I’ve been thinking about how thankful I am that I have such wonderful people helping to hold me up during such an awful time in my life. This includes all of you here who visit my beloved blog.
You guys kick so much ass.
Underneath all of this muck and filth that’s been hand delivered to me via my perverted husband lies gratitude, a titch of excitement and, quite honestly, a touch of relief that I will no longer be sweeping his wrongdoings under the rug.
I’ve been putting bandages on our marriage for an awfully long time because I didn’t want to see him for who he really is. I’ve been avoiding his subtle cruelty, probably because I haven’t been what you’d call mentally “stable” since the early summer of 2011.
Well, my doctor and I both think that I am doing well on 150mg of Effexor and 1mg of Klonopin a day. My therapist would agree with him. I’m stronger for having hit rock bottom and then climbing my ass slowly out of the dark well of depression.
I mean, it never fully goes away and it never will. I’ll always have a bit of melancholia (a little never hurts) and I was born anxious, it’s just who I am.
And, it’s okay to be who I fucking am, damn it.
The son of a bitch was sleeping in his car. When I found out about it, I started losing sleep and not being able to eat at all. My mom had the same reaction, perhaps even worse than what I was experiencing. And although I don’t really write much about it, trust me when I say that my mommy is already sick enough as it is.
You see, she loved him too.
Although some people think that I’m a moron for allowing him to come back, I’ve had others who are impressed with my decency as a human being by not throwing him out into the cold.
It actually makes me a little sad that none of his family or friends will take him in. I cannot in good conscience let the shithead be homeless, especially when we just had our first snowfall of the season.
But, it’s been extremely uncomfortable with him still here. If it’s just us, he’s either coldly indifferent or pretending like everything’s the same as it ever was.
If my daughter is here, he clams up and turns into super-douche. My daughter and I, both being empaths, can feel his animosity towards her, a 20-year-old girl who has tried for 15 years to get this fuck to love her like his own kid.
Well, she’s done now. She hates him. She even said to me, “He better not mess with you, mom. I will hurt him if he does.”
Now, if that ain’t fucking loyalty, I don’t know what is.
While I was laying in bed waiting to fall asleep last night, I decided that in order to finally get him out of here, I’m going to need to give him a move-out date. December 15th popped into my head, don’t ask me why. I’m planning on writing it out and letting him read it. If he doesn’t vacate the property by that day, I’ll have no other recourse but to take legal action.
I can prove without a shadow of a doubt that he is causing my daughter and I emotional harm, not to mention his sexual depravity.
What kind of man asks his wife’s best friend if she’d be interested in having sex?
A sick man, that’s who. I’ve been living with this sack of festering cat shit, without a clue as to what was really going on inside that fat head of his.
And his other head, if you catch my drift.
Anyway, to all of you, thank you for being so supportive whenever I post something. I know that I haven’t been writing much about fibro lately, but that’s why I have Kimmy here now.
I’ve run out of words, so I’ll keep it simple. I love you guys.