If you’re proud of your bruises, you’re either demented…or a pole dancer

Or both. Mwahaha. Anyway, yeah I’ve been getting better. I’m sorry I’m not yet affluent enough to afford video-hosting on my WordPress – BUT if you want to see how I’m progressing  – it’s on my Twitter right now, two pretty short videos, my handle is @CassieAnonablog.

I work tomorrow like usual, then Monday night we’re leaving for Kentucky, Shakespeare Behind Bars is Tuesday night! The plan is to get to the hotel Tuesday morning and check in and sleep until we get up to get ready for the performance. I might see people from my graduate school, I might not. Either way I’m excited for a lot of driving for something enjoyable rather than an emotionally heavy funeral.

I didn’t even get into it with you guys, but my husband kind of lost his shit at the hotel, on our way to the viewing before the funeral. When I said “We parked by this door” in a not even rude or mean tone, I was just trying to exit the hotel using the door nearest my car, my husband LOST his shit. He stormed ahead of me out the hotel door and punched the brick wall outside about 7 or 8 times.
Yeah. Of course. Okay sure I had been somewhat edgy/bitchy, but it wasn’t on purpose, and I was exhausted and I drove us all the way down there, and sometimes I don’t do well in family situations because I don’t really have a family of my own anymore, like as in the one I came from. I won’t say I wasn’t partially to blame, but it’s just the fact that he takes a bad situation and makes it a volatile one, where the threat of self-harm is SO real from him. In fact he totally ruined the night after the last time we went to Shakespeare Behind Bars, three years ago. But we were both very sleep deprived and VERY drunk when all that happened. Since that won’t be the case this time, I’m not super concerned about our outcome this time.

But anyway I want to go write more before I run out of energy for the day, because I’m about to have a tiring few days, but they’ll be fun.

Watch me do really basic pole dance spins, on my Twitter because WordPress makes you pay extra to host videos…because of course.

~Cassie

It’s like I need to blog, so I hope you’re happy

I literally don’t have the time for you, WordPress, but I was driving home today and I couldn’t figure out why I was in such an angry fucking mood. The same thing happened to me at work today. I was like well I haven’t blog-complained in like two weeks…maybe that’s it.

To be honest my 30th birthday really sucked except for the fact that I got to hang out with my bestie, which was awesome. But like the brewery and the bookstore we went to both sucked, I didn’t have the energy for the club and she can’t smoke weed so that was an obnoxious hassle. Nothing makes you realize how deep your stoner level is than when you’re SO irritated from two days of having to smoke in the other room.
I wish I could lie and say that part of me was hoping my husband would have had something special planned…I mean I knew it was a long shot, but…I mean milestone birthdays come once every 10 years….but whatever. We were broke ALL winter because he of course had to find a job that only works eight months out of the year. It’s a step up from unemployment but…not really…

Okay, see? I’ve been so fucking bitchy today. And I know why. My husband’s sweet Grandfather passed away last Friday, so we’re going to the funeral tomorrow. I’m just psyching myself out about having to see his family. Because, let me tell you, being as I am, at his family reunion, I’ve noticed patterns to behavior:
1) My husband will act much more on his impulsive, teenager-ish, annoying, long-winded impulses. The way he put it to me was that he “feels compelled to keep talking.” It’s SO annoying because….how can you not read people who want you to shut the fuck up? Like it’s like he reverts to his younger self because he spent so many young memories with his dad’s extended family at their reunion (always held at the same inn in Indiana, a place my father in law hilariously thinks is nicer than literally any other place the family could have a reunion. His words. They’re all so fucking German when it comes to that, they have this way of presenting their opinion as fact then using underhanded ‘logic’ to support why they’re making a ‘logical’ choice and you’re not, wait did I just describe fascism kind of?).
2) His mother becomes extra EXTRA if you know what I mean. She “feels like an outsider” at the reunion, I guess because it’s not her family (gee I don’t know how that feels) and because she’s a second wife and HER kids usually aren’t there, or if they go it’s for one day not the whole annoying week. Like a few years when we haven’t been there she’s called my husband really emotional/crying over how she’s being treated by everyone at the reunion. She’s been going for the last 25 odd years. These people.
3) His extended relatives are all cold but polite. They remind me TO A T of the Lutheran church quagmire into which I was fully and unwillingly immersed throughout my first 18 years.  The people would never be openly mean or hateful or rude, but BOY believe me when I say they find their special passive aggressive ways to convey their disgust with you as a human being. I am not exaggerating at all. I have vowed a few things, one is that MY kids won’t be able to have jobs until after high school, sweet internships aside, and they will NOT be involved with any youth groups. And these people are as white, middle class, middle of the road, conservative as the Lutherans from before. The high school I went to was certainly one of the reasons my father in law liked me at the start.
4) It’s a waste of time, I’m literally miserable the entire time, everyone acts like a horrible strung-out version of themselves, I never get to do any of the fun shit, or if I do it’s NOT fun because other people ruin it – for example one of the last times I was there I said something to ONE person about how I was going to go for a walk after breakfast, silently I added “alone”…..EVERY woman in the family ended up going with me. Then later that day I was meeting my husband by the beach (it’s a lakefront inn), I text him where to find me and wait…and wait…and end up spending the ONLY time we had available for the beach alone reading East of Eden because my husband was a few hundred yards away with some relatives of his, head in the clouds as always. Like it’s just always a HUGE suckfest from beginning to end and that is NOT because I go into it pessimistically. I purposely strive for the opposite.

But, all of that coupled with my last memory of the reunion and everyone at it….and how my husband acted. Like that was and is seriously one of my worst memories of him, because the was RIGHT before I told him I’d have to divorce him if he didn’t stop drinking, because he clearly wasn’t capable of controlling himself. I think that might have been the last “big event” before I did that. Of course, he’ll blame his behavior at that particular reunion in part on my situation with R, which was happening then. But….do you get to blame your drinking on shit like that? Like REALLY horrible things can happen to a human being, that doesn’t mean they’re not the one going out and buying booze every day to cope. I never did.

