That’s my purse! I don’t know you!

I’ve felt very positive all day.

It’s possible the very favorable elections that went down in my state of residence.

It might be the weather.

I love the dreary fall, when all is foggy and rainy and the sky is sixty different shades of steel gray on any given day. When the colors are still out. Mmm. Sure, it’s starting to get cold, but yeah, that’s what happens when there’s fucking seasons. Idk I have enough body fat, I’m not that bothered by winter. I feel like it’s one of those things that separates who’s made of the stuff that’s going to evolve and who’s not.

But I’m an arrogant fuck, to say the least.

So, idk about anyone else’s state of residence, but mine turned blue and all the props went through. Yay. Now just two more years until we can get a new fucking president. Okay that’s all I’m saying on that because this blog is NOT about politics, but at the same time it’s hard not to mention something that’s influencing my mood.

Because, the holidays are coming. And. Those are hard for me.

I don’t like talking about it, but I’m sure I should. And lo and behold my mom brought it up for me today.

She and I emailed, as always. I sent my reply to her email from yesterday this morning on my 10 o’clock break, she sent her reply to that around 4pm. In it, she mentioned how last night (so Tuesday night) she only did the bare minimum she needed to do around the house because she was feeling “down in the dumps” (as I age, I realize how many odd colloquialisms my parents and Grandma used). She said “Christmas commercials on TV don’t help.”
Oh good.

Here we go.
Again, please, don’t take this as me trying to make anyone hate her.
You DO NOT understand how little this woman deserves that, from anyone, especially internet strangers.

It just makes me feel so terrible, but not terrible enough, I guess, to put up with W. I’m not. I will never listen to his voice, ever again. Even if that means part of the remnants of my heart breaking. Sometimes, there’s no other way. And besides, I still do what I can for her. I still email her every fucking day, even when I really would rather not bother. Because my life isn’t so much to talk about, I feel, but IDK I know she’s proud of me. She tells me so all the time. I’ve at least done better than her, in most regards. The only difference is, by my age, she’d had her two children. But, let me tell you, I am so fucking glad I don’t have kids right now.

But I still feel like rotten to my core that my poor mother is so miserable. That there’s nothing I can do is also quite daunting. I feel for her. I really do. It really upsets me. But I can’t, I CANNOT relent. I let it tear at me, how she feels, how I miss her, how I KNOW when she passes away, how all these lost years are going to fucking haunt me, and eat at me. But I cannot go back now, not again. I will never listen to him speak, ever again. He’s 65. Given his substance abuse issues…maybe we’ll get lucky? You’d think I was fucked and shameless for saying such things, but no one who KNOWS what went on (like my husband, or my best friend) fucking corrects me when I crack such jokes that aren’t really jokes. Like how when, one year, my boss’s father had a stroke and passed away on June 3rd, which just so happens to be W’s birthday. I was like…WHAT. How unfair. What’s the freaking meaning of someone ELSE’S dad dying on this day? Why? Why does someone who doesn’t want their dad to go lose him when mine is still around, abusing and torturing my poor mother and brother? What the sweet fucking shit is any of that?

Good thing I think everything that’s fucked is sort of funny, or that would be bumming me out.

But to be honest, it doesn’t. It’s how my life is. It was my dice role. As were other things, other things that are more positive. Some of which I have THOROUGHLY ruminated upon in this blog. Like…how many times can a chick mention how nice her tits are? Well, what can I tell you, I notice it every day. One time, when I was hella wasted, when I lived with my coworker from the pet store, in the house I was living in when I met my husband, we were having a small party, and a third coworker and her gay best friend came over, and I ended up getting so shit faced I changed into lingerie in my bedroom in front of the gay best friend. Again….don’t know why, it just happened. He told my coworker, who told me because this bitch was cray, that he liked my boobs. I was like….good to know even a gay guy is so impressed by them he feels compelled to tell my super psycho coworker about it, who repeats it to me, POSSIBLY in an attempt to embarrass me, but whatever. I am VERY indifferent to my naked body being seen. Why would I? I mean, when certain shit isn’t up to you, not a lot else matters in that regard.

