S a D, J all over your Bs

Nothing’s ever going to stop is it? It’ll only change for the worse. I am an awful mix of my terrible parents’ traits. I’m the fucking goddamn definition of an outcast. Why? Because an outcast is someone who has NO place, with anyone. Losers tend to have each other, same goes for the wonderful peopleand the vapid human garbage. But me? I literally fit in NOWHERE. Even among people you’d THINK I have a lot in common with. Even at grad school. Even at work. Even in the million Twitter writer groups I’m in or follow.

Worried the crazy will never stop.

Worried what will happen if it does. When it does.

The only thing I care about is my writing. I mean really. I know that disappoints God and all, but idk, He made me like this, did He not? See the way I fucking see it, is if God exists, He’s GOT to be understanding, the forgiving part HAS to be more true than the vengeful part. Of like mental illness and the lasting effects of abuse, and like, all of it. He’s GOT to see that like….some people are poisoned, against Him, by those who profess to be of God…but…I think we all know the truth there. He’s GOT to see how hard it is, how it feels like some ancient inculcated part of my childhood that I need to do away with, in part, because I had to do that with so much else of that time in my life. I married another Christian, but we’re both lazy and apathetic about doing anything that would “qualify” if you will. We tried finding a church when we first moved down here, none of them appealed, at all. But at the same time…I just end up envying atheists, so fucking sure of themselves. I’m not hating. Each to their own, you can’t make anyone freaking believe against their will, that’s literally an insane thing to try and do. I get there’s brainwashing, but like…what kind of person tries to gaslight another person? People like W of course.

Jealousy and anger are human emotions. Emotions which God, in two forms, is given to show in the Bible. I always thought that was peculiar. No real reason why, I just never mentioned it to anyone before.

This isn’t an easy topic. Is religion ever? But like…I don’t say this seriously, but sometimes it’s hard to be white and Christian because you’re like….oh…..shit, let me apologize for the millions of moments of anguish those two things have caused….my bad…if it helps I grew up in a hyper abusive and chaotic and lonely situation –despite seeming like your average lower middle class nuclear family of four for the most part – and I can assure you that cancels out whatever advantages you might think I had. I’ve just never suffered due to my race. I get that. Anyway.

When I talk about this with my husband, we discuss how the concept of hell is kind of hard to wrap one’s head around. Like, really, eternal constant horrendous suffering and damnation unless you follow a set of ten impossible rules? Because one of his non-sentient beings who still somehow staged a revolt (never quite understood that one) got pissed and transferred schools and took a lot of his friends with him? Also something about how he’s hot and they’re all hot and they’re also really attracted to humans and into music? Literally 13 years of Lutheran schooling and this is what I think of.

But even not minding all that, you have to believe in something.

I’ve never met a true atheist.

R claimed to be one. He was really into freemasonry. Which I always thought was stupid and weird, personally. W’s parents both loved being in that organization. The women are in a separate group called Daughters of the Nile, but it’s the same weird shit. I have a Mason’s necklace, it’s a white enamel heart with the Masons star in the center on a shitty brass chain. It was W’s mother’s, I would imagine. I took it from their cottage one of the few timeswe stayed there during my childhood. Before super petty W broke allties with his older sisters, who owned the cottage. He changed our phone number. Who does that? At one point the middle sister’s husband called W at work, he went to the trouble to find out where he worked, somehow, and W had the pleasure of getting to say, in response to being asked what had to be done to get the families back together,“Go back and make Cassie and her brother’s childhood involve their aunt and uncle and cousins.” As if it were somehow THEIR fault for what he did. Then he had to be fucking adorable and add, “I’m a[Cassie’s real last name] not a [aunt’s husband’s last name]”Because my father’s family is known, from generation to generation, since the limey fuckers first got to America in the beginning part ofthe nineteenth century, for feuding and breaking off entirely from one another. I mean, LOOK AT WHAT I DID. It’s like I was genetically predisposed. It’s easily traceable because the last name kept changing spellings ever so slightly. Started out in Pennsylvania, fought for the Union, spread throughout the Midwest. German people like Indiana and states near it because they’re similar to Germany in a lot of ways, terrain and weather wise.

