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

This is where I come to waste time – a study in my chosen free time environments

That shouldn’t be plural. We all know it’s only my house. I only leave home when I have to, like for work and the few errands not yet eliminated by the internet.

I’m going to start a blog about how I need to find more time to write my novel. OH WAIT.

I have umpteen faults and all, but being unsatisfied with a mid-level, some would say boring, life is not one of them. I long for lower middle class stability, and a lifetime of running mundane errands with a spouse I love. I guess when you have nothing (emotionally that is, financially we were the people who make themselves poorer and poorer every year living beyond their means, my fathers inability to maintain steady gainful employment also played a role) even just the amount most people cast aside as inadequate because it’s not “spectacular” or whatever…I don’t know. I mean I guess I just think if anything about someone is going to be spectacular, it should be what you create, not your house or your hot, shallow sex life or your car or your soulless unfulfilling job, you know? I mean there’s some brain surgeon who finds deep meaning in their work who would tell me to fuck off if they somehow ever read this.

It’s like in When Their Eyes were Watching God when the granddaughter of a former slave marries an older rich man mostly/only to please her aging grandmother. She explains to her friend that her grandmother grew up a slave, and saw the pinnacle of womanly achievement as being the white woman sitting up on the big house’s porch, not doing a thing. She never would have considered that her granddaughter (Janie, I think her name was? Jeannie? I should Google it but I can’t leave a blog once I start it, you’ve seen what happens when I do) might want something MORE for herself than sitting up on that porch. I’m kind of the grandmother when it comes to like emotional stability and capability for growth. I know that’s probably pretty sad to admit, but it’s also the fucking truth. ALSO – I’m not equating my life experience thus far to slavery. NOT doing that by any means. There are some things that should just be clarified right away.

Like, to clarify, I know that ALL of the fucking time I spend writing these posts I could be writing my other work. And I am painfully aware that now that I’m in the age pocket of “done with college” but haven’t hit “has children” yet, I will NEVER have more free time for this shit than I do now.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I need to do this. Especially now, because I noticed something.
I get these excruciating tension headaches. They’re to the point where if one hits at work, early on enough in the day, I’ll go home at noon. They wake me up if I’m fortunate enough to fall asleep while enduring one. If you don’t know what it’s like, it’s every single muscle in your neck tensing up to the point where it all feels like it’s made of steel that wound too tight. Then that pain radiates up your spine and into your head and makes one or both sides just throb. You can take Excedrin, because that can help if you catch it early on and you can be awake for the next ten hours…but therein end your options.
These headaches almost always coincide the week of my period, IF I haven’t cried recently.

Remember when I wrote about how I know if I need to masturbate because I’ll start doing it in my sleep? It’s like some odd clockwork when my brain’s like “Hey, been awhile without that special rush of chemicals i like…do this now dumb bitch.” I feel like my id must hate me, because I’m repressed in ALL these disturbing ways. Even still. I think about my emotions constantly but I’m still really not able to convey them and sometimes I feel like everyone in my life is in some conspiracy to make me a lunatic.

Well, I think I’m starting to do the same thing with crying. Like….some part of me I can’t reach knows when I need to, and i hate this term for a reason I haven’t told you about yet but I’m sure will at some point, but when I need to release, I will subconsciously make it happen no matter what.

The way to truly test it is to make myself cry a lot the few days before and during my period week.

There were also two tensions headaches within as many weeks. But my mom is having knee replacement surgery tomorrow and we have the world’s most complicated situation – complicated until W is dead, am I right? – and that upsets me.

Also, did you wonder how I’ll make myself cry? Oh, there’s no worries there. I can give myself goosebumps or make tears well in my eyes when I want to. I’m not saying I use this to my advantage, I wouldn’t betray my dark emotions like that, but I know it’s true. I guess there’s a lot of sad shit in my life. And, I don’t want to waste my time writing about it. But I don’t know what else to do.

