When lunch time is the only time

Deepest apologies, it dawned on me yesterday that I didn’t include the picture yesterday. I didnt mean to picture taunt, I’m always accidentally doing that to my mom, because, as you know, email is the only way I’ve spoken to her for the past three years. It’s good we have that one way to speak to one another, though when she tells me how much she misses me and how well get to see each other somehow….I just don’t have an answer. It’s not my fault the only way she gets to “see me” is if I email her a picture, but IDK I’m sure in her head it kind of is. Everyone in that family is so obsessed with blaming other people for everything , because, I mean obviously, what are they going to do, something healthy?

So that’s the picture. I would have added it last night but then I’d think about writing about one thing and write a 2500 word blog instead so. I do everything I can to spend as much time in the evening writing as I can. Writing my novel, not this blog. I can only imagine how fucked this anonablog would be if I was focusing all of my attention into it’s contents.

Come to think of it, it’s probably for the best I don’t have to time or energy to REALLY delve into my childhood, because, IDK it’s not an easy thing to pick up every day like an instrument you’re trying to learn. It’s one thing to go back to my novel, but even that even if you’re doing it every day you still lose momentum. I still have to back read a little, be like okay which “he” and “he” are going at it right now? Or whatever.

They said once that a novels sex scenes shouldn’t be gratituous and should only exist to move the plot along.

I perhaps took this too to heart. Because what i have is a novel entirely propelled about by the sexual interactions of the characters. And yeah, you do have your favorites, and it’s not necessarily the one you modeled after yourself. Not that they’re not there.

There are times when I think about how I’m just soooooo fortunate to have so much horrible human being/awful father experience from my own life.

I can’t tell if I would have rather had a happy childhood and grown up secure and stable, or if I’d rather be as I am. I think I’d keep things the same. You know that bullshit about how “the same boiling water that hardens an egg softens a potato, it’s what you’re made of not what you went through”? Well NEVER has a more perfect example of an egg and a potato come to life than my idiot brother and myself. He probably would have turned out shitty even if we had a great dad, that’s my theory on him. And it’s not sibling hate. Please. I wish we had some sort of a normal relationship. Hes so unstable he seriously couldn’t leave our Instagram friendship alone. Out of the blue he would delete me, I wouldn’t find out about it until he sent me a new follow request. Who does that? Who regularly deletes their only sibling on social media for NO reason??? I could never tell what I was going to get when I dealt with him. When he was feeling especially needy, you know because all he does is sabatoge his own life then cry about it, hed do anything for me, including “give the last drop of [his] blood” for me. Then, just as unprovoked as his weird misguided affection, would be the bouts of reviling me. One time I got a new cell phone number, I was probably 23 or so, and I texted it to him, his response was “what do I care? We never speak.” He’s too much like our father. He had no chance in life. But he’s also not worth my time.

Sounds harsh, i would guess a really good person wouldn’t abandon their brother, but never oh never did you hear me say I was that. And I mean I do resent him too. He’s my older brother and all he ever did was pick on me, order me around, contradict everything I said, invalidate anything positive I did, start fights with me out of boredom, attempt to control me in that CREEPY way our dad already was….yeah…..

In fact, every single facet of my brothers behavior was a direct mirroring of how our father treated him.

Note this is not me making his excuse for him. ITS NOT AN EXCUSE. He had the chance to lot be garbage, but consistently for the past 33 years all he’s ever done is choose to be garbage. I guess the hard work involved looks like too much, because he’s pathologocally lazy to the frightening extent our father is. Like they both have a conversion reaction if they think THEIR precious selves might be doing something that someone else could do. Combine that with the ultimate losers mentality (the “no one gives me credit for my meager amount of effort, so I refuse to put in any more”) and do you think you’ll wind up with some winners?

They’re the definition of losers – my dad and brother. The last time my dad has a job that wasn’t embarrassing was when I was 5. He was a cop, but he decided to fraudulently file an insurance report for a stolen rifle that was never stolen, when the department caught wind of it, he was told to take a six month suspension. He refused because he’s an arrogant narcissist, went to court, and lost everything because a TON of higher ups in the department despised him because he’s a horrible human being. I’d go into the rest of his pathetic work history but my lunch is almost over.

