to see who was in a bad mood, how bad, how bad of a mood they could throw everyone else into so then they had someone to yell at, how much was the day spoiled, how angry and hurt and unresolved EVERY feeling possible could be, how many hours of lectures did my dad manage to deliver that day. Just a fucking shit show.

And now, surprise surprise, 11 years after I escaped that mental and emotional torture-prison and I’m starting to think the same things about my marriage.

Sometimes I wonder how things would be if I hadn’t met my husband. I remember thinking that at 21 there must be something terribly the matter with me if I remained single much longer. Not only that, the only guys I’d dated up until my husband were just total shitbags. I think about everything I tolerated from them and it just infuriates me, to this day. Don’t tell me to let go of anger I (CLEARLY) don’t know how. And that same thing is true of my marriage. Which brings me to our current vicious cycle that I’m at least beginning to see forming.

We all know what happened July 20th. Then TWELVE days later my husband has just a disturbing fucking freak out at me. It was so bad I stayed home from work the day after because I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown and my chest REALLY hurt. Like I said when I first talked about it, I think he just like needed to also scream and rave and say terrible, irredeemable shit to me and tell me he was ready to walk away from our relationship because I’d done that the evening I found out.

And I’m sorry, I guess this is my inner cunt talking, but really? Could that BE any less mature? It really felt like he was just waiting for his first excuse to lose his fucking mind so he could get to be the victim. No sympathy or patience for me, no, that’d require him to act slightly like a man, and fuck knows no one here besides me is capable of that shit.

When he was ranting at me last Tuesday, his voice got creepishly hoarse, and while he was in creepy-strangled-man-voice he kept talking about how he’s “tried to change to his body…tried to change his mind…tried to change EVERYTHING about” himself to get me to want to have sex with him. We’ve been having sex issues from the very beginning of our relationship, yet somehow those issues are what’s stopping him from achieving.

He does not realize what that’s asking me.

Because he’s not that stupid. I really don’t think he’s stupid at all, I couldn’t be with someone beneath me in that respect (or least far beneath me), but sometimes he’s so fucking self-centered it makes him seem REALLY dense and he makes it worse by convincing himself he’s the nicest guy in the world. But….I notice certain types of other people can smell that insecurity a mile away….but anyway.

Because, from hearing his bloodshot-eyes-cyborg voice, you’d REALLY think, wow, what a evil bitch this woman is, how dare she not want to constantly fuck the guy she’s been supporting and nearly mothering for 8 years, how could she not be just SOAKED at the idea of having sex with someone she has yet to orgasm with after 8 years? But no, I should just do whatever is demanded of my body, my will as a human being IS NOT of ANY consequence………and I guess he’s too thick to see what that is. And fuck knows I’ll never say that out loud.

But to me, the sex doesn’t matter. But clearly ALL of his self worth and the definition of his masculinity and adult personality is ALL WOUND UP in MY rejection of his dick. So, how CLEAR it now is that this is really all my fault. If I’d just lied from the very beginning and never once acknowledged my true feelings (you know, the things no one in my life has ever given a fuck about because they’re too busy being fucked up themselves and using me for whatever means they needed me for for that second) we’d be SO happy and perfect.

And like, he was genuinely scaring me last Tuesday, so even I didn’t have it in me to say this, but I REALLY wanted to ask scary-lunatic husband why he didn’t try to change his career path. Instead he declared he couldn’t work while in college (and he was in college a loooooooooong time) then he did nothing but find employment any GED grad can get, and even those were always seasonal. He acts like having a job that he hates going to is some new fucking turmoil only he’s ever had to endure. And he’s been there SIX MONTHS. When I worked retail for the 8 years it took to get my BA and MA I seriously hated every second of my life at those jobs. It was hard to tell what was worse, the emotional warfare of the industry, the shit for brains management or the customers that treated employees like they were less than human because they were all BAD. It’s just really pathetic how easily he breaks down. But then at the same time, he refuses to just acknowledge ugliness in its face. If I do something that upsets or offends him his instinct is to repress it, repress it, repress it and then just SNAP and lose his shit and fucking scare me. Or, when he was drinking, he was fond of saying he had panic attacks. No, he’d get wasted and lose his temper and have to blame it on a neurological disorder. But then if I bring up the exact disorders he blames everything he can’t pin on me, then I’m mocking him for being mentally ill. Yet somehow my mental illness gets ignored, because I learned a long time ago no one cares how I feel so I might as well not show it.