If I had to pick two words to describe my childhood it would be invasive and lonely. It’s odd having a parent who’s checked out and lazy but still somehow controlling? Then another who just…the picture of passivity, to say the least.

If I had to pick two words to describe what worries me about my adult life, it’s pointless and infuriating. I mean, the idea that I’m almost 30 and I haven’t even begun to think of having kids and the only thing I have to show for my life is a FUCK ton of student loan debt and my marriage has had….just some DISTURBING lows and honestly not enough highs to balance it out and we just talked about how my tolerance is fucking low for that sort of thing. I haven’t written anything of note. I’m too busy being worried I’ll never have time to write. See when I was in school all those years I could tell myself that it was because of the school taking all my time. So, if I do give in to convention and have kids, I’ll just say it’s them. Then I’ll have all these unsorted issues that I’ll take out on my kids. I mean really the only thing I ever actually worry about in life is being a thing like W, bearing even a slight resemblance. I mean physically you can’t help it, I certainly didn’t get my mother’s eyes, but I mean behaviorally. I’ve already told you about the few times, whilst plastered and in that MEAN drunk mode, my husband has told me I’m acting like my father’s daughter. Truly few things make me hate him more. I’m not saying I actually hate my husband, but that THAT is what he’s like when he’s fucked the fuck up…it’s just so not encouraging.
As for the infuriating, well I think it should be clear how angry I am.
I don’t want to be. Really, deep down, I actually am this laid back person who wants to be happy and not around a lot of people all at once. But see this bad shit happens. Because when I was a child, I was taught a few things about my feelings, from my mom and dad, my brother, my Grandma, my teachers, the other kids at school, any boys I would life pre-husband, it’s like they all had a goddamn meeting and were like yes let’s definitely drive these points home to that deserving little cunt:
Your feelings, Cassie, they:
1) DO NOT MATTER
2) Are always going to be so put off and neglected and ignored you won’t feel like last place you’ll feel like you weren’t even told there was a race to begin with
3) Are of the LEAST concern
4) DO NOT MATTER
5) NO ONE CARES HOW YOU FEEL
6) You have to be worth something for your feelings to matter
7) COUNT FOR NOTHING
Why? Why did they make me feel like this? Well, Lutheran school teachers are garbage. God knows how many of them are sexual predators but I bet it beats the national average for public school. But I mean, a lot of kids have an awful time at school, for a full bevy of reasons. But home? Like that was an escape? As a kid I couldn’t keep money in my piggy bank, because if my dad needed some he would take it and leave and IOU that, weeks later and after much aggravated nagging on my part, my mom would have to pay back. If we took a two hour long nap on a Sunday as teenagers he was rifling through our rooms for the drugs we must be on. Despite that he naps 4-5 hours a day EVERY day. Something to break up the television watching and toilet-sitting/vodka drinking that he does with the rest of his time. Lucky for me he was either too stupid or too lazy to go through the Word files on my computer. Boy he would’ve had a problem with most of that content.
That my novel – being as….well idk I have a ton of gay characters, they just ended up gay, like some people do and its a genetically tiny sample of people to begin with so it makes sense that some traits like homosexuality could get ‘trapped’ say on an island no one is allowed to leave? Does that make sense? Am I deliberately writing something that says being gay is genetic? I mean I guess that’s what happened. But I mean, before I start seeming like some appropriating fuckwad we must also appreciate that my work would have to be categorized as fantasy. Which is honestly a genre I fucking hate besides the Sookie Stackhouse novels….. it would enrage my dad. My mom is open-minded, when it comes to that at least, but she is one of those white people who doesn’t realize they’re racist (example, why do you have to comment on how ‘clean’ the black boyfriend of your coworker’s daughter is? why would that be a thing you mention?). But of course my novel isn’t about him, it just would have all these excellent fringe benefits, like enraging my piece of shit dad with its rhetoric. It’s AGENDA, which is what they’d call it.

