Just go with it

Not anything specific, that’s just how I’ve always lived my life. It’s been going okay for me, I guess.

Let’s see, what’s new. Well, as if we’re even surprised, nothing fun or spontaneously sexual happened with my work outing. I wish, right? Well, at least with the one, but upon meeting that dude’s wife….uhh….there’s no nice way to say what I have to say about all that *eye roll eye roll eye roll* it’s just that I can’t stand anyone whose entitled, I really can’t. It’s my parents fault, I had to watch them entitle and ruin my brother.

Not much is really going on. Ive been going to that poledancing class for the past few weeks, just as I suspected it’s fun but an insane amount of work, and I am terrible. Like embarrassingly terrible. But I guess it’s important to keep going back. Its not often that I find an athletic activity that I’m actually into. Just wish I had the necessary upper body strength. Perhaps one day….

I am in the process of looking for a new job. So many things are a toss up right now. I’m kind of waiting to see if I get a new job or get pregnant first. We’ve been trying, I can tell you that much. My husband has some really specific cum fetishes so that works out (if you’re dying to know he’s got this thing with the idea of cum dripping out of someone, I’m like where have you been it always does that) I wouldn’t say I hate my current job, but there’s a lot about it that I don’t want to deal with anymore and let’s face it no one earns a masters in English to work in logistics.

Speaking of actually using my degree, I should let you know that I’ve really come a long way towards having a ful rough draft. The picture below is my story board, it’s the first book all in one place. The stuff with blue highlight is already written, so now it’s just a matter of getting the rest done and smoothing it into a cohesive rough draft good enough to hand to other people and ask for their opinions. Then, its self publishing time. I like how self publishing gives the writer all of the control. We all know how I like control….lol…..

It’s not the easiest thing to ask someone whose input would be worth while to read a full draft. I’ve been dropping hints with my best friend, but she just graduated from medical school as starts a legit doctor job in June so….IDK if I should expect her to be able to help.

Next Saturday I’m actually going to see my three friends from the job I had 2005-2012, one of them would be a good candidate. Well see where the conversation goes when I see them, mostly they just want to talk about their kids. I’m not telling them were trying, I don’t want to tell anyone. Plus it could take five years so who knows.

So yeah, this might be my most upbeat post ever, but it wasn’t meant that way. Not to say I’m feeling down either. Naturally, I fall into that laid back don’t give a fuck category, I really do. I wonder sometimes about how I would be as a person if I hadn’t been SO exposed to my parents’ mental illness as a child. I mean I know I’ve spent some time discussing how my dad is a piece of shit psychotic narcissist, but I mean I never forgot to remember that my mom was the one keeping us there, too weak to leave or even stand up for herself, or us. And I guess it was a side effect of being so miserably unhappy in her marriage, because she surely was the most depressive mother a person could ask for. She used all of her cheerfulness, all of the joy and happiness that’s naturally a part of any given person’s demeanor, impressing strangers. In being he sweet, passive one at work, she’d come home and yell at me when she really wanted to yell at my dad and her shitty coworkers. People were always telling me how nice my mom was, how she just never get mad……yeeeeeeah those types of people are the worst kind to be around when they feel secure. My mom only felt secure when it was her and I. And no matter how many times a person can be told to not speak to their child about ALL of their adult problems, someone like my mom isn’t going to listen. Because even the ones getting abused, they still just want to be able to inflict that same suffering on someone else. The only breaking of the cycle is possible, but it is not easy. I know very well how hard it is.

See, there’s that Cassie tone. Well lunch is almost over so I should peace.

~Cassie

Let it not be said I somehow stood in progress’ way

I did something I’ve been thinking of doing for quite some time. I started a recipe blog. Because, I don’t know how to quite describe it, but I don’t like cooking as much as I like making good food. Like the having an audience who praises the dish is as important as the skill it takes to make it. At least for me. But there’s officially two personal recipes on there. I’ve always really celebrated the odd fragments of my personality that somehow mainline it enough to make me seem usual, at least in one regard. But because of how I am, I’m not going to do something in front of people until I’m really good at it. So I’m only submitting recipes to the internet lexicon when I know they’re good and have made them personally at least three times.

