As most sagas do, the shit continues

Okay I’m gonna start with a quote:

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

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

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

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

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

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

late

~Cassie

Fucking scrapbooks

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

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

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

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

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

But anyway, time to make dinner. Duty calls.

~Cassie

I’ll be honest, I deprioritize this bitch

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Husband’s home. Must jet.

 

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

Well, husband is home. Gotta jet.

~Cassie

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

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