It’s Me

I had a migraine last night. Worse than even the one last July. It started around 1pm, ended around 12am. That’s when I finally fell asleep for good. I can’t go on anymore about that, because fucking talking about them triggers them. I tried having a characer with migraines but found I was incapable of describing one in the detail is deserves without living through it. I get the constant screen time and tech neck don’t help but they sure aren’t the causes. Anyway.

So. I think it’s time I come to terms with shit. I think we all know what’s going to be for the best.

But please. Let me talk about why for a really long time first.

So like.

I don’t know.

Since I drunkenly (DISCLAIMER: when I say I was drunk while I did something, it’s more like a detail than my making an excuse. I DON’T do that. It’s annoying) screenshot a text convo with best friend and made it a blog post (see one below) I think things might be over with N. Not that they ever started. But more often than not, I find myself just fucking wishing this had never started. Because, I guess, there’s no possible way he could realize how increeeeedibly hurtful I’ve found all of this. ALL OF IT. Like. What did I do. What the fuck is it that I do that screams “treat me like shit” to people? Do I ACT like I don’t have feelings? Because I feel very emotional. Like all the fucking time. I guess some good came of it. Twice he articulated a feeling I was having into actual words and I was like….omg he’s right….and that’s always fun, because you’re like..wait…no…I learned this recently….I get to have my own writing space to say anything I need to…or…it’s shitty when someone makes me sexually uncomfortable. Not dying to discuss why I fucking needed these things explained to me at thirty, but whatever, moving on.

So. Idk. He DM’ed me and was at first all saracastic like pffft you shouldn’t have used WEEKS because it’s slightly longer than he said to get my manuscript from me, then went very like, I can’t believe you’d hurt me this way, “sometimes I let people down but I really don’t think this is one of those times. // Anyway have a good night.”
Then that following morning, because he sent these while I was sleeping, I said, “18 days=justifiable all caps, I stand by it. And why did I say I was ignoring you?” Because in one of his messages I glossed over he was like “Do you really like I’m ignoring you?”

UH. YEAH. WHY WOULDN’T I.

It makes me super sad that the most he ever talked to me was when things were all flirty before that one time we hung out. Was it because he wanted to fuck me? Well that doesn’t upset me, in fact, that’s SO what I was into happening as well…so….yeah….it’s like even more depressing

What’s REALLY crazy, is, I think I know the real issue. I haaaaaaad to have somehow formed some sort of feelings for this guy. Like being as a pathetic as I am, it’s not shocking someone showing even slight interest is enough to draw me in. Look at R. I mean really, the things I put up with from him. Anyway. You know why I know I REALLY liked him? Because like, physically, he’s not what I’m SUPER into. Granted, if you don’t know what a guy’s dick is like, you can’t really judge him as a whole, physical specimen, but I mean, N is basically a less hot version of my husband. And my husband is also ripped, and slightly taller. (only slightly).

But. I still really, really, really liked this guy.

It’s happened before. That’s how it was with Paul (remember him? GOD that was a long blog). And it was sort of the same, in the sense that Paul was also an English major, although he was three years older than myself and we didn’t really bond over that subject. But it was still a talking-based, intellectual thing. Like with R. But, okay don’t get me wrong I was very sexually attracted to R. Dude was fiiiiiine. And like, if I had to rate him on dick/ability to fuck, like an 8.5. Truly wonderful. THAT was not the issue with him. But alas, that can’t be the only thing, NOT when someone has the issues R has. I tried finding him on instagram the other day, just to like, see if he was still alive, and I couldn’t. So, maybe he deactivated it? I tried googling if he died and couldn’t find anything so it’s probably not as dramatic as I’m making it because of course I am.

I guess what’s REALLY depressing is how much this whole thing meant to me, and how obsessed I still am.

Which I guess brings me right to my original point. I guess I should just give up there. I think if I remain completely silent at this point nothing more will occur.

Do I want it to?

Of fucking course.

But like.

I should move on

Right?

I think the fact that I’m asking tells me what I need to know.

Why does it make me SO sad?

