I fucking hate the phrase ‘teachable moment’ but I think I need to use it anyway

Last Sunday, we had what I have come to think of as a teachable moment. And let me be clear, I really hate that phrase. Another phrase I cannot stand is when women describe abuse as “he put his hands on me.” Like….do you really have to somehow soften the action by being EXTRA vague? Others put their hands on you for not abusive reasons, so stop it with the turn of phrase, you’re talking about being abused. The two, my teachable moment and that annoying phrase, aren’t linked at all, except how I dislike their wording.

But this TM if you will happened on Sunday. My husband and I were leaving for some errand. He was looking for his socks. Because the moment he returns home from the outside world or from working out one of his first actions is to remove his socks and leave them balled up wherever he took them off. Obviously I will instinctively pick them up and put them in the hamper. I wash about twice as many of his socks as I should because of these separate habits of ours, but anyway. As he was inquiring to his socks’ presence he was pulling his shirt on (because he must be in his underwear only if he’s at home unless it’s the dead of winter) and he blinded himself as he walked past a wrought iron wall-mount candle holder I have, and have had since I was 16. I went though this weird wrought iron candle holder phase, but I got rid of all of them except this one. Just because I liked it the most and I bought it from the first place I ever worked (a Jo-Ann’s) and I don’t know when you move 7 times in 5 years you lose a lot of possessions due to breakage and necessity, so something I’ve had since 16 might matter more than it would to others. So he knocks into the candle holder and knocks one of the candles to the floor, which doesn’t matter. But I thought he’d knocked down a glass holder too. And I immediately got incredibly irritated because I’d managed to lug that thing along with me so many places and not break it, but because he was getting dressed and walking and asking his wife where his socks were HE had to fucking break it.

(I have two side stories for a minute that will maybe make my reaction seem less bitch like, but probably not)

But I just kind of went off. I don’t even remember what I said, but it was things along the lines of ‘can’t you be careful’ and ‘did you seriously just do that’ and like a ‘why would you do that’ attitude towards the idea. My husband was like “What the fuck? I didn’t mean to do it.”

And like, obviously I didn’t think he’d purposely tried to break anything of mine. That wasn’t where my anger was coming from. It was just on fucking instinct to like POUNCE on the person who done fucked up.

And….it takes no deep digging to know where that’s coming from.

And okay I’ve been watching this Netflix show called Girlfriend’s Guide to Divorce (I know I feel like a douche typing it, but I love any scripted TV anymore) and I am frequently just appalled at how lenient their parenting is. Like a six year old dumps a smoothie into his mother’s Mac book days before an important presentation of hers (saved solely on the laptop) and blames an imaginary friend. The stress registers, but not the fact that it was solely caused by a little brat’s cry for attention. And like….I think the reason I hate kids is tied in real strong with all of this. Because in my head I’m like “well you know what, [this] happened to me, so why shouldn’t it happen to others too?”

And that, THAT, is how really fucked up, abused people think. It’s how really terrible people think. I mean I kind of figured I was terrible by how I was always treated. And then you relate to those dickweed memes that are script that say “Why should I apologize for being a monster? No one apologized for making me this way” and then you REALLY know you’re the fucking worst. Because only very small, worthless people

We’re not all like that.

But I think I am. My brother sure is. That’s my test group. But I’m also like smart enough to see all this (spoiler, he is not). And we both got the addict gene, but he solely prefers opiates, I solely prefer alcohol, then we meet in the expected agreeable middle with weed. Whatever it is, I think I’ve identified it at its roots. If I were a poet or a painter I would have a much dreamier way of telling you, but all any addiction really ever is, is this voice that whispers ‘You need more.’

Didn’t mean to deviate but I’ve been meaning to write that one down because like every addict ever was just like yuuuuuup. I’m not trying to make light of it. I’m just at the point where I’m like, all right, let’s call everything what is it, be harshest to yourself first before anyone else steals that right. Because if history is any indicator, others are not going to be kind.

But then on the other hand I’m like….is ALL of this bull shit? Maybe I’m just a bitch and I can learn to not be if I want to actually try and stay with my husband. I mean he quit drinking maybe I could bother to not ALWAYS be mean, especially when I know I’m doing it. The problem is I’m always going to act first then realize how shitty I’m being after. Which sounds awful, but at least I know what’s happening.

