Well then

Hmm. Well I’ve been feeling pretty rejected lately.

I guess it didn’t help that last night as I got out todays outfit, the rotation brought up the fancy undies I wore the night i thoooooought I was getting laid. It just makes one sad. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, young Cassie would be appalled at my underwear game at 30. But I don’t have a Victoria’s Secret charge anymore so….

But, they like set me up. Because they’re like ha, REMEMBER when you got these out of storage and were all excited about having a good time then fucking someone you ACTUALLY liked? Ahahahahahahahahaha of course you do you desperate bitch.

And this morning was kind of sad enough, because I was waiting on a text I still haven’t gotten. I don’t know what’s up with that whole situation. I thought that things were okay…..but I’ve been wrong before. And she likes to just not tell me shit and act like it’s not the sort of thing best friends would tell each other. I’m not trying to make her stuff about me I’m just saying that if the roles were reversed I would tell her you know? I guess there’s some shit she doesn’t know but that’s stemming from her withdrawal not a cause of it.

That’s my issue

However I act with someone is how I want them to treat me

And so many people are shitty to me

I’m not saying I didn’t think I was the problem I just don’t know what to do about it or myself or anything

I wish I had friends, like people to talk to who I could see in real life and spend time with and know and like be a part of each other’s lives. If I’m not mistaken that’s how it works. But fuck I have one friend and I suggested getting together in a city equidistant between us for a night and she just didn’t respond. Okay cool. Guess I’ll wait that one out. Fuck knows I’m not saying anything more until she does.

Then I mean I guess I could’ve tried being actual friends with N, but I don’t think that’s the sort of thing that you can go back on, now. I mean we still converse on a fairly regular basis. I’ll admit, it’s still that usual fun/disappointment roulette of “diiid they respond yet….” of my adolescence, and it’s a fun conversation. But I know what my heads doing, I start wanting attention from someone, then I just wait. My husband thinks he’s just biding his time so he can try and fuck me later on, best friend said the same thing one added that he jerked me around at first so he could protest to his wife that he tried to not have it happen. But that’s just how she thinks.

What I’m actually very torn on is how I feel about that.

And no time to go on, don’t feel like being late again. I won’t lie and say I’ll pick this back up on lunch because I’m way busy with CF right now.

Anyway.

Peace

~Cassie

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

OPINIONS NEEDED – You can disagree and hate on me, or you can validate my feelings, but I seriously need external opinions.

All right, the hard part, this is a story about me and my coworkers. The fun part is there’s a lot of sexual tension (I think?? I need your guys’ help).

I sit at a “pod” with a guy (okay fine it’s the one I talk about wanting to bang sometimes) and a chick that’s 7 years younger than me. She’s really cool and usually very nice.

So, on more than on occasion, in fact I’d say on many occasions, the two podmates and I have gone out to lunch together. It’s been awhile since we’ve done so. So today, guy says to girl across from me, “Are we doing Chinese today?” There’s a Chinese restaurant we sometimes frequent. She said she couldn’t due to a prearranged lunch errand she had to take care of. A little bit later, like forty minutes, I say to male coworker, “Oh, if you still want to get Chinese, I’m down.” At which he replied, “I’m just going to eat my packed lunch, this pasta salad is going to go bad if I don’t eat it today.” And I was like…..(internally)….uhhhhhhhh whaaaat? PRETTY SURE you just asked other chick while I was sitting right here if she wanted to get Chinese…and I fucking assumed I would be invited because we’ve gotten lunch together as a group about a dozen times at least……. Right. Okay. Sure. Like, in WHAT way was I not supposed to be offended by this? I mean really? Like….am I wrong here? How does this situation strike anyone else?