When you repress you real feelings, for means of survival, for SO long, it does something to your abilities to express them later on. Which is grossly unfair. But you know what’s more unfair? How fucking puffy my undereyes get when I cry, which leads to to gross under eye creases that make me look old and tired. HOW FUCKING UNFAIR IS THAT. My god do I hate the cosmetic payments I must make for my myriad mental illness.

Or maybe it’s just the alcoholism? Cannot tell.

But back to my really infantile emotions.

SO like. Knowing I’m way into this guy, I go into what SEEMED like it was going to be an awesome evening only to be obliterated, then I continue the connection, if however removed, for months. WHY.

OH I fucking good and goddamn know well why. Roughly the same reason I love getting fucked up.

I like this feeling, and I’m going to pursue it. Because there was a long, long time where I didn’t GET to express my feelings, and it fucking warped part of me. But it’s too little too late now, isn’t it cowboy? IDK where that term came from but I’m SUPER drunk guys. Can you tell? I pride myself on hiding it whilst communicating like a pro, because that’s what I am at this point. Anyway.

So. Time to fucking breathe and tell myself this is for the best until I’m fiiiiiiinally at the point where I actually don’t care. Instead of just publically pretending like I don’t care, which has already started.

This is a picture of a tweet i deleted because who cares? But it’s true.

My fucking frightening mountain of issues aren’t anyone’s fault. No one who meets me/knows me in a not-personal context could possibly realize how fucked I am, and in how many ways. I guess no one can tell by the way I interact with them that I’m not like this with everyone, and this really was special to me, and I cannot possibly imagine a time in the future where it would seem worth it to try for this with anyone else, and that breaks whatever strange heart I have left.

I wish it was just that I’m horrible and my husband should be enough.

But this is how I feel. At this point I don’t think I should keep trying to control it.

I feel I’ll find him at some point.

Or I’ll have kids.

Like, besides writing my book, and potentially moving for the change of scenery and because this area holds no joy for us, that’s really the only thing happening in my life. Me. Going about things. Waiting for one or the other to happen. Working hard because that’s how my mom and Grandma raised me. Absorbing pain and harboring grudges like nobody’s business.

I don’t mind either.

But. Like my book will happen regardless. That’s like a given. NOT THAT I HAVE A BETA READER ANYMORE. But trying to move past that….

One of them needs to happen soon here. I’m bored. I’ve worked long and hard enough. Not that I plan on quitting working or writing, but I’m just saying, like, IDK, perhaps it’s my innate arrogance, but I genuinely do feel I deserve good thing and happiness. Is that SO wild? Because, where I grew up, IT IS. BUt I don’t want to talk about them, they suck.

So. That’s what’s REALLY up with me. And why the wholllllle situation with N just bummed me the fuck out. I’m weirdly lonely and I feel like just my husband isn’t enough when I don’t have ANY family of my own, and we don’t have kids, and I literally don’t have friends, like at all, in real life. As in people to sometimes spend time with. It just isn’t a thing.

But anyway.

That’s all.

It’s not N’s fault that I’m so fucked and needy. And I don’t think he could possibly realize how hard all of that was for me, and how much it meant to me. all of that is my fault anyway.

and it seems like it would be best for the both of us if we had nothing to do with each other. Which is what I meant when I said “things go back to the way they were before” months ago when I was texting him the day after he..idk what you want to call it, whatever’ed my feelings. He said thank you and it stung all the more, then he was like I thought you meant before it was weird, and I was like…when was that except when we weren’t talking? Then I tried to go back to the talking alot flirty stage and that OBVIOUSLY wasn’t right either.

So. No more conversation.

No more beta reader.

I need this weed pen and cheap beer taken away from me.

I cried for two hours straight yesterday. Migraine.

Can feelings cause migraines? Because there’s a frightening amount of tension in me. It causes them. And I feel it in my chest when I’m doing yoga. I know that sounds stupid but like, it’s definitley what’s happening.

Anyway. I should go. Take care. Love you all.

~Cassie

I panicked and picked a fight

No time BUT I wish someone could tell me how long the “you deserve better than someone who treats you like this” feeling wins. Because. Otherwise. Always.

My husband lost the lid to my grinder. Like it’s just fucking gone. I woke him up and picked a a fight with him over it.

