So, is the cruel irony that IS my life actually God? I mean, really.

It’d be 20 (20!) days since I’d written an anon-a-blog. Everyone feels mentally healthier in the summer, right? I started one a week ago. I’d been having a rough week, I’d been emailing with my mom about how I didn’t know how much more I could take with my husband’s constant lack of gainful employment. I’ve always supported us. For quite a long time it was alongside the assistance of my in-laws because their son couldn’t earn. Like 7 years a long time. I was tears welling up in my eyes upset about my life on WEDNESDAY last week.

And what was my blog I never got around to posting on Wednesday about? How I feel like the Almighty likes toying with me. And (very quickly) here’s my main examples:
1) The millennial Christmas (I was 12) when I was pissy nothing was going to make it special or memorable, then my uncle dies after like a 2 month battle with lymphoma and it just wrecks my mom and Grandma. And, to top it off, my mom had a broken foot. It was just all around one of the worst times of my life, but only in the long-lasting-misery sense. Now that I’m on my own I can get fucked up in-between horrid, horrid shit happening. (Yes, I know how that sounds).
2) How desperately I adored my pointless asshole first boyfriend, and how he shattered my heart like 3 different times, and it’s like I knew better but I still decided to hope things would somehow work out by fucking magic or something.
3) My wedding night. All of the attention and affection most people spend their lives sharing with their parents and siblings and friends and significant others, almost ALL of that was still in my possession when I met my husband. I’d always wanted to have a long term relationship with another Christian that turned into marriage and then children. I never cared to focus on it, because I didn’t think it’d actually come true. I got completely fucked when it comes to who your family is, why wouldn’t that also happen when I trusted that someone loved me? But somehow, it worked out with my husband. I don’t know when the first really huge warning sign was….there were a few years in a row where we got into a nasty fight on my birthday, made all the worse by both of us being drunk…then that all just bleeds into the night of our wedding, when he got shitfaced and became the absolute WORST possible version of himself, and he said and did horrible shit, and I spent the majority of my wedding night just infuriated and crying and thinking about how much pretending to be happy was ahead of me the next day. It was supposed to be the happiest, or at least one of them. Or, if he just had passed out or something, like maybe he could’ve gotten that wasted but then he just fell asleep…but no….he was too practiced an alcoholic by that point, they (we, I guess) don’t pass out so easily.

And the next day,  the NEXT day is when I accidentally find out my husband cheated on me. With a stranger with a Craigs List ad. I mean. I guess its good that’s like the least emotionally involved you can be, so there’s that, but like…fucking gross. How do you GO through with that? Today I actually texted him at work because I was sick of his silence, and he sent me a picture of a picture of us from a long time ago that he keeps in his wallet. He’s saying all the right things, that he wants to do anything to get us back to how we were in that picture, that it’s all his fault and he’s being “destroyed inside” because he knows how badly he’s made me feel.

But…saying a ton of good-sounding stuff without really changing a single core problem is kind of his specialty, so….WE’LL SEE.

And yeah, there’s still the unreal situation that I only found out because the doctor’s office overestimated how much my shit insurance would cover. I mean, really.

So….I mean it’s like when I finally get up the nerve to complain about the deeply unfortunate things (some of them) that have happened to me….and I’m like setting the most perfect stage ever for what happened last Thursday. I knew when I saw how pale looking at that bill made him. I still had to pry it out of him, but it was so apparent, he can’t remotely hid it when he’s terrified. He’s looked like that before when cops were at our door.

I’m almost kind of proud of how violently angry I got. And I got to tell him like everything I’ve been feeling about him…like ever. Like I was JUST saying how I’d never tell anyone but I hated my engagement ring…well I definitely brought THAT up…along with a lot of other things….

I mean, if I’m being 100% honest…I don’t want to break up. But 1) I’m sure not telling him that and 2) Maybe we still should. Maybe my feelings don’t know what’s best. My feelings are so across the board right now anyway. But I really only trust me. I’m not one for asking the advice of others (excepting outfits). I also don’t ever blame my decisions on other people. I mean you can blame your trauma on your traumatizers, but like…you know, it’s not wise to just be like oh all things are my parents’ fault because where does that get you? But I mean, I’m deeply obsessed with discussing my childhood so I get wanting to thoroughly analyze trauma. I understand other versions of art can also be used, but I really only know about this one way. But writing has been a part of my identity for a very long time. Maybe one day when I’m in a better mood I’ll tell the stories of my earliest writing endeavors. For your sake I hope not though.

