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

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

Well, I didn’t go anywhere, if you were wondering

I’ve been busy writing creatively. This blog is where I go when I can’t find the motivation to work on my novel. I hate calling it that, it makes me feel like a douche. Like the kind of punk who sits in a Starbucks all day on their laptop writing. That sounds like a nightmare. I have an extreme peeve about people doing that. Every member of my family did it to me when I was writing as a child, on our trust Packard Bell, and it was one of the many things they all did to make me feel like I had ZERO personal privacy. Which…I guess if you need that pointer (for writing, or real life I guess if you’re a psycho who reads WordPress for fun…), that’s a REALLY good way to ruin someone’s regard for themselves as a human being with rights and feelings – take away any semblance of privacy while still somehow suppressing everything about them that doesn’t fit what you think is best.
Because that is definitely what my family did. ALL of them, even Grandma, and we all know I nostalgia-ify the crap out of my memories of her, did it.
And, the more I think about it, the more I realize that no matter what I did, I was fucking attacked for it. It’s hard because you think of stuff like this throughout your day, like you remember when you did a simple thing and your mom and dad and brother all started yelling at your simultaneously for making a simple mistake, for running into something, for misspeaking, for dropping something, like now that I think about it I realize it was the fucking recipe for developing anxiety about being around other people. They all made me value alone time so fucking much, I even managed to get over my extreme fears of being alone at night and the dark. I mean a lot of people never live alone. I did it at 18 because I had to be away from my family, I had to have a general independence from them. Though it would take me years to finally break all ties with my family, we’ve been over that a few times, I swear.
And now that I ponder on it, I realize that might be the same reason I am always unapologetically doing clumsy things. It’s like….does some terrible part of my brain that I have no conscious control over really crave negative attention, because that’s the only attention I got a lot of the time, like most of the time, as a child?

You’ll think of stuff like this if you try hard enough, and you get stoned enough if you’re like me, and you take the time to write it out.

So, I must take a moment to brag about my week, because I’ve been meeting personal goals lately, and that’s always exciting – so this week Monday-Thursday, I managed to every day:
1) Work 7-4 (6-4 on Monday, and that was after being emotionally distraught and drunk for that episode of Game of Thrones – am I right?)
2) Come home and immediately perform house-related tasks and work out for 30 minutes (translation – I rode my stationary bike for half an hour while I watched a chick-oriented show on Netflix that my husband would hate)
3) Eat a packed lunch and cook dinner from scratch/fresh ingredients at home – more or less, no eating out ever because it’s expensive and typically less healthy than what I make
4) Spend a minimum of 60 minutes per day writing – that’s about how much time I have between completing those first three tasks and when my husband gets home from work. He has a new job. During his extreme-major meltdown at me like three weeks ago now, I wrote about like crazy on here, he mentioned how he was just so demoralized by this job he got because I told him landscaping wasn’t good enough. Which I mean….really? He’s blaming all of his life’s issues on me? Somehow, his every decision has been made by me in secret somehow, and I’m still a cold bitch to him despite his acrobatic attempts at pleasing me….that was the summation of it really. I would count writing a blog as this one as well, because it counts it’s just not as important. I mean obviously. You don’t blast something truly dear to yourself all over the internet. My thoughts and feelings aren’t all that dear to me, if you were wondering why I would say that then keep such a personal blog. I change names to protect other people from my innate hostility
5) Possibly most important of all – STOP THINKING NEGATIVELY. It is and was and always will be my biggest issue. I definitely heard from more than one source throughout my childhood that I complained too much. I HAD A LOT TO COMPLAIN ABOUT, OKAY? Sorry for type-yelling. But I find that if I don’t constantly reminisce on bad shit, I am much happier. Fucking striking concept, right? BUT, that also means that I don’t think about things to blog about as much.
You could argue I could blog about positives in my life. But then I remember that I still haven’t seen my mom in almost three years because I can’t because I refuse to have anything to do with my father because he’s a fucking sociopath. ANYONE who really knows him, and has seen him in action would agree with that name for it. But then, even then, even now at this point, just like when a song you haven’t heard in years pops into your head, these rare, isolated memories you have, that few and far between times that were happy, are there to haunt you. There was a handful or two, I’d say, when I guess things were as close to normal as we could get them and everyone decided to get along and be happy. It became very rare the older my brother got. I was thinking about my brother on Thursday while I was watching that chick show on Netflix. A mom was freaking out about a baseball coach’s ability to influence her son’s formative years. And it made me think about how my brother just had no fucking chance.
There’s something to him…a narrowness…or like this stubbornness, or just this hard-headed idiocy brought about by emotional abuse that makes him do that same thing to others? It’s there…I just don’t know what to truly call it yet. It like…incapacitated him. Because what I did, what a person is going to have to do in our situation, is psychologically construct your OWN father figure in your mind, and use that to comfort yourself. I have this CREEPY fucking habit of stroking my own hair when I’m VERY upset. I mean it creeps me out when I do it, because I know why I’m doing it. And another huge peeve of mine is ANYONE touching my hair. I think that contributes to the fact that I no longer dye it (though I did that constantly from ages 14-26) and cut it myself. It’s been almost three years since I’ve had my hair cut professionally, though in part that is to save money. But also I really always resent stylists because they’re touching my hair, and inevitably snagging one of my many eccentric ear piercings on their combs. Egh, just thinking about it makes me cringe. Anyway.