I hate how lonely I am

But I don’t

Because it’s one of the things that I know makes me human

Like, I know I feel feelings. That might not sound like much but it is.

Plus like, just like I found my husband at 21, I know I’ll find what I’m looking for one day, perhaps more than once.

I’m a patient fucking being, don’t forget

Im a lot of things that people like to forget but most of the time I don’t blame them, I’d be distracted by my appearance too

Well then

Hmm. Well I’ve been feeling pretty rejected lately.

I guess it didn’t help that last night as I got out todays outfit, the rotation brought up the fancy undies I wore the night i thoooooought I was getting laid. It just makes one sad. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, young Cassie would be appalled at my underwear game at 30. But I don’t have a Victoria’s Secret charge anymore so….

But, they like set me up. Because they’re like ha, REMEMBER when you got these out of storage and were all excited about having a good time then fucking someone you ACTUALLY liked? Ahahahahahahahahaha of course you do you desperate bitch.

And this morning was kind of sad enough, because I was waiting on a text I still haven’t gotten. I don’t know what’s up with that whole situation. I thought that things were okay…..but I’ve been wrong before. And she likes to just not tell me shit and act like it’s not the sort of thing best friends would tell each other. I’m not trying to make her stuff about me I’m just saying that if the roles were reversed I would tell her you know? I guess there’s some shit she doesn’t know but that’s stemming from her withdrawal not a cause of it.

That’s my issue

However I act with someone is how I want them to treat me

And so many people are shitty to me

I’m not saying I didn’t think I was the problem I just don’t know what to do about it or myself or anything

I wish I had friends, like people to talk to who I could see in real life and spend time with and know and like be a part of each other’s lives. If I’m not mistaken that’s how it works. But fuck I have one friend and I suggested getting together in a city equidistant between us for a night and she just didn’t respond. Okay cool. Guess I’ll wait that one out. Fuck knows I’m not saying anything more until she does.

Then I mean I guess I could’ve tried being actual friends with N, but I don’t think that’s the sort of thing that you can go back on, now. I mean we still converse on a fairly regular basis. I’ll admit, it’s still that usual fun/disappointment roulette of “diiid they respond yet….” of my adolescence, and it’s a fun conversation. But I know what my heads doing, I start wanting attention from someone, then I just wait. My husband thinks he’s just biding his time so he can try and fuck me later on, best friend said the same thing one added that he jerked me around at first so he could protest to his wife that he tried to not have it happen. But that’s just how she thinks.

What I’m actually very torn on is how I feel about that.

And no time to go on, don’t feel like being late again. I won’t lie and say I’ll pick this back up on lunch because I’m way busy with CF right now.

Anyway.

Peace

~Cassie

If you knew me even a little you’d be well aware I don’t understand the concept of “moderation”

OKAY this is getting weird. I literally am awake and drunk and can’t concentrate on CF enough to work on editing draft #2. I want to talk about myself too much. It’s an astounding problem I have. I get I’m self absorbed. I promise that I have to be. I still feel incredible amounts of compassion for others, I’m just certain that I’m terrible at showing it. Like. I fucking wish I was a sociopath like W. Do you realize how convenient it must be to not feel feelings? OMF they’re what’s been holding me back all this time. But, then, if it’s the last part of yourself that still feels human (that is, unviolated) should you really fight it so? The same goes for how jealous I am of atheists. Must be nice to be sure of yourself. I hope for your sake that you’re right, but I don’t really think so. Like. Think about how vast and profound and infinite and pointless and small and all-encompassing and affirming and destroying and EVERY other combination of contradictions you can muster, think of the true awe-inducing beauty we have access to, even in our everyday lives. You’re telling me we’ve evolved as we have all on our own? I feel like life is WAY too complex for all of that.

And I mean. I get it. I get the notion that, like, okay if there is a God, where were they when [X]? Yeah. I don’t know. I fucking wonder myself. But. I don’t know how to say it other than this: there’s an answer, and I don’t know it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’ve been really confused on the specifics of religion for a long time, myself.