We’re supposed to talk when he gets home in two hours. The plan is to drink until then and ask him to cook dinner. It’s hard because I want to be mad, and I have a right to be mad, but then I also feel bad. Because maybe I’m taking way too much enjoyment out of getting to be the vengeful victim, which is something my cunt father would do. Then I’m like….am I the my dad in this situation? What a nauseating notion. But then, I will ALSO hate myself if I try to move past it and be nice as a gesture of good will, while the whole time I’m actually still seething on the inside, because that is an exact description of my mother’s lot in life.



WHAT, THE, FUCK, DO, I, DO???????




Nope to all of this.




All I have left is this list 

…..I’d say this was all unbearable, but whenever I think that about my life an even worse calamity is just waiting around the corner…so…..all I know is that I need my husband to do these things first, before I can even begin to think on what I am doing. 

#1 – Accept total and complete blame for YOUR OWN ACTIONS. #2 – Accept that your low self esteem and inability to grow up and be a man has been sabotaging our relationship for years 

#3 – Accept that you’re clinging to this relationship as the one thing you have, the one thing that brings you joy. But I’m a person. And I’ve had more than enough of being “the center of my universe” or the “bright spot of joy” for others, all those sorts of people do is drag you down because they’re too fucked to help themselves 

#4 – Accept that I do not know if I will ever be able to trust you again 

#5 – Accept that I am very afraid if I do stay that in 2 or 5 or 10 years, something even worse will happen and this decision will haunt me like all the other times 

#6 – Accept that I don’t know what to do but so much of me feels like I have to go, that I can’t keep wondering why I’m miserable when I stay with someone who makes me miserable 

#7 – Accept that when you break something, apologizing doesn’t fix it.


Well. Here I am. Where I was always so terrified of ending up.

Well. You see, what happened is, the blog post I just published, I started it on Wednesday. But I didn’t finish it, as you can see. And boy, is it ever a fucking hilarious coincidence that that’s what I was thinking about…when yesterday happened.

See, it began when I grabbed the mail, as I always do when I get home from work. There was some weird medical bill from an appointment I hadn’t known my husband had had earlier this month. I didn’t think a great deal of it, I put it on the fridge with its many brethren bills. It wasn’t until I was discussing money being tight (a common topic) with my husband and I was like “Yeah, I finally pay your dentist bill and now we get a new one for some doctor’s office…..what was that appointment for?” Something about the fact that he’d kept it from me seemed off. He acted like he didn’t know, but I told him to go look to see what it was from. When he came back from the kitchen, he was trying to act nonchalant, but it was so noticeable to me how pale he had suddenly turned. I asked him why he was so pale (though a thought was beginning to form at this point), he played it off. I stared him down for what was like an uncomfortable, silent three minutes. He could meet my gaze but he couldn’t bring himself to smile at me, like he would have in a normal situation.

But this was no normal situation, it was the moment it was going to dawn on me that my husband had cheated on me. Yes, we both had had sex with other people before. But the BIG difference between all of the others and this one was the secrecy. Cheating, by definition and connotation, lends to the idea of lying, sneaking, dishonesty, that was NOT what was going on with any of the other situations. Even with R, my husband was 100% aware of every moment I spent with him, it was never secretive.

And, to stagger me after the initial blow was the idea that THAT was how I found out.

See what happened was, he cheated on me with a girl he found on CRAIGS LIST. A complete stranger. He then began to feel worry about possible diseases such a person might be curating, so he got STD tested. And, I guess thanks to my shitty medical insurance, I got a $108 bill in the mail, and I thought to ask what the hell it was from, and after some prying, he told me it was from when he met a stranger online and hooked up with them.

My reaction….it was not good.

When I realized he was actually confirming my worst suspicions, I just remember realizing that my heart was beating really, really fast. Like that’s what made it dawn on me that I was very upset by this revelation. We were sitting in our living room. I stood, and walked through the kitchen to the utility/storage/washing room at the back of our house.