Plus, I don’t know the exact deal with it, but my preparing of meals has always been something that’s meant a great deal to my husband and I. You obviously should pacify yourselves with food, but people do that all the time, so.

And also, I do so distinctly remember being told all of the time by my Grandma that I’d ‘make a good wife’ someday because I was so diligent about things about the house. Even my mother in law was telling me she was impressed at everything I did because sometimes people rebel against what they had to do when they were young. I guess my general survival instinct has always been to just go with whatever flow you have to to get by/get out. And that just really shows in certain aspects of my life. It’s not all bad though, because having a “well, it’s not like anyone else is ever going to do this…might as well do it myself.” sort of attitude is never a bad thing. Sometimes you feel like you’re everyone’s bitch, but other times you’re like….well, let it NOT be said I wasn’t willing meet everyone even more than halfway on things. Let it not be said that I was unwilling to do even more than my fair share. As a child, I tolerated a great deal more than my brother was ever expected to tolerate, even though he was a boy and three years older. It was strange, almost. But then it’s like why did they always coddle his horrid behavior? What possible favors did they think they were doing him? It’s like I got away from it because I was smarter than both of them, but unfortunately that wasn’t true of my brother. If I’d been the older sibling I might’ve been able to help him too. But maybe not. My best friend has a little sister I think 7 years younger than herself, and she feels like a nagging old harpie if she even begins to question anything her sister does, because that’s what their mom would do, I think.

So, I helped cook the meals when I was a kid, because it was kind of expected of me, and because I was like, well no one else is going to help mom (unless my Grandma were over, which was only on Sundays unless my mom had the day off work which happened two weekdays per month for most of my childhood). And when you’re cooking meals for yourself and assisting with meals for the family from a young age, you’re better at cooking than a lot of the people you know by the time you’re 18. When I was 18 I went to a 21 year old friend’s bridal shower. Among the gift she received was a trivet, and I’ll never forget her opening it and saying, “A trivet? What’s a trivet?” I almost laughed. I’d known what a trivet was since I was about 8.

So now that I’m perfecting recipes, I’m releasing them back into the wild. Like the catch and release fishing my brother used to so staunchly believe in. I’m sure he still does, but it’s not like he fishes anymore. By the time he was 18 he had an impressive fly fishing outfit, even better than what my dad had (my dad was sure to point that out a lot). But, the drug problems he was to have in the upcoming years would see to the selling off of all of his valuable possessions for heroin money. It would get really, really bad before it got better. And I don’t know how better 4 times a week methadone for a really long period of time (think years and counting) is, but that’s where that’s at. Not to mention he smokes enough weed to kill a horse, and that’s coming from me. I was into weed before he was. He totally copied me, like he always does.

But I don’t want to think I started ignoring my far more important blog for the sake of recipes. But also, I mean I’ve explained the high value I’ve placed on the normal aspects of my personality. I’m also lucky my general frame of mind makes me really complacent, because I feel like I’m playing the really long game, so it doesn’t matter that I’ve been broke af for years now, because at SOME point I’ll really unravel this whole writing thing and actually publish something and supplement my regular income and maybe somehow get out of this debt cycle. Or if not, at least have written something like I always thought I was meant to do.

Either way, I feel bad for the people who want to know about healthy chickpea salad and wind up reading some terrible childhood memory of mine, or vice versa. Although anyone could benefit from bean-heavy protein intake. It’s how I roll. I also so love that chickpeas have two really well known names. It’s how I want to be one day.

I’ve withdrawn as myself online and am establishing a presence as Cassie Stevens.