TO digress onto a weird ass topic. I was raised Lutheran. I went a Lutheran grade school and high school, ages 3-18. I was confirmed in a Lutheran church and was active in my church youth group for the first two years of high school. BUT, in keeping with W’s typical narcissistic egomania, he was REALLY into “born-again” Pentecostal Christianity. The people who “speak in tongues” and generally act a fool in church. He watched (and probably still does) televangelists. I mean, of course, right? Why wouldn’t he have this weird, horrible, weird, embarrassing habit/trait? Why wouldn’t he somehow manage to ruin religion for his family? He didn’t give a fuck about going to church with his kids until they were teenagers, then all of a sudden it was a matter of life and death that they attended his church as well as my still being very active in the Lutheran church I went to with my mother. But you know what W’s constant comment about that church was? “Well that’s a dead church.” He had this BELOVED analogy about church’s being like meals, spiritual sustenance (just talking about this is giving me a tension headache, btw) He was OBSESSED with calling it that, every chance he got.

And you know what?
You know that car accident that ruined my brother’s life? Like moreso than W did?

It happened because my brother was driving to a nearby city separately from W to attend W’s church with him. The teenager who caused the accident was speeding on the highway in the rain because it was Sunday, the first day of summer camp where she and her two friends who were in the car with her were going to be counselors. They were all fine. My brother who was the only one who was hurt. Then you know, the Vicodin problem that naturally progressed into a heroin problem. He’s on methadone to this day, if you want perspective here. And the getting $100,000 in an insurance settlement and pissing it all away in like…two years. And having nothing to show for it. W pushed/worked/connived for my brother to get that money because he’s a greedy worthless lazy fuck and he knew he’d be able to get his hands on some of it. According to what my brother at one point told me, he gave W about $10,000. My brother claims he never would have agreed to this much if he hadn’t been high on Vicodin when W asked.

Yep.

That’s my family all right.

But no, be weird and judgmental that I have nothing to do with them, everyone I tell about the situation. It’s fine.

Like whatever. I honestly and literally do not care what people think. But sometimes I’m like…HA if only people knew the real truth.

That’s what CF is. It’s someone writing an expose on what REALLY happened with all these rich/powerful/famous people in these two small countries. The rest is just fucking backdrop, my dears. Not that it isn’t excellently and fearfully made. Jeeeeez I’m drunk. I’m not used to alcohol. I’m really not.

So things I’m excited about:
I’m sure I’ll see best friend for holiday season.
Three day work week next week

New glasses are dope and fit well (I have a VERY shallow bridge to my nose, not that I’m complaining, but it makes glasses hard).

Writing process is going well, getting chipped away at every day.

New coat is also dope, makes me feel mildly like a drug dealer/pimp, which is an aesthetic I’m into so it’s tight

If CF seems good enough to N, then maybe it’ll be good enough for Professor I. And just having even a slight chance of seeing him again fills me with a euphoria ecstasy cannot match. Or acid. Or shrooms. What can I say, I’m pretty cool, I’ve done some drugs. Not like my brother though. He got the opiod gene, I got the booze gene, these are just fucking goddamn facts. Opiates me sick. I got a Vicodin prescription for my wisdom teeth, just like 20 or so, I think I took three, and they made me feel worse than the surgery. I took too Vicodin for fun the day I went to an Eminem concert in Detroit (the one with Jay Z) and I puked all over the parking lot at Comerica. Someone walking by shouted, “Bring it up, girl!” I waved at him but kept puking. Fucking Vicodin. That night ended up getting ruined by my husband’s near psychotic behavior whilst wasted on expensive ballpark beer, but I digress.

So these are the things I look forward to, or at least am curious about. With CF it’s not so much blind hopefulness, as I’m thinking all of my hard work will pay off one day. It’s not about money, in the slightest, it’s about people reading it and liking it. It’s about being a good fucking writer. Which is all I’ve ever wanted or cared about. It’s always what’s mattered most. It’s always been the biggest part of my identity, since I fucking learned to read. I’ve always felt like a writer, since I was a child, it’s not something I grew into or chose to become. It’s just been there. I guess I knew I needed an outlet, and naturally I would have to find a silent one that I could keep hidden.