My brother and working? Well when he was 20 he got $100,000 as an accident settlement, and that’s just bound to ruin a person, especially one that was already garbage. Of course, I think you can tell who REALLY, really pushed my brother to get that money, because he knew he’d get a lot of it.

Well now I’m pissed off I guess I’ll go.

Just kidding. It’s nice writing about them but not having to deal with them. Because my brother and dad are waste of space garbage people whose faults SO outweigh their positive traits it’s not even worth knowing then.

So, if you have a shit parent, try imagining what itd be like to not ever deal them. I strongly recommend. (Disclaimer-not for the weak of heart or spirit)

I’ll do you one better

As of late (and by that I mean as of today) I am beginning to worry I see a dark pattern in our behavior towards one another. I am uniquely equipped to sense this sort of thing, having known it oh so well from such a young age.
Because when your mother parentifies you, and your brother simultaneously tries to father you and take out his massive anger and resentment on you, and your dad is just an absolute piece of shit narcissist, that’s just how things are. It was never discussed, but every day, holiday or special event or not, was just a contest to see who was in a bad mood, how bad, how bad of a mood they could throw everyone else into so then they had someone to yell at, how much was the day spoiled, how angry and hurt and unresolved EVERY feeling possible could be, how many hours of lectures did my dad manage to deliver that day. Just a fucking shit show.

And now, surprise surprise, 11 years after I escaped that mental and emotional torture-prison and I’m starting to think the same things about my marriage.

Sometimes I wonder how things would be if I hadn’t met my husband. I remember thinking that at 21 there must be something terribly the matter with me if I remained single much longer. Not only that, the only guys I’d dated up until my husband were just total shitbags. I think about everything I tolerated from them and it just infuriates me, to this day. Don’t tell me to let go of anger I (CLEARLY) don’t know how. And that same thing is true of my marriage. Which brings me to our current vicious cycle that I’m at least beginning to see forming.

We all know what happened July 20th. Then TWELVE days later my husband has just a disturbing fucking freak out at me. It was so bad I stayed home from work the day after because I felt like I was having a nervous breakdown and my chest REALLY hurt. Like I said when I first talked about it, I think he just like needed to also scream and rave and say terrible, irredeemable shit to me and tell me he was ready to walk away from our relationship because I’d done that the evening I found out.

And I’m sorry, I guess this is my inner cunt talking, but really? Could that BE any less mature? It really felt like he was just waiting for his first excuse to lose his fucking mind so he could get to be the victim. No sympathy or patience for me, no, that’d require him to act slightly like a man, and fuck knows no one here besides me is capable of that shit.

When he was ranting at me last Tuesday, his voice got creepishly hoarse, and while he was in creepy-strangled-man-voice he kept talking about how he’s “tried to change to his body…tried to change his mind…tried to change EVERYTHING about” himself to get me to want to have sex with him. We’ve been having sex issues from the very beginning of our relationship, yet somehow those issues are what’s stopping him from achieving.

He does not realize what that’s asking me.

Because he’s not that stupid. I really don’t think he’s stupid at all, I couldn’t be with someone beneath me in that respect (or least far beneath me), but sometimes he’s so fucking self-centered it makes him seem REALLY dense and he makes it worse by convincing himself he’s the nicest guy in the world. But….I notice certain types of other people can smell that insecurity a mile away….but anyway.

Because, from hearing his bloodshot-eyes-cyborg voice, you’d REALLY think, wow, what a evil bitch this woman is, how dare she not want to constantly fuck the guy she’s been supporting and nearly mothering for 8 years, how could she not be just SOAKED at the idea of having sex with someone she has yet to orgasm with after 8 years? But no, I should just do whatever is demanded of my body, my will as a human being IS NOT of ANY consequence………and I guess he’s too thick to see what that is. And fuck knows I’ll never say that out loud.

But to me, the sex doesn’t matter. But clearly ALL of his self worth and the definition of his masculinity and adult personality is ALL WOUND UP in MY rejection of his dick. So, how CLEAR it now is that this is really all my fault. If I’d just lied from the very beginning and never once acknowledged my true feelings (you know, the things no one in my life has ever given a fuck about because they’re too busy being fucked up themselves and using me for whatever means they needed me for for that second) we’d be SO happy and perfect.