The full name, I shit you not – is:
Cassandra Santina Cooks Stevens
That’s the nom de plume I gave myself in the 4th grade. Okay, I added the Santina in the 8th grade when I was deeply obsessed with the novel The Godfather (Puzo) as the feminine version of Santino, who I thought was the best for some reason…
I changed from Cassandra to Cassie when I met two absolute cunts named Sandra, and didn’t want to accidentally remind myself. Plus, now I like Cassie a lot more.
I don’t remember where the Cooks and Stevens came from, other than I think I thought Cassandra Stevens sounded just like an author. And I agonized over whether it’d be one S or two in the first name. This was a serious deal to me, even two decades ago.
And it still is. Obviously. Sunday afternoon is the one time I have true free time. All of the work I’ve left for the weekend is complete, finally. There’s always so much and so little time, especially when you meal prep. It sounds nice in theory, but then you spend all of a day off standing in the kitchen and you’re like….could have been at a fucking beach…..

Although going to the beach is kind of tainted for me now. Because we went two times this year, in the middle and end of June it was. And both times were between when my husband fucked a stranger without telling me about it, either before or after, and had planned on keeping a secret forever and when I caught him. And the day I found out, that Thursday, July 20th, so fucking easy to remember because it’s exactly 3 months after my birthday and 6 days after our dating anniversary, we’d been texting about going to the beach a third time. So it really just seems like a revolting concept to me now. I remember being like wow we had such good days when we went there….and now I know it was him feeling appropriately guilty.

So I guess I’m sick of the summer at this point. Especially since I’m no longer biking or grilling outside. Both lose their novelty and you’re like this is probably more bad for me than anything.

Hope your weekend was grand

~Cass

Also, you know, in case you’re a gluten free vegan, or you just like healthy shit:

https://cassiecooksblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/13/supremely-perfect-chickpea-salad/

 

 

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

So, is the cruel irony that IS my life actually God? I mean, really.

It’d be 20 (20!) days since I’d written an anon-a-blog. Everyone feels mentally healthier in the summer, right? I started one a week ago. I’d been having a rough week, I’d been emailing with my mom about how I didn’t know how much more I could take with my husband’s constant lack of gainful employment. I’ve always supported us. For quite a long time it was alongside the assistance of my in-laws because their son couldn’t earn. Like 7 years a long time. I was tears welling up in my eyes upset about my life on WEDNESDAY last week.

And what was my blog I never got around to posting on Wednesday about? How I feel like the Almighty likes toying with me. And (very quickly) here’s my main examples:
1) The millennial Christmas (I was 12) when I was pissy nothing was going to make it special or memorable, then my uncle dies after like a 2 month battle with lymphoma and it just wrecks my mom and Grandma. And, to top it off, my mom had a broken foot. It was just all around one of the worst times of my life, but only in the long-lasting-misery sense. Now that I’m on my own I can get fucked up in-between horrid, horrid shit happening. (Yes, I know how that sounds).
2) How desperately I adored my pointless asshole first boyfriend, and how he shattered my heart like 3 different times, and it’s like I knew better but I still decided to hope things would somehow work out by fucking magic or something.
3) My wedding night. All of the attention and affection most people spend their lives sharing with their parents and siblings and friends and significant others, almost ALL of that was still in my possession when I met my husband. I’d always wanted to have a long term relationship with another Christian that turned into marriage and then children. I never cared to focus on it, because I didn’t think it’d actually come true. I got completely fucked when it comes to who your family is, why wouldn’t that also happen when I trusted that someone loved me? But somehow, it worked out with my husband. I don’t know when the first really huge warning sign was….there were a few years in a row where we got into a nasty fight on my birthday, made all the worse by both of us being drunk…then that all just bleeds into the night of our wedding, when he got shitfaced and became the absolute WORST possible version of himself, and he said and did horrible shit, and I spent the majority of my wedding night just infuriated and crying and thinking about how much pretending to be happy was ahead of me the next day. It was supposed to be the happiest, or at least one of them. Or, if he just had passed out or something, like maybe he could’ve gotten that wasted but then he just fell asleep…but no….he was too practiced an alcoholic by that point, they (we, I guess) don’t pass out so easily.