That’s one of my biggest flaws I’m SUPER fucking arrogant about the things I have (in my mind) earned the right to be arrogant about. There’s not controlling it. I know they say arrogance breeds from insecurity…but insecurity, stemming from a lack of security, like while growing up, like you weren’t at all taught to value yourself, somehow? Yeah, that sounds right. So that just proves my point more.

Well, I guess I feel better. Hopefully my exposure to the asshats tomorrow is short-lived. They do this LONG, drawn-out, long, pointlessly long, group hugging/group goodbye/group send off, DID I MENTION HOW LONG IT TAKES, and it makes me want to cut myself with a butter knife because you have to hug THEM ALL. I hate it so goddamned much. My fuck how I wish my husband could feel how much I dread being around these people. Who he thinks are great. Because he’s trusting and dense like his parents. I find it endearing in my husband, though. I mean, he has a vicious cunt like me around, so I don’t think anyone’s taking advantage of him….least not when I have my way. Best example, my dysfunctional sister in law.

Wow since dysfunctional is annoying to type, from here on in my husband’s two sisters are Dys and Able. Able sums up the other one real nice. I mean she can also be a bitch, but that’s never been reason enough for me to dislike someone.

So IDK if Dys is going to be at the funeral, SHE’S not a member of that family though of course she sat in on those family pictures at the wedding….and her own (the mom’s side) it really irritated me. But, I pray she isn’t going…..she’s just fucking bad juju man, like the personification of spoiled milk. I just can’t. It’s straight disgusting how reliant and codependent Dys was when I met my husband.

And the reason why I do what I do works is because I don’t like command my husband to do anything, I don’t even tell or suggest….I point out. It took VERY little outlining for him to see how little an impact he made on Dys’s decision making….yet she still called him for his advice EVERY DAY. She HAD to call him every night when she was driving home from working a shift at the strip club, and tell him all about the horrible shit she’d done or just how horrible her life was. One time she called him because there was a can of Dr. Pepper in her fridge and she wanted to drink it and she needed my husband to talk her out of drinking it. THAT is the level of annoying I receive from Dys.

So I’m dreading tomorrow and am in a horrible mood. But i guess this helped.

 

Isn’t it funny how you could read this and be like…wow this is definitely a predator slowly isolating their spouse from family. I know that’s what bad people do, because it’s what my father constantly tried to do, with extended family and friendships, for my mother and my brother and I. It’s because it’s easier to try and control someone if no one is around to call you out on it/convince them you’re abusive/help them escape/etc.

The difference is I’m pretty self aware (see, arrogance) and also control is NOT my end game. The end game is being with someone I don’t feel like needs controlling because they’re functional on their own. Truly this is not too much to ask.

So tonight we’re driving three hours to a hotel, sleeping, going to the 10am funeral, then hopefully leaving by 2pm at the latest so we get home about like a regular work day, because it’s back to work on Thursday like nothing happened. SO pumped.

Gah I’m a bitch.

Anyway

~Cassie

“You’re gonna want to strap yourself in for this next one.”

Does anyone know what show that quote is from? Well, it’s a different context this time anyway. My BFF is on her way in right now, she should be here in like an hour I think. She’s ubering in from the airport because she knows me well and knows I do NOT want to drive to the airport, as I never have and I avoid stressful driving situations at all costs.

I have some time to kill before she gets here, and since I’m in a good mood and am getting really stoned (because she can’t smoke or be around it because she’s a doctor and all and they get drug tested like McDonald’s employees). And I wanted to tell you guys about this rando situation I once I had in my life.

But I realized, I never told you guys about Doug. And no, Doug is not his real name, but it’s close enough I’ll be able to remember who I was talking about.
I have what I like to think of as a very embarrassing history with him. We went to high school together. I was into him freshman year, and pretty much every year from then on. But, at the beginning of junior year he started dating this unattractive psycho in our grade. For the life of me I will never comprehend how this girl was always raking in dudes and I wasn’t. Like truly if you could compare our faces and bodies YOU would be stunned too. And don’t say it’s my abrasive personality, because HERS was worse. They were off and on all psycho like through junior and senior year, also I think after for a year or little less. Then all of a sudden, when I’m like 19, she’s engaged to someone else. I’m not saying I didn’t have things happen with other people, but i was always into Doug on some level the whole time. We had what I would call a mild flirtation going. We would talk on AIM. One time, I showed him a picture of my nipple piercings (when I was in high school, when he definitely was dating loonypants) and he said, and I quote, “Exquisite breasts.” It’s nice hearing, on any level, even in AIM.

So when I was 19, I do what anyone would do who was still hung up on this guy, once his ex SEEMED out of the picture, I started talking to him. This was the early 00s so we talked on AIM and on Myspace. This lead to eventual hanging out. We bonded a lot over smoking weed together, which I was already super into, so that was cool for me. In my defense, I always really liked this guy, in my mind he would be insane not to try and move on for real with me, when it was OBVIOUS things weren’t going to work out with you know who, despite her inability to actually let Doug go (SHE was free to be engaged to some dude she’d known for 4 months but if Doug showed interest in anyone she was quick to find some way to sabotage it. And he was like dying for any attention from her, because they had that weird fucked dynamic happening, so it would work).

So, Doug and I hung out, and got really stoned. This one time, we were alone at my apartment (I was 20, I had broken up with my terrible world of warcraft boyfriend about 9 months before that) we were really baked and we watched the movie The Number 23. After it was done, we had some sort of conversation that involved “what do you want to do now?” “I don’t know what about you?” “We could make out.” That last one (said by him) was almost a question.