Just don’t take anyone’s picture, or take video of them, without their permission. They might hold some terrifying blood grudge against you. And maybe they’re too smart to act on it, but maybe the world’s more based on karmic justice than one realizes. Maybe accidents happen. Maybe no matter what a crazy person says, it sounds ominous.

I do not think that I’m crazy.

I’m just lonely. And I know what I’m looking for in life but only in a vague, abstract way. I guess that’s better than nothing. And I’m gifted with my natural ability to work incredibly hard.

So, today my mom started in on her holiday guilting.

And, if I could, if it wouldn’t get my WordPress reported, I would post a ton of nudes on here, because I fucking like taking them – that’s something I have to give my husband credit for teaching me, because before I never thought any pic of me was good enough, but idk, my husband helped a lot with that. He definitely sees me in the best possible light at all times, in all ways. He also is bipolar. More on that later, I’m not in the mood for getting into that topic but just let me tell you, it makes more sense than I could possibly ever explain. Luckily he got a job that has phenomenal insurance, because we both fucking need therapy. I’m never making light of therapy or counseling when I mention it. I wish I could afford it. The sporadic times I’ve been exposed to it, it helped a great deal. But new insurance kicks in next month, so we’ll see.

Also, shout out to writing in a journalistic type manner, because I would probably be dead without it.

Well, on that fucking goddamn cheery note, I think I’ll be off.

Good Wednesday evening, to you all.

Remember – there’s a difference between pleasure and happiness. You work for happiness.

~Cassie

Last month of my twenties

I realized it yesterday that tiday, March 20th marks the last calendar month of my 20s. On 4/20 I will be 30. My twenties had some very terrible and some great times, so i cant judge them all as one. I am however so glad theyre done. Theres that nagging thought i think most women get about how youll never be as hot as you were when you were young. And yes skin ages, but if you think about it we need to be prettier to get by when you’re less wise. Or something like that.

Today marks my first day of car editing during my lunch break! Yes, carrots and close reading!

~Cassie

Just go with it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Cassie

What the fuck answer do you think I’m about to give here?

Exactly ten days ago, right before bed, my husband asked me where my feelings stood on his pursuing an extramarital situation that has been ‘in the works’ for years now. It began after my situation with R had already begun. It never came to fruition, if you catch my drift.

The previous day, I’d sent my husband a meme conveying the sentiment “I don’t want what I have with you with anyone else.” Because it is true, despite everything. And somehow that made him think it a wise time to ask where I stood on letting him go off and fuck  her. IF she ever stops playing this weeeeeird cat and mouse back and forth head game shit that makes me want to scream. I couldn’t fucking stand it when I was single, I really don’t like seeing it happen to my husband from some thirty-something bitch who’s NEVER had to work hard a day in her fucking life and just gets handed amazing shit in life because her family is wealthy and well-connected. And, if my personal judgment has any value to it, she fucking knows I despise her and mirrors the reflection. Could this be my possible insanity talking? I guess. I could also just be totally wrong….but…..I’m usually not wrong about these things. If there’s one thing I grew up alongside, it’s hate. It was one of those the-lady-doth-protest-too-much situations with W and hate. He ALWAYS told us we were NOT allowed to say we hated anything, because hating something is “dancing in the courtyard of the devil” (god it sickens me to quote him because you still fucking hear it, all these years later). So, I might just be too warped, or I’m fucking cynical and astute. All three more like.

So, he asks me how I would feel if things progressed between them in a sexual way. IF she ever actually admits that’s what she’s looking for. IF she’s purposely been building tension all these years. He kept reminding me that he gave me “a lot of space”  – meaning he told me it was okay every time i went and spent the night at R’s but really he was letting it tear him up inside but didn’t want to tell me that because then I’d get mad at him so he let it build and build and build to the point where he literally scared me. And he hadn’t done that since our wedding night. And it’s not fair. I spent so many nights terrified as a child, I can’t have it. So, because he was giving me all of this space, that he really didn’t want to be giving at all despite his constantly saying so otherwise, I should do the same now.