If you’re wondering if I admit this to my husband, in part, yes. But not totally. In large part because I have to realize all of this by thinking about it all day at work. Less and less i think about my other writing. I can’t call it my novel, that sounds so douchey. I can’t with the ‘manuscript’ it’s its own thing, like contained chaos, at this point, so no labels and shit. And if I keep blogging at this rate, I’ll never get anywhere with all of that anyway and it’ll haunt me for all of my days. And so I don’t come to these conclusions until a few days later, and by then I really am not looking to restart an old fight so we can be upset with one another more.

No, I did not at any point say I think ANY of my behavior is healthy,* so please don’t start

*Disclaimer – when I say one of my recipes is healthy, it is. I do have this weird natural affinity for vegan/vegetarian dishes, though I am neither*

So I don’t always tell my husband I know how fucked my reactions are.

But I mean, as good as I am at obsessing over my own behavior like I’m observing some thought to be extinct animal I just don’t have the ability to call back anger. And anger is where I ALWAYS go. I don’t feel like that can helped. In part because okay remember my two parenting examples were a COMPLETE narcissist who was also a pretty incredible failure at life (think dishonorable discharge but that’s just a metaphor he definitely wasn’t in the military). Yet through it all, my mom stuck by him, and kept us, her innocent children, in the same house as him. What’s so fucking sad is how she thought she was doing the right, strong thing. But the abusive behavior started long before I was born. She told me. She didn’t mean to always tell me things a child shouldn’t hear. She just didn’t have anyone else. I’ve never doubted that my mother loves me, just that she probably was always too far gone to save herself, much less me. Which is actually an incredible gift to give someone, because when you get thrown off that dock you’re going to sink or swim, and us kids turned out to be a 50/50 split.

So those were my examples of adults growing up. The father I just described and have discussed so much before, who I haven’t seen in person in almost three years. And my sad, lonely, abused mother. Those were the options.

My brother had the revolting habit of acting SO much like our dad. It’s funny, because when someone hates someone as much as my brother hates my dad….and yet he acts so much like him….you’re just like….is it that invisible to the recipient of abuse? Does their trauma make some of them become just like their abuser but then tragically also blind to it, destined to always push normals away and repeat the cycle if they should have children?  That’s so fucked, if you think about it.

Because if they were strong enough, and smart enough, and have been handed just the right number of get-ahead-of-others passes in life, they’ll see that, they’ll see all of it. And then you’ll have someone like me. I’m still figuring out the rest as I go. But that’s always been my style.

So, I felt myself instantly jump into bad behavioral patterns instilled in me by my separately yet simultaneously abusive parents throughout my formative years. I’m not making an excuse, but rather an observation. It’s a bad, bad feeling, to realize this sort of shit. It just makes me yet again grateful I wasn’t dumb enough to have kids at a young age. It may well work for others, and great for them, but me? NO. NO NO NO. I would be an efficient mom, but I’m sure I would be just like my parents. Granted, if I’d just had my mom and Grandma’s damaging behaviors, I would’ve been all right, I just probably would’ve turned out a lot like them. It was my dad. He was and is and always will be the problem, the true cancer we need to extricate. I know that sounds harsh, but anyone who knows the truth knows I’m just being honest.

But, I should go, this much honesty takes times.

But really fast – if you recall a few scrolls ago I said I had two examples that would make my anger at my husband for potentially breaking something of mine seem less crazy:

1) The laptop – When I was a sophomore in college, my husband and I had just started living together. We were sitting down to watch a Youtube video of Trailer Park Boys, and he sat down too quickly with an open cup of water and sloshed water all over the keyboard of my laptop. It shorted out and I naturally freaked out. The laptop had been a once in a lifetime gift from my dad, and it had not only a final paper due in a few hours that I hadn’t submitted electronically yet but also all of my class notes for that semester, and it was obviously around the end of the semester. This was a final paper of the semester paper and it was an English literature class, so seriously. So I appropriately FREAKED THE FUCK OUT when those two things dawned on me. I recall this distinctly as the first time I told my husband “don’t fucking touch me” (I’d go on to say it so many times….). He had to go to class too, because it was like an exam day for him I think. And he came home with a stuffed monkey and a Choco Taco as an apology (And that ended up being a way more thoughtful gift than the nothing he got me for my birthday a few days later…but anyway….). It ended up working out, ONLY because I’d printed a really final rough draft of the paper a few days before, and it was unscathed in the recycling bin, so I just had to remember a few edits. I got it in before the deadline, but I remember being so mad that my husband had been so careless around such an important item.
2) The umbrella plant – I worked for years and years at a pet store. One day someone who no longer wished to possess a bearded dragon dropped one off at our store in a gross, dirty aquarium. The beardie was rehomed, but his tank needed to be thrown away. There was an umbrella plant that seemed to be doing pretty well, despite this family’s obvious neglect of their bearded dragon. I managed to call dibs on this umbrella plant, even though my one coworker usually managed to snag anything good in the employee freebies market at this store. And, for the FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, I was able to keep a plant alive! I have a plant stand that was my Grandma’s (that has a very checkered history, because my mom and Grandma has to go to about eight different department stores before my Grandma picked one out, and it INFURIATED my mother that she kept being so fussy about it) that this umbrella plant lived on, where my five cats couldn’t bother it. And I know it sounds dumb, but I was seriously so proud I was keeping a plant around for years after trying and killing like three dozen different houseplants.
But then, nearly 6 years ago when we moved downstate, my husband left the plant I loved so dearly at my in-laws. We didn’t want to have to bother with the care moving a plant required when we were already moving so much so far. BUT, unbeknownst to me, my mother in law didn’t want a plant in the house because her cats would eat it. So she put it on their deck, where it promptly fried to death. I’d had the same plant for like 6 years and my mother in law killed it because she couldn’t bother to put it on a high shelf for a few days. It seriously still makes me angry. I should not care this much about a plant but I fucking do.

So, those are my two things. I know it makes me seem a little like a lunatic, but seriously, can’t I have anything? And there’s something so infuriating about the oblivious carelessness with which my husband conducts himself. And it makes me realize that he’s not used to the SHARP criticism I always endured. I was astounded when he said something wasn’t your fault if you didn’t mean to do it. How could that be? How could a person learn that accidents weren’t their fault? Is THAT fucking normal? If so, I am so off.

Wow, again, apologize for length. The short of it – I probably shouldn’t ever have kids.

 

~Cass

Arguably rawer than even my usual

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll do you one better

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does not realize what that’s asking me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

~Cassie

Slow, jagged remorse

I’ve been feeling guilt, deep insidious guilt, for as long as I can remember. I recall as a young child I would feel terrible if I left an opportunity to spend time with my mom to be with friends. And, believe me or don’t, I felt truly and deeply guilty every time I left my house to spend the night at R’s. It didn’t stop me from going, though. My feelings have never been enough to stop my actions, which typically follow whatever my dominant train of thought is at that moment. Sometimes I worry I’m impulsive, other times I’m disgusted at how boring I am. I do love routine and order and habit and pattern, but it has to be unity and variety, not just unity, that’s for psychos.

My husband asked me recently, if I felt so bad doing what I did, why did I do it? It’s not an easy answer. Someone who didn’t learn how to act the opposite of how they felt at a young age isn’t going to comprehend it.

But, at the same time, my husband was more than pleased to use my comfortability with degradation and depravity when he wanted to swing. Which it wasn’t so much swinging as foursomes where the guys didn’t interact but whatever. I mean I wasn’t into it emotionally, at all (which for me is the ultimate high, and I’ve tried most highs) so it would never appeal to me on a meaningful level. I was still more than happy to get fucked up and do it though. But so many times I’m unsure why I feel the way I feel, so why shouldn’t I be unsure about my actions too? Especially when it’s something that’s momentarily gratifying.

But it’s Sunday, I must be off to cook dinner. But these few ideas dawned on me this weekend. And the more that time goes on, the harder all the guilt, the remorse, is to swallow.

Sidenote – I started a Twitter – follow me if that’s your thing  – @CassieAnonablog

~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

I guess it’s a fine line, between despair and hopelessness

I don’t know what that line is, but I feel like I’ve been straddling it for too long.