And like, he was genuinely scaring me last Tuesday, so even I didn’t have it in me to say this, but I REALLY wanted to ask scary-lunatic husband why he didn’t try to change his career path. Instead he declared he couldn’t work while in college (and he was in college a loooooooooong time) then he did nothing but find employment any GED grad can get, and even those were always seasonal. He acts like having a job that he hates going to is some new fucking turmoil only he’s ever had to endure. And he’s been there SIX MONTHS. When I worked retail for the 8 years it took to get my BA and MA I seriously hated every second of my life at those jobs. It was hard to tell what was worse, the emotional warfare of the industry, the shit for brains management or the customers that treated employees like they were less than human because they were all BAD. It’s just really pathetic how easily he breaks down. But then at the same time, he refuses to just acknowledge ugliness in its face. If I do something that upsets or offends him his instinct is to repress it, repress it, repress it and then just SNAP and lose his shit and fucking scare me. Or, when he was drinking, he was fond of saying he had panic attacks. No, he’d get wasted and lose his temper and have to blame it on a neurological disorder. But then if I bring up the exact disorders he blames everything he can’t pin on me, then I’m mocking him for being mentally ill. Yet somehow my mental illness gets ignored, because I learned a long time ago no one cares how I feel so I might as well not show it.

Then, even since last Tuesday, on Friday before we went out, we really got into it again. I had to tell him that I wasn’t okay with ANYTHING happening between him and the dumb bitch I blogged about when she was over at our house (Well. So great.) because I mean, he managed to (while completely sober I might add) convince himself his going and fucking someone from a Craigs List sex ad was all right, because we’d gone out with couples we’d met on the internet and had group sex. But then he was unconvinced as soon as he was done having sex with a gross, gross, gross stranger so he knew then, and only then, that he needed to keep it from me. That was another thing hoarse-voiced-victim-man brought up, about how he fantasizes about killing everyone at the doctor’s office for “doing that to you.” Yeeeeeeah, it’s some billing department’s fault you did that….that’s also so hot and masculine of you, to just constantly pass the buck like that. Like a fucking autistic child. If I had to pick one insulting label for his behavior, it would be that. And how he’s afraid to talk to a psychiatrist anymore because he thinks they’ll 5150 him (…..wait aren’t those the people who’d need it the most? The people who think they’ll immediately be hospitalized because they’re a danger to themselves and others? GOD I sound stupid when I type this out). SO, I felt the need to specifically tell him I am not okay with his fucking her. And it was not received well.

And no matter how he tried to frame it, his anger all boiled down to the concept that I’d done something he hadn’t done, that he needed to “get me back” on some level, that he felt entitled to something like what I had, that he needed to put me through what I put him through, that I shouldn’t get to dictate that that doesn’t happen given what I did. When he knew about the entire time, and always told me it was all right (I was supposed to know he didn’t mean it, that’s what he told me, he’s a nice person he likes being nice to people and he wanted me to have fun, that’s what he fucking says) and he ALWAYS knew where I was. But to hear him tell it, I was really, really, really disengaged from him (I was before R, because I couldn’t stand the loser I’d saddled myself with, this was at his peak unemployment) and whenever he tried to talk to me about his feelings I would shut him down and insult him and make him feel bad about himself.

I mean if THAT is how he sees those 9 months, then I’d fucking hate me too.

That’s the thing I don’t get, it’s like if we were both 100% honest we’d admit we can’t stand each other. Is that just us, or is that everyone? Or it is just intermittent? Because, there are many moments every day that I feel like I love him. But I’m not letting my darkest feelings go unchecked anymore. It’s like wrangling a demon, but they’re my demons…so I guess I should know how? So, I shall blog until I make a decision.

Because truly, I have never told him I wanted to stay married long term. Literally never even said that I wanted to work on us. It hasn’t even been a month and he really thinks we’re already back to normal. Or he’s just repressing shit and it’ll come out and in new and fucking disturbing ways later. So I’ve got that to look forward to.

When I think about everything he’s done, I’m really glad I spent almost a whole year fucking a friend of mine. The friend ended up REALLY sucking as a person (shocking, right?) and now I seriously am as irritated with the behavior of his that I put up with as much as I am about my old boyfriends (there were only 2 of them, like I said I was never popular). Like I felt like my shit with R made us even for the wedding night.

Not that that’s what I was thinking I was doing when I went about all of it.