Then, you know what happened. After awhile on the couch, HE suggested we go to the bedroom, but he did certainly ask. He carried me there. I can’t help it, I’m basic and female when it comes to how wet that shit gets me. I know it’s not fair to the MANY (most) men who couldn’t carry me any sort of distance. It’s not like I fit into the any sort of model-thin category, so I don’t expect men to have these unobtainable fitness abilities either. But…yeah….I mean I did weigh a lot less back then…but anyway…..

So yeah, we had sex once. but honestly the first time was disappointing. Because despite being the aggressor, if you will, when we finally got down to it, he was all “Should we really be doing this?”

Okay, I honestly had no idea what to think at this point I’d never had a guy get to like…the fucking point of insertion (sorry, graphic, sorry) and be like “Oh wait no this is a bad idea omg we should stop.” Like I’d only had sex with first idiotic jerk boyfriend (the one who took me to my senior prom but didn’t get me a corsage and then guilted me that me couldn’t afford to go to his prom because of mine, that’s the kind of guy HE was…) and then WOW boyfriend, and neither of them were sexually aggressive, at all, but they didn’t want to not do it when we finally were at that point I mean OBVIOUSLY I thought we should be doing what we were doing….I mean…yeah IDK.

I don’t remember what I said to him, that first time, but we had sex for like….2 minutes, then he lost whatever erection he’d managed to maintain. Then there was some REAL awkward getting dressed, made all the more awkward when he started touching and kissing me. I mean I wanted him to, but  I was also like…uuhhhh didn’t you just COMPLETELY puss out on me? I mean cmon. This is a frustrating situation, right?

So he left. We had a few more awkward sexual encounters at my apartment. Once, I recall donning a full lingerie outfit for him, one I’d specifically bought with the idea of seducing him. It was the most effort I ever put into getting a guy to bone before.

Now, looking back, I see how fucking pathetic I was. I really do. But, honestly, it wasn’t coming from a bad place. I liked Doug. I always had. I’d always been pretty up front with the fact that I liked him. Of course I wanted to sleep with him. I don’t mean to dwell on physical attributes, but this guy had a great dick. I mean just one of the ones that makes you want to put up with ALL their annoying/bad behavior (I had a similar issue, years later, with R). I really just did want to like be with him. But, at time went on, things got ABUNDANTLY obvious that nothing like that would ever happen.

What bothered me the most about all of this was that I couldn’t see WHY he wouldn’t be into me. I mean, like really….it confused me. It still kind of does. I still feel like I’m a solid catch. People should feel that way about themselves AND their significant other. I jokingly seriously told my husband his ability to grow good smoke put another huge one in the PLUS column. He needed another one over there. The other giant one is quit drinking for me. That’s pretty huge. But anyway back to someone who my husband reminded me of and that’s why I at first showed almost aggressive interest in my husband because I was like omg what if this is another Doug I can’t let this get all fucked and ruined somehow like that did. I have never told my husband this. But really if anything he should be grateful Doug was so shitty to me, I guess I deserved it?, because it made me REALLY cling to my husband when I met him. And look how that worked out…after like…7 shitty years….but anyway.

Two memories of Doug that stand out most to me. One good and one bad.

The good one. It was the winter when I was 20. He messaged me on AIM and texted me about hanging out (it was a Sunday night) which must have meant he was really in the mood, because hanging out almost definitely meant we’d bang, at this exact point in our situation.
I drove out to his house (his garage specifically, though to class it up a little, his garage was a makeshift den) which was a long, perilous drive in the winter. We pretty much got right down to it, but I remember sitting next to him on his couch, beneath a few blankets because it was the winter and it was a garage wondering how long he would wait to make the first move. It was awhile.
But that sex was the best. It was kind of like cliche movie sex in the sense that it took place transitioning from like five different positions and ended with him “unknowingly” coming inside me (condom broke….he acted like he didn’t notice until after we were done…but he kind of acted like things sure felt different…if you get my drift). Nothing happened, I was on the pill. But yeah the sex in his garage was the best.
My bad memory of him was almost that same winter. Everyone in the tri-county area was dry (as far as weed goes), but I managed to get some from a coworker who had ties with some dealer.
Doug found out I had weed, and could get more, via a random AIM conversation, which we had from time to time. He was also definitely hanging out with other girls as well by this point (it was easy to find out about back then, on social media). He makes plans with me faster than he’d ever done so in the past, and arranges to get $60 worth. I get his amount and mine from my coworker, and have it parceled out ($120 split evenly into 2 bags). Then, when he gets to my place to “hang out” (clearly only happening because I can get him weed) he hands me $40. And I was still too into him, I didn’t want to subtract what I could eyeball to be a third of what he was getting, but that’s what I should have done. but I didn’t want to be awkward or look like a bitch, so I just ate the financial loss. World of good it did me.

Then, we had sex I think once after i moved from that apartment into the house i was renting with a friend when I met my husband.

Truth be told, I was a total cunt to Doug via text like two different times. Both resultant of adderoll/alcohol/nicotine abuse, but I never told him that. Why? Would it really make a difference? Also he kind of deserved it.

Then, years after all that, after my husband and I moved downstate, his band was playing at a venue nearby and we went. He seemed happy enough to see me.

We did that a few other times, his band travels around the state quite a bit. I doubt they’ll ever amount to much, but anyway.

But then one time, I saw on Facebook that he was playing at a venue VERY near my house, so I proposed he stop by either before or after the show and smoke with us. Keep in mind, whenever we saw him at a show of his he always said something about how we should get together and smoke down. All of us still love weed. What a shock. It’s almost like weed’s the best.

But then the night of that show, after I’d already contacted Doug and he’d seemed like he wanted to do exactly what I proposed, I fell asleep on the couch and when my husband finally got home he couldn’t rouse me. But then Doug never contacted me either.

