What the fuck answer do you think I’m about to give here?

Exactly ten days ago, right before bed, my husband asked me where my feelings stood on his pursuing an extramarital situation that has been ‘in the works’ for years now. It began after my situation with R had already begun. It never came to fruition, if you catch my drift.

The previous day, I’d sent my husband a meme conveying the sentiment “I don’t want what I have with you with anyone else.” Because it is true, despite everything. And somehow that made him think it a wise time to ask where I stood on letting him go off and fuck  her. IF she ever stops playing this weeeeeird cat and mouse back and forth head game shit that makes me want to scream. I couldn’t fucking stand it when I was single, I really don’t like seeing it happen to my husband from some thirty-something bitch who’s NEVER had to work hard a day in her fucking life and just gets handed amazing shit in life because her family is wealthy and well-connected. And, if my personal judgment has any value to it, she fucking knows I despise her and mirrors the reflection. Could this be my possible insanity talking? I guess. I could also just be totally wrong….but…..I’m usually not wrong about these things. If there’s one thing I grew up alongside, it’s hate. It was one of those the-lady-doth-protest-too-much situations with W and hate. He ALWAYS told us we were NOT allowed to say we hated anything, because hating something is “dancing in the courtyard of the devil” (god it sickens me to quote him because you still fucking hear it, all these years later). So, I might just be too warped, or I’m fucking cynical and astute. All three more like.

So, he asks me how I would feel if things progressed between them in a sexual way. IF she ever actually admits that’s what she’s looking for. IF she’s purposely been building tension all these years. He kept reminding me that he gave me “a lot of space”  – meaning he told me it was okay every time i went and spent the night at R’s but really he was letting it tear him up inside but didn’t want to tell me that because then I’d get mad at him so he let it build and build and build to the point where he literally scared me. And he hadn’t done that since our wedding night. And it’s not fair. I spent so many nights terrified as a child, I can’t have it. So, because he was giving me all of this space, that he really didn’t want to be giving at all despite his constantly saying so otherwise, I should do the same now.

NOW.

After I ended things with R on my own over a year ago because I realized I could NOT fucking stand him as  a human being and willingly keeping him in my life was like choosing to have cancer (like my mom and her shit husband, right?). I strongly suspect unresolved issues with my father caused that year long fucked up fucking fuck fest but that worries me because them issues is still unresolved…you know?

After he did the Craigs List thing.

After he lost his mind and bashed his head so many times into our coffee table I really thought he probably did permanent damage as his own emotional reaction to when I got justifiably angry over the Craigs List thing. The thing he was going to lie to me about until his own blundering revealed the truth to me. It’s like he couldn’t stand for me getting be the one freaking out, screaming, losing my mind. That’s HIS role. HE gets to be the fucking lunatic and I better shut the fuck up and deal with it and be 100% merry sunshine the second it’s fucking over because I exist to please him.

Do you hear it? Because you are very stupid if you don’t hear it by now. I do and I’m supposed to be the one in denial. I mean I like to pretend like I’m in denial. Most people don’t know me. It took me a LONG time to realize that it’s because they don’t fucking deserve too. I used to think my husband did. But then he pulls shit like what he did last June..and last July…and what he asked me about a week ago Sunday….

After all of that, after we finally started to get better for real. All of sudden this bitch needs volunteers so she’s texting my husband like crazy, constantly asking for him to come out to different shit (yes I went through his texts. oh that’s a sign I don’t trust him? well i fucking don’t, so).

It’s hard to respect someone who does things that seem so goddamn stupid.

And, what, exactly, does he think my answer would be? Go ahead and fuck her, I owe you because you WERE SO COOL the entire time I was with R….OH FUCKING WAIT NO, THAT’S NOT AT ALL WHAT HAPPENED, YOU PSYCHO. [AND EVEN IF HE WAS, which is untrue, why would he want to go back to things being like that between us? He can never shut the fuck up about how great things are, until you find out he’s wallowing in perpetual misery and sorrow and loneliness caused by my being a frigid bitch who’s only sexually interested in other men and he hates me and he wants to kill himself because he’s tried to change his mind and his body all to please me, DESPITE the fact that he also once admitted he started getting really worried about getting into shape when he thought fucking that stupid bitch was a possibility, but I guess he’s hoping I forgot that like he forgets 80% of what he hears]

Like, really, in my heart of hearts, inside, where no one will ever hurt me because I won’t fucking let them (in), I expect two things now 1) He’ll get horny and cheat again, because he was able to talk himself into it being okay once before, why would things have changed? Because he can just fling his “addict” self towards me as a justification. 2) He’ll have another freak out, another fucking scary one, and THIS TIME, THIS TIME, he might hurt someone. More than likely it’d be himself, but who knows when he’s “lost control.”