I saw younger aunt at older aunt’s funeral. She looked me up and down(I’m like a foot taller than her) and said, “Oh, Cassie, we missed out on you growing up.”

WHAT THE SWEET FUCKING SHIT is the response one should have to that?????? Like it’s MY fault? Ugh.

The thing is.

Knowing W, and what he’s like.

It makes sense that his still living cunt sister (named Mary Lou, why do I hide these things? Like it goddamn matters and anyone cares?) is a hugely evil weird psycho cunt. I mean. I can’t really fathom what sort of parenting duo it took to create W…but….I can….I can only imagine….

If only he’d talk to a therapist

But he won’t. Trust me. We all know it. We talked about it all the time. He’s one of those sorts who’s better off dead. Same for my brother. Unless she’s freed of them soon, same for my mom too.

We aren’t supposed to say or think these dark things. But they’re there, lurking like bats in a cave.

I stopped using that frightening barn analogy for my psyche. Isn’t that exciting? I didn’t notice that it’d happened, until an abstractnotion made me remember that I hadn’t thought about that barn inyears. When I used to every single day. Interesting.

Anyone else wear themselves out so they’re too busy getting fucked up to be pissed about shit?

I for one am sick of a bunch of stuff. But what does one do? Give up? THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT ME TO DO. SO NO. FUCK everyone, I didn’t like anyone in the first place, so what the fuck does it matter if everyone keeps hating me? Or just straight doesn’t give a fuck.

I started a FetLife account. But, again, the same listless sexual ennui.

My fuck I love that word.

SO back to my story about R.

He CLAIMED he was not religious, at all, only spiritual (which equated to him liking to burn sage and owning a tarot deck). Fuck. Now that I think about him, I realized that right now, a cold, dark Fridaynight, I would have been with him right now. I’d drive to his house after working 6-4. I’d get there about this time, leaving my husband to whatever. We sit and talk in his all dark except for the computer and TV screen bedroom, in his dad’s house on the water, then we’d venture out to buy food and beer/booze and possibly rent movies. I think one time we went for ice cream. Another time we went to a Target together and bought our own 2DS, and I bought Omega Ruby and he bought Alpha Sapphire and we played those games together. But by the time Sun and Moon came out, we weren’t together. R was the first break up I was happy for. Care for him as I did.

That last weekend with him, which just totally cemented how done I was, that second night, the LAST night I ever saw him…let me take you through what happened.

We had the whole weekend together. My husband was out of town. He’d already been an annoying drunken mess at a sushi place the night before (Friday). So Saturday I drive to his place to pick him up and what I don’t know is that he’s already shitfaced when I get there. With seasoned alcoholics it’s not easy to tell sometimes.

We go to a downtown area near his dad’s house, and we’re INSIDE the BDubs when he decides he doesn’t want to eat there because it’s “too loud”, so we leave, even though I’d just fed the meter a ton of change….he’s an ASS more than once for the drive back. We end up going to an overrated overpriced bar and grill place near his dad’s house. It’s there that I begin to see that he’s on his second day of a bender, which he started the night before at a sushi place in another town. He gets increasingly disrespectful and brazenly drunk in public (despite having amassed two DUIs in the time we were dating) as the dinner progresses. He did his usual of eating at lightning speed then rushing me out of finishing my food (I eat really slowly, I can’t help it, it’s a weird jaw thing with chewing) THEN he gave me a weird amount of shit when I told him to tip $16, because that was like 15% of our bill. He freaked out, like kept being like, “Sixteen dollars?” Like I’d suggested we leave her the moon. DON’T ASK ME WHAT TO TIP, THEN.

THEN as if that wasn’t bad enough, out of the fucking blue at the restaurant he asks, “Did you have a church wedding?”

I said yes. Because it was the truth. He knew that. He was invited and RSVP’ed with a date but then didn’t go. Again, should’ve seen warning signs but didn’t because I was SUPER attracted to this guy. Not anymore. If I have bad memories of someone it just DESTROYS my pussy. Just dries it the fuck out, and that’s actually saying something.

“OH, so then I’m the fornicator.”

WHAT?