And then, THEN, I was like….ohhhhhhhhhh The slow realization of it all dawned on me.

He probably kind of hates me.

He strikes me as one of those guys who never gets over a slight.
But he’s also like a genuinely nice guy (when he’s not sexually entangled with you) so he always acted like he was happy to see me. Because it’s easier than being an asshole, it really is. I get him there.

I just feel like a total idiot, because I probably always came off as some clingy psycho.

Or at least, that’s how he treated me. And made me feel. I guess you’re not supposed to blame you emotions on other people…but seriously….

But now, I’m really trying to focus on the idea of Remembering the Lesson, not the Memory. It’s a smart idea to live by.

Truth be told, I always liked Doug. But, I can see why on his side he probably can’t stand me. So I just kind of feel bad, like just have the balls to tell me you don’t like me. I’m used to being mistreated so I like…don’t know what to do with it sometimes. Or i put up with it because I know I can.

Like, okay some of the insufferable shit I’ve done to him? In 2015, when I was strung out as fucking fuck on alcohol (this is when things started with R), I texted him about the whole situation. This was also the year I stopped speaking to and seeing my parents, ever. I was THAT sad and lonely and desperate, I texted Doug. I’m sure it must have pained him to sound sympathetic, when he probably thought I was getting what I deserved for being a crazy bitch. Or something. IDK. I’m trying to see it through his perspective but I find I can’t. Which is odd, because I can do that with most people.

But in some way I’m kind of proud of myself that I bothered to reach out to anyone. The fact that that two people I tried talking to more or less just rejected me, it reminded me of who I am. Things like that happened the few times I tried telling adults about what was happening. Do you realize how hard that is, for a child in that situation? If that doesn’t warp you, what the fuck will?
Being reminded of who I am came slowly, though. It wasn’t until I really accepted to myself that R was a complete human disaster and a waste of my time and energy and a drain on every part of me. I mean I’d always known that, but I also at one point had a good time with him, so it was hard to completely reject.

But now, I think about this habit I had/have where I’m like almost infatuated with the situation if I’m being treated like shit.

Like at almost 30 I’m just not getting to the point where that’s not the norm.

So anyway, that’s Doug. I hope he’s doing well. In some way I’d like to apologize for annoying him with my attention. I should have given it to someone smart enough to appreciate it.

~Cassie

I should be editing, but here I am on effing WordPress

Not complaining, just kind of annoyed with how my mind works. I was all pissy last weekend because the holiday ruined my ability to get any writing done OR go to pole class, so that was a bummer. (Speaking of pole – I now have one installed in my living room! I am SURE I will post pictures later, but this is going to be a more depressing blog, because, IDK it’s been awhile, I’m not just sex stories and weird shit and selfies and pot and pole dancing and writing a weird sex novel. I mean in large part that is a bunch of my personality, but that is definitely not all. I’m also severely addicted to caffeine, but that, to me, is almost like a wholesome addiction, given what I’ve done in the past) But now instead of using my entirely free Saturday to input on-paper edits (the ones I do in my car, that I KNOW you remember from my other post WordPress is clearly for selfies)

But, instead I got like a little too high, now I’m like lost in thought and it’s hard to read TINY print. Why did I use 12 size font. I mean I know why, it’s so I can be arrogant about it. But I’m still annoyed.

Okay I thought of what my worst trait is. It’s actually not the many, sundry emotional problems, it’s my inability to manage fucking money. Like. I’m very confused as to what I’ve been doing wrong, but I clearly an see that it’s something. It’s kind of my special brand of pathetic, but sometimes I mentally console myself with the idea that it’s probably for the best I’m not pregnant yet, because we really don’t have the money. But, on the other hand, I really don’t think I should let the fear of debt stop me. I didn’t with school, and now look where I am. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I am so significantly happier now than I’ve ever been in my life. To be honest, things weren’t really all that good with my husband until we both stopped drinking…and that was only like two years ago, and we’ve been together for 9 (in July).

I just feel like if I could somehow not be in debt and actually like have my shit together enough to own a house and a car that isn’t ten years old. But whatever, my car from 2008 still runs fine, and it was a gift from my Grandma, she just paid outright for it, with a check. And, if I did get pregnant, my mother in law already offered to pay for our day care, because she didn’t want fear of not having money to stop us from having kids, because we’d be great parents.

So that’s what I actually wanted to write about. Did you catch that I just described too monumentally generous older women in my life? Like. I mean. Sometimes you have to see God where you can, right? And I’ve had two great trading-outs in my life. One was when my best friend moved from our hometown to a city about two hours away to attend state school. I knew she was leaving, and about two months before she left I met my future husband, indirectly through my best friend. Then, pretty shortly after we met, we were dating, and I met my future mother in law. My Grandma died when I was 23, I think. Right after her 93rd birthday. I’ll be honest, at this point in my life I was just finished with undergrad and had a really severe drinking and adderoll and cigarette issue. I was so damn skinny. God I miss that. But not the other parts. And, the day she died, I was really strung out and fucked up, and when my mom called to tell me what happened (we’d all been expecting it….in fact, the reason I didn’t go see my Grandma right before she died is because I didn’t believe my POS dad when he told me she was dying because he’d literally said that about 40 times before in the past three years. My mom was always so disgusted with him during any of those given times, as my Grandma’s health got worse and she went from in-home care to a nursing home to a memory care nursing home, because he would seem downright excited) she didn’t ask me to come over. And I was glad, because my car had a flat tire and my then boyfriend and I were too drunk to deal with it.
Well, as you can tell, all of those were wrong moves. i see that, but you’ve got to understand a few things, this is MY family. not a stable, normal, functional family. And, I don’t know, I can’t remember exactly, but this was either right before or right after the FIRST time I tried not speaking to my dad. I know it was during the three year stretch we lived at this white trash apartment complex behind the mall in my husband’s hometown. I am currently in the midst of my second and actual attempt at cutting all ties with him.