I started writing yesterday, about how computer system updates at my mom’s employer resulted in my being unable to send her emails. And with that update, our last line of communication was slammed shut. So my idea was that she still sends emails like normal, but my response would be posted on a blog that she checks via her work computer. But today at work she tried to access WordPress at work and she said it took her to a page that said it cost $2.99 a month, so I don’t know I think she didn’t go to WordPress.com Trying to counsel my mother via text on how to look up a blog online is inhumanely frustrating. Because if this doesn’t work…what else is there?
No, I can’t call her. Her phone usage at home is heavily monitored. One of my dad’s favorite tricks was waking up from a nap but lurking behind his closed bedroom door to eavesdrop on a phone conversation happening nearby while the speaker assumed they were still within the afternoon nap reprieve. Or he’d be in the den watching TV and upon noticing I was in my bedroom on the phone he’d mute the TV to better listen in. And yes, I could call her at work, but am I really making her have a hyper emotional conversation on the switchboard with a coworker sitting right next to her? I could send letters to her at work. I guess that’s the one option left to me if she can’t figure out accessing this site. To me it’s not hard, but I guess we all understand things differently.

It just tears at me, the guilt and pain I feel over this situation with my mom.

There are those who tragically lose their mothers all too young. And there are those who do not want a thing to do with their mother for valid and real reasons (I feel that way about my dad, so). But think how hard it would be to just be losing all of this time, time that you won’t ever get back, that you want to have. I spend all this time I don’t want to with my in-laws, and frankly I know that wouldn’t bother me if I ever got to see my own mother.

It’s not even for me.

The despair I feel about this situation, it stems from the long-established notion that my mom needs me. She always has. I probably seemed like a really shitty little brat to a lot of the adults in my life, but I acted like a grown up because that’s how I was treated. I was all she had, that and her mom, but her mom was the source of some strife, to be sure. Not to say I don’t love my Grandma, but she was kind of really emotionally manipulative. And she taught me to hold shit over people’s heads, and to bring up terrible things they’d done years before, and to never forget a slight. I guess today they just call that pettiness, but yeah, it was a thing in 1920s Wisconsin as well. But, I’ve told you how hard she must have had it growing up, so it kind of makes sense she was like that. She couldn’t forget the times when she had nothing and felt like nothing. And in a lot of ways, she was your typical stereotypical grandmother, in a good way. And in even more ways, I had a better/closer relationship with my Grandma than anyone I knew. Like I said, you don’t appreciate it when you’re young, but you certainly will when they’re gone and you’re grown and you realize you miss being with those you always took for granted. Teenage Cassie never would have realized how I would feel now as I near the end of my twenties. I have less than 9 months until I’m 30. I’m very unexcited. I mean I will be glad to live longer, don’t get me wrong…but like…okay being in your 30s means you shouldn’t literally always just be scraping by. Which is all we’ve been able to accomplish. And we’re poor cliches, we spend a ton on credit because we want nice shit just like everyone else. Plus because my Grandma was so into buying me stuff, I genuinely associated presents with real affection as a child. I know that makes me sound insane and materialistic, and insanely materialistic, but I also don’t care I’ve come to find out it’s the truth.
The point of all of this is figuring myself out. Because there’s this disconnect between my negative emotions and their root causes. Or at least that used to be the case. And I guess identification is half the battle or something.

So, as you can see, I have/had kind of weird and complicated emotional relationships with my mom and her mom. I was also very close with my mom and Grandma for most of my childhood and adolescence. Things tapered off a bit when I started working. But frankly I feel like that was insisted upon, by my parents. Both my brother and I obtained employment and driver’s licenses at 16, many of my friends did neither at that age.

So now, I’m faced with the notion that I have no way to regularly communicate with my mom. And there’s no knowing when we’ll see each other again. She can’t sneak away. My father is incredibly unemployed, besides the napping he is always in their house, in the den, chewing tobacco and rocking in a Laz-E-Boy and watching Fox News or televangelists or some shit. Sure, a lot of the times he is super fucked up while he’s watching TV, but when you have the kind of tolerance he has, it just kind of either makes him way more aggressive or way more annoying. It depends on what he’s on, what he’s out of, etc, etc. So I can’t call or text her phone, for fear he’ll intercept it. Same goes for the mail.

And before you ask, I know he can’t do anything to me anymore, he doesn’t even know where I live. None of my family members have ever been to the house I’ve lived in for over two years. But he can make my mom’s life a living hell. And yes, he does that mostly all the time on his own as well, but it’s like throwing a tired politician another decades-old scandal about their opponent or something. I’ve discussed before how he uses sermon-like lectures to wear his opponents (read = his wife and children) down. He was also a huge fan of public embarrassment/humiliation as a means of control. And I don’t know where it came from originally, but my mom has a near psychotic level of fear that the people she sees in regular life (her coworkers) might know about how miserable her life really is. She has always taken privacy to a pathological extreme….and if it were some reason other than the feeling that she had to do so because my dad was doing SUCH fucked up shit…I might let it go. But that’s the fucking reason. And that’s just what I remember. Who the fuck knows what my brother remembers, he’s three years older. I’m not asking him, I don’t want to know. It probably makes me a bad person, not wanting to take on another’s psychic pain…but I got too much of that too young x 1000, I will NOT tolerate it now.