Did any of this help or make me feel better? Well yeah. See, remember how I was saying that I was taught constantly and by everyone in my life that my feelings didn’t matter? Even my poor mother, she did her best but she was causing so much damage when she used me as her sounding board for her life’s many, many woes. And, I didn’t get to have feelings, or if I did they were secondary. I was to be cheerful, and upbeat, and happy, and high-achieving and cheerful, I was there to make everyone else happy, to make THEIR lives matter. My life and ME, we certainly didn’t matter. So if I don’t count at all, why the fuck would my feelings even register as existent?

And why is that shit so damaging? Because it teaches you to hold everything in. Think of it like a sarcophagus. It’s made of stone and sealed shut forever with an embalmed corpse inside, and boy what a perfect metaphor for my psyche back then. I guess you could call my eventual ability to self-soothe my very own necromancy. God, can I even follow that metaphor….

So, sure, keeping your feelings hidden because you aren’t EVER allowed to acknowledge them, much less work through any, seems nice, but it’s not. Because that sarcophagus…it leaks a little. Not enough to let YOU out, but people can smell something rotten about you. You’re mean. You wait for EVERY opportunity to undermine or hurt someone else because that’s how you fucking get treated. You maintain no long-lasting or fulfilling relationships of any kind. Your inability to express yourself in any kind of healthy way follows you through high school, making dating COMPLETELY impossible. When you’re out of high school it makes you date fucking scum that’s so fucking beneath you. I mean they could’ve been worse but honestly on a mental level I’m appalled at how low I sunk. They were all attractive enough but my life taught me that that alone isn’t enough to get you by. At least not on my level. I’m sure there are those way above me who are completely terrible assholes in every way and also aren’t good at anything. We all know that sort.

So these awful fringes of your true feelings are visible, but that’s it. And that just makes you seem like an uptight hostile bitch, or something. When all you wish you could do was have friends and date like everyone else. Then that resentment compounds on itself and you get all “Well, why should I care then?” about it. I CANNOT imagine going through this being unattractive. How bitter must those people be?

Great it’s almost 7. So basically, repressing feelings is bad and will actually cause lifelong damage if done too much as a child but sometimes self preservation is necessary, so eh. I am almost 30 and am nowhere near even a remote solution. But also, eh. A lot of people never “get better” I’m just grateful I’m healthy and I’m at least with someone whom i would like to be with, given we don’t….ugh…head down the shrubbery maze…so to speak. Because even for me that shit was WAY too dark.

Anyway, need to cook dinner.

~Cass

As most sagas do, the shit continues

Okay I’m gonna start with a quote:

“I wanted to write this also, since W doesn’t know that we email, he won’t know that you know about the surgery.  He has asked me twice lately, if something should happen to you during the surgery, do you want me to call Cassie and tell her?  Well if I’m not here on earth anymore I guess he would have to decide that himself.  The things that go thru people’s minds….” [Side note – W is what we call my dad, because calling him “dad” just fucking sickens me and I told her that long ago]

This is from an email from my mom from today. I was sincerely bothered that she had just ignored my suggestion that I could come visit her while she’s recovering from her knee replacement surgery, so I just asked her if she meant to ignore that question. So today she was like oh no I’d love if you’d come and see me, I forgot to respond to that. She WAS having a really rough day yesterday,  the subject of her email was “Trying Tuesday.” So it’s all fine, which is good because you never know when I’m going to stumble across something that triggers her into her dissociative state. You’d think I was joking or kidding or exaggerating…but….alas….

SO anyway, then at the end of that same email from today, she puts this note about my POS father. OF COURSE. OF OF OF OF COURSE that’s what he’s asking her!!!! OMFG. Sometimes I wonder that if they ever find out what rage is truly made of, they might just extract it from my blood. Because it has to be a tangible thing inside me at this point, it so deeply moves my soul.
Let me break things down for you. That question, the “If something should happen to you during surgery, do you want me to call Cassie and tell her?” WHATWHATWHATWHAT kind of a question is that?!