NOW.

After I ended things with R on my own over a year ago because I realized I could NOT fucking stand him as  a human being and willingly keeping him in my life was like choosing to have cancer (like my mom and her shit husband, right?). I strongly suspect unresolved issues with my father caused that year long fucked up fucking fuck fest but that worries me because them issues is still unresolved…you know?

After he did the Craigs List thing.

After he lost his mind and bashed his head so many times into our coffee table I really thought he probably did permanent damage as his own emotional reaction to when I got justifiably angry over the Craigs List thing. The thing he was going to lie to me about until his own blundering revealed the truth to me. It’s like he couldn’t stand for me getting be the one freaking out, screaming, losing my mind. That’s HIS role. HE gets to be the fucking lunatic and I better shut the fuck up and deal with it and be 100% merry sunshine the second it’s fucking over because I exist to please him.

Do you hear it? Because you are very stupid if you don’t hear it by now. I do and I’m supposed to be the one in denial. I mean I like to pretend like I’m in denial. Most people don’t know me. It took me a LONG time to realize that it’s because they don’t fucking deserve too. I used to think my husband did. But then he pulls shit like what he did last June..and last July…and what he asked me about a week ago Sunday….

After all of that, after we finally started to get better for real. All of sudden this bitch needs volunteers so she’s texting my husband like crazy, constantly asking for him to come out to different shit (yes I went through his texts. oh that’s a sign I don’t trust him? well i fucking don’t, so).

It’s hard to respect someone who does things that seem so goddamn stupid.

And, what, exactly, does he think my answer would be? Go ahead and fuck her, I owe you because you WERE SO COOL the entire time I was with R….OH FUCKING WAIT NO, THAT’S NOT AT ALL WHAT HAPPENED, YOU PSYCHO. [AND EVEN IF HE WAS, which is untrue, why would he want to go back to things being like that between us? He can never shut the fuck up about how great things are, until you find out he’s wallowing in perpetual misery and sorrow and loneliness caused by my being a frigid bitch who’s only sexually interested in other men and he hates me and he wants to kill himself because he’s tried to change his mind and his body all to please me, DESPITE the fact that he also once admitted he started getting really worried about getting into shape when he thought fucking that stupid bitch was a possibility, but I guess he’s hoping I forgot that like he forgets 80% of what he hears]

Like, really, in my heart of hearts, inside, where no one will ever hurt me because I won’t fucking let them (in), I expect two things now 1) He’ll get horny and cheat again, because he was able to talk himself into it being okay once before, why would things have changed? Because he can just fling his “addict” self towards me as a justification. 2) He’ll have another freak out, another fucking scary one, and THIS TIME, THIS TIME, he might hurt someone. More than likely it’d be himself, but who knows when he’s “lost control.”

I guess you can and promise and promise, but when your actions never back your words up, when you keep getting worse despite claims otherwise….Like I always am under the impression things are better, things are getting better…but for how long?

Like that’s the cruel truth to my life, there will ALWAYS be a “But for how long?” in my head. And you know, for a very long time my relationship with my husband didn’t get that question. But now, I feel like I’m just waiting for something more to set him off. I’m not saying I live in constant fear. It wouldn’t come out of nowhere. That’s how it was with my dad. Because of the pharmaceutical cocktail he’s been on for so long, he could have DISTURBING mood swings, like wake up from a nap and just come rampaging out of his room, screaming at me to pick up the living room and turn down the TV, when on any other day neither of those things would be issues. But with my husband, say there’s a situation where I, as a human fucking being, might be getting upset and saying mean/hurtful things. But no, that’s not to be allowed. Only the men get to say hateful, horrible things, if women DARE to match them, or do better as is usually the case, nope, that’ll make the shitty ones flare up, EVERY TIME. I know because I’ve lived it my whole life.

And now, as I near the end of my twenties…my husband’s on that list.

But, I’m not all despair and gloom, after all. I’m willing to keep trying. I feel like we actually do love each other. It’s not his fault I have weird intimacy issues. Not sex issues. But it’s not just sex with him, now is it? But try telling a guy that, please, let me know how it goes for you.