Okay, for someone who has always CLAIMED to not give a fuck about religion, especially Christianity, he seems real worried that I was religiously married then violated my wedding vows with him. Though to be fair our vows didn’t mention not fucking other people, like that traditional “forsaking all others” shit.

He only said his most cringe things while REALLY drunk.

One time we were wasted and smoking weed in the garage right on the canal and he told me he loved me twice, so I said it back to shut him the fuck up. It never came up again, he never said it again. I mean, he didn’t need to. But again, there were many ways he was lacking that I wouldn’t have tolerated in an actual relationship. Side action boyfriend is different.

Another time, again SUPER FUCKING DRUNK, we’re woken up on a Sunday and finished off the beers from the night before, then went out for lunch at a bar near his dad’s. He was so drunk he threw up all over the bathroom. We went to a bait and tackle shop after and he bought a fishing rod to replace the one he’d thrown into the lake this one REALLY awful night that I’ll talk about later.

On the way to drop him off at home and then drive home myself (It was 5pm on a Sunday by this point) he’s riding shotgun in my car and looks at me and says, “Sometimes, I wish you weren’t married.”

I was in NO MOOD for this shit, right then. So I said, “HA, yeah, me either.”

Then he said, in typical R fashion, “But whatever.”

Becausehe had a definite “Fuck it” attitude towards everything. I say that as judgmentally as possible, not in an admiring way.

So, idk, the people I know who claim to be free to belief seem to think about them a lot.

I have nothing else to offer at this time.

My drinking lately has been worrying me. I haven’t been doing anything bad or badly, but it’s been excessive. I’ve done 3 tall cans everynight this week. Right now I’m on my third 16oz. Yikes. What IS one to do?
N has like a recently acquired alcohol allergy. I’m jealous. Like incredibly so. I don’t think I envy anything more. Like…a physical inability to process alcohol….DON’T suggest thosepills that make you heave if you drink, those have been shown to not be strong enough to actually deter anyone. You just drink anyway and feel like utter shit.

ANYWAY.

So. That last weekend with R. So that happens at the restaurant and I drive us back to his dad’s. He’s actually more forthright about wanting sex than he usually was. The sex was good, but SO on histerms. He blamed his “fickle sex drive” AKA SUUUUPER selfish when it came to that, AND oral. OMG. Like my husband is so into that shit I’m really judgmental when a guy isn’t. I dated R for 8 months, he went down on me once. FUCKING OUTRAGEOUS IF youconsider juuuuust how much oral this guy expected to receive. Like, constant. Omg. Hated that. Anyway.

So when we’re having sex for the very last time, it’s REALLY fast. No condom, per usual, but then he comes inside me, really unapologetically. Then literally falls asleep on top of me.

The next morning, I left while he was still sleeping.

And that’s the last time I saw him. I’d had enough.

You feel bad saying your life is better for NOT having someone in it, but it happens.

It happens.

I’m SO DRUNK.

I need to grocery shop.

I painted my nails.

I’m always broke

but I’m writing

a masterpiece

of a novel

I’ll show you

Don’t fucking worry

~Cassie

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.

DO YOU SEE HOW TERRIFYING THIS ALL IS?

 

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

 

 

 

Nope to all of this.

 

 

~Cassie

The weight of pointlessness is heavy upon me

Because, I mean really, name one thing that has a point. One can argue doing anything to prolong one’s life, or to improve the quality of one’s life. But if you knew anything you’d know that quality isn’t real and because we’re autonomous and get to define our own self interest, no one really know what’s good for them anyway. Not that I do either.

But, I will say I have been exercising regularly and recording all calories using an app that shames you for going over your allotment. But not as much as it shames you for not using it. So that’s exciting I guess. I’ve already noticed a difference, but that’s because I’m going from 0 to some exercise. So there’s that. I decided to forgo it today because it’s hotter than hell outside, even with the window ACs that we have, and when you’re menstruating and spend the entire day feeling like exhausted shit….it’s just not that appealing.

Also if I don’t bitch about my feelings to someone (something, the anon-a-blog counts as a thing), I might go crazy. I know I’m always saying that I might go crazy…but that’s because it genuinely worries me. Like how the earth will become too hot to inhabit within the lifetime of young children who exist right this second. And like how I wish I could buy new work clothes but I can barely buy groceries.