The only things I can figure are as follows:
Scenario 1 – Male coworker seriously dislikes me. It’s possible. I mean, given the number of people in my life who’ve been shitty/mean/malicious towards me for like no real freaking reason…I guess there’s something about me that people hate? IDK. I guess. He’s usually very nice and talkative and we joke around a lot and have a decent amount to converse about…but…yeah not enough for him to tolerate dealing with me for an hour? So confused.
Scenario 2 – HIGHLY unlikely – he’s into other girl at pod and without her presence wasn’t willing to spend the money. I say it’s unlikely because…well….IDK I don’t want to be mean but in a world were I am…let’s say a 7.5….to those who prefer a curvy girl I’m an 8.5, for certain, because everything else is great … then other girl coworker is…like a 5. Maybe 6 if you’re feeling generous. She’s VERY thin and tiny, which of course many men find preferable. But I don’t think that’s true of male coworker…given the one time I met his wife.
Scenario 3 – There is some rule between male coworker and his wife about how he can’t go out to lunch alone with me because one or both of them is aware of my active desire to fuck him. Maybe they have a general rule about not going to lunch alone with a female coworker?????? The mysteries abound.
Scenario 4 – Male coworker is wildly attracted to me and doesn’t trust himself alone with me, even for that amount of time. I mean. As much as I WANT this to be true, I just don’t think it is. I wouldn’t ever start anything, not on my own. As much as I fucking love fucking, I just DON’T make the first move. I just don’t. I don’t like it. It’s a strong preference. It prevails through sexual and emotional and complimentary transactions. Any praise. Any anything. I ain’t starting it. I’m sure this harkens back to some banal childhood trauma I endured. So, unless something was said that REALLY encouraged me, more than once, like a whole conversation was had or something – INTERESTING side note that I can’t resist…you know the movie Jaws? Well it’s a tight-ass book, written by a guy named Peter Benchley who felt guilty about the shark misinformation he spread and spent the rest of his life advocating for sharks because let’s be real they don’t mean any harm, their attacks on humans are due to their horrid eyesight and our ability to look like a seal or maybe a sea turtle. Well IN Jaws the book, the wife of the the main character fucks the oceanographer. He’s the younger brother of a guy she dated but never fucked back when she was a debutante. They go out for lunch, spend the whole time flirting hard, talking about what it’d be like if they did sleep together, all the while pretending they were only speaking hypothetically. But, honestly, the sex he describes isn’t nearly as good as the anticipation you know is running through her as she prepares for her lunch date with him. Her husband figures it out right away. You feel for the guy, you really do. But I also never blamed the wife, not at all. What’s a person to do? Sometimes opportunities present themselves. It’s better to pretend you don’t feel something rather than admit it? I mean, is that right? How could it be? ANYWAY, in case you wanted to know about that, right?

So, what do you think? Was I being snubbed hard? Because I feel like that’s what happened. Like how was I not supposed to be offended? I was very reticent for the rest of the day after he said that. Like very much so, for me. I hope my displeasure was conveyed. It should have been. The more I think about it the more miffed I am. I know by Tuesday I’ll probably not give a fuck anymore…but maybe I will…because part of me REALLY wants to know why the fuck this happened.

So – how would anyone else have felt? Am I at all justified or should I get over it? I feel like that’s a kind of shitty thing to do to someone. Clearly. Look at how much I’m talking about it.

Anyway, have a good holiday weekend if you’re lucky enough to get extra time off for it. ~

Au Revoir

~Cassie

I really sicken myself sometimes

I skipped exercising today so I could have ample time to write, so I could crank out more than a single page before making dinner (which I pathetically have not done since Sunday. Monday we did frozen pizza and last night we got Chinese) and what am I doing? Getting so high that I can’t stop thinking about fucked up shit that happened almost a year ago that I’m TOTALLY not over. Also I keep having this idea that I should make a list, one at time, writing out one thing I don’t like and then one thing I do like about my husband, until I get to a grand total of twenty. I want to see if I can do it. Because. I mean sometimes. I don’t know. The only time I like my husband is if I’m actually with him, do you get me? Like,  if I ever think about shit, I just get madder and madder as the day goes on.