I guess you can and promise and promise, but when your actions never back your words up, when you keep getting worse despite claims otherwise….Like I always am under the impression things are better, things are getting better…but for how long?

Like that’s the cruel truth to my life, there will ALWAYS be a “But for how long?” in my head. And you know, for a very long time my relationship with my husband didn’t get that question. But now, I feel like I’m just waiting for something more to set him off. I’m not saying I live in constant fear. It wouldn’t come out of nowhere. That’s how it was with my dad. Because of the pharmaceutical cocktail he’s been on for so long, he could have DISTURBING mood swings, like wake up from a nap and just come rampaging out of his room, screaming at me to pick up the living room and turn down the TV, when on any other day neither of those things would be issues. But with my husband, say there’s a situation where I, as a human fucking being, might be getting upset and saying mean/hurtful things. But no, that’s not to be allowed. Only the men get to say hateful, horrible things, if women DARE to match them, or do better as is usually the case, nope, that’ll make the shitty ones flare up, EVERY TIME. I know because I’ve lived it my whole life.

And now, as I near the end of my twenties…my husband’s on that list.

But, I’m not all despair and gloom, after all. I’m willing to keep trying. I feel like we actually do love each other. It’s not his fault I have weird intimacy issues. Not sex issues. But it’s not just sex with him, now is it? But try telling a guy that, please, let me know how it goes for you.

But now, ten days ago, he’s asking if I would be cool with his fucking college girl, while heavily implying I SHOULD be cool about it because he was just SO COOL towards me during the horror show that was my situation with R. I guess it was kind of like a relationship, but the kind a girl with zero self respect would get into. I can’t tell if i have self respect or not, because I have these DEEPLY ingrained reflexes that behave contrarily to my true feelings. Like, if someone is making you angry and they’re a male you have any sort of a personal relationship with, tolerate EVERYTHING they do, using the tried and true method of abused women from a millennia before you: GRIN AND BEAR IT.

But, all right, if you somehow read this far into my dark, dark woods, you’re probably wondering why I don’t just tell him no, right? Well, he’s leading me into telling him no, he’s making it seem like he’s cool with my saying I’m not cool with it. And, have you followed well enough, can you see why I might suspect he doesn’t actually mean the things he assures me of? Which, all right, I guess. I guess I can internally decipher everything you say to me. If you can imagine, I’ve had practice at that.

I figured I would write today, because I know I won’t have a chance for awhile. Next week besides working 7-4 I have to take a training class every day from 7-9 for a part time at home job. It’ll be like a week of being in college again. My federal student loan payments increased by $200/month, so I wasn’t one to reject this offer when it came my way. I’d only thrown my hat into the ring for it August 2016. I have to process 600 bills every month to make my student loan payment.

I also wanted to write today because I really needed to map out my feelings about my husband asking me about this situation. He suggested I write my answer out, but somehow I don’t think this would be received well. I might still print this one post for him and give it to him. Because I mean

  1. Doesn’t he think the whole Craigs List stranger AND our wedding night might balance out my situation with R? How can he feel he’s still owed something in all this? I had group sex with strangers I wasn’t all that attracted to for him, but seeing that I’M still the wronged party is WAY beyond his willingness/capabilities
  2. He is WELL AWARE how upset/angry his continued devotion to the conceited college cunt’s cause makes me, I do nothing to hide it. Which of course means I go very far out of my way to show how I feel, and it’s rarely received warmly I might add because you guessed it I’m bad at it.
  3. Somehow bringing up a time that was horrible for us as justification for why he wants to ruin a time that’s good for us is logical to him, and frankly that just worries me.
  4. Even WITH his Craigs list endeavor, I am WAY more upset and haunted by the memory of his freak out about 8 days later. I can check the exact date, because I took the day off work. I didn’t even do that for finding out about the craigs list thing. I was just so emotionally frazzled, I was more than willingly to use a sick day to not deal with talking to other people. I wrote a freakishly long blog, if you can imagine. So that’s something to think about
  5. The ratio of fucked up behavior tolerated : dished out between the two of us is ASTRONOMICALLY different. Another thing that’s not fair that makes me resent him. These are the things that kill a sex drive. That and the whole adult-with-college-degree-unemployed-seemingly-in-no-hurry-to-be-employed thing that he had going on for a long time following unemployed college years. I’m NOT saying I have some deep desire to like have the same number of drunken freak out/storm outs but I’m saying it would be GREAT if my UNENDING patience could be acknowledged at some point. Yeah, he’s had to be patient with me, like emotionally…obviously…..but I’m SO many other functional/rational/good things, things I fucking made myself, I can make up for a lot. But HE, HE, gets to be the irrational emotional child? And if I ever dare sink to his level, he just has this next one coming for me to show me who’s in power here, and it’s all so eerily familiar.