Every morning I sit down at my desk, and after the initial rush of checking through emails and awful small talk, I just start thinking about ALL the frustrations in my life. And I get so upset I feel hot and my chest hurts, after awhile. I legit started crying at my desk during my lunch break because I was emailing my mom, basically telling her how fucking hopeless I feel when it comes to our finances, largely impacted by my husband’s inability to find gainful employment (he clears less than $250 a week at his current job…that’s what I made semi-full time at a pet store like 8 years ago). It’s nice to for once talk to her about my problems, and not vice versa. Of course part of me feels bad that I might be making her feel bad for me, thus making her day worse than my piece of shit father does. She tells me about how she prays for me and Andrew every single day. And I believe her. But I don’t know what to say to that. I’ve never told anyone about this, my struggle to maintain this faith I thought I’d always have. Is that why I’m attached to it? Because it was a part of my childhood that I can cling to, when so much else is lost to me? I mean….I don’t know…..but I know it’d devastate my mom to hear that I felt like Christianity comes short. Because like…okay really, the concept of hell? Are we serious? Also, we’re just one little planet in a remote solar system, and somehow the savior of all creation came HERE? So out of the ENTIRE galaxy….only earth can sustain life??!?!? These are the questions that I have. Also, and this is a big one, and I’m like afraid to type it, but like…if God exists…where was He? Should I feel like he was there because it could’ve been worse, I could’ve gotten it worse? Is that how we rationalize this deity to ourselves, by pointing out the coincidences and ascribing meaning to them? Yeah, probably.

So today was a day while, possibly fueled by hormones, I really felt like I was at my breaking point. Having a desk job does this to me, because I’m left alone with my thoughts and they tend to haunt me. You can tell me to focus on happiness and the positives all you want, I try, I really do. There are many things I am grateful for, I suppose the biggest one is how healthy I’ve always been, and I mean my life has been made easier throughout its duration because I’m a pretty tall white girl. These facts are not lost on me. But…if I could make you live a single memory of mine, you wouldn’t think of my as the pretty white lady anymore. You’d see how damaged I am, and you’d see how angry I am. An incredibly wise woman who I had the privilege of hearing once said something along the lines of how excessive consumerism is a way to compensate for dehumanization, and boy is that true. So sometimes I’m like oh I shouldn’t be down on my lazy husband, I just want things to fill the void a traumatizing childhood leaves behind.
Like, this is something I’d never admit to anyone, but I was and still am hugely disappointed by my engagement ring. If I had to pick a reaction that I got from the well-intended people who asked to see it, it would be “underwhelmed.” Like you’re giving me a ring I’m supposed to wear EVERY day for the REST of my life, and I get a cloudy and flawed 3/8 karat?????….????????????????……REALLY?!? Like seriously people (mostly women) would ask to see it, and I would hear it in their voice once they saw it, I mostly got “Ohhh…” or “Ahhh….” a few times I got “cute” once I got “dainty” (that was from a British girl I went to grad school with so it was fun to hear her say it). It’s whatever I guess, I mean but yeah….I don’t like it. And okay, I know jealousy is for sheep…but here we go….a younger coworker of mine got engaged recently, her ring is HUGE. The center round diamond is a karat by itself, then there’s like 2 other karats of diamonds surrounding it and on the band. I shouldn’t equate emotional affection with the cost involved with a piece of jewelry…but….seriously….it’s almost like I should’ve taken this shit as a sign that I was going to get nothing but well-intended, buffoonish disappointment  from my husband. But, if I’m going to start obsessing over what was a sign and what wasn’t I’ll really go crazy. I mean I had to tell him recently that I would be embarrassed to be married to a landscaper, because like..fucking wow I SLAVED during my Masters and Bachelors to be with a guy who pulls in cutting the lawn money?!!? DA FUQ.