And honestly, it’s been awhile since I’ve thought about it at all, really, but today I just couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how low I’d sunk, my husband found a way to be way, way worse than me. I guess what really brought this topic to mind was finding some random, scribbled note of my husband’s. He does this. I think because he thinks his thoughts are brilliant. This would not bother me in the slightest, I think it’s wise to write down anything one thinks is wise, but for the fact that it’s SO chaotic. It’s random scribbles on receipts and bits of torn paper and flyers from nightclubs, it’s disgusting. His messiness is my biggest fault with him, it literally rivals his raging OCD. And when I saw OCD, I mean legitimate, diagnosed, it SO crazy to see happening in person, OCD. He was on different meds for it, from time to time, but they only seemed to make him worse in other ways. Well, one of his chaotic scribble notes started out with something along the lines of “A year ago I cheated on my wife.” And I’m sorry, but, am I to NOT read the rest of that? Especially he’s been such an ass about my need for privacy, which oh if this was real life he just would’ve started to flip out because you CANNOT remind him of past mistakes….to the point where it seems like he just thinks we get to pretend like NOTHING ever happened and everyone is totally okay with everything about each other. He’s hiding it behind the mantle of “not living in the past” as he puts it….but he’s the same peter pan syndrome motherfucker I met when I was 20, at least in a lot of ways.

And today, as I’m wasting all of my writing time like an idiot, I realize that I’m not over the fact that last June my husband had sex with someone with a personal (sex) ad on fucking craigslist. If only that law about craigslist not being able to have a sex ads section anymore had been passed sooner, huh? SOOOOO much grief it would have saved me. It still grieves me. I think I know why. I don’t have ANYONE to talk to about it. My husband always uses the “I don’t want to ruin our evening/I’m trying to have a nice morning with you” vein of reasoning for not discussing past, unpleasant topics. So I don’t think it’d be a simple task getting him to talk about it, plus that doesn’t count as “talking about it.” The last two times I’ve seen my best friend since I found out, I just haven’t had it in me. It’s just another conversation I can’t stand the thought of having, so I don’t.  But one might imagine I need to. But, sadly, truly, there’s just no one in my life I trust like that.

I mean, there’s you, Anonablog, but…does it count? How? Maybe like 20% better, but not what it should be.

So, I don’t know a whole post to complain about how I’m still really grossed out and depressed and sickened by my husband’s super gross rando hook up. I mean, I’ve evaluated that it’s good he didn’t fall in love with someone else, in fact the exact opposite…but omg that’s so fucking disgusting. Like if he’ll do that, what else will he do? I should have known. He went to a whorehouse in DC with two Saudi friends of his, he got a blow job because there was no “wait in the lobby” option. I knew about that like two months into our relationship…so I guess this is probably just my fault anyway. My fault for thinking I could trust anyone. I’ll never learn, I know that, but I feel the need to annoyingly point out my errors after they happen. But, the fact remains that even though he went as impersonal as possible…it’s still fucking gross. I still fucking think that he’s probably gone when I wake up at 3am and he’s not in bed. I really, really, really wish I’d woken up the night he was gone. He couldn’t give me the exact day but he said it was a weekday in mid-June.

It’s just like…if he can talk himself into thinking that I’d be okay with it happening…only up until such a time as he was done fucking a random internet stranger, then he “realized what mistake he made” and knew he had to keep it a secret. He planned on keeping it from me forever, yet also insists that he would have told me the truth if I had somehow known to ask him point blank if he’d had sex I didn’t know about.

Do you see what I’m dealing with, with him?

Is it me? Please someone fucking tell me,  for real, if this is MY psychological damage, or his. Because…I mean…it COULD be me…I had a fucking messed up childhood. I incurred a lot more than’s fair for a young person. I might not be capable of expressing myself healthily, ever. I might actually even be playing my father’s role in my own marriage…except I have my mother’s work ethic, so I can’t TOTALLY encapsulate his narcissism and pathological laziness. Or is this him? He’s the one who “feels a masculine need to be BADDER” I’m paraphrasing but that is also written in one of his twelve million trash scribble notes. Do you see how bothered i am by this? Everything he does and touches it chaotic and messy and disorganized. The EXACT things I detest, because I had my own share and then some of chaos, as a child. See, does it make sense yet?