I don’t know where we’ll go from here.

 

And boy, isn’t that the defining characteristic of my life right now. My job is my one constant, and it’s really not that great. I mean I like it, but boy are my standards low…considering how bad I had it before. And then I’m like wait what if that’s exactly how I chose my husband…..

Because really, I still am not over things. We haven’t had a “bad” evening in a few weeks now.

But we did something that we’ve done before…and I found it fascinating.

You might have noticed me go on a bit about how awful my wedding night was: My Terrible Wedding Night, from the annals of the organized chaos that is my memories (be forewarned, it’s a LONG one, the jist of it is my husband got SHIT-FACED and ruined it by being a terrible drunk psycho and my eyes were hella poofy from crying in all of the pictures of me from the next day.

Well, one of the first things we did together that I was happy or at all positive about after the horrible, spoiled wedding night at the luxury venue with the the top floor bridal suite and the wedding night lingerie he never even noticed I was wearing he was already so mad at me for getting upset he’d invited a dozen people back to the room when the reception ended, was buying furniture. We had the wedding money, and I’d wanted a new couch and a coffee table and a TV and a TV stand that was shit for quite some time.  So we bought all of that. It was the first thing I was excited about after the ruined wedding night and transitively the ruined memories that were supposed to be among my best. Just like my whole childhood. Except even my dumb, shit family had the fucking courtesy to be cool on my wedding day, at least to me, Lord knows they must have squabbled a few times among themselves because that’s what they do.

And, to be truthful….the week before we got engaged, we purchased a bed. Before, we’d been living together for four years utilizing both of our full beds from before we met. We pushed them together to form “superbed” but it kind of sucked nonetheless, because it was sleeping in separate beds, one full is not enough for us. But something urged us to check out a mattress store that’d opened in front of my work. Then we were buying a bed. Then a week later my husband proposed.

And now…as we are at our third major furniture expenditure…..I can’t say I’m at all shocked.

Isn’t it sad that something like buying furniture is enough to make use both happy? To mend something emotional between us? I doubt this is how healthy people are.

We got a kitchen table, it was a hand me down from our in laws. It prompted the desire to purchase chairs for it. Then, since we were already in the furniture store, using the store charge, I mentioned my deep desire for a bedframe and headboard for the bed we bought a week before our 2013 engagement. So that happened. It even came with a settee AND I can finally use the bedskirt that came with our comforter that I knew I kept for a reason.

It’s pathetic to admit that having new and different objects in your domicile are enough to improve your happiness. But then it’s like…are people who don’t take joy in things just jealous they need stupid other people? But then they’ll just argue that the joy you get off of things is fleeting. But…have you met other people? As if they or any of what they offer is permanent. I mean people like vow it in front of their respective gods and their families all the time, then they break up anyway. But not all, so do what makes you happy.

But I guess not if you’re like me, and material things make you happy. Not because you don’t also want immaterial things…but because you’re like bright enough to not really expect those. They didn’t happen when you were a kid and things were supposed to be easy. They were the opposite of easy.

That’s how they still are.

I still don’t know what to do.

About my mom.

About my husband who claims it was his “addict” behavior that drove him to fuck a stranger he met on CRAIGS LIST. He’s been going to AA very regularly since I accidentally found out, by noticing how pale he’d gotten over an innocuous enough question. You can’t lie to someone like me, not if I’ve known you a long time.

I mean, if I were to speak plainly (which I don’t do in real life), I just want to be able to see my mom on occasion, and to have a husband who I won’t always secretly doubt a little bit now.

So you see, since both are impossible, what am I to do? One thing tears at me. One thing drags me down. And yet I am surrounded by those who wonder at my inability to walk upright. If they notice me at all. But I do my best to avoid them. I do my best to avoid everything. I’m good at hunkering down, waiting out the storm, just hoping my POS dad dies before my mom…but if he doesn’t….I might never see my mom alive again.

 

 

Just some of the MANY thoughts that plagued me today. And today I was distracted by the imminent arrival of the new furniture.

 

~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,