Well shit, I guess I do sound really shallow, don’t I? Which is odd because I’ve never considered myself shallow. And for what it’s worth, no one has ever called me that either. The only negative things I’ve ever been called are like loud/obnoxious/annoying. No one’s ever called me stupid or ugly or fat, so there’s that I guess. I feel like there might be something intimidating about me and the way I carry myself, but that’s only based on the treatment I’ve been getting from other people for the past several years. I know I’ve said this before but if I were someone else I wouldn’t fuck with me. Not if I recognized me for what I am. If you can follow that.

Maybe I am shallow and materialistic. But I don’t think so. It’s not “oh you don’t love me enough to work hard enough to buy me the shit I want” it’s “Oh wow, I thought you were going to be some kind of partner but instead I’m taking care of you emotionally, mentally AND FUCKING financially!!! BOY there’s A WHOLE LOT in this marriage for me!!!!” Over a year ago I tearfully explained the source of my rage, that I truly felt like I was the only one in our marriage interested in being an adult. I mean I’ve been a fucking adult since I was a child.

My sister in law gets this extra-special treatment where her mom has to “respect her decisions” AKA sis-in-law gets to do WHATEVER stupid, idiot, moron, fucked shit she wants to, and it doesn’t matter if it all goes horribly wrong and blows up in her face and leaves her holding the bag/broke, because she can just unload ALL of her problems right on her mother, who told her not to do the thing that caused the problem, but “respected her decision” enough to offer constant coddling/support throughout. But THEN, on the flipside, whenever sis-in-law does something horrible or fucked or terrible, it’s because she’s “like a little girl” (because she was molested by both her dad and her cousin…separately of course….and then there’s all of the alleged sexual abuse she suffered throughout college…but like…IDK S-I-L is so fucked and crazy and autistic that I wouldn’t be surprised if she were lying about that to keep the cycle of dependency going). The most recent instance of SIL being “like a little girl” concerns my brother. His birthday is May 17th. She sent him a card, despite their HORRIBLE break up, my mom truly thought my brother was going to take his own life over her. BUT not only did she send him a card, she sent it in a bigger envelope to my mom, with a note reading “Oh I don’t know where he’s living right now, so can you give this to him?”
That’s a Level 10 out of 10 BULLSHIT sentence right there. My brother has nowhere else to go, OF COURSE he’s still living with my parents, she just HAAAAAD to involve my mom, because that’s her stupid idiot stripper whore instinct, involve mother as frequently and deeply as possible. My mom made the executive decision to not give my brother the card, but when I brought it up to my mother in law as  HUGE ISSUE that SIL almost caused, she was so dismissive of it being a problem. She was like, oh well WE discussed it and thought it was all right because your brother is “in the family” (SIL is a hot ass mess who never sends ANYONE birthday cards, not her mom or her brother or my parents, but oh no she definitely is within the bounds of normalcy to send MY BROTHER WHO SHE DATED FOR OVER A YEAR one….) and then mother in law trots out the “Oh well she’s like a little girl in that respect, she thinks she can still be friends with her exes.” OH yeah, LITTLE GIRL indeed…more like stupid fucked idiot who I fucking hate (I mean I hated her before she ruined my brother a little bit more than he was already ruined…..so I guess imagine the depths of my fury now) who fucking needs constant attention from ANYONE with a dick who is willing to give it. Case and point, every Christmas Day my entire in-law clan has to spend multiple hours making awkward small talk with her ex boyfriend (FROM COLLEGE…she’s in her early forties….annnnnd this college boyfriend cheated on her with his own cousin while he was working on the family dude ranch one summer, and he didn’t tell her about this incest-cheating until after she’d saved up the money to fly out and visit him…of course the little girl made the adult decision to “forgive him” and dated him for many months after he fucked his cousin behind her back, THAT guy is the guy who ruins Christmas) with his weird German wife and snoopy little shit of a son. Last year the son (who’s like 7) snuck away from the adults and crept up the stairs, he reached the top of them at the EXACT same second I emerged from their upstairs bathroom in my underwear. Fucking weird is what that was. Luckily he bolted as soon as he realized there was someone up there, I guess it’s not usual that a 28 year old takes a lengthy bath while her in laws entertain a fuck their daughter (step daughter in FIL’s case) dated decades ago. Like it bothers me SO MUCH that my MIL doesn’t just tell SIL to NOT fucking invite her weird ex boyfriend from a million years ago over on Christmas Day. I know she doesn’t say anything because she operates under this terror of upsetting my SIL, since she’s SO prone to any illness/malady, mental ones notwithstanding, she’s as delicate as an antique hollowed out eggshell. And for someone who turned tough as nails because they got treated like they were tough as nails when they fucking weren’t, they were just raised by soulless hardware….okay the analogy’s gone sour but sometimes I ruminate on the holidays particularly when I’m made at work.