But….like…this SHIT happens to your brain, when you’re FORCED to act a certain way (no matter how you feel)….it like reroutes incorrectly, and as you age and don’t deal with anything and take a really long time to even grasp how FUCKED shit is for you, you just start acting very differently from how you feel. But that’s not why he said he cheated. He said he was horny and he wasn’t thinking and it happened really fast. Those aren’t good enough reasons to do that.

So now, are we just trapped in this vortex of oneupmanship without us (him) realizing it? Does it stop when we’re both dead or when I’m actually finally broken? Although sometimes I worry that that isn’t possible and I’ll just keep tolerating until it chokes me and then I’ll hear everyone around me cry about how much I mattered to them. Me as a physical body, as the spiritual embodiment of a bitter disappointed woman’s hopes and dreams, not the fucking real person I am that I had to give its own name because I feel like those around me care so little. I guess I could try to reach out more, but how many times you gotta burn your hand before you stop grabbing that iron?

Everything is a pattern, but it’s all its own pattern, that’s unity and variety, my most favorite thing.

Speaking of least favorite things, I deactivated my social media (not the @cassieanonablog twitter, that one’s brand new) and it was SO liberating. Because, let’s face it, do we care about any of those people? I fucking don’t. They either make me jealous or angry. I don’t need any more of those emotions than I was naturally gifted with. I guess I would be less jealous of everyone if I thought less of myself. But like…I work really hard, I’ve always done my absolute best given the circumstances, and no one’s taking that away from me. Enough else was taken from me already.

But, my husband will be home soon, and I’ll feel compelled to speak with him even though I’d rather just write. And I’ll lose my momentum and will half ass finish this later today at work on the WP app.

So, farewell. 0 of my problems have been sorted out, in fact they keep copulating and begetting other, scarier problems.

But, so goes my life usually, so……idk I’m one of those “do it because you’re alive and it needs to be done” sort of people…so….*shrug*

 

~Cassie

Slow, jagged remorse

I’ve been feeling guilt, deep insidious guilt, for as long as I can remember. I recall as a young child I would feel terrible if I left an opportunity to spend time with my mom to be with friends. And, believe me or don’t, I felt truly and deeply guilty every time I left my house to spend the night at R’s. It didn’t stop me from going, though. My feelings have never been enough to stop my actions, which typically follow whatever my dominant train of thought is at that moment. Sometimes I worry I’m impulsive, other times I’m disgusted at how boring I am. I do love routine and order and habit and pattern, but it has to be unity and variety, not just unity, that’s for psychos.

My husband asked me recently, if I felt so bad doing what I did, why did I do it? It’s not an easy answer. Someone who didn’t learn how to act the opposite of how they felt at a young age isn’t going to comprehend it.

But, at the same time, my husband was more than pleased to use my comfortability with degradation and depravity when he wanted to swing. Which it wasn’t so much swinging as foursomes where the guys didn’t interact but whatever. I mean I wasn’t into it emotionally, at all (which for me is the ultimate high, and I’ve tried most highs) so it would never appeal to me on a meaningful level. I was still more than happy to get fucked up and do it though. But so many times I’m unsure why I feel the way I feel, so why shouldn’t I be unsure about my actions too? Especially when it’s something that’s momentarily gratifying.

But it’s Sunday, I must be off to cook dinner. But these few ideas dawned on me this weekend. And the more that time goes on, the harder all the guilt, the remorse, is to swallow.

Sidenote – I started a Twitter – follow me if that’s your thing  – @CassieAnonablog

~Cassie

I’d prefer not to

I think we all know what that’s from. Today marks one week since I caught my husband cheating. 

It’s difficult because choosing to be miserable isn’t healthy, yet neither is acting like everything is fine when so certainly it is not. 

Last night he told me I can face time him whenever I want, to prove where he is, and he wouldn’t find it controlling because he knows he has to earn my trust back. 

But of course, I’d prefer not to. I’d prefer not to have to. Besides, the one time he snuck out and fucked a stranger I was asleep for the night….so…..how can that stop him?

I know no one is completely one thing or another (i.e. If a spouse cheats there might be blame on both sides, but not always I guess), but my nature is to assign blame to myself. I wonder what would’ve happened  if I woke up that night and saw that he was gone. 

