I've not been feeling well lately. I've been pretty depressed as of late, and haven't had the energy to do anything. One of the things I haven't had the energy to do lately is blog. For the last week, every day I've thought, "I should blog". Then I sigh, and say, "Tomorrow".
My husband and I are finally leaving his aunt's house in 6 days. I can't wait to leave. But I'm anxious about traveling to my parents house, mainly because we are flying with our dogs. I'm so anxious about how they are going to hold up. I won't feel better until I'm carrying them off the plane at our final destination. And I keep having this nagging thought that as soon as we get back from our trip, we are going to live with the hubby's mother. This thought is hanging over my head, and it sucks because I have a whole month with my parents. This isn't something I should be dwelling on yet. I hate that I will probably spend the majority of my time at home dreading coming back.
It also makes it almost impossible to be around the hubby's aunt. I'm seeing red. I hate her. I curse her in my head. She says the most reprehensible things. She was on a rampage yesterday. Thinking about it today, I wonder if she was trying to provoke me. She started off saying that I had a lot of work to do once our home is built, and she doesn't envy all the work I have to do. Umm, first of all, I'm looking forward to cleaning everything and making everything sparkle. Second, I can't wait to decorate. I told her I was looking forward to it, and she said, "Of course you are. You haven't done anything in 4 months. It's like you've been on vacation." Really? Really? Vacuuming your furniture and house everyday, dusting, cleaning the bathroom, and cooking meals for you most of the week constitutes doing nothing? Thanks so much.
The conversation moved somehow, someway to how much she hates her husband's daughter, whom he had with his first wife. She said she hated that kid from the start (the child was 4 when she met her husband), and she wouldn't have anything to do with it. She said if her husband had wanted to maintain a relationship with his daughter, she would never have stayed with him. I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. What a disgusting excuse for a human being she is. Now, this gets complicated. The hubby's aunt and uncle are both his biological aunt and uncle, because his mother and his aunt married a set of brothers. My husband's father abandoned my husband much the way his uncle abandoned his daughter. And Aunt has the audacity to say that it bothers her my husband doesn't view his biological father as his father. My husband's stepfather raised him, and he is who my husband views as "Dad". I couldn't believe she said that. I said, "Do you think Uncle's (her husband) daughter views him as her father? I guarantee she doesn't, much the way that my husband doesn't view the person that abandoned him as his father." She actually said I had a point there. Unbelievable. She then said that Uncle's mother never liked her, and if he had wanted to maintain a relationship with her, she also never would have married him. Well, isn't this the pot calling the kettle black! Aunt hates her daughter-in-law (and daughter-in-law knows this) but she still expects her daughter-in-law to be around her all the time. Such hypocrisy!
I think at this point I told her I had a headache, and retired to my room. When her husband got home, I hear her telling Uncle how much she hates having us there. She said she is so sick of people slowing down to look at our newly constructed house. She goes on to say she must have been crazy to agree to let us stay here. She is so hurtful.
She is the most bitter, unhappy woman I've ever met. She doesn't have my sympathy anymore though. Everything bad that happens to her, she has brought on herself with her mouth and her meanness. Ugh, 6 days is feeling way too long at this point. I think (in my non-professional opinion) that she