Ever since I stopped talking to my parents (beyond emails to my mom) and therefore obviously spending holidays exclusively with the in-laws, I’ve been REALLY bothered by things that occur there.

God, that’s going to be longer than my blog about my wedding night. But, I mean for what it’s worth…I think about how awful my wedding night was, every single day. I’m a vain fucker (as if you didn’t know that by now) and I have a lot of my wedding pictures around. They are perfect. I look exquisite in every shot, extraordinary in some. The photographer used them as advertisement examples for quite awhile after the wedding. They’re up at work, they’re up at home, they’re up at my in-laws’. You can in no way tell it’s one of the most haunting memories I have, just looking at those pictures. My fucking family didn’t ruin the night. You know, if anything has ever made me believe in God, it’s the concept that sometimes I get slapped right in the face (hard) with my grim expectations. It happened when I was 12, and it was the millenial Christmas, and I was pissy nothing was going to make it memorable……then my mom broke her foot and I had to assume all housecleaning, laundering and cooking duties….then her brother didn’t do so well after his November surgery and went back into the hospital on Christmas day…then he died two days later. He was 49. Both my mother and my grandmother would never be the same, he meant a great deal to the both of them, I think in part because he stayed in their (my) hometown and never married or had children so he kind of stayed “theirs.” I’m not saying I brought that about being mad we weren’t doing anything beyond the ordinary for the 1999 Christmas-New Years season. But I’m saying I DO remember being like “Wow self, you fucking stupid moron…boring Christmas would have been great compared to Christmas break spent planning a funeral with your mom and Grandma like literally just OUT of it with grief while playing Pokemon Silver and Gold on your Pokemon-themed Game Boy Color and dissociating like fuck.” It happened when I was 18 and my first boyfriend ever/first person I had sex with broke up with me a few weeks before college was starting for both of us (although we could’ve made it work I felt, obviously) only to agree to get back together with me, only to the next day actually decide to want to really break up with me for good. He drove that point home by inviting me to a canoeing-type day trip with his father’s family…only to leave that morning before I got up, then after being gone all day, after i had to spend a Saturday completely by myself because I’d taken it off to spend the day with him…it was such a blow after feeling such elation over getting back together. Then I had to work the next day, because my prick job boss ALWAYS made me work Sundays, and my bf had stayed the night, but in the living room. He waited until I’d gotten in the shower for work, that’s when he took all of his shit out of my closet and bedroom, he remembered the booze he’d paid for from the freezer. None of it made sense to me at first, until I saw the copy of my keys I’d given him on my desk. Having to go work 11-5 after that, and take to idiots about turtles and shit….it was one of the worst memories of that year, I’d say. And it’s not really the guy, he wasn’t that great, looks wise I mean yeah he’s okay, from what I’ve seen on FB, he’s stayed pretty in shape too, which is surprising given how many video games he plays. He’s on wife #2. Shocking. He was a fuck stick, personality wise. I mean I was honestly desperate and grateful for the last minute prom date he turned out to be. And as luck would have it, he owned a pick up truck. He played a very important role in assisting my leaving my parents’ home. My dad tried to take my car away when he found out I was moving out, because I so obviously kept it from my dad and brother for as long as I could because I knew they’d tried to sabotage or prevent me. But, I should have broken it off then, and concentrated on finding good friends at college…but that’s not really something depressed, broke, sad, alone, broke, Cassie is going to do. I was 18 and living with a stranger i’d met on Rent.com and the only normalcy lifeline I had was my boyfriend. But I knew he was going to end things when he went to college. He really didn’t even try to hide it, towards the end. But still I clung to it for a long time after that, as lonely young girls are wont to do. So getting my hopes up that it would work out,