Holy shit, is that what we all have in common? It’s something. It’s got to be something. Again, I know there’s an answer but I can’t help you with specifics.

I don’t like Thanksgiving, family holidays make me sad. But we only have to drive to my husband’s sister’s about 40 minutes away, so that’s nice. And they’re doing Thanksgiving at actual dinner time, so we don’t have to leave our place until like 4 or 5pm that day. Then I’m off the following day. It’s a rare long weekend for me, so naturally I have huge writing goals. And I need to put out Christmas decorations, because I like decorating. And crafting. I’m a little like my mother, what can I say. So the long weekend is a thing to look forward too at any rate. Also of course any and all progression on writing one’s first novel is also exciting.

Other than that, not much is happening. I’m back in the swing of things (ha) at pole. One of these days I’m going to take the time to get done up at home and record some new pole videos. Maybe I’ll wait until I’m in slightly better shape. But don’t I always say that? Anyway, I guess I’ll be off.

Write it when? Fucking First.

For who? For fucking you.

~Cassie

I’m at it again. I’d say someone stop me, but in the past I have NOT responded well to that.

I did one of the weird things that I do. Like I began to notice patterns in my behavior years ago (when I left my parents house, when I was away from the grating racket long enough to hear my thoughts, so on and so forth) but I’m still kind of like….but why? At most of it.

But the thing I did?

Even though I knew it wouldn’t make me happy, I did it anyway.

It’s always some weird version of consumption with me, anyway, isn’t it?

I spent a bunch of money, knowing that it wouldn’t make me feel better, but in fact might make it worse due to guilt, but I still did it anyway. Because nothing actually makes you feel better, but like, you might as well get/have shit you want, right? So goes my poor person for life logic.

What’s got me down? Nothing more than the usual shit. I’m always lonely. I really miss my mom. She’s two hours away but I haven’t seen her in three years. I think my husband has an undiagnosed psychological disorder…possibly plural there. I’m kind of (or just am) a raging alcoholic. The arduous work and turmoil that’s been the general tone of my life up until this point. The total lack of friends. The idea that I’ve worked a lot and for a long time and have no financial indication of such effort going on. The idea that if I want to actually have children I should probably get on that soon but also the idea of having an infant/child to care for and raise sounds HORRIBLE and life-ruining and most days I’m like eh, can’t afford kids anyway…darn…guess I better keep doing what I like with my time.

But that’s all pretty normal, I think, except for the my mom stuff. And there’s nothing I can do about that situation, so I’ve kind of moved on. Sort of. It still makes me really sad. But I mean, so? Some things suck.

But, lets discuss WAY more interesting shit, what I bought:

1) New winter coat. I wore a boring puffy coat the past two winters. I wanted a fancy pea coat that isn’t as warm but looks way nicer. The one I bought has a faux fur collar. It was over half off (So $99)
2) Since I was already on JC Penney.com, I was like well, better get more concealer while I’m at it
3) Since I was on the Sephora section of JCP.com I was like…better get good mascara…..
4) Then, this one is more confusing, I was like…I should buy foundation. I haven’t purchased foundation in at least five years. Since before we got married. It’s obviously a cool thing to have, but I don’t really need it, because I have no reason to get ready for anything. The last time I did a full face of make up was Halloween…then that one Saturday right before Halloween I went out (and I don’t see that scenario occurring again) so…..why did I buy it? It might not seem like such an important question, but the shit I buy is $39. So. More important than $8 foundation.
5) Two new pairs of glasses. I paid out of pocket for an eye exam in February, and was like…yep…gonna get on buying glasses off Zenni with that prescription anytime here…. and finally was like you know what fuck it. I haven’t purchased new glasses in….at least seven years. The prescription is pretty much still the same so that’s not the biggest deal in the world, but still. I didn’t know what kind of glasses to buy for my face shape, namely because I didn’t know my face shape. It’s diamond. That’s why I didn’t know it, that’s not one of the common ones.

So yeah. I’m at it again like always I guess. I at least bought some practical stuff. Not stuff I TOTALLY needed…but…eh. Stuff I sort of needed.
So you could take this as a weird list of stuff I spent $300 on.