At this point is when I started screaming “Are you kidding me?!” and “You cheated on me, and you fucking lied about it!” over and over. When he tried to talk some calm into me I started breaking shit. I pulled the laundry rack over and threw it against the ground. We have that plastic 4-tier shelving instead of a food pantry. So I tore that down in a few swipes. I have an owl-shaped cookie jar from my mom that I keep the baggies of bulk spices I get from the Farmer’s Market in….miraculously it didn’t break. I think one jar of pasta sauce broke but I wouldn’t be certain. I didn’t clean it. Because after I did that, I pulled two decorative mirrors off the wall and hurtled them at the floor. But then I stopped because some tiny part of me thought about how expensive it was going to get if I turned on the appliances.

Then I sat with my back against the back door drinking a tall can for quite some time. Then he tried to sit on the floor near me so I told him he better clean this mess up and went and drank more beer on our front porch.

Then I think I came inside and really started letting him have it. I told him I couldn’t believe he would do something like this after I supported him in every possible way for so long. I kept telling him he’d reached his limit, that he’d handed me too much to forgive, that I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. That everyone, even someone like me, had their breaking point.

I basically kept telling him it was over because he’d ruined it. And that half the time I felt like I was married to the world’s biggest pussy, and the other half I felt like I was married to a retarded child. I told him I hated my engagement ring and I never used a condom with R (contrary to what I’ve told him in the past). I told him I felt SO fucking stupid for investing so much in our fucked relationship. I told him all of it was really my fault because I went for something my early life had told me I wasn’t allowed to have. I just wanted to feel normal, and to not be alone. And this is what I get instead, the deepest depths of isolation.

I guess I deserve it.

But I don’t know what to do now. Out of all of the shitty things he did, I never thought he’d do this.

He says he was being selfish, he wasn’t in his right mind. He’d developed this habit of looking at porn, then looking at the sex ads on Craigs List and jerking off to them, then one night he let insecurity and selfishness drive him to reach out, and to meet up with a complete stranger who was advertising on CRAIGS LIST for sex. How is it worse than Tinder? IDK but it is so much more disgusting. I can tell you, it’s going to be a great deal of time before I am even remotely interested in having sex with him again.

If you can imagine the combination of having to process these emotions, and getting a little shitfaced took their tolls on me. I fell asleep easily enough, thanks to the booze, but I woke up a little over three hours later, and my head and neck were killing me. The huge sinuses you have below your orbital/eye socket situation, they were fucking throbbing because I’d been grinding my teeth like crazy while I slept. Then I was awake for the next three hours. I managed to nod off enough to make getting up for my alarm at 4:30 on Friday morning excruciating.

It was hard, I was in incredible physical and emotional pain…but that’s nothing I haven’t already been put through time and time again. Can I really even blame someone other than me at this point? I clearly should’ve just isolated myself from the start.

I left a note that read “I hope it was worth it. I hope it was worth losing me. You can have your shitty ring back.” And I left my wedding ring and a bracelet he gave me for my 28th birthday.

He of course sent 20+ text messages that day. He said the same horseshit he always says when he really fucked up, followed by a period of extreme inaction.

What he’s blaming it on this time is his “addict” behavior. Because he quit drinking, and he went to a few AA meetings, but he’s claiming because he never dealt with the addict part of himself so that’s what led him to be “not in his right mind” and led to him jacking off to Craigs List sex ads, which led him to reach out to one, and when it wasn’t a hooker or a bot, he couldn’t stop himself I guess.

Please, this is NOT me saying I buy his bull shit or that “I couldn’t help myself” is an excuse. It’s not. Yes you could. You actively and willingly chose to do what you did. You grabbed the condoms leftover from when we were swinging (You know, when it was okay because nothing was secret), you wore the really expensive cologne I bought you (though you’ve never given me perfume even remotely as nice), you drove all the way to the edge of Detroit, and you fucked a stranger, then you’d planned on lying to me about it for the rest of our marriage. He keeps saying, “If you’d asked me if I slept with anyone else, I wouldn’t have lied to you.” OH, OH I SEE. I should’ve known to ask. I should’ve figured that like 6 weeks ago you were so “frustrated” and “feeling low about myself” and “insecure” that you did this. What the fuck else is he capable of that’s completely disgusting and fucked up? Because this is unreal.