But now, ten days ago, he’s asking if I would be cool with his fucking college girl, while heavily implying I SHOULD be cool about it because he was just SO COOL towards me during the horror show that was my situation with R. I guess it was kind of like a relationship, but the kind a girl with zero self respect would get into. I can’t tell if i have self respect or not, because I have these DEEPLY ingrained reflexes that behave contrarily to my true feelings. Like, if someone is making you angry and they’re a male you have any sort of a personal relationship with, tolerate EVERYTHING they do, using the tried and true method of abused women from a millennia before you: GRIN AND BEAR IT.

But, all right, if you somehow read this far into my dark, dark woods, you’re probably wondering why I don’t just tell him no, right? Well, he’s leading me into telling him no, he’s making it seem like he’s cool with my saying I’m not cool with it. And, have you followed well enough, can you see why I might suspect he doesn’t actually mean the things he assures me of? Which, all right, I guess. I guess I can internally decipher everything you say to me. If you can imagine, I’ve had practice at that.

I figured I would write today, because I know I won’t have a chance for awhile. Next week besides working 7-4 I have to take a training class every day from 7-9 for a part time at home job. It’ll be like a week of being in college again. My federal student loan payments increased by $200/month, so I wasn’t one to reject this offer when it came my way. I’d only thrown my hat into the ring for it August 2016. I have to process 600 bills every month to make my student loan payment.

I also wanted to write today because I really needed to map out my feelings about my husband asking me about this situation. He suggested I write my answer out, but somehow I don’t think this would be received well. I might still print this one post for him and give it to him. Because I mean

  1. Doesn’t he think the whole Craigs List stranger AND our wedding night might balance out my situation with R? How can he feel he’s still owed something in all this? I had group sex with strangers I wasn’t all that attracted to for him, but seeing that I’M still the wronged party is WAY beyond his willingness/capabilities
  2. He is WELL AWARE how upset/angry his continued devotion to the conceited college cunt’s cause makes me, I do nothing to hide it. Which of course means I go very far out of my way to show how I feel, and it’s rarely received warmly I might add because you guessed it I’m bad at it.
  3. Somehow bringing up a time that was horrible for us as justification for why he wants to ruin a time that’s good for us is logical to him, and frankly that just worries me.
  4. Even WITH his Craigs list endeavor, I am WAY more upset and haunted by the memory of his freak out about 8 days later. I can check the exact date, because I took the day off work. I didn’t even do that for finding out about the craigs list thing. I was just so emotionally frazzled, I was more than willingly to use a sick day to not deal with talking to other people. I wrote a freakishly long blog, if you can imagine. So that’s something to think about
  5. The ratio of fucked up behavior tolerated : dished out between the two of us is ASTRONOMICALLY different. Another thing that’s not fair that makes me resent him. These are the things that kill a sex drive. That and the whole adult-with-college-degree-unemployed-seemingly-in-no-hurry-to-be-employed thing that he had going on for a long time following unemployed college years. I’m NOT saying I have some deep desire to like have the same number of drunken freak out/storm outs but I’m saying it would be GREAT if my UNENDING patience could be acknowledged at some point. Yeah, he’s had to be patient with me, like emotionally…obviously…..but I’m SO many other functional/rational/good things, things I fucking made myself, I can make up for a lot. But HE, HE, gets to be the irrational emotional child? And if I ever dare sink to his level, he just has this next one coming for me to show me who’s in power here, and it’s all so eerily familiar.

I’m not trying to say I fear for my safety, I don’t. But part of me now wonders, and it’s a larger part than I’d like, it wonders when it’ll happen again. See,  it already knows, it just wonders when. And aren’t we all like that? Those of us living with something we shouldn’t? Something we need to fix, in one way or another? I mean, we all know what it is, we just thought of it. I would have, at least, if I’d read it. Not that I would ever tell anyone.