I’m not trying to say I fear for my safety, I don’t. But part of me now wonders, and it’s a larger part than I’d like, it wonders when it’ll happen again. See,  it already knows, it just wonders when. And aren’t we all like that? Those of us living with something we shouldn’t? Something we need to fix, in one way or another? I mean, we all know what it is, we just thought of it. I would have, at least, if I’d read it. Not that I would ever tell anyone.

No one wants to be good at keeping secrets, to have it stem from a lifetime of doing so. And not because they’re interesting just because they’re terrible and you feel this unending source of judgment and shame should stem from any revelations on your part.

I don’t have a whole lot of hope to offer if you also feel this way. But, with hope, you don’t need much, really. Because, there’s at least other people out there who can truly sympathize with you. That means more than you’d realize, particularly when most of your life has been isolating. It’s part of controlling a family, spouse and kids, you isolate the nuclear family as much as possible, no adult friends for the parents, keep the kids on the outs with everyone by encouraging awful behavior, keep mother and brother in laws away…. So the loneliness was certain.

Holy shit it’s late. I’m going to be SO tired during these training classes next week….also I’m very concerned that I probably shouldn’t show up really high and that’s going to get in the way of my usual evening plans.

Well, I hope you’re all doing well. I will let you know what happens if I let him read this.

~Cassie

Fucking scrapbooks

Long story kind of short – by way of my mother in law and then my husband, scrapbooks my mother who I haven’t seen in three years lovingly made for me are now in my possession.
One was a wedding scrapbook. It took her three years to make the wedding scrapbooks. Because she made three simultaneously, and she covers the engagement, both showers, the entire wedding day and the day after. One was for my mother in law, one for my mom and one for me. If you remember the July that I had, I remember distinctly thinking about how if I did get divorced it would be so fucking tragic that my mom hadn’t even finished the wedding scrapbooks and we were already getting divorced. That’s exactly the sort of thing my brother or father would point out, too. They were always belittling my mom (and to a lesser extent, me). And scrapbooking and picture-taking have been lifelong pursuits for my mom, so obviously making the wedding scrapbook for her only daughter was a huge deal for her. I’ve always noticed and appreciated that every year of my entire life has been scrapbooked.
But let me say that after I looked through the wedding scrapbook, I couldn’t look through the rest. She really did put her heart and soul into it, and it shows. And I mean obviously that sort of thing is going to make someone in my position sad. I’m grateful we can email at least, but it sucks missing out of years of each other’s lives, and knowing that one day sometime in the future when she’s no longer with us all these days will especially haunt me.
But what am I supposed to do? Pretend I cannot ever EVER be in the presence of my father, or communicate with him in any way, yet my mom won’t/can’t leave him. And he’s a horrible sociopathic alcoholic opiate addict narcissist who literally is SO disturbingly lazy AND selfish AND negative all at the same time to the point where it’s downright creepy to observe him.
Because I was looking through one of the other scrapbooks that was sent my way, and I couldn’t finish leafing through. There were too many pictures of my dad. Somehow seeing the image of someone brings them more to mind…particularly when you haven’t seen them in years. It just fucking disgusted me to think about him.