But basically, he’s saying that to establish his status as the man in our relationship, he had to do something worse than me. And boy did he find it.

I mean I spent like nine months regularly fucking and staying that night with some douchenozzle I met in grad school who turned out to ONLY be good for sex. He’s lucky he has a nice dick, because when I last saw him it was one of his few remaining positive features. He was just another messed up alcoholic loser, because if that isn’t my type I don’t know what is. At first I was genuinely attracted to him and into banging him, but then it just became weird obligation/routine/distraction from actual problems in life…and it just made the situation with my husband SO much worse. I mean there was awhile there where I was gone three nights a week, every week. I feel bad about that, I really do. But after last July whatever it was, like the 21st I think, I think my guilt was wasted. Because the whole time he was telling me it was okay and secretly freaking out about it internally, that whole time, because it wasn’t at all okay but I was making him feel like he had no choice but to say yes, that whole time, he was just planning how to get back at me. He more or less wrote that.

This is what I get for reading something private, i know. But my issue is that it happened, not that he’s trying to justify himself to himself. That seems normal, at least for him.

I took 1400 words to tell myself I’m not over this and I wish I had someone to talk to. Thank god I skipped working out to write….*eye roll*

 

~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

Arguably rawer than even my usual

What I’m going to paste below has been copied from an email I sent to myself. The email content originated in 3 notes I wrote on my phone today, one around 6:30 when I was leaving for work, one during my 10 o’clock break and one during lunch – the only editing that I’m doing is replacing people’s names with the noun clusters I use to describe them in this anonablog.

Some context : Yesterday after he got home from work around 8 my husband was on the phone with his mom for quite awhile. He mentioned that she said she was worried she’d offended me by asking about my situation with my mom. Because, much like her constant strife over her daughter, on most occasions she’d rather not talk about it, or have to think about it, because she really can’t do much anyway. And to make it more fun for me, at one point I was alone at our table at a restaurant with my father in law, and what’s the first thing he asks me about? The exact same thing.

And when I get into the “this is the kind of life you deserve” thing, it’s because my husband grew up quite spoiled and quite privileged. And his friends were the same way. Now all of them are struggling to even find gainful employment, much less match their parents’ successes by their the time they were their age. But I guess rich kids grow up just assuming they’ll be like they’re parents (poor kids grow up terrified of that same thing) because it’s always been that way why wouldn’t it stay that way? My mom even said something along those exact lines recently. And more than once my husband has said something along the lines to me of how I should hurry up and become a famous author already. And like…it’s nice to be that believed in, I don’t say otherwise, but also..like…please tell me that’s not what he’s waiting for.

I think that’s all the preamble required. Whenever I post something I’ve written in angered haste on my phone it’s a hit on WP so…here goes:

“It really irritated me last night when you said the situation I’m in with my mom was “unfathomable” to your mom. It is to me to, but I still get to live it and be asked obnoxious questions about it by BOTH of your parents, who I have to see all the time whether I want to or not.