And the next day,  the NEXT day is when I accidentally find out my husband cheated on me. With a stranger with a Craigs List ad. I mean. I guess its good that’s like the least emotionally involved you can be, so there’s that, but like…fucking gross. How do you GO through with that? Today I actually texted him at work because I was sick of his silence, and he sent me a picture of a picture of us from a long time ago that he keeps in his wallet. He’s saying all the right things, that he wants to do anything to get us back to how we were in that picture, that it’s all his fault and he’s being “destroyed inside” because he knows how badly he’s made me feel.

But…saying a ton of good-sounding stuff without really changing a single core problem is kind of his specialty, so….WE’LL SEE.

And yeah, there’s still the unreal situation that I only found out because the doctor’s office overestimated how much my shit insurance would cover. I mean, really.

So….I mean it’s like when I finally get up the nerve to complain about the deeply unfortunate things (some of them) that have happened to me….and I’m like setting the most perfect stage ever for what happened last Thursday. I knew when I saw how pale looking at that bill made him. I still had to pry it out of him, but it was so apparent, he can’t remotely hid it when he’s terrified. He’s looked like that before when cops were at our door.

I’m almost kind of proud of how violently angry I got. And I got to tell him like everything I’ve been feeling about him…like ever. Like I was JUST saying how I’d never tell anyone but I hated my engagement ring…well I definitely brought THAT up…along with a lot of other things….

I mean, if I’m being 100% honest…I don’t want to break up. But 1) I’m sure not telling him that and 2) Maybe we still should. Maybe my feelings don’t know what’s best. My feelings are so across the board right now anyway. But I really only trust me. I’m not one for asking the advice of others (excepting outfits). I also don’t ever blame my decisions on other people. I mean you can blame your trauma on your traumatizers, but like…you know, it’s not wise to just be like oh all things are my parents’ fault because where does that get you? But I mean, I’m deeply obsessed with discussing my childhood so I get wanting to thoroughly analyze trauma. I understand other versions of art can also be used, but I really only know about this one way. But writing has been a part of my identity for a very long time. Maybe one day when I’m in a better mood I’ll tell the stories of my earliest writing endeavors. For your sake I hope not though.

We’re supposed to talk when he gets home in two hours. The plan is to drink until then and ask him to cook dinner. It’s hard because I want to be mad, and I have a right to be mad, but then I also feel bad. Because maybe I’m taking way too much enjoyment out of getting to be the vengeful victim, which is something my cunt father would do. Then I’m like….am I the my dad in this situation? What a nauseating notion. But then, I will ALSO hate myself if I try to move past it and be nice as a gesture of good will, while the whole time I’m actually still seething on the inside, because that is an exact description of my mother’s lot in life.

DO YOU SEE HOW TERRIFYING THIS ALL IS?

 

WHAT, THE, FUCK, DO, I, DO???????

 

 

 

Nope to all of this.

 

 

~Cassie

The weight of pointlessness is heavy upon me

Because, I mean really, name one thing that has a point. One can argue doing anything to prolong one’s life, or to improve the quality of one’s life. But if you knew anything you’d know that quality isn’t real and because we’re autonomous and get to define our own self interest, no one really know what’s good for them anyway. Not that I do either.

But, I will say I have been exercising regularly and recording all calories using an app that shames you for going over your allotment. But not as much as it shames you for not using it. So that’s exciting I guess. I’ve already noticed a difference, but that’s because I’m going from 0 to some exercise. So there’s that. I decided to forgo it today because it’s hotter than hell outside, even with the window ACs that we have, and when you’re menstruating and spend the entire day feeling like exhausted shit….it’s just not that appealing.

Also if I don’t bitch about my feelings to someone (something, the anon-a-blog counts as a thing), I might go crazy. I know I’m always saying that I might go crazy…but that’s because it genuinely worries me. Like how the earth will become too hot to inhabit within the lifetime of young children who exist right this second. And like how I wish I could buy new work clothes but I can barely buy groceries.