Then, even since last Tuesday, on Friday before we went out, we really got into it again. I had to tell him that I wasn’t okay with ANYTHING happening between him and the dumb bitch I blogged about when she was over at our house (Well. So great.) because I mean, he managed to (while completely sober I might add) convince himself his going and fucking someone from a Craigs List sex ad was all right, because we’d gone out with couples we’d met on the internet and had group sex. But then he was unconvinced as soon as he was done having sex with a gross, gross, gross stranger so he knew then, and only then, that he needed to keep it from me. That was another thing hoarse-voiced-victim-man brought up, about how he fantasizes about killing everyone at the doctor’s office for “doing that to you.” Yeeeeeeah, it’s some billing department’s fault you did that….that’s also so hot and masculine of you, to just constantly pass the buck like that. Like a fucking autistic child. If I had to pick one insulting label for his behavior, it would be that. And how he’s afraid to talk to a psychiatrist anymore because he thinks they’ll 5150 him (…..wait aren’t those the people who’d need it the most? The people who think they’ll immediately be hospitalized because they’re a danger to themselves and others? GOD I sound stupid when I type this out). SO, I felt the need to specifically tell him I am not okay with his fucking her. And it was not received well.

And no matter how he tried to frame it, his anger all boiled down to the concept that I’d done something he hadn’t done, that he needed to “get me back” on some level, that he felt entitled to something like what I had, that he needed to put me through what I put him through, that I shouldn’t get to dictate that that doesn’t happen given what I did. When he knew about the entire time, and always told me it was all right (I was supposed to know he didn’t mean it, that’s what he told me, he’s a nice person he likes being nice to people and he wanted me to have fun, that’s what he fucking says) and he ALWAYS knew where I was. But to hear him tell it, I was really, really, really disengaged from him (I was before R, because I couldn’t stand the loser I’d saddled myself with, this was at his peak unemployment) and whenever he tried to talk to me about his feelings I would shut him down and insult him and make him feel bad about himself.

I mean if THAT is how he sees those 9 months, then I’d fucking hate me too.

That’s the thing I don’t get, it’s like if we were both 100% honest we’d admit we can’t stand each other. Is that just us, or is that everyone? Or it is just intermittent? Because, there are many moments every day that I feel like I love him. But I’m not letting my darkest feelings go unchecked anymore. It’s like wrangling a demon, but they’re my demons…so I guess I should know how? So, I shall blog until I make a decision.

Because truly, I have never told him I wanted to stay married long term. Literally never even said that I wanted to work on us. It hasn’t even been a month and he really thinks we’re already back to normal. Or he’s just repressing shit and it’ll come out and in new and fucking disturbing ways later. So I’ve got that to look forward to.

When I think about everything he’s done, I’m really glad I spent almost a whole year fucking a friend of mine. The friend ended up REALLY sucking as a person (shocking, right?) and now I seriously am as irritated with the behavior of his that I put up with as much as I am about my old boyfriends (there were only 2 of them, like I said I was never popular). Like I felt like my shit with R made us even for the wedding night.

Not that that’s what I was thinking I was doing when I went about all of it.

But….like…this SHIT happens to your brain, when you’re FORCED to act a certain way (no matter how you feel)….it like reroutes incorrectly, and as you age and don’t deal with anything and take a really long time to even grasp how FUCKED shit is for you, you just start acting very differently from how you feel. But that’s not why he said he cheated. He said he was horny and he wasn’t thinking and it happened really fast. Those aren’t good enough reasons to do that.

So now, are we just trapped in this vortex of oneupmanship without us (him) realizing it? Does it stop when we’re both dead or when I’m actually finally broken? Although sometimes I worry that that isn’t possible and I’ll just keep tolerating until it chokes me and then I’ll hear everyone around me cry about how much I mattered to them. Me as a physical body, as the spiritual embodiment of a bitter disappointed woman’s hopes and dreams, not the fucking real person I am that I had to give its own name because I feel like those around me care so little. I guess I could try to reach out more, but how many times you gotta burn your hand before you stop grabbing that iron?

Everything is a pattern, but it’s all its own pattern, that’s unity and variety, my most favorite thing.

Speaking of least favorite things, I deactivated my social media (not the @cassieanonablog twitter, that one’s brand new) and it was SO liberating. Because, let’s face it, do we care about any of those people? I fucking don’t. They either make me jealous or angry. I don’t need any more of those emotions than I was naturally gifted with. I guess I would be less jealous of everyone if I thought less of myself. But like…I work really hard, I’ve always done my absolute best given the circumstances, and no one’s taking that away from me. Enough else was taken from me already.

But, my husband will be home soon, and I’ll feel compelled to speak with him even though I’d rather just write. And I’ll lose my momentum and will half ass finish this later today at work on the WP app.

So, farewell. 0 of my problems have been sorted out, in fact they keep copulating and begetting other, scarier problems.

But, so goes my life usually, so……idk I’m one of those “do it because you’re alive and it needs to be done” sort of people…so….*shrug*

 

~Cassie