If you ever think “well, she’s emotional and exaggerating” or “oh he couldn’t have been that bad” please know this  – the words do not exist to express how angry someone thinking that makes me. Because victims get taught/told to keep their mouths shut around “outsiders.” Whoever is outside the locus of control is to be abused and mistrusted, even if like the case of my Grandma where that person is your financial lifeline 10/10 times. I feel so bad for my Grandma, she got the WORST possible son in law you could get for your daughter. My dad was always SO awful to her, so fucking rude and as shitty as possible as much as possible, knowing she wouldn’t say anything to his face but would instead just lose her mind at my mom when they (we) were alone. I think about how her brother, the one who died of cancer very suddenly when I was 12, must have felt when he met my dad. One time, when my mo and dad had first met, she and her brother and my dad were all drinking at the hotel bar my parents met at. My mom was NOT a bar-going sort, but her brother was and she would go out with him. Over something involving control of my mother, my dad followed my uncle into the bathroom and like…when you grab someone’s collar and slam them into a wall and keep your fist balled up under their chin while you talk to them. He did that. My Grandma told me, because my uncle had told her, probably right after it happened because the two of them were abnormally close. There’s no way she made that up. She did some manipulative stuff but she did NOT blatantly lie. I remember telling my brother this tale, shortly after hearing it. I would put us around 9 and 12 years  of age. He flatly refuted the possibility that that was even true. When i was like, well Grandma told me that Uncle Bill (who cares if you know I had an Uncle Bill..who doesn’t?) told her, so they’re BOTH lying then? He refuted it again, because by that age he was a fucking hate factory like his old man.

See, that’s what disturbs me most of all. That, because i was raised in such a hellish environment, there’s an innate meanness to me that WILL rub off in any interpersonal relationships i might manage to cultivate. Not that there’s many of those. What if I have kids and i hear my fucking dad when I’m yelling at them? I’d literally rather not have kids than think for a moment there’s a possibility I could come off to my children like my dad did to me. Because I fucking despise him. I don’t recall the last day that went by where I didn’t think about how convenient and sort-of-like-a-movie it would be if he would just drink himself to death one of these days. I don’t get how his liver is still at it after all these years. My husband tells me that it’s fucked up in a sad way that I feel this way about my dad. I suppose that’s true.

What brings a lot of this about is that my mom is having knee replacement surgery at a hospital fifteen minutes from my house next week. I said something in an email about how I could visit her and she was silent on the topic in her response email. So I don’t know if that means she doesn’t want to bother or it’d be too upsetting or I don’t know..I guess I have 8 days to figure it out, though obviously she and I can only converse when she’s at work. So that also means for the six weeks she’s recovering at home I won’t have the slightest clue how she’s doing. The last time she was convalescing post MAJOR fucking ortho surgery was when my brother and sister in law were dating so I heard status updates vice-a-vie my sister in law. That’s why there was that one night when I was really strung out feeling and drunk of course and I called adult protective services about the conditions my mother was enduring because my dad wasn’t taking care of her and he was stealing her pain meds. When you’re like him I don’t think you’re capable of actually caring for/nurturing another being, because then you’d have expended some energy on something other than yourself and that’s just not fucking possible in a mind like that. Like he and my brother always had this HUGE concern that their precious asses were going to have do work that someone else then in turn didn’t have to do. Like I said before, pathologically lazy.
But now my mom will be stuck in bed for six weeks with only my dad and useless fuckhead fucked up brother to care for her. Last time my  brother “couldn’t deal” with our dad so he just lied in bed (in the basement) smoking tons and tons of weed while my mom went without basic needs being taken care of for days and days upstairs in his old bedroom. Yeah, of course as soon as she could my mom got her own bed and bedroom. That’s always a sign things are great. My dad always liked to lie and say it was because of his snoring. But really deep down they both fucking hate each other. My mom doesn’t want to admit it, probably in large part because in her mind a good Christian wife does not hate her husband but instead continues to tolerate his abuse with sometimes good humor hoping that he’ll change, banking on it even. My dad probably knows it, but would never admit it because that would take a modicum of self-awareness, and again, people like him aren’t capable of that. I use the terms “person” and “people” loosely when referring to my father, keep that in mind.
In other news, my student loan payments jumped $200 per month. Because someone who makes what I make allegedly had $300 to spare per month for NOTHING. I have to see my in-laws tomorrow. The pro is that it will involve free dinner. With how much I cook it’s genuinely something to look forward to, not cooking. Funny how that works.

But things have been really good with my husband, so there’s that. Our third anniversary was a very nice night. He’s significantly happier at the job he’s at right now than he was. So that’s nice to know. I’ve still been keeping at working on every week day. I’ve been doing my darnedest to write every day, but sometimes i need to write huge blogs about how fuckedy my life can be. In some aspects. I guess it’s good I’m not totally Type A. There’s enough like left brain creative spirit in me to turn down the “give a fuck” on a lot of situations.