That is TRADEMARK W, because if there’s two things that he fucking adores in this world, it’s getting to be negative and getting to emotionally/mentally abuse or distress a member of my family. Of course he would be asking my mom about what he should do if she dies, of course he needs to plant the seed of thought in her mind that she could die next Thursday. I mean we all could, but the likelihood while be operated on is pretty elevated. Want another great example of him being an absolute bastard to my mom while she’s all vulnerable and scared for an operation? The first time my mom had back surgery (the time my brother showed up looking like a heroin skeleton AND later on showed up high as fuck just to top off my very deep suspicions. My parents thought it was “pills”) it was taking a LONG time to get her IV going. Like the one right before she gets wheeled to the back to be put under, her arm veins weren’t working, and they’d been trying unsuccessfully to get it going in her hand for awhile, I KNEW it hurt really bad because I mean…my mom was grimacing from it, and then OF COURSE, what did W have to say? “Two great big arms and little veins.” by way of explaining to the nurse and doctor why it was taking so long. At one point, when they left to find someone reputed to be really good at starting IVs, W was like “Well, are we going then?” He was trying to imply it was so impossible they weren’t going to be able to do the surgery. My brother would tell me years later that my dad was being SO awful to our mom the ENTIRE drive there (about 40 minutes) that when they were in the parking lot of the hospital about to walk in, my mom just hysterically broke down in tears. He was being SO rude and so disparaging and awful and mean and nasty, like FUCKING ALWAYS. So he was keeping the general spirit of THAT feeling going for her in the prep room. My god I have such awful memories punctuated by my mom’s surgeries…great….

I guess if you think about it…my whole life was always SO punctuated by their fucking lunacy. It’s really like I was trapped in some evil cult run by a narcissistic piece of shit named Willis. Yeah, I said his real name. I don’t fucking care. What, someone might do me a favor and tell him there’s a blog about how much I fucking hate his guts? I’m literally going to piss myself laughing if you think that would bother or upset me. I’M not the one who needs to hide or be embarrassed.
I’m not harboring some dream that the power of my writing could wrought some change in that man. 1) I know there isn’t the chance that he can/could/will ever change. 2) Even if magic lightning struck and he DID change, I still wouldn’t want anything to do with him. And THAT is how you know you hate someone. Sometimes I wonder if and when I’ll ever NOT be this angry.
Like…you’re saying there could somehow come a day when I don’t fantasize about killing him? Is it still legal to admit to fantasy? I’m sure it’s not anymore. I don’t get where anger that’s bred and raised in you is supposed to go. BUT, I can tell you this, many of my line have done what I am currently doing, so I’m either repeating a genetic habit (which is kind of neat, and a lot more interesting than most people’s lives) or I’m on the right path. Maybe all the other ones on my dad’s side, a family who consistently and repeatedly broke the family up with a resultant variation on the last name and relocation for a portion of the lot, now estranged from the others. AND it still happens to this day. My dad did it his sisters, he went so far as to change our phone number when I was a kid so they couldn’t call him anymore. At one point one of his sister’s husband’s went so far as to find out where he worked then calling him at work in an attempt to mend the fences between brother and sister. My dad just took it as an opportunity to relish in being an asshole to her one last time, chortling to himself as he told me the story “I told him I’m a Stevens, not a [that guy’s last name]” in other words, it’s a part of my family history to get into permanent fights with your family members and never speak to them again, so I’m going to bring it up all cute like to be a huge dick because that’s my FAVORITE. But fucking joke’s on him, right?? See now that right there is my kind of humor. When you get to like darkly deliver a great big fuck you to someone who really did a great job of enraging you. Ignoring R did that too. I’m freely admitting that my shit with R was probably, definitely, SO wrapped up in my weird shit with my dad somehow…like….ugh just so much gnarled complicated mess. I can’t even begin to want to deal with it.

and I need to be off. Meeting the in laws for dinner. hoping to all fuck the restaurant has beer I like

late

~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

When you don’t want to do what you know you should. Also, Spaghettios and glitter – you’ll see why.