So, I accomplished all of the above last week. And my husband’s new job entails different hours that allow him to leave when I leave in the morning. With his OCD, this is a huge blessing for him. It’s very hard for him to be the second one to leave the house. He becomes unsure if all of the cats are accounted for, and if the stove is off and the doors are locked. He spends too much time checking and rechecking, etc. And I like being the last one to leave, because then the house remains in the state of tidiness I so strongly prefer.

But, like I said, in doing so I don’t leave much time for writing blogs, because I’d rather attempt to dedicate my spare thoughts to my creative process, than obsessing over shitty things.

Also, in other rather superficial news, I found a skincare regime that works for me. And I mean when you’ve been trying for something for like 17 years, it feels like an accomplishment to be there. The process, you wonder? I use cold cream as a make up remover and face wash. Then rosewater as a toner. Then stupidly expensive moisturizer. That’s at night. In the morning I just apply moisturizer then concealer/blush on top of that as needed. Because I had my eyeliner tattooed on, I wear those two items and mascara, and that’s it. It’s so amazing having a simplified routine that works and it creates a look I enjoy. For so many years I wore such intense eye shadow every single day. I remember once in a college psych class a girl asked me if I did my own make up, implying I looked like I might be having it professionally done. All I said was “Yeah.” Because I was a weird, stoned twenty-one year old, and I felt bad because later on I identified that as a opportunity to socialize with someone about something I liked. But whatever.

And, in less superficial news but also something that hasn’t changed since I was young. Okay, I’ve probably already mentioned it, but I am weirdly attached to the psychological personality testing known as Myers-Briggs. I am deeply obsessed with researching my type and just basically always being like “SO TRUE!” at all of it after I look back at my behavior. And I actually took the Myers-Briggs test three different times from the age of 18-23 or so. Twice it came out INTJ, once INFJ. I took it again because I found a link to take it for free (which, you should because it’s so cool, at  16personalities.com) and it came out INTJ again, BUT on the thinking/feeling 3rd letter, I was a 60/40 split. So I’m on the fence there. This time it said I was an assertive INTJ…I was like….since when? I went to grad school for no reason, mostly just boredom. How wild am I? So it was exciting to think that that hasn’t changed. I already mentioned that I’m pretty well aware of why I’m introverted. Not that I don’t have this fake people-person persona that you develop when you have to wait on customers for 11 years. That’s why my desk job still is amazing to me. Just not having the general public in my face seems like a reward still. And I make way more money.
Speaking of making more money. My husband is actually going to be making more than me at this new job. He’s getting less person hour, but he’s getting far more hours, he even has to get 6 hours in today. It’s why I’m up and blogging so proficiently at 10am. I’ve been up since 6am because he needed my help getting up. Plus in all honesty I was awake before the alarm because that’s when I always get up during the week. I deeply splurged and went and got an iced coffee with all the extra caloric add-ons because I drink two pots of drip coffee per day and sometimes you’re just not in the mood. I justify it because black coffee with no sugar is good for your teeth (kills plaque, staining is just superficial anyway) and that’s how I drink it.