Maybe it was when in 2015 we decided to try having sex with other people. Or when I had a really long lasting tryst with a guy from grad school that was more or less a boyfriend in addition to my husband for almost a year, but I’m drawn to lost alcoholics so I got sick of his addict behavior (who else got to know addict behavior really well as a kid?) after awhile. I now have him blocked on everything because he would occasionally try to contact me and I was like…oh wait I thought you never paid me back the two times I bailed your DUI having ass out of jail but you bought yourself a PS4 and that when I said I didn’t want to hang out one weekend you said you needed to ghost me. Oh no. You do not speak to me with disrespect. I was literally the one good thing in this guy’s life (and even that was fucked because he was just my side chick) and he’s like oh I better knock her down a few pegs. Like ohhhhh no, no no no no, no.

Or maybe it was because like three months after I broke it off with grad school side chick (this was June 2016 if you’re keeping track) three times in the same month (November) my husband and I had a foursome. They all kind of sucked. If a guy is used to having condomless sex with his girlfriend,  he isn’t going to perform well when he’s drunk and stoned and trying to have condom sex with a stranger. With the second couple I did way more stuff with the girl. 

But that was last November, and we got burnt out on it. But I guess that level of depravity is something my husband still needs. I never liked it. It was fun in its own way, I didn’t feel like I was coerced into going along with things, but like eghhhhh I’d rather not, I’d prefer not to.

But my husband, he much prefers, I now gather. It’s probably what led to my intense anguish over the past week. 

But, I don’t know, I’ve always been an onward and upward sort, and like I said truth be told I’d rather not be 30 and divorced. And I was made quite unhappy by my lack of communication with my husband this and week. And I don’t have anyone else in my life who even comes remotely close to meaning as much to me. I mean I love my mom and best friend too, but I can’t make my mom leave her toxic, abusive marriage, and my best friend has her own life to live, my husband is supposed to be here with me. Which he is. Most of the time. 

I’d prefer not to have to deal with all of this, but that’s always the case no? So, since I’m here.
~Cassie

All I have left is this list 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Cassie 

I did not need one more day when 100% of my mascara was removed by my crying.

But, no joke, it happened, again.

See, we had a pretty level-headed weekend. I think my destructive and hateful spree on Thursday last week used some resource of energy I had. I couldn’t go the whole weekend maintaining the whole I’m-hurt-and-showing-it thing.

And I’ll be honest, I am getting more pissed by the day, because he now is ignoring me. Before, he would always text me at least once during the day. Now he’s not. I know if I bring it up he’ll just say he was “giving me my distance” but SO funny how giving me my distance coincides so goddamn perfectly with his inability to deal with his issues. In fact instead of dealing with them, he manages to make them worse. He makes things harder on himself. Like he’s one of those addicts whose his own worst enemy. And goddamn stupid dumbfuck moron Cassie fucking married him.

I was really nice, though, all weekend. Do you really think I still wanted to meal plan and grocery shop and launder his dirty clothes? But I fucking did. I did everything I normally would, house-cleaning wise. Because that’s just how I operate, even (or maybe especially) when I’m nearly crippled with depression in other aspects of my life. I was even nice yesterday, despite the fact that he worked until 8 then went to an AA meeting, so we saw one another for about an hour before I needed to go to bed. He’s stopped trying to come into contact with me when he says goodnight. He still says I love you at times, but I never respond.

Today, however, I decided I couldn’t deal with it anymore. I was at least going to fucking remind him how fucking upset I still am. And the deep insult on top of egregious injury, it’s just too much. So I was sure to be crying in our bedroom when he came home from work. He sat down near me on the bed, but didn’t touch me. He asked if I was okay, and I said No, I wasn’t, in an obvious tone. After awhile of sitting in silence I got up. I decided that if all else is fucking failing in my life, I still need to exercise and write every day, because that’s the key to fucking success (I think). Yesterday it was fiction. Either is fine, I guess. And the only exercise I’m willing to do is ride a stationary bike in front of my TV, but that’s better than nothing so whatever. I guess I always try to cling to any tendency I might have that involves not acting like a depressive loser. Because boy, have a known a few of those. If you’ve been following along at all, you just laughed darkly with me, because that’s all I seem to know.

Sometimes I wonder if all of my shit relationships with shit guys wouldn’t have always devastated me so much if I’d had a good, stable, normal relationship with my parents, especially my dad. But I mean, no matter how smart you are, or how strong, you’re still human. You still want that sort of security with someone in your life. It’s not fucking rocket science, you just have to think about what truly upsets you. Like I probably wouldn’t hate so much on my unbelievably generous in-laws if I didn’t have such an emotionally abrasive situation with my parents.