So  I do find it interesting when my best friend and my husband like traded out, like almost in a comically obvious fashion. Then, my whole childhood, the only reason I ever had anything extra (so, things beyond the minimal amount of clothing necessary to live and a place to live and food to eat and being sent to school) had to come from my Grandma. She paid for all for my homecoming and prom dresses. She bought me a computer when I was in high school…you know…the one my dad threatened to destroy with a hatchet, mostly out of infantile jealousy?
Then, when my Grandma was in a very expensive nursing home and all of her money was gone and she had to move to a few different shitty ones at the end of her life, I met my husband’s mom. Because he lived at home when we met, I actually met his parents like the second time I ever hung out with him. I remember quite distinctly that his dad was delighted with the idea that I’d gone to a Lutheran high school. I was like…well…guess I get some benefit out of that awful experience.

And  my mother in law has been my sole source of clothing and shoes, for the most part, since I’ve met her. She routinely takes my husband and I on a big shopping trip, usually about twice a year. Last time, there were 6 new pairs of shoes. Other times, it’s a new batch of work clothing. She’s unbelievably generous. I was raised way too white trash to be that kind of generous, with people I know, myself. I have a few charities in mind for if I ever make real money as a writer. I mean it’s possible. There’s a vacuum I can fill, I just know it. But anyway.

I’m not trying to brag, obviously. That is literally never my goal. I mean when I try and talk about things i like about myself or my life, it’s really me doing everything I can to not be negative or depressive or complain or whine. Because I seriously fucking hate it when other people do those things.

Which brings me to my favorite charities, as of right now – There’s Free the Girls. They enable women in developing nations (like I know Guatemala was one of them…then I think definitely also some in Africa? I don’t feel like fact-checking) who have been rescued from sex trafficking to run their own business. Women in this country donate bras, and the other women sell them. I cannot explain to you why, but there’s this one like info-mercial about FTG and it ALWAYS makes me cry. A lot. Thinking about it makes me cry. I literally do not understand this trigger, but I really am aware of it.

And the other is called Shakespeare Behind Bars. I get annoyed when I tell people about it, because the name makes most idiots laugh. But it’s a program that has inmates in male prisons put on productions of Shakespeare once a year. It’s open to the public, in the sense that you can apply for a ticket and undergo a background check and attend if there’s enough space. My husband and I are going this year. I got the email that enrollment was open, and they’re doing A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream this year, and I was like meeehhhhh I really want to go, to my husband, and he was like…well we can probably make it happen…. So fuck it why not.

Which I guess that ties in with my first stated issue of knowing my worst flaw is how bad I am with money. Because if I have one element to my personality, it’s a total “fuck it” vibe towards spending money. I mean that’s why we’re trying to have a kid, despite our sort-of financial dependence on his parents. Which feels insane that that even has to happen, because we make a collective $40,000 ish last year. Does that NOT sound like enough for two people to live on? But no, seriously, it’s not somehow. IDK. I’m aware you can pay for advice on this sort of thing. We have Quicken once, I did not like using it. All it did was point out where we spent all of our money. Like I know, I just feel like I can’t control it from happening.

But, anyway. We’re growing our own green now. I’d post pictures, but I don’t want to make anyone jealous. It’s a very small grow, obviously, because our rented house is tiny. Renting a 3 bedroom where we live is $910 a month. Do you realize what kind of mortgage payment that would be? BUT, what are we supposed to do, pull a down payment out of nowhere? We can’t ask his parents for THAT kind of $$, we already ask for enough, on top of the things they give us on their own, which is a lot. It’s ALWAYS been a make enough to just get  by situation. And now, it’s been years since we stopped wasting a ton on beer, and booze, and cigarettes, and I constantly drank soda, like I would stop at a convenience store a few times a day for one. So disgusting. Now I’m all about black coffee and La Croix, because I’m old and need to watch calories. But anyway.  AND we’ve gotten WAY better at not eating out, or getting fast food. We almost always eat dinner at home, with things purchased from a grocery store. I’m gotten VERY good at feeding us cheaply, but still pretty healthily. Speaking of health, I’ve FINALLY started losing weight. I’m sure I’ve mentioned a few dozen times how my old drinking habits did not mix well when I finally got a desk job. I gained at least 30 pounds that first year. It was terrible. Again, I’m lucky my mother in law buys me clothing, because I went through a huge fluctuation from my earlier years of shopping with her. But, I am finally starting to lose that weight.

TO that end, like i said at the beginning, yes, we have a stripper pole now, okay, I cannot resist a pic, especially since the living room gets good morning light. IMG_9251

Yeah, we had to put it in our living room because that’s the only spot with the most space.

And guess what. My husband was INSTANTLY really good at pole. He can climb, already. He could do every spin I could remember how to show him. It’s because he’s so obsessed with pull ups, and doing shit like climbing trees or brick walls for fun. Pole is pretty much a rope to climb, but you can have a lot more fun with it. He can’t Iron-X off the bat but he’ll get there, I’m sure. I’m so jealous. Like if he went to class, he would show me up so hard on his first day. He really likes it, which I find funny.

So, IDK, maybe we’ll move back up north and open a pole studio. He DID take eight years of dance class. If I was working full time at a regular job and insuring us, I think we could handle running the studio. If it was profitable enough, we could both work there full time. I just know this whole situation we’ve got going on right now is kind of lame. Plus my husband has always struggled so much with finding a well-paying job that he doesn’t detest.

So maybe I’ll be writing a novel and dedicating a lot of time to pole fitness. There’s enough tutorials online, and now I have a pole at home, and a really in shape spotter.

