Knocked Over By A Feather

But It Didn't Keep Me Down…



A Beautiful Hot Mess

I feel as though one of my main obstacles right now is finding a way to forgive myself for staying with someone for so long that I knew deep down was a bad egg.

Calling him an egg is a much too kind example, perhaps I should go with the word asshat.

A fucking bad asshat. There, that sounds better.

I lied to myself, made excuses for his anti-social behavior, ignored the truth that he’s a sociopath with a dash of sexual deviant thrown in for good measure. I called him that back in July when all of this asshattery finally came to light. After that woman sent me his ad, a snippet of their conversation and his dick pics. He got really angry, so I must have struck a nerve.

The more that I think back over our years together, the more I realize that he’s probably always been messing around on me behind my back.

But I always let it go, blindly trusting every excuse he had up his sneaky sleeve.

My therapist wants me to write a list this week of all of the bad shit that he’s ever done to me. (This list has been continuing to grow since yesterday afternoon.)

He’s been an awful role model for my daughter, which breaks my heart because I always thought that deep down, somewhere, he did love her.

Well, I thought that he truly loved me as well.

As it turns out, he doesn’t know the concept of what love is. I thought that I could teach him, poor guy, his parents never showed him any affection. He was originally like a project of mine, as though I could wave my empathy wand over him and poof, he’d turn into the man who I wanted to desperately believe was hiding inside.

It’s a tough pill to swallow for me. I’ve now had two failed relationships that cover my entire adult life thus far.

I sure know how to pick em, eh?

My therapist said the following to me yesterday:

“From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry that this has happened to you, Mer. I’d shoot him for you, but I’d go to jail. He’ll stay miserable for the rest of his life because he’ll never admit that he has any issues. But you’ll thrive. You’re a beautiful hot mess right now and it’s okay.”


Every emotion that I’m currently dealing with is perfectly normal for such a massive life event.

If I’m being honest with myself and you guys, it has been years and years of his constant betrayals, heavily shrouded by his clever subterfuge.

He’s let me down so many times…so fucking many times.

It’s time for me to take charge of my own life, to figure out who I really am. Each day that passes, each tear that I shed, every memory that hits me in the gut…this is the painful path that I must walk in order to find my self-respect and independence again that I’ve allowed myself to misplace.

I told my daughter last night that maybe I’m not cut out to be in a relationship.

“No, mom. You deserve someone who really loves you and I think that you’ll find him someday.”

“You too, kiddo. But I hope that my experiences have taught you what to run away fucking screaming from.”

She smiled slightly, nodded and then went back to watching tv, finally at ease in her own home.

I took a deep breath and pulled my bathrobe tighter around myself.

(Again, thank you all for being here, for reading, commenting and supporting me.)


Fishing in my Head

He sent me a text message yesterday afternoon.

“Hi. May I come by after work and see Maya?” (My American Bulldog, who is struggling with his absence. He didn’t even mention our other dog Maggie.)

My friend Cheryl was here with me (because she’s awesome), since I was having a really hard time, being the first full day since he left and all.

“What should I say back? I can’t see him today, I just can’t.”

“Tell him no, not today.”

He responded a few minutes later, a simple okay.

My daughter has been sick these last few days, so if she isn’t at work, she’s been in her bedroom sleeping. I have a handful of friends that I could reach out to, but so far I have stayed pretty much to myself.

During my nap today, I had a bad dream which ended with him telling me that he didn’t love me anymore, that his love for me has turned into dust.

I have to admit, I had a weak moment. I texted him back this afternoon, hoping for what, I have no idea.

“Did you still want to see the dogs?”

“I do…possibly tomorrow?”


“Today, yes.”

“You’ve already replaced me, huh?” (He won’t tell me where he’s staying.)

“No, I just have stuff to do. If not tomorrow, then on Saturday when I come to put my belongings in the garage.”

“That’s fine. I’m glad that you’re doing well.” (Not really.)

“It’s just one day at a time.”

How dare he use one of my favorite mantras?

My mom says that he’s still fucking with my head. His elusiveness as to his whereabouts is him trying to make me wonder if he’s staying with a woman or at least seeing one already. He ultimately needs someone to take care of him.

I couldn’t imagine myself going out on a date or having relations with someone right now.

I finally texted back, because I’ve always liked to have the last word.

“You’ll be much happier.”

I can’t show him any more of my pain or suffering, I think it feeds him somehow. I know that my first ex got off on hurting me and making me cry. I’m starting to think that he also secretly enjoys causing me emotional turmoil, perhaps it makes him feel like a real man, to hold the cards and deal them out as he sees fit.

I want him to believe that I’m doing great right now, even though I’m having mini anxiety attacks. I’m trying to take all of the great advice from everyone. I know that this is a process and that eventually, I’ll be better off.

Healthier, even.

I told my mom I wished that none of this had ever happened.

“Mer, IT DID.”

Yes, mom. It did.

And there ain’t nothing that I can fucking do about it but endure and try like hell not to bite when he tries to go fishing in my head again.

Melancholia (a little never hurts)

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.

Hey, why didn’t I get a ladder?

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.

Avoiding reality is his speciality.

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’d like to give a special shout out to Cheryl, Alice, Jackie, Kim, Owen and Paul for giving the word friendship a whole new meaning to me.

I’ve run out of words, so I’ll keep it simple. I love you guys.

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