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

Just absorb the message of that email:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The game plan.

I am on my first tall can.

I have one more.

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

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

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

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

Not over sex.

Please.

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

IMG_0150_Moment.jpg

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

Is this me lying to myself?

IDK. I don’t think so?

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

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

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

I always know.

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

God I CANNOT stop obsessing over this.

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

SIGH.

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

‘Til next time

The soon to be unemployed

~Cassie

I’ll do you one better

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does not realize what that’s asking me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

~Cassie

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

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,