That’s one thing…his job right now is really grueling, and it involves 4 months of being laid off in the winter, but he is SO cut from it. Like it’s weird being like…wow, that’s my husband’s body. He’s getting like PERFECT ab definition. It’s not fucking shock he’s so good at pole, right away, like first time he tried. And I mean, he was just rail-skinny when we met, then he got REALLY overweight for awhile there. He trimmed down for the wedding but I remember the picture of him from the night he proposed his face looked faaaaaat. I’m not being mean, I would totally say that to him and he wouldn’t be offended. He knew how big he’d gotten. And I mean, the way he is now is obviously nicer. What can I say. But now I’m like….thank God I’m so facially attractive, or people might wonder why he and I are together when we’re out in public.

But anyway, I’ve wasted quite enough time on this.

Hope all of you are doing well.

 

~Cassie

Update time

Well, in the vein of trying to seem positive….how have things been?
Pretty decent. It’s that weird time of the year where I take advantage of all the free time winter affords us, and I get a lot of errands and old To Do List items checked off. One of which was getting an eye exam, going to the OB/GYN, going to the regular doctor for a physical because I haven’t done that in like ten years, and the that book class – that was last Tuesday.

It was called “How to Write a Book in 30 Days and Self-Publish.” I can’t tell, yet, I guess, if it was worth the collective $70 it cost me. It was a 3 hour spiel, all at once last Tuesday. The instructor was likeable and energetic enough, and he gave us each (all 3) of us a copy of his first book as a gift. It’s actually a valuable tool, because it’s an extraordinarily well done self-published book. I’ll be honest, younger me thought self-publishing was something lesser-than writers had to do. But, it’s so fitting to my personality to want to be in total control of this shit, self-publishing will probably be the way for me. When I get there. I know I will. I’ve firmly resolved to do the following, until I’m done:
1 hour of writing every weeknight (this can easily be done if I limit Netflix/Hulu watching)
3.5 hours of writing every Saturday and Sunday.
That’s 12 hours spent writing every week. I’m using a stopwatch to  not include the MANY breaks I take, like for household tasks, smoking weed, making coffee, etc, etc.
That’s making writing a part time job for myself. Which clearly I need to do since I can so obviously write a book.
I did that weird thing I do in that class, where because I slightly mishear, or simply don’t want to tell the truth, for some unknown reason, I lie. He asked us if any of us blogged. I didn’t hear the word right so I just shook my head no. HA, do I blog. Sorry, blog, I disavowed you in public, but it wasn’t out of shame. I kind of proud of this disturbing mess. Because that’s a great way to describe my real self. But, you better believe it, I don’t act like my real self all that often. I mean, have you SEEN some of these passages? I’ve tolerated some really fucking up shit, you know? And I’m not saying it’s good or healthy, in fact I really hope I’ve gotten the opposite point across. But, also, I don’t know, no one’s perfect, you know? You end up regretting some decisions you’ve made, but you’re allegedly only going to REALLY be haunted by what you left undone, in the end. That’s what they say anyway. Plus, what was I going to say, I keep an anon-a-blog about my abusive childhood? Yeah, that’ll really lighten the mood of any room.

I’ve also made the decision that when I do publish, I won’t use the name Cassie Stevens. This is something separate from what my writing career ~might~ one day be. I don’t want THIS being linked with THAT. Sorry, but as obsessive architect/control freak, I truly must insist on it being this way.

Last December, just a bit after Christmas, I legally changed my last name to my husband’s. We’ve been married three and a half years, at this point, but I just did it now. I didn’t tell him until his birthday, on January fourth, and he was very moved by it. Which was so my intention. At first I didn’t want to change my name, because I didn’t think it was fair that I, the wife, was the one who had to go through an obnoxious identity change at the middle of my twenties. But you know what won out, over that? The idea that I wouldn’t have the same last name as my dad. So, sad to say, that truly is what motivated that. So, I will publish under some combination of my first name, middle name, or their initials, and my now real very common last name. My first last name was as rare as my married name is common, I’ll give it that. It’s one of the reasons I liked it. My labs or customer accounts were never getting mixed up with anyone else’s. Now, it could definitely happen.

But, in less dark news. I bought a standing desk. Well, more like an extensive laptop stand. I’ll post a picture, since i like picture with diary/journal/blog entries. I like it, because it was worrying me that I was going to be spending 12 extra hours a week in a chair, staring at a computer. I already do that 42 hours a week at work. So now at least I’m standing or stretching one leg on a kitchen chair while I work on it. And this.

Also, in fun news, my work thing last Saturday when I really did myself up (see pic from last time) went well, though of course I got inappropriately wasted. Imagine. Me, drinking too much in a social situation….yeah…I’ll pause for the shock to wear off…..

No, nothing fun or sexual or swinger-y happened, le sigh. What can you do? There’s always dreamin’

Also in fun news, I signed up for a pole dancing class. It’s just an intro. It’s an hour, tomorrow at noon. I’m hoping I like it, I’m always looking for exercise I actually enjoy, because then I’ll actually do it. Like biking, indoors, on my stationary bike, in front of my TV, with a La Croix and a bowl….just like I like. But maybe this pole dancing class will work. MAYBE, the loser said, I’ll meet someone to hang out with there too. I’m kind of hoping. I was hoping a little for the writing class, but not as much as the pole dancing. The other two participants at the writing course (there was supposed to be a fourth who didn’t show) were both women. One was I’d guess late forties, the other was probably younger than me, but she was married. Both were nice enough, but we were all definite introverts. It’s weird when we’re around one another in public, because there’s just nothing but heavy awkward silence. The speaker seemed to think my hyper-protective stance over what I was actually working on was comical. We had him sign our books, because I think it’s cool to have an author-signed book, and he was like ” Good luck on your writing, whatever it is!” I was like oh ha ha ha ha ha, very funny, Don. I get it, I’m weird. That’s so the first time I’ve been told that.