Every morning I sit down at my desk, and after the initial rush of checking through emails and awful small talk, I just start thinking about ALL the frustrations in my life. And I get so upset I feel hot and my chest hurts, after awhile. I legit started crying at my desk during my lunch break because I was emailing my mom, basically telling her how fucking hopeless I feel when it comes to our finances, largely impacted by my husband’s inability to find gainful employment (he clears less than $250 a week at his current job…that’s what I made semi-full time at a pet store like 8 years ago). It’s nice to for once talk to her about my problems, and not vice versa. Of course part of me feels bad that I might be making her feel bad for me, thus making her day worse than my piece of shit father does. She tells me about how she prays for me and Andrew every single day. And I believe her. But I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve never told anyone about this, my struggle to maintain this faith I thought I’d always have. Is that why I’m attached to it? Because it was a part of my childhood that I can cling to, when so much else is lost to me? I mean….I don’t know…..but I know it’d devastate my mom to hear that I felt like Christianity comes short. Because like…okay really, the concept of hell? Are we serious? Also, we’re just one little planet in a remote solar system, and somehow the savior of all creation came HERE? So out of the ENTIRE galaxy….only earth can sustain life??!?!? These are the questions that I have. Also, and this is a big one, and I’m like afraid to type it, but like…if God exists…where was He? Should I feel like he was there because it could’ve been worse, I could’ve gotten it worse? Is that how we rationalize this deity to ourselves, by pointing out the coincidences and ascribing meaning to them? Yeah, probably.

So today was a day while, possibly fueled by hormones, I really felt like I was at my breaking point. Having a desk job does this to me, because I’m left alone with my thoughts and they tend to haunt me. You can tell me to focus on happiness and the positives all you want, I try, I really do. There are many things I am grateful for, I suppose the biggest one is how healthy I’ve always been, and I mean my life has been made easier throughout its duration because I’m a pretty tall white girl. These facts are not lost on me. But…if I could make you live a single memory of mine, you wouldn’t think of my as the pretty white lady anymore. You’d see how damaged I am, and you’d see how angry I am. An incredibly wise woman who I had the privilege of hearing once said something along the lines of how excessive consumerism is a way to compensate for dehumanization, and boy is that true. So sometimes I’m like oh I shouldn’t be down on my lazy husband, I just want things to fill the void a traumatizing childhood leaves behind.
Like, this is something I’d never admit to anyone, but I was and still am hugely disappointed by my engagement ring. If I had to pick a reaction that I got from the well-intended people who asked to see it, it would be “underwhelmed.” Like you’re giving me a ring I’m supposed to wear EVERY day for the REST of my life, and I get a cloudy and flawed 3/8 karat?????….????????????????……REALLY?!? Like seriously people (mostly women) would ask to see it, and I would hear it in their voice once they saw it, I mostly got “Ohhh…” or “Ahhh….” a few times I got “cute” once I got “dainty” (that was from a British girl I went to grad school with so it was fun to hear her say it). It’s whatever I guess, I mean but yeah….I don’t like it. And okay, I know jealousy is for sheep…but here we go….a younger coworker of mine got engaged recently, her ring is HUGE. The center round diamond is a karat by itself, then there’s like 2 other karats of diamonds surrounding it and on the band. I shouldn’t equate emotional affection with the cost involved with a piece of jewelry…but….seriously….it’s almost like I should’ve taken this shit as a sign that I was going to get nothing but well-intended, buffoonish disappointment  from my husband. But, if I’m going to start obsessing over what was a sign and what wasn’t I’ll really go crazy. I mean I had to tell him recently that I would be embarrassed to be married to a landscaper, because like..fucking wow I SLAVED during my Masters and Bachelors to be with a guy who pulls in cutting the lawn money?!!? DA FUQ.

Well shit, I guess I do sound really shallow, don’t I? Which is odd because I’ve never considered myself shallow. And for what it’s worth, no one has ever called me that either. The only negative things I’ve ever been called are like loud/obnoxious/annoying. No one’s ever called me stupid or ugly or fat, so there’s that I guess. I feel like there might be something intimidating about me and the way I carry myself, but that’s only based on the treatment I’ve been getting from other people for the past several years. I know I’ve said this before but if I were someone else I wouldn’t fuck with me. Not if I recognized me for what I am. If you can follow that.