He’s claiming he’d convinced himself it wasn’t a big deal before he did it, that it was like the other things we’d done. Which I guess if some arrogant/judgmental clenched asshole read this they’d just be like “Well that’s what you get for opening the sexual borders at all,” but this was different, this was grimy fucking gross cheating. I cannot even begin to imagine how long it’s going to be before I want to have sex with him again, if I ever do again.

Because I still don’t know what to do.

Because all the more disturbing than what his pathetic insecurity and low, low, low self esteem made him do one night last month, is how now I am REALLY beginning to see a pattern of self sabotage in his life. It’s one of those things that gives an eerie feeling when you find it. Like an extra hand in a photograph.

Because one of the main themes of the many texts he sent me on Friday was that he was going to be a better man and husband to me and he was going to get a better job and finally be able to support us…blah blah blah, heard it all before (YEARS AGO).

And yet, despite his protestations, and he did claim he was going to quit smoking weed to assist with the whole job finding thing. He hasn’t smoked since Thursday I guess….but is that really going to make a difference? Because since Friday, he’s done NOTHING, not ONE THING to move a centimeter further on the job thing.

I try to be nice about it, because if you’re even a HINT of critical in your remarks about one of the most infuriating topics in your life….he just slams shut like a clam, and like I don’t want to be the person who smashes him open over a rock. I know I could, that’s mostly why I don’t want to do it.

But all he ever seems capable of doing with my patience and goodwill is abuse it, then he gets to sit there looking injured when I’m BEYOND frustrated (In every aspect of life, might I add) with his INABILITY to just act like a fucking adult. Like WHY can’t he find a job? He won’t even try. He’s so much like my father it’s fucking revolting.

I mean….really….what’s in this for me? If you take feelings out of it…there’s nothing, and I’m very stupid for staying and thinking things will somehow get better when I’ve been taught nothing but the contrary. I’m just like my mom.


So. Here we are. My useless dumbshit husband cheated on me with someone gross enough to have a Craigs List sex ad, and we’re just some sickening recreated of the horrid union that produced me.


Thank fuck we don’t have kids.


I don’t know what I’m doing. I told him he couldn’t sleep in our bed Thursday or Friday, but then on Saturday I fell asleep on the couch and by the time I transferred he was already in there and I was too tired to do anything besides fall asleep. I have yet to come into physical contact with him, or tell him I love him when he says it to me, or wear my wedding ring since I found out (You know because of a medical bill). I also took down the wedding pictures I had up at work. I’m banking on everyone being too afraid of me and genuinely disinterested in my life to ask about either thing. But I’ll just say my ring is being re-sized and make some weight gain joke and laugh sardonically at it. That’s the plan. If you can plan for all the horrid shit others might say or do to you, it makes your reaction easier to orchestrate. What a luxury it would be to live in a such a life where others didn’t feel compelled to say things that scoured out my soul. Or to at least be able to be myself back to them. But the real me isn’t all that well received most of the time.

Because the real me sees the most tender parts of someone’s feelings. Not right away, but if you get to know someone at all, it’s not hard to detect what’s going on there. At least get a sense of it. And the way a preteen is going to use that is to tell her friends she knows something she can say to anyone to really, truly upset them.
Her friend is arrogant and doesn’t believe her. So the girl who thinks she can read others feelings but like can’t even begin to detect her own (Just like how she likes thinking about and dealing with the problems of others instead of possibly identifying her own. She knows her faults only too well), she says “Do you ever think about how your older half sister definitely loves her kids way more than she loves you?”
The friend got really quiet for the rest of recess as she thought about that. I mean it wasn’t a hard one. She was an only child (this older half sister was already in her twenties and  living across the country, a product of their dad’s first marriage) so only children are really obsessed with being the center of attention and getting whatever they want, but they’re also jealous of people with real siblings so they grasp for them where they can, a half sister, a cousin, a neighbor that’s slightly older, etc.
So really ever since then, I didn’t tell people that I knew how to deeply affect their mental well being. Because that’s what it was. Now that I’m older and taking the the time to be introspective I see how like damaged a lot of my behavior is. Also I have zero control over all those unnecessary “like”s in my writing. I’m truly sorry. If I edited or reread these anon-a-blogs, I would remove most of them. I’m aware they come out but I don’t know how. Like some people with swearing. Or having children.