So tomorrow pole dancing class. I also want to finish my new resume and start applying for other jobs, because I’m really sick of living in this area, and really the only thing I came down here for was to go to grad school, and that’s been over almost three years now.

BUT, I want to write more than work on the resume, so I should go do that first. And I’ unfortunately only twenty minutes in. So….quite a bit to go, I’d say. But I know I can do it. And we already go grocery shopping and picking up my car from Belle Tire out of the way.

Sidenote – when you have a standing desk, you really do feel the need to pompously think about how fucking healthy you’re being right now.

It’s fun

So can life be, even when many, many, many, many, many parts of it are an utter suckfest.

It’ll be two weeks tomorrow, it was my mom’s 60th birthday. I didn’t even get to see her. She’s two hours away. But I refuse to see or speak to my dad. There’s no being mentally healthy with someone like him in your life, so decisions have to be made, am I right?

Sorry to end on a bummer, but that’s me, right?

Hope you’re all doing well

PS  – the second picture is my husband and my bestest kitty – I was leaving for work one day and I was like, aww my favoritest boys are snoozing together….must take picture…..

 

~Cassie

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

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

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

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

NOW.

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

After he did the Craigs List thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Cassie

This is where I come to waste time – a study in my chosen free time environments

That shouldn’t be plural. We all know it’s only my house. I only leave home when I have to, like for work and the few errands not yet eliminated by the internet.

I’m going to start a blog about how I need to find more time to write my novel. OH WAIT.

I have umpteen faults and all, but being unsatisfied with a mid-level, some would say boring, life is not one of them. I long for lower middle class stability, and a lifetime of running mundane errands with a spouse I love. I guess when you have nothing (emotionally that is, financially we were the people who make themselves poorer and poorer every year living beyond their means, my fathers inability to maintain steady gainful employment also played a role) even just the amount most people cast aside as inadequate because it’s not “spectacular” or whatever…I don’t know. I mean I guess I just think if anything about someone is going to be spectacular, it should be what you create, not your house or your hot, shallow sex life or your car or your soulless unfulfilling job, you know? I mean there’s some brain surgeon who finds deep meaning in their work who would tell me to fuck off if they somehow ever read this.

It’s like in When Their Eyes were Watching God when the granddaughter of a former slave marries an older rich man mostly/only to please her aging grandmother. She explains to her friend that her grandmother grew up a slave, and saw the pinnacle of womanly achievement as being the white woman sitting up on the big house’s porch, not doing a thing. She never would have considered that her granddaughter (Janie, I think her name was? Jeannie? I should Google it but I can’t leave a blog once I start it, you’ve seen what happens when I do) might want something MORE for herself than sitting up on that porch. I’m kind of the grandmother when it comes to like emotional stability and capability for growth. I know that’s probably pretty sad to admit, but it’s also the fucking truth. ALSO – I’m not equating my life experience thus far to slavery. NOT doing that by any means. There are some things that should just be clarified right away.

Like, to clarify, I know that ALL of the fucking time I spend writing these posts I could be writing my other work. And I am painfully aware that now that I’m in the age pocket of “done with college” but haven’t hit “has children” yet, I will NEVER have more free time for this shit than I do now.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I need to do this. Especially now, because I noticed something.
I get these excruciating tension headaches. They’re to the point where if one hits at work, early on enough in the day, I’ll go home at noon. They wake me up if I’m fortunate enough to fall asleep while enduring one. If you don’t know what it’s like, it’s every single muscle in your neck tensing up to the point where it all feels like it’s made of steel that wound too tight. Then that pain radiates up your spine and into your head and makes one or both sides just throb. You can take Excedrin, because that can help if you catch it early on and you can be awake for the next ten hours…but therein end your options.
These headaches almost always coincide the week of my period, IF I haven’t cried recently.

Remember when I wrote about how I know if I need to masturbate because I’ll start doing it in my sleep? It’s like some odd clockwork when my brain’s like “Hey, been awhile without that special rush of chemicals i like…do this now dumb bitch.” I feel like my id must hate me, because I’m repressed in ALL these disturbing ways. Even still. I think about my emotions constantly but I’m still really not able to convey them and sometimes I feel like everyone in my life is in some conspiracy to make me a lunatic.

Well, I think I’m starting to do the same thing with crying. Like….some part of me I can’t reach knows when I need to, and i hate this term for a reason I haven’t told you about yet but I’m sure will at some point, but when I need to release, I will subconsciously make it happen no matter what.

The way to truly test it is to make myself cry a lot the few days before and during my period week.

There were also two tensions headaches within as many weeks. But my mom is having knee replacement surgery tomorrow and we have the world’s most complicated situation – complicated until W is dead, am I right? – and that upsets me.

Also, did you wonder how I’ll make myself cry? Oh, there’s no worries there. I can give myself goosebumps or make tears well in my eyes when I want to. I’m not saying I use this to my advantage, I wouldn’t betray my dark emotions like that, but I know it’s true. I guess there’s a lot of sad shit in my life. And, I don’t want to waste my time writing about it. But I don’t know what else to do.

If I had to pick two words to describe my childhood it would be invasive and lonely. It’s odd having a parent who’s checked out and lazy but still somehow controlling? Then another who just…the picture of passivity, to say the least.