I still don’t know what to do. Like….should I have learned my lesson by now? But what if he does end up being somewhat successful and then some ungrateful twat marries him and has MY cushy life? If he lowered his standards, he’d do okay, but he probably wouldn’t and then he’d suffer the low self esteem cycle all beta-males have.

Also, I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t be so goddamn furious if I didn’t actually love him. I mean it seems like I do. That’s the best I’ve got. I don’t have extraordinarily high standards or expectations. I want that made abundantly clear. I feel like it is abundantly clear. I can see why he did it, I guess, why he convinced himself it was okay, but I still like can’t believe he did it. Then, I mean, the fact that I NEVER NEVER NEVER would have found out, if the doctor’s office he went to hadn’t lied. Because he told me on Sunday that he specifically asked that he wouldn’t be charged anything, and they assured him insurance would cover it. And unfortunately in my anger I told him he only got caught because he was too stupid to go to Planned Parenthood, where they would’ve done that shit for free. But now he know that. So if it happened again….he wouldn’t get caught. I guess my plan of attack would have to be asking him routinely if he’d you know, fucked a stranger from a fucking gross classified ad website. Because he’s claiming he wouldn’t have lied if I had asked him. But WHY would I think to ask him when he so expertly hid it? I guess now I’ll think to ask. But, do I want to stick around and have to do so? I don’t know what to do.

This is a specifically sort of fucked situation, let me tell you. Doesn’t help I don’t have anyone to talk to, and I have to overcompensate with friendliness at work to keep anyone from suspecting the truth. It’s shockingly not difficult for me. Like I did it all the time as a kid or something. Why I always kind of bordered on annoying. There’s always been an energy to me, if you knew the public persona I adapt. But that’s all it is. I don’t know where the real me is, I don’t know where my real feelings are. It’s like I hid them so well I forgot where they were. So how can I expect anyone else to know what they are? The goal is to be as funny and impersonal as possible, without violating my ethics, which are complicated to say the least.

He’s been in our bedroom since he got home about two hours ago. I went in there to get fresh socks after working out and I’m pretty sure he’d been crying. I mean on one hand good he should fucking cry, but on the other it made me feel bad. But then if I’m conciliatory, later on I hate myself for YET AGAIN just taking glass shard coated shit and being NICE about it. But then I’ll feel bad for being mean or angry.

The only other guy I dated who saw even a sliver of the real me was a fucking Starbucks goon I dated for 8 months when I was 19. He saw me truly angry about three times. That’s what it took. It’s that stupid cliche Marilyn Monroe quote, but it’s the truth, I can’t be with someone who can’t handle how fucking deep and dark my shit gets. And he could NOT. I mean, anyone stupid enough not to appreciate how fucking amazing most of what I am capable of already baffles me, but this Sbux guy like…was almost annoyed by the fact that I didn’t like him partying with his friends 6-7 nights per week. This is one of those guys you’re only going to date when you’re very young. And I’d only had one other boyfriend besides him. And he was best friends with my best friend’s fiance (yeah, she was engaged at 17, it was a whole shitshow of a mess of a relationship by the end, but thank god it ended). I feel like no one is willing to conceded that that situation might drive someone to stay in a relationship, because it would suddenly mean spending a great deal less time with MY best friend from way back, even back then. And, lets be real, I didn’t expect that she and I would always go to the same college and live in the same city, so I wanted to spend as much time having an actual connection with another human being. I suspect it’s because she and I are fucked up in our own very special ways, that we’ve always connected so much, or maybe we just mean too much to each other because we’re the other’s oldest friendship not counting relatives. But still, I don’t know for sure but I feel like it’ll be a long time before I tell her about this. I just don’t want to. My eyelids are swollen again. It’s not fair all of this crying is accelerating the aging process.

It’s just not fair.

What do I do?

 

~Cass

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

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

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

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

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

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

My reaction….it was not good.

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

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

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

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

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

I guess I deserve it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I still don’t know what to do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

Thank fuck we don’t have kids.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What then?

And more importantly, what now?

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

Ugh.

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

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

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

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

Seems a bit harsh, if you ask me.

 

~Cassie