If my story has any sort of moral, I guess it’s that things that happened to you a long time ago can still haunt you in the the present, no matter how long ago that time was.

I mean I’m clearly still not making the right decisions here, because my life is still so fucked. And one of the many things I screamed at my husband on Thursday was that he had already made me the dumb fuck who stayed after her husband was an off the rails alcoholic (they’ll be polite to your face but their eyes call you an enabler), I was already the stupid idiot who stayed after she got shoved through a closet door (it was a thin particle board rolling door, so I wasn’t injured, but it’s just the fact that he actually did that, then three different times he’d thrown empty liquor bottles at me, that’s not to mention all of the emotional abuse his drunk self loved trotting out), now he was asking me to also be the shit eating moron who stays after he cheats in a fucking disgusting way. I mean really a hooker would’ve been grosser, or an escort or whatever, a stripper would’ve been grosser….but I think he managed to hit 3rd most disgusting way to cheat on your spouse. I mean I guess this one didn’t cost anything.

He claims on the way home from doing that he began to be filled with regret, and realizing he might’ve blown it.

But really, is that how it works? Right AFTER your dick gets what it wants you’re having these emotional epiphanies about how fucking wonderful our relationship is? He literally said “I was thinking with the wrong head” to me, as if that is even something anyone is ever allowed to say. Because let’s get real…every guy probably wants to fuck other people than his partner, maybe every person I’m not trying to be sexist. I’m sure there’s a religious bunch that refuses to even mentally cheat on their spouse, but those of us keeping a closer link to what makes us human, I think it’s pretty normal. There were a few English professors along the way that I definitely still think about. But it’s been so long and there’s literally no chance of future interaction, so, it’s as abstract as a celebrity fantasy at this point. Which sidenote I do not have because what’s the point? I had a really extreme sex dream about Alesander Skaarsgard once but it was after watching Big Little Lies, not True Blood, so I think that was just speaking to some of the incredibly fucked up shit locked deep away in my mind. It’s like a cluttered hayloft, you know it’s looming up there and potentially dangerous, life threatening even, but are you really going to haul everything down there? And why? And for what purpose? There is no reason to almost probably die in the process of trying to live longer.

I talk about mental health and physical health as if they’re one in the same. Because they kind of are. It’s really goddamn heartbreaking to see someone who love slip into senility. Then you’re like wait do I envy those who lost people when they were far too young? What about people like me who lost someone who’s still alive and no one even remotely understands the situation even though it actively breaks your heart every day?

What then?

And more importantly, what now?

And wow, I’m like so fucking fortunate that ANOTHER really devastating thing has happened to me in real time since starting this anon-a-blog to write about the other devastating things from longer ago.


I guess I’m out for now. As you know, I can go on forever. But now I’m asking if I can do just that in respect to my marriage. Because I’m beginning to see a scary pattern and familiarity to all this, and I don’t like it.

But, let’s be real again for a moment, do you really think I want to get divorced either? But, also like I screamed over and over at my husband on Thursday, it was already SO bad, and he seriously had to make everything he’s already done that much worse??? At what point do I just say all right, no more, I’m out? When should it be too much?

No clue at this point, how to go forward. And I’m really not all that impressed with his first weekend of full sobriety’s effort towards getting a new job. Since he’s done nothing. He’s slept a great deal, he’s mowed one of our lawns, he’s gone to two AA meetings. End of things he’s done. I’m not even going to take the time to list what I’ve done in that same amount of time.

But unfortunately I’ve obviously been drinking, and I haven’t had the will to exercise since before he told me. So I might try to get back on that. But, depending on how things go from here, I might be on this bitch every day, complaining about how lonely I am. Like me with live journal circa 2007, like me with myspace circa 2005, like me with xanga circa 2003. I guess I’m still like I’ve always been. I guess this is what I get for not wanting to be alone.

Seems a bit harsh, if you ask me.