If I had to pick two words to describe what worries me about my adult life, it’s pointless and infuriating. I mean, the idea that I’m almost 30 and I haven’t even begun to think of having kids and the only thing I have to show for my life is a FUCK ton of student loan debt and my marriage has had….just some DISTURBING lows and honestly not enough highs to balance it out and we just talked about how my tolerance is fucking low for that sort of thing. I haven’t written anything of note. I’m too busy being worried I’ll never have time to write. See when I was in school all those years I could tell myself that it was because of the school taking all my time. So, if I do give in to convention and have kids, I’ll just say it’s them. Then I’ll have all these unsorted issues that I’ll take out on my kids. I mean really the only thing I ever actually worry about in life is being a thing like W, bearing even a slight resemblance. I mean physically you can’t help it, I certainly didn’t get my mother’s eyes, but I mean behaviorally. I’ve already told you about the few times, whilst plastered and in that MEAN drunk mode, my husband has told me I’m acting like my father’s daughter. Truly few things make me hate him more. I’m not saying I actually hate my husband, but that THAT is what he’s like when he’s fucked the fuck up…it’s just so not encouraging.
As for the infuriating, well I think it should be clear how angry I am.
I don’t want to be. Really, deep down, I actually am this laid back person who wants to be happy and not around a lot of people all at once. But see this bad shit happens. Because when I was a child, I was taught a few things about my feelings, from my mom and dad, my brother, my Grandma, my teachers, the other kids at school, any boys I would life pre-husband, it’s like they all had a goddamn meeting and were like yes let’s definitely drive these points home to that deserving little cunt:
Your feelings, Cassie, they:
1) DO NOT MATTER
2) Are always going to be so put off and neglected and ignored you won’t feel like last place you’ll feel like you weren’t even told there was a race to begin with
3) Are of the LEAST concern
4) DO NOT MATTER
5) NO ONE CARES HOW YOU FEEL
6) You have to be worth something for your feelings to matter
7) COUNT FOR NOTHING
Why? Why did they make me feel like this? Well, Lutheran school teachers are garbage. God knows how many of them are sexual predators but I bet it beats the national average for public school. But I mean, a lot of kids have an awful time at school, for a full bevy of reasons. But home? Like that was an escape? As a kid I couldn’t keep money in my piggy bank, because if my dad needed some he would take it and leave and IOU that, weeks later and after much aggravated nagging on my part, my mom would have to pay back. If we took a two hour long nap on a Sunday as teenagers he was rifling through our rooms for the drugs we must be on. Despite that he naps 4-5 hours a day EVERY day. Something to break up the television watching and toilet-sitting/vodka drinking that he does with the rest of his time. Lucky for me he was either too stupid or too lazy to go through the Word files on my computer. Boy he would’ve had a problem with most of that content.
That my novel – being as….well idk I have a ton of gay characters, they just ended up gay, like some people do and its a genetically tiny sample of people to begin with so it makes sense that some traits like homosexuality could get ‘trapped’ say on an island no one is allowed to leave? Does that make sense? Am I deliberately writing something that says being gay is genetic? I mean I guess that’s what happened. But I mean, before I start seeming like some appropriating fuckwad we must also appreciate that my work would have to be categorized as fantasy. Which is honestly a genre I fucking hate besides the Sookie Stackhouse novels….. it would enrage my dad. My mom is open-minded, when it comes to that at least, but she is one of those white people who doesn’t realize they’re racist (example, why do you have to comment on how ‘clean’ the black boyfriend of your coworker’s daughter is? why would that be a thing you mention?). But of course my novel isn’t about him, it just would have all these excellent fringe benefits, like enraging my piece of shit dad with its rhetoric. It’s AGENDA, which is what they’d call it.

Did any of this help or make me feel better? Well yeah. See, remember how I was saying that I was taught constantly and by everyone in my life that my feelings didn’t matter? Even my poor mother, she did her best but she was causing so much damage when she used me as her sounding board for her life’s many, many woes. And, I didn’t get to have feelings, or if I did they were secondary. I was to be cheerful, and upbeat, and happy, and high-achieving and cheerful, I was there to make everyone else happy, to make THEIR lives matter. My life and ME, we certainly didn’t matter. So if I don’t count at all, why the fuck would my feelings even register as existent?

And why is that shit so damaging? Because it teaches you to hold everything in. Think of it like a sarcophagus. It’s made of stone and sealed shut forever with an embalmed corpse inside, and boy what a perfect metaphor for my psyche back then. I guess you could call my eventual ability to self-soothe my very own necromancy. God, can I even follow that metaphor….

So, sure, keeping your feelings hidden because you aren’t EVER allowed to acknowledge them, much less work through any, seems nice, but it’s not. Because that sarcophagus…it leaks a little. Not enough to let YOU out, but people can smell something rotten about you. You’re mean. You wait for EVERY opportunity to undermine or hurt someone else because that’s how you fucking get treated. You maintain no long-lasting or fulfilling relationships of any kind. Your inability to express yourself in any kind of healthy way follows you through high school, making dating COMPLETELY impossible. When you’re out of high school it makes you date fucking scum that’s so fucking beneath you. I mean they could’ve been worse but honestly on a mental level I’m appalled at how low I sunk. They were all attractive enough but my life taught me that that alone isn’t enough to get you by. At least not on my level. I’m sure there are those way above me who are completely terrible assholes in every way and also aren’t good at anything. We all know that sort.

So these awful fringes of your true feelings are visible, but that’s it. And that just makes you seem like an uptight hostile bitch, or something. When all you wish you could do was have friends and date like everyone else. Then that resentment compounds on itself and you get all “Well, why should I care then?” about it. I CANNOT imagine going through this being unattractive. How bitter must those people be?

Great it’s almost 7. So basically, repressing feelings is bad and will actually cause lifelong damage if done too much as a child but sometimes self preservation is necessary, so eh. I am almost 30 and am nowhere near even a remote solution. But also, eh. A lot of people never “get better” I’m just grateful I’m healthy and I’m at least with someone whom i would like to be with, given we don’t….ugh…head down the shrubbery maze…so to speak. Because even for me that shit was WAY too dark.

Anyway, need to cook dinner.

~Cass