So, that’s it I guess. That’s my goal meeting for now.

My next major goal is to keep drinking confined to the weekends. In the 2 months that I’ve been trying to bike every day and count all calories using My Fitness Pal, you REALLY start to notice where your calories come from. And if you’re ashamed to tell an app how much you drank in one night, you might want to examine things? I mean, you probably knew that. I do. Did. Whatever. So that means I will need more weed. Which is fine if we can afford it. The dream is to be able to have enough to just make oil or butter and just always have that on hand/use that. Like I want to come home and make 1 piece of toast and just douse it with weed olive oil and get messed the fuck up on that, rather than smoking bowl after bowl. That’s the ideal dream, if you ever wondered what the ideal dream was. So I guess that’s another goal. Those are important, but so are plans to achieve these goals. But, I’ve always been great at having this REALLY long-term plan. I persevere. It’s what I do. But we might be closer to our weed goal with this new job. So that’s exciting too, because it’ll mean drinking less. Husband is still not drinking, of course. I just bought him a small gift for his 2 year AA anniversary, which is actually August 30th, but whatever I gave it to him early, it’s not like it’s Christmas. Plus no one else really acknowledges his AA-ness, not in his family. They really are the classic, reserved, rather not talk about it, types of people. Common to the middle and upper class I think. They’re used to trying to keep things nice, to admiring the surface value of shit, makes them want to keep a social front as well. Not always though.

Then, I would like to find a church I like down here. We moved downstate over five years ago, and we always said we’d find out. We tried for a little, but each one we visited acted very…odd….towards us. Like they’re a church, they should be freaking welcoming to strangers, not all like “HI, WHO ARE YOU?? WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE???” *artificial smiles*!! It’s weird. It happened three different times. These congregations need to get it together. It doesn’t take a genius to see their ever-dwindling memberships. It’s not shocking why, either. It’s hard, because I want to believe in it, but some of the absolutes of Christianity…like the concept of hell….I just….it’s really hard to actually comprehend an eternity of torture and damnation. Like….whaaaaaatttt?
But even THAT, that thing I just said that made my heart race to admit, that’s how DEEP those Lutherans manage to instill a terror of God in you, is a sign of an INTJ. We’re a small section of the population, especially the women, but of our tiny sliver of the pie, most are atheists, the ones that do believe in a higher power tend to be less accepting of all these contradictory absolutes. Literally one of the ‘celebrities’ that was an INTJ was Doubting Thomas. I remember a college counselor saying “Oh you went to [Lutheran high school] you’ll know who that is.” I was like…all right that’s not a great guy to be associated with…from the perspective I was taught to have……

Well, this have been a fulfilling hour and an a half spent, I guess, but I should be off. I truly do intend to spend more time writing today than I did on the weekdays. Because that only makes sense to me. But, it’s hard because there’s never not cleaning to do, am I right? I so value cleanliness and order that I know it hinders my creativity, especially my time for it….but I need organization in my life…so….you just have to learn to balance.

But I think for now, because I’m trying to not totally obsess all day about my shitty childhood, that maybe I’ll just use this blog to keep track of these goals I have. I think I’ll be pleased with the results and myself if I keep to them all and add more. Like most things in life. Like when I decided it was time to quit smoking and I actually (With Chantix, which I recommend, it didn’t give me nightmares, I swear it’s a suggestability thing. Yes I invented that word, but you get what I mean right? If you talk about having a certain kind of dream…you’re really like to have that dream for real. If you didn’t know that…try it. Your brain is more open to influence than you realize. And dreaming is just psychic file-sorting, so while cool and necessary it’s really not life-shattering stuff. Another peeve is hearing people describe their dreams. Newsflash – NO ONE CARES. Sorry, needed to be said.

So, hope all is well. Try and set goals for yourself. Don’t even write them down, just remember them. Know them well enough to note need a paper or digital reminder. Like showering and sleeping. Make the things you want to give a fuck about like that. That’s my suggestion. I’m not saying I think I’m like some superior being. I truly do not. I hope any long time readers have gathered that by now. Self-obsessed and arrogant are not the same thing.

~Cassie