Maybe I am shallow and materialistic. But I don’t think so. It’s not “oh you don’t love me enough to work hard enough to buy me the shit I want” it’s “Oh wow, I thought you were going to be some kind of partner but instead I’m taking care of you emotionally, mentally AND FUCKING financially!!! BOY there’s A WHOLE LOT in this marriage for me!!!!” Over a year ago I tearfully explained the source of my rage, that I truly felt like I was the only one in our marriage interested in being an adult. I mean I’ve been a fucking adult since I was a child.

My sister in law gets this extra-special treatment where her mom has to “respect her decisions” AKA sis-in-law gets to do WHATEVER stupid, idiot, moron, fucked shit she wants to, and it doesn’t matter if it all goes horribly wrong and blows up in her face and leaves her holding the bag/broke, because she can just unload ALL of her problems right on her mother, who told her not to do the thing that caused the problem, but “respected her decision” enough to offer constant coddling/support throughout. But THEN, on the flipside, whenever sis-in-law does something horrible or fucked or terrible, it’s because she’s “like a little girl” (because she was molested by both her dad and her cousin…separately of course….and then there’s all of the alleged sexual abuse she suffered throughout college…but like…IDK S-I-L is so fucked and crazy and autistic that I wouldn’t be surprised if she were lying about that to keep the cycle of dependency going). The most recent instance of SIL being “like a little girl” concerns my brother. His birthday is May 17th. She sent him a card, despite their HORRIBLE break up, my mom truly thought my brother was going to take his own life over her. BUT not only did she send him a card, she sent it in a bigger envelope to my mom, with a note reading “Oh I don’t know where he’s living right now, so can you give this to him?”
That’s a Level 10 out of 10 BULLSHIT sentence right there. My brother has nowhere else to go, OF COURSE he’s still living with my parents, she just HAAAAAD to involve my mom, because that’s her stupid idiot stripper whore instinct, involve mother as frequently and deeply as possible. My mom made the executive decision to not give my brother the card, but when I brought it up to my mother in law as  HUGE ISSUE that SIL almost caused, she was so dismissive of it being a problem. She was like, oh well WE discussed it and thought it was all right because your brother is “in the family” (SIL is a hot ass mess who never sends ANYONE birthday cards, not her mom or her brother or my parents, but oh no she definitely is within the bounds of normalcy to send MY BROTHER WHO SHE DATED FOR OVER A YEAR one….) and then mother in law trots out the “Oh well she’s like a little girl in that respect, she thinks she can still be friends with her exes.” OH yeah, LITTLE GIRL indeed…more like stupid fucked idiot who I fucking hate (I mean I hated her before she ruined my brother a little bit more than he was already ruined…..so I guess imagine the depths of my fury now) who fucking needs constant attention from ANYONE with a dick who is willing to give it. Case and point, every Christmas Day my entire in-law clan has to spend multiple hours making awkward small talk with her ex boyfriend (FROM COLLEGE…she’s in her early forties….annnnnd this college boyfriend cheated on her with his own cousin while he was working on the family dude ranch one summer, and he didn’t tell her about this incest-cheating until after she’d saved up the money to fly out and visit him…of course the little girl made the adult decision to “forgive him” and dated him for many months after he fucked his cousin behind her back, THAT guy is the guy who ruins Christmas) with his weird German wife and snoopy little shit of a son. Last year the son (who’s like 7) snuck away from the adults and crept up the stairs, he reached the top of them at the EXACT same second I emerged from their upstairs bathroom in my underwear. Fucking weird is what that was. Luckily he bolted as soon as he realized there was someone up there, I guess it’s not usual that a 28 year old takes a lengthy bath while her in laws entertain a fuck their daughter (step daughter in FIL’s case) dated decades ago. Like it bothers me SO MUCH that my MIL doesn’t just tell SIL to NOT fucking invite her weird ex boyfriend from a million years ago over on Christmas Day. I know she doesn’t say anything because she operates under this terror of upsetting my SIL, since she’s SO prone to any illness/malady, mental ones notwithstanding, she’s as delicate as an antique hollowed out eggshell. And for someone who turned tough as nails because they got treated like they were tough as nails when they fucking weren’t, they were just raised by soulless hardware….okay the analogy’s gone sour but sometimes I ruminate on the holidays particularly when I’m made at work.