But anyway, time to make dinner. Duty calls.

~Cassie

I also did not need another evening of violent outbursts and psychotic threats.

It was so bad, I’m at home at 11:49 on a Wednesday I don’t want to be one of those people who take mental health days. But I guess that’s what I’m doing. I just couldn’t do it, again so suddenly after we just had such a disturbing blowout of a fight on July 20th. I couldn’t sit at my desk and listen to my coworkers talk about their wedding planning and engagement parties and summer vacations. I just couldn’t do it again. Not to mention, like I’ve written about in the past, there is a lot of physical pain that accompanies mental anguish. Last night, my head hurt so much and I was hyperventilating so much I thought I was going to pass out. No one who hasn’t done it knows, but it really, really hurts to crack something out of a reserve you’ve carried around in your mind for over twenty years.

How did this all happen?

My husband has been rather under-achieving in the job acquisition department. I’d feel sorrier for him/more hopeless about the situation in general, but he’s really not trying all that much. Like I feel like if he scoured Indeed every day or every other day and blanket applied (as I did) he would get SOMETHING. But, he has been doing well at not smoking weed. I still do, of course. After our wedding night the two of us were sober (except for weed) for three months. Then, I got irritated at how unjust this was for me. Why do I have to stop drinking because he’s a raging alcoholic? The same thinking dominated my attitude towards smoking weed this most recent job-hunting go around. And he still has to go get it for me..because…yeah I have never bought drugs on my own. Before I knew my husband a coworker or friend would hook me up. So yesterday he bought a new strain, and made some remark that he wanted me to save the remaining large bud of our last strain.
Which, all right, I’ll admit it, fucking triggered me. I spend the vast majority of my free time cleaning OUR house. I’ve spent whole PTO days (like today) cleaning and organizing rooms he’s just going to trash again. He’s just a slob, there’s no fixing it, he can’t take care of anything but then he has to cling to the shitty, tattered scraps of what he’s ruined rather than deal with the emotional turmoil he feels when he gets rid of something. So he can’t seem to care for anything properly (cars, computers, spouses) but he also has to cling to everything because he’s imbued it with emotional meaning. Yes, I realize what I’m saying.
Looking back, I wonder if I just should’ve grinned-and-bear-it my way through. That’s how I got through my childhood. Sure, once I became a sullen teenager they all turned on me a little more, but fuck them, like I really want them in my life. My mom still has some emotional hold over me, but I guess that’s normal, to be attached to the far better of your two rather clueless, hurtful parents. Like her mother before her, I’m sure my mom was entirely unaware of how much damage she caused. But, you know I’m almost 30, maybe I shouldn’t just have to keep suffering in silence, to keep putting up with things for the sake of having these relationships with other humans.

And after last night, I don’t know, I have this heavy, sinking, internal feeling that if I tell you what happened you’re just going to be filled with appalled judgment that I’m even still here.

Because, okay, we started getting into it concerning the tiny weed scrap he wanted me to keep. Yes, I could’ve just been like *huge cheesy smile* “OKAY HONEY!” Because that’s how his mom acts like 70% of the time. The other 30% she’s being emotionally manipulative, like all mothers are. But I got irritated about it. Maybe because I feel like I have to dedicate all of my spare time battling the mountains of junk and clutter and just grossness he leaves lying around because God forbid he clean up after himself, I only learned to when I was a child. Maybe because there are already so many things that I have to pretend aren’t big deals, why do I have to let this go too? Why do I always just have to grit my teeth and take it? I’m entirely tired of that.

So now what.

Because the argument about the weed came to an abrupt and not-final halt when my husband went to the living room and I continued cooking dinner, which needed to be monitored constantly. He came into the kitchen and ate (because now we can finally eat in our kitchen! Not having a choice from eating every meal on your couch sucks and it makes your living room gross) but the only thing he said to me the entire meal was to compliment the food. Which he pretty much always does. Then he got up and let his plate by the sink and went into the living room. This was like 7:20 last night and he’d planned on going to a 8 o’clock AA meeting.
But then I got up and abruptly went into our bedroom to lie down. I don’t know why, other than I didn’t want to keep eating, and I didn’t want to go sit next to my husband on our couch.
Then he came into the room, I thought to change for his meeting, but he lied down next to me and tried to tell me the same exact things he was telling me before. That I was making him feel bad about himself, that I was putting him down and making cutting remarks, that I was  invalidating his feelings, that I wasn’t respecting him. The usual things he says that I do.