Or you could see what I see. That I picked up on patterns of love/affection from the only stable people in my life when I was a child, that things/food=love. I’d blame my Grandma, it sort of is her fault, with her cold ass German upbringing, But she was the only reason I had a remotely normal childhood…so…should I really be finding fault with this woman?

I tried building a memory palace once. It seemed like a good idea. But, idk, it’s so visual. If I’m visualizing something, it’s CF, or the story for after the CF series, or me fucking, I’m not building a memory palace. Maybe I don’t need one? I feel like I should. If you aren’t awesome like me and DON’T know what one of those is…well first I would STRONGLY recommend you purchase these books and read them in this order (Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs, Hannibal, Hannibal Rising). If you don’t want to read all that, which, I wouldn’t get why, but okay, Hannibal Lecter has a memory palace that he visits, and most of it is the expected hyper classy fanciness, but there’s parts he can’t control. Oubliettes, they’re called. What’s fucking eerie is I read Silence of the Lambs, where Hannibal describes them as “bottle shaped rooms with a trap door at the top” – in Hannibal’s memory palace, there are oubliettes that he cannot contain, filled with shit, with the memories he can’t stop, and when he’s distressed, particularly when his sense of smell is assaulted. And then right after SOL I read Daisy Miller…and what the fuck gets mentioned in there? Fucking oubliettes again. When Daisy and the narrator go visit that one castle together, Daisy stands at the edge of the of an oubliette and cries with dismay or whatever, and the footnote says something along the lines, “dungeons accessible through a trap door at the top, for forgetting prisoners.”

So, that weird foray into literature is brought to you by the idea that I tried to make a memory palace. But the only positive places from my childhood are my Grandma’s apartment, and my bedroom, alone, all by myself, with my cat and all my toys. Those are the two places. I mean I liked the library in my school, and the public library by my house, but the other kids/people, the my mom bitching that she had to drive me to and from the library….so lesser than the first two places I mentioned.

So what I’m saying is, in Hannibal Lecter terms, saying someone’s apartment is the largest portion of your memory palace is really making a statement.

So I try not to fault my Grandma for the ways she specifically made me fucked up. Or my mom. The two of them were/are actual humans who loved me. W is just a fucking monster and J is just soooo fucked up and saddening. And that’s the list, besides my best friend and husband, and that’s different.

So, I’m using my positive relationship with my Grandma as a means of excusing spending excessive amounts of money on myself, because that’s how she showed affection, that and overfeeding. That’s a grandparent thing, and a German thing, so there was no hope there.

At the same time, whatever. I work a lot. Possibly I deserve some nice things.

That’s all I got.

I literally have ZERO idea how I’m still awake.

I did a standard Friday caffeine intake. First pot of coffee from 6am-8am, second pot of coffee 8am-10am, third 1pm-3pm, then I had four shots of espresso in a drink from Starbucks around 8:30pm. This is standard level for me. Beer wise, I had one tall can (Coors light) before the grocery store (Starbucks and grocery store coincided, duh) then two more tall cans after, and I just finished a regular bottle of Modelo especial. I’m going to be pissed if I drink all of my Saturday beer tonight. But like I don’t feel fucked up or tired. Am I magic? Of course I’ve been smoking weed…but…it’s been a LONG LONG time since I’ve legit felt fucked up from weed. Like. For real. But anyway. I SHOULD go to bed.

I’m going to try and truly crank out the writing this weekend.

OH.

Something else I bought, finally, pole classes! I’m going back on Sunday. It feels like it’s been 10,000 years. I think it’s been 6 weeks. But up until 6 week ago, I was going EVERY Sunday for like eight months. But back to it on Sunday. So excited, but also unexcited about how sore my arms are going to be. But so worth it.

Well, I should be off.

Have a good weekend. Enjoy the cold weather. I like how it makes me want to cuddle. All summer long I was like “Get the fuck away from me,” whenever my cats or my husband were trying to get affectionate. Now it’s enjoyable. Plus it makes you want to be inside more, which is appealing to me in many ways as it is. Clearly all of my life activities revolve around being inside.

Anyway. Have a good weekend. Love you.
~Cassie