No one wants to be good at keeping secrets, to have it stem from a lifetime of doing so. And not because they’re interesting just because they’re terrible and you feel this unending source of judgment and shame should stem from any revelations on your part.

I don’t have a whole lot of hope to offer if you also feel this way. But, with hope, you don’t need much, really. Because, there’s at least other people out there who can truly sympathize with you. That means more than you’d realize, particularly when most of your life has been isolating. It’s part of controlling a family, spouse and kids, you isolate the nuclear family as much as possible, no adult friends for the parents, keep the kids on the outs with everyone by encouraging awful behavior, keep mother and brother in laws away…. So the loneliness was certain.

Holy shit it’s late. I’m going to be SO tired during these training classes next week….also I’m very concerned that I probably shouldn’t show up really high and that’s going to get in the way of my usual evening plans.

Well, I hope you’re all doing well. I will let you know what happens if I let him read this.

~Cassie

Short Robe – or – to prove I can also tell positive stories

Tomorrow is a family wedding (on my husband’s side, of course) in NYC, we could not attend due to obvious financial limitations as well as the fact that this is a Sunday evening wedding and my husband really shouldn’t miss work while the season’s still going. Also my desire to go is quite low. BUT, my in laws are attending and were on their way through the state driving to NYC on Wednesday so they took us out to dinner, which is always nice enough.
But then they had a few bags of stuff to give us. One bag contained a noticeably heavy container of pocket change. I rolled it in a day, more on that in a second. There was $104. We need to save up for something so it worked out. After I rolled it all, I told my husband how i rolled up change A LOT when I was a kid. My dad kept giant Coke bottle shaped banks of change, then had the kids (mainly me) roll it when he and my brother needed money for hunting season. My husband remarked, “So you had to roll it and you didn’t get to participate in what it was being spent on?” Which is true, and would seem shitty, but in an effort to report things as I remember them, I am pretty sure I was paid to roll it when I was young.
As I did the same thing again about twenty years later, I realized how appealing doing something like that is to me. Like you’re taking this disorganized, messy, dirty pile of gross change and sorting and container-ing it, then you get actual cash out of it. I can’t explain it well, but I’ve always found ordering and organizing and sorting so soothing. Like there are times when I’m on a small scale excited because something really disorganized, which means I get to fix it. I in every way agree that my chaotic childhood could very well be linked.
One of the other things my mother in law gave me was a new robe. She usually buys me the business casual clothing I need for work (which is so appreciated, don’t get me wrong) so getting something purely for comfortable lounging is like extra fun for me.

Yeah, I know, sometimes I talk about what genuinely pleases me in life – like the idea of carving pumpkins with my husband next weekend because somehow we’ve never done that together before  – and I feel like a freaking goober, but whatever. I never begrudge another their happiness, though I am always irked by their need to jam it in other people’s faces. Like why do you write an 500 word ode to your husband on your 5th anniversary and post it to Facebook? What prompts that kind of public intimacy? I’d rather watch people fuck. But anyway, getting off topic.

So I’ve been very into this new robe. It’s very short so if you wear it without pants there’s this instant “I’m trying to be sexy” vibe it gives off. But it’s just a gray plush robe with stars on it, and a faux sheepskin lined hood, it’s not like my mother in law buys me comefuckme lingerie. That would be disturbing. But I typically am only able to buy necessary things for myself. I guess that’s why robes and slippers and pajamas are common Christmas gifts, huh? See I feel like if you think about it enough about anything you can figure it out. But don’t do it too much, because you will NOT like it when you finally come across something you can’t figure out. Like where we go after we die. Or if the dead can still see the living. Or if we reincarnate ad nauseam.

And sometimes (all the time) it’s the little joys that make the difference in the end anyway. So best not to think about it anyway. As for me, I have just a frightening amount of cleaning that needs to be done today. Yet here I am, noon on Saturday and what have I done, besides write this blog and eat candy for breakfast? So I should get to it. I’m still trying to figure out how to make myself write every day. It’s a work in progress I guess. I can’t tell if this blog is a help or a hindrance, but isn’t that always the way with things you like?

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

So, au revoir

~Cassie