I don’t know if I do them. Those all sound EXACTLY like things my dad would do to my mom. So there’s that horrifying idea.

But, you know how I know that I wouldn’t get to irritated or angered by things if I wasn’t at my base state walking around an agitated person? I mean I know it’s not my fault that I’m fucked, but fucked I still am, and I’ve just been trying to be normal (and by normal I mean so wealthy I can buy my problems out of existence, and before you say that’s not possible, UH in the case of my mom it certainly is possible, also do you not have 90K in student loan debt that gets BIGGER every year, despite 24 on-time monthly payments per year? so yeah, normal means happily married, maybe with kids, and getting to see my mom…but….how else could I fix all that, unless I was able to buy my mom her own car, they share one, and her own place to live?) this whole time, but it never seems to go well. Sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if I’d been lower on the attractiveness scale. There’s this perfect zenith of done up, right before it starts its RAPID decline, where people will be nicest to you. I’m not even remotely joking, I experimented with it all the time at college.

So, then we really got into it. I left the bedroom in a hurry, and then we just started getting really bad with each other. I went first. At the end of my tirade I brought up how it’d been less than two weeks since I caught him cheating, something I never thought he’d do, and with a gross, gross, just gross stranger, like one step above a $40 hooker gross. Just egh. Anyway, I found about that on July 20th….yet yesterday when my irrational irritation over something seemed to hurt his feelings…my husband just flipped out.

Because he said I was making him hate himself, that whenever he tried to talk to me about his feelings, I always turned it around on him and made him hate himself in the process.

He had this habit of punching himself REALLY  hard in the head when we first met, whenever he was very angered or upset, and it’d subsided a great deal. But then, like I said when I thoroughly described our wedding night, he certainly brought out the I’m-going-to-hurt-myself idea MANY times, he would not stop saying the phrase “I’LL SLIT MY FUCKING THROAT, I DON’T CARE” just so many times. It’s hard to still wanna fuck the person attached to the same face that you saw screaming that at you, still in the tux he married you in earlier that same day. But if I told him that, he’d probably just threaten suicide. Because that’s what he ended up doing last night.

He couldn’t handle that I was being so harmful (as described above) and that I brought up the fact that he was caught cheating less than two weeks ago, so maybe cut me a little slack? I also may have asked him “This is the best I get, really? This is you at your absolute best?” Which, is bad, I guess.

So then, he moved from being standing in front of me in our living room, to sitting on the floor in front of our coffee table, and he must’ve slammed his forehead into the coffee table about 3 to 5 times, then he stood and charged right for me. I truly thought he was about to attack me, but he didn’t, he stopped about a foot in front of me, all in my face just like my dad liked getting. He said something along the lines “If this doesn’t stop, I will fucking end it, I don’t care.” And he wasn’t talking about divorce, that really wouldn’t have been all that scary. Then, all of a sudden he had to leave. He had on shorts and shoes, but no shirt and he grabbed his wallet and keys. I was able to convince him not to go. Not that I give two fucks if our neighbors see, but what if he got into a car accident or altercation in his highly agitated state? We sure as fuck don’t have bail money or new car money, or even car repair money. Then he went off on a REALLY bad tirade.

He talked about how he wants to kill everyone who works at the doctor’s office he went to, because I guess he talked to like four different people to make sure the bill wouldn’t get sent here, but it still got sent here. Almost like a sign. He says he hates them so much for making me go through this and feel this way…but like…c’mon. He hates them for outing him. He hates them for being the reason I caught him. HE’S the one who made me feel that way and go through that. I remember a coworker from an old job cheated on his long suffering girlfriend and got the other girl pregnant, so he had to ask his mom for the abortion money. He was telling me he was so worried his girlfriend would find out, and it would hurt her so much. I remember thinking, if you cared enough about her feelings it wouldn’t have happened in the first place…you see that right, dumb dipshit who decided to fuck what he wanted and is now somehow making it into something he’s protecting his cheated-on significant other from?

He talked about how everything he’s done in the past eight years we’ve been dating has been trying to get me to want to have sex with him. And yes, sex has pretty much always been a problem for us. He’s basically always been unsatisfied with our sex life, has always wanted more and wanted me to be much more into it. I don’t know what my problem is, because boy do I love weird, degrading sex. And that doesn’t at all flow with  having sex with someone you truly love. There was one guy I had really good sex with, who I really, really liked, but I think I knew even on a conscious level that he would never feel the same about me, so I was like…intent on being some great memory, and hoping beyond hope I was wrong when I knew I wasn’t.  I was also 20 years old so give me a break.

He talked about how he was one of the defective people, how he was one of those products that quality control would toss into the scrap bin. Just a really dark, bleak outlook on himself. And I know something about dark, bleak outlooks.

And like…am I somehow making him feel this way about himself? HOW?! I mean, I’ve tried telling him it’s not his fault I have sex issues…but I can imagine I’m not very good at it in person, there’s a lot I’m capable of writing only, to strangers. Whom I appreciate more than you could ever know.

I feel like he’s actively giving into despair. I feel like he’s getting caught in a loser cycle. Because that’s what really does underachievers in, it’s so easy to fall into the mental battles that all losers have. Like, every loser I know has a “no one appreciate what I do, so I just won’t do anything” approach to their actions. Which infuriates someone like me, because you should do things because they need to be done, not because someone might praise or reward you. Every loser I know thinks poorly of themselves, which affects their interpersonal relationships and their interactions with others, which makes them think even worse of themselves, and on and on we go.

I just feel like he’s not trying enough, and if he did he’d probably get a better job, and feel better about himself.

And like as far as sex goes…I don’t know what to tell him, I guess I’m not at all ready, not since we had sex twice between the cheating and the getting caught. Like…no. The idea of doing that is so weird to me right now. I guess I don’t know why that is, other than I know I don’t want to. When he was profusely apologizing via text the day after I found out, he said getting to fall asleep holding me meant so much more to him than sex, but last night that didn’t seem to be the case.

But, after talking and talking and crying and crying in a really hoarse voice for quite awhile, I managed to calm him down a little. I remember that feeling from when I was a young kid. When genuine terror takes over, when you really, truly believe something irrevocable is about to happen, I don’t know how to describe it but you feel really still. I remember noticing that I hadn’t moved or felt my hands the entire time he was freaking out, saying all the stuff I just told you about. But he eventually sat on the edge of our couch and didn’t say anything for a long, long time. So in that time, I started to calm down, and then the true sadness of the event settled in.

Because I feel, I genuinely believe, that even if I was being an obnoxious cunt about not wanting to save yet another bud of weed that will more than likely just be forgotten then lost, HOW did it come to that? To him bashing his head against a table then threatening suicide. Later on he would tell me he was about ready to walk away from this marriage if things didn’t change. And I’m like…does he really get to say that right now? Has he just subconsciously been dying to be the one to say that to the other? He told me he didn’t know how to hurt or punish himself to make cheating up to me. I don’t understand why it’s a given that I want him to hurt himself. Like I feel like he’s taking a lifetime of negativity from others, and he’s taking it ALL out on me. Because he just takes it from everyone else, then I guess that coupled with my never really having been into sex with him….that just made him crazy. To him. That’s his explanation to himself, I’m sure. That’s kind of what he said last night, in many, many more words.

SO now what? As if things weren’t bad enough, they get worse.

You know, you are almost forced to believe in a deity, when your life feels so perfectly orchestrated for despair.

And last night, after he’d finished hoarse-yelling, and hadn’t spoken in awhile, I said I had to clean up the kitchen and went to do so. He heard me crying, it’s a small house. He hugged me as I stood trying to clean the stove, but I was mostly crying. He was crying too of course. He seemed to realize his grave mistake as I got worse and worse, with the crying. Because the more I thought about it, the more I realized how scary this all was. And why does EVERYTHING have to be scary? Why does everything end up bad or wrong or hurt or scared? What the fuck am I doing to cause men like this to be in my life? What do I do now?

My mom would bring up suicide.

She has a very depressive personality, and my unbearably negative father is no help, to be sure. I remember one time, quite distinctly, we were going on a bike ride, something that only happened a handful of times. At one point I gave her my water bottle, and she said “I wish there was arsenic in it” before drinking some.

There were also a few other times, that my mother was so frazzled and so low and so down on herself and her life and so pushed to the edge by my father and brother and her mother all pulling her in different directions, that I truly, really believed that I was going to find her dead. She’d be an extra long time in the basement, and I’d think did she hang herself? She’d leave for an errand and not tell anyone (“Because no one cares!” she would say angrily when I asked why later on) and I would think is she driving to a bridge to jump off of? There’s one famous for that right by us. My brother (in 2011) threatened to jump off of it if my mom didn’t give him heroin money. True story. That was also the day she got home from the hospital from surgery, AND the first time I actually saw my dad slap the shit out of my brother. Yeah that’s another awesome memory. But anyway.

I feel like my mom doesn’t know how horrendously damaging so much of what she told me and said to me as a child was. She was constantly down on herself, making self-deprecating remarks. She was always telling me about her adult problems, because she didn’t have anyone else to talk to because one of my dad’s many goals was to keep us as isolated as possible. He did what he could to sabotage our friendships, that’s for certain. He just didn’t like other people in the house, possibly observing his abusive behavior, or maybe we would tell someone something….just can’t have that.

And the suicide threats…they came from him too. But with my dad, it was more a “I’m going to kill you and the kids and myself” sort of a vibe.

I can remember two very distinct times my dad threatened that very thing.

So. I guess you can say threatening to kill yourself is such a big trigger for me.

I think you can see why at this point.

So when I asked him why did he do that, why did he have to do stuff like that, why did he have to be scary? I never did things like that to him, no matter how bad things ever got with us, I never said I was going to maim or kill myself. Why are there so many things on the list of things he’s done to me that I’ve never done to him?

This is the point where I started to hyperventilate. I’ve cried like that many times before, but it’s always exhausting. Was my life just fucking meant to be frightening and sad? To what end? Maybe if I knew the meaning behind it I could bear it more. Wait, is that why people believe in deities? I told him that my mom would threaten to kill herself, that my dad would say he was going to kill all of us and himself (one time I know was when we were in the car, driving home from a rare vacation, because he always had to ruin everything, like not even exaggerating, he just could not let anyone, even himself, ever be happy, and that’s him).

I guess my husband didn’t know that. Maybe I hadn’t told him. I look back on what haunts me most and realize that there’s still a great deal my partner of eight years doesn’t know.

We ended up calming down after that, we even finished watching a movie we’d started the night before. He went to bed at the same time as me, which I found surprising. Then when I heard my alarm this morning, I just couldn’t deal with going in. I would’e called in the day after I found about his cheating, but it was a Friday and I need my paycheck, my work hands them out they don’t mail them. So I did today. My alarm went off at 5:30, I texted my boss at 5:50, and miraculously fell back asleep, and stayed asleep until nearly 11. My husband did too, he goes in at noon on Wednesdays.

We interacted before he left for work, he was being exceptionally courteous. I was at least responding to him, but it was quite clear I was still very upset. But I still put the bed skirt on myself, not easy feat with a king bed, made the bed and washed the dishes. I still straightened the living room and took a shower. Just because your life is utter shit doesn’t mean your surroundings must match, that’s what I always say.

And pretty much since that time, I’ve been writing this blog. I don’t even know why, it’s mortally embarrassing that it’s getting even worse than it was, and I said that the last time. Is that what all abused women say?

My head and my neck are killing me. I’m also aware the pot of coffee that’s been my sole nutrition thus far isn’t setting well. My plan for the next several hours is to eat a great deal then get incredibly drunk watching movies.

No one, especially not me, ever said I was healthy or knows what I’m doing. Half the time I don’t know why I feel the way I feel, so I can’t really be expected to know what’s best or how to be healthy or normal. I just kind of plan on going at things until I’m sick of them, that’s always been the plan. That and the writing. But for the past few years I’ve been banking on the idea that once we’re doing more than scraping by, my leisure time might be easier to come by.

The only time my life wasn’t riddled with these sorts of peaks and valleys of terrifying emotions, was when I was utterly alone. From 18 to 21, from when I left my parents’ to when I met my husband. Looking back, that wasn’t that long. It felt like an eternity though. I don’t know if I want to go back to that.

I just don’t know about anything, anymore.

Thank God we didn’t have any kids.

 

~Cassie

All I have left is this list 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Cassie 

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

But, no joke, it happened, again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just not fair.

What do I do?

 

~Cass

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

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

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

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

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

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

My reaction….it was not good.

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

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

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

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

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

I guess I deserve it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I still don’t know what to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

Thank fuck we don’t have kids.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What then?

And more importantly, what now?

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

Ugh.

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

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

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

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

Seems a bit harsh, if you ask me.

 

~Cassie