Also I’m sure you didn’t even notice but when you mentioned this landscaping company works Saturdays and I was like well that means you’ll get out at 2 then come home and pass out and you said you were going to beat that habit this time and it’s like no, I doubt it, I know you are capable, but I guess you need a true motivator like getting to spend time around [girl he volunteered with] who is so amazing and inspiring and intelligent and impressive the thought of getting to impress her gives you energy you’ve NEVER had in my presence. So I guess if you’ll start volunteering again you won’t start sleeping after work but if it’s between taking a four hour day nap or getting to spend time with me, well history speaks for itself which you’re going to pick.
Also, what was your reaction to her expressing worry she’s offended me with her needless and nosey questions? Was it to just immediately assure her she was in the right and just expressing concern? Not that she would be doing me a kindness if she could just shut up about it. Because of course your mother is going to need comfort and reassurance, you’ve got to look out for your mother’s and your own feelings no matter what and certainly before mine. I get the version of you that snaps over the STUPIDEST shit, the you who’s just fucking owned by his OCD to the point you can’t even see it when it happens, who’s always assuring me all I do is make you feel bad about yourself (and you felt bad about yourself waaaaaay before we met, so please stop attributing my attempts to maybe IMPROVE you as a person as a vicious attack, but you’re too busy being a good, sensitive person, i fucking forgot).

Also, do you wish you’d been single when you met [her]? She’s the kind of girl you deserve to be with, you’re so entitled to a life of luxury despite your inability to work hard or overcome anything or be understanding or dare I say sensitive towards me (you’re too occupied over your own feelings, I forget). Too bad you were already tied down with a slutty bitch like me who spent “over a year” being “infatuated” with someone else and hatefully telling you to fuck off whenever you so healthily tried to talk to me about them ( you know when you weren’t passed out drunk and unemployed). Poor you. You deserve better than me. You told me so.
And of course I have to be worried that if I ever express my feelings in a certain way, it might trigger you, and then you become this really awful to be around, scary, unreasonable, horrifying shit show who bashes his head against things because he’s SO ANGRY at me (and throws things at me, and shoves me, and says HATEFUL shit to me) I mean I caught you cheating with a disgusting Craig’s list stranger on July 20th. By August 2nd you were bashing your head against our coffee table and telling me you were ready to walk away from our marriage because of how awful I am to you. Project much????? And what happened to “I won’t let you hate me” ????? You can be strong and tolerant for me for a week, that’s it? Then it’s back to self centered child husband who is a hair trigger away from physically hurting himself and others. You know it’s really telling that you’re afraid to talk to a therapist because you think they’ll institutionalize you. Isn’t that the exact person that needs to be institutionalized????

And another thing, last Friday when we got into yet ANOTHER huge fight you said you couldn’t imagine I would have sex with someone even though I was uncomfortable about it. But you SURE were more than pleased to take advantage of that EXACT problem of mine when it meant you getting to have sex. Do you think I wanted to swing? No! Not once! It’s fucking gross! But I get home from work one day and you’ve made this profile. But somehow you don’t recall that as a problem. I felt like you were whoring me out to get yourself gratification because you hate me anyway and the ONLY thing that REALLY matters to you is gratifying yourself and soothing your compulsions. NO ONE AND NOTHING comes even close. Yet you spend all day convincing yourself otherwise.
God what did you do to get stuck with such an awful wife????
I am still SO angry and things keep getting worse. How long before a compulsion takes over and you stab yourself or me?
I’m sick of this. I’m sick of working so hard. I’m sick of being unappreciated. I’m sick of your DEEP need to always be the victim. I’m sick of crying at my desk. I’m sick of crying when you’re not home. I’m sick of your promises that never amount to anything.
You said you’d be better and make things better.
They’re worse
You’ve made them worse since then.
I can’t stand this.
It’s going to kill me.”
Admittedly, I do feel better now that I’ve said all that. Its like lancing poison out. And I DO also freely admit I would NOT react well if my husband sent me a pages long text like this.  That’s what makes him good. Not the ways he thinks, but there is a genuine patience and tolerance to him that’s not the fake I-put-up-with-abuse-to-make-people-like-me shit that people like my mom put on. I sensed it about him a long, long time ago, and I think even at 21 I knew that was what I really needed. Because I’ve always taken care of every and all of my needs, except my emotional needs. No clue about any of that.
So I don’t know. The last line refers to these weird chest pains I get some times. Lately.
I still don’t know where things are at or what’s up. But we both have been trying really hard, and we want to get better and improve, so, we’ll see I guess.
~Cassie

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