Ever since I stopped talking to my parents (beyond emails to my mom) and therefore obviously spending holidays exclusively with the in-laws, I’ve been REALLY bothered by things that occur there.

God, that’s going to be longer than my blog about my wedding night. But, I mean for what it’s worth…I think about how awful my wedding night was, every single day. I’m a vain fucker (as if you didn’t know that by now) and I have a lot of my wedding pictures around. They are perfect. I look exquisite in every shot, extraordinary in some. The photographer used them as advertisement examples for quite awhile after the wedding. They’re up at work, they’re up at home, they’re up at my in-laws’. You can in no way tell it’s one of the most haunting memories I have, just looking at those pictures. My fucking family didn’t ruin the night. You know, if anything has ever made me believe in God, it’s the concept that sometimes I get slapped right in the face (hard) with my grim expectations. It happened when I was 12, and it was the millenial Christmas, and I was pissy nothing was going to make it memorable……then my mom broke her foot and I had to assume all housecleaning, laundering and cooking duties….then her brother didn’t do so well after his November surgery and went back into the hospital on Christmas day…then he died two days later. He was 49. Both my mother and my grandmother would never be the same, he meant a great deal to the both of them, I think in part because he stayed in their (my) hometown and never married or had children so he kind of stayed “theirs.” I’m not saying I brought that about being mad we weren’t doing anything beyond the ordinary for the 1999 Christmas-New Years season. But I’m saying I DO remember being like “Wow self, you fucking stupid moron…boring Christmas would have been great compared to Christmas break spent planning a funeral with your mom and Grandma like literally just OUT of it with grief while playing Pokemon Silver and Gold on your Pokemon-themed Game Boy Color and dissociating like fuck.” It happened when I was 18 and my first boyfriend ever/first person I had sex with broke up with me a few weeks before college was starting for both of us (although we could’ve made it work I felt, obviously) only to agree to get back together with me, only to the next day actually decide to want to really break up with me for good. He drove that point home by inviting me to a canoeing-type day trip with his father’s family…only to leave that morning before I got up, then after being gone all day, after i had to spend a Saturday completely by myself because I’d taken it off to spend the day with him…it was such a blow after feeling such elation over getting back together. Then I had to work the next day, because my prick job boss ALWAYS made me work Sundays, and my bf had stayed the night, but in the living room. He waited until I’d gotten in the shower for work, that’s when he took all of his shit out of my closet and bedroom, he remembered the booze he’d paid for from the freezer. None of it made sense to me at first, until I saw the copy of my keys I’d given him on my desk. Having to go work 11-5 after that, and take to idiots about turtles and shit….it was one of the worst memories of that year, I’d say. And it’s not really the guy, he wasn’t that great, looks wise I mean yeah he’s okay, from what I’ve seen on FB, he’s stayed pretty in shape too, which is surprising given how many video games he plays. He’s on wife #2. Shocking. He was a fuck stick, personality wise. I mean I was honestly desperate and grateful for the last minute prom date he turned out to be. And as luck would have it, he owned a pick up truck. He played a very important role in assisting my leaving my parents’ home. My dad tried to take my car away when he found out I was moving out, because I so obviously kept it from my dad and brother for as long as I could because I knew they’d tried to sabotage or prevent me. But, I should have broken it off then, and concentrated on finding good friends at college…but that’s not really something depressed, broke, sad, alone, broke, Cassie is going to do. I was 18 and living with a stranger i’d met on Rent.com and the only normalcy lifeline I had was my boyfriend. But I knew he was going to end things when he went to college. He really didn’t even try to hide it, towards the end. But still I clung to it for a long time after that, as lonely young girls are wont to do. So getting my hopes up that it would work out,