It’s often enough, right? One thing that bothers me is the realization that if I don’t ever just get around to dealing with my past, well my childhood, I’ll probably never get over it. It’s not that I’m dying for a reason to blame all of my problems on shitty parents. It’s tempting to do that, don’t get me wrong – and it’s also not to be ignored that one’s life is shaped by their ability to interact positively with others, and I did NOT learn that ability from my parents – but it’s also tired and self-fulfilling and childish.

Your life is as shitty as your decisions make it. That’s all there is to that. Which sounds harsh I guess, because there are things I like to call Acts of God that involve something really bad happening to someone who doesn’t deserve that kind of stress. BUT, it also means that you get to definitely take credit for all of your accomplishments as well. They say people are more likely to take credit for their successes but blame their failures on others. That sounds about right.

Does anyone else ever find themselves wishing that they didn’t have negative memories/connotations from childhood attached to like…literally half of everything in existence.

The more I think about how things were, and how others acted, I realize more and more that I was literally surrounded by lunatics for my childhood. It’s no wonder I took the fuck off when I was 18 and vowed I’d never go back (to myself) and I kept that promise to myself. I’m not great at keeping promises to myself. I’ll tell you, I spent most of my childhood and adolescence assuming I wouldn’t have sex until I was married. Given what readers might know about me, that probably seems REALLY funny. It’s funny as fuck to me  at least.
So, how was I supposed to grow up and know how to garner genuine or positive social relationships with others? A few things shielded me, but most left me vulnerable to attack on all fronts. Sometimes my husband talks about how he got treated like shit by other kids when he was a kid, and he was taken advantage of/made the butt of jokes/etc. And yes, all of that is traumatizing I would know, but I was going through that same stuff only maybe worse and I didn’t have a happy, stable, functional home life, not to mention opulent especially in comparison with my own, to balance it out. The only time I was ever actually happy as a kid was when I was alone, so the afternoons between getting home from school and my mom getting home from work.
I was just talking with my husband this morning about how often I think about how I was treated when I was a kid. And more often than not I realize that I must have been behaving in such a way to foster the ill treatment I received. Because that being the cause of it all makes so much more sense than the idea that I was just surrounded by evil, malicious people my entire life. I mean my family is one thing but every other adult I interacted with? Almost every kid too? Really? Every single one of them was fucking rotten at their core? It must have been me. It makes soooo much more sense if it were me.
And I guess it’s not so hard for me to say -type that because does a kid know any better? I can tell you there were many times I was corporeally punished on more than one occasion without my even understanding why it was happening. Somehow my mom thought telling me afterwards that she didn’t agree with it happening somehow absolved her of any guilt/association. Which in turn made me REALLY disrespectful of her. I mean, think about it. When you’re in that environment, dealing with those sorts of people, even the best of use couldn’t always be cheerful and joyful and upbeat, there to chirp around like some ornamental canary to make everyone else feel better, fucking disgusting and SO what was expected of me. But, there were certainly many days when I rebelled against their fucking expectations. In part for the rebellion in itself but in much larger part because I had to take my negative emotions out the way I’d been taught. They have no one to blame but themselves for how I treat them now. So that combined with the fact that I saw nothing but other people mistreating my mother – my dad mocked her to her face in front of the kids, he discussed her weight with his kids ad nauseam, he was as rude/cruel/unkind/unloving as he possibly could be to her at all times, unless HE was feeling otherwise, then BEWARE to those who dared not mirror his exact fucking mood exactly when he expects it. Just like, when I was in my early and mid twenties, OH was there hell to pay if I didn’t always answer the phone when he called. It was always in the evening, when I knew he was hopped up on something post dinner and he was watching the TV on mute while he opiate-rambled about something I couldn’t give two fucks about, never once caring or even noticing the only responses I or anyone gave were “Mmhmm,” on 1-3 minute intervals. You know, the universal sign that someone is not interested or really listening to you drone on. It’s like that fuels him. It REALLY does feel like he’s trying to mentally smother you with his talking, until the only thing you remember is stupid fucked up shit he’s said and done and then you’re as a result as stupid and fucked up as he is.
THAT, what I just described, that’s what happened to my brother.
It like, semi-happened to me, but as you can see I’m remarkably capable compared with them. So much so it became apparent to me years ago that I would have to sever ties with them eventually. I still speak to my mother, if it were at all possible I would be more than happy to see her in person. But there’s really no escaping for her. They share a car, and my worthless father is always home, as he is ever so unemployed. So how can she get away for a day?
Remember how I said I tried disengaging myself from them once, but it only lasted like 9 months? Yeah, during that time of silence between my father and myself, my mom and brother met me in the town I lived in at the time, we ate together at a Subway, then they went back to the town they lived in and grocery shopped. Somehow, he fucking figured it out. He wore my brother down, because he’s by far the least resilient. That’s what worried me, is that he could still get people to say/admit exactly what he wanted, all those years later. Then he made an INCREDIBLY huge deal out of it, obviously, and he referred to it as “The Dinner” for a VERY long time to come, like he’d cracked some big murder investigation. That’s the thing, all of those awful personality traits/qualities that draw someone to that profession, well he had every single one of them in spades.  A friend of mine once told me hearing descriptions of my father reminded them of the sexual-assault-y cop from the beginning of Crash. I was like…yeah I would be 100% unsurprised if he pulled shit like that because he knew he’d get away with it. See, the “bad” cops, (the “few bad apples” everyone SO insists on calling them) they’re just that rotten, hollow sort of person who just so needs, so loves, so relishes having power over someone else. We all know people like that. Or at least I do. Those who manipulate and abuse to feel in control and therefore powerful. I don’t know what’s worse, being the victim of one them or being them. I suspect it’s them but I can’t say I’ve experienced that.
So, I probably had such a hard time connecting or maintaining positive relationships with others. Or, honestly, it seemed like I always had to be the bigger person, I always just had to be as nice and helpful and friendly as can be with everyone, I had to deal with some kids constantly pestering me for answers on homework but then the first chance those same assholes got they were trying to get me in trouble or making fun of me or mocking something that I did. It was fucking weird as shit. It tapered off a great deal in high school but there were still a few immature pieces of shit who did it. Mostly guys, but always those few so lovely girls. I guess I’m contentious or something, because boy did I ever bring out the BITCH in other women, particularly girls my age. I don’t know why. I don’t pretend to imagine it’s because I’m THAT much prettier than them. I mean I was, and still am, but not to SUCH a degree that it’d foster so much ill will.
So, it must have been me.
And I guess I really didn’t have a chance in life, not when it came to that. But definitely when it came to other things. Which is I guess why I feel the need to blog about the things I couldn’t do anything about. When there’s so many, if you don’t sort them out, well that’s the sort of mess that doesn’t ever sort itself.

 

Wanna know what the two trigger words I alluded to at the beginning of this were?
One is Spaghettios. Whenever I see a can of them, I think of a winter when I was a child when my father was unemployed (shockingly, right?). My brother and I were to scrap the car windshield before we departed for school. My brother did something weird to the windshield wiper in his attempt to scrap snow and ice off the windshield. It was a Friday. My dad, always SO happy to jump into FULLY ENRAGED MODE at the drop of a dime, began berating my brother for breaking the wiper. I remember so distinctly my dad saying, “I thought we could go to [local eatery] for dinner tonight, but now we’ll stay at home and open a fucking can of a Spaghettios!” Like. Without fucking fail I think that whenever I look at Spaghettios, which all right it’s shameful but I eat them from time to time. They’re good. Stop judging me. You try pretty much always having the munchies. It makes me feel bad for my brother when I remember stuff like this because he definitely got it pretty bad like all of the time from my dad. Yet still, as a younger child he was your typical my-dad’s-the-best-I-want-to-be-just-like-him-and-win-his-approval sort of son. But THAT mentality TOTALLY discombobulates with the shitty narcissistic garbage person we had as a father.
But then my other weird trigger word I came across lately makes me feel less bad for my brother. Because you know who he CONSTANTLY took his shit out on? If you guessed my mother and my Grandma and myself, you are fucking correct. I think my mom got it the worst from him, mostly because she let him treat her like dirt, and it was our template for behavior, like  I said earlier. It didn’t matter HOW upset anyone was about it, my brother was going to have his way. And most of the time my mom and her mom were more than happy to play into his bull shit. He developed this BIZARRE habit of needing to be convinced to do something you KNEW he wanted to do. He’s like that to this day (I think, he’s part and parcel with our dad as far as I’m concerned). Because the second trigger word is Glitter. I was writing it down to grab some the next time I find myself in a Dollar Tree. For crafting. Which, is one of my more dorky hobbies. It will ALWAYS make me think of a time when I was in the 6th grade when going to Bath and Body Works was a more anticipated ritual than church. The popular thing, or at least the thing I was doing, was wearing roll-on glitter ALL over my face. Well, one morning my brother thought it was undeserving of bathroom mirror time (of course the house I grew up in only has one bathroom) and he picked up our dad’s I’m-going-to-over-enunciate-this-word-on-purpose-to-exaggerate-just-how-disgusted-I-am-with-you-as-a-human-being habit really early on, so he said to me in the nastiest tone possible, “Well maybe we wouldn’t be running late if you didn’t have to rub glitter  all over your face.” And that’s what I think of WHENEVER I see the word glitter. And it’s just a prime example of how, because he was the prime victim of our father’s narcissism, he also of course emulated that behavior most. During his short-lived live-in relationship with a girlfriend when was like…21-23 I want to say? Maybe a little bit less than that, but I think they were together at least two years, he demonstrated on multiple occasions that he was going to act exactly like our dad. He got mad at his girlfriend once, while he was eating dinner, and threw his dinner in the sink. This was a favorite thing of my father’s to do. He loved depriving himself of a meal then rubbing it in everyone’s face that they were eating and he wasn’t and it sure looked good. I am not joking or exaggerating or embellishing at all.

So, I have like all this godawful shit that I need to like cleanse myself of. But truly, I’ve developed a single way to do that. Anonymously. On the internet. BUT, people read this shit. There are people in existence other than my co-sufferers who know about our suffering. That’s HUGE for people like me. And of course, there’s so many ways to clear the gunk out, as it were, but this is certainly mine.

Things are going really well. My husband and I celebrated our three year wedding anniversary last week, and we actually cherish and treasure each other now more than we ever have. We’re both admittedly happier now with each other than we’ve ever been. I still wouldn’t recommend the SO ROCKY path we used to reach here to others…but I’m willing to admit when things are good too, you know. I don’t want to come off ass some sort of complainer. I just need to talk about certain things. Or else it’s like this emotional pain a person carries around but never works through, it ends up strangling off their only means of ridding themselves of it. It literally leaves people physical wreaks as well as emotionally and mentally. Look at my mom.

But anyway, I didn’t want to spend the ENTIRE Sunday on a blog, and this is long as fuck as it is. But I wanted to check in. Things are good. I got an emerald ring for an anniversary gift. Out of all the classic effeminate gifts, I do so love fine jewelry most of all.

So, things are good, like I said. And I’m doing my damnedest to write every day, because all the writing advice tells you you have to make a habit of writing, and then and only then will craft come down to join you. So that means blog-neglect. Especially my cooking blog. I guess I’m a pretty wanton cook because I rarely do the same recipe three times, and that’s my standard for claiming I know a dish well enough to advise others how to make it.

So, au revoir

~Cassie

I’ll be honest, I deprioritize this bitch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Husband’s home. Must jet.

 

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

Well, husband is home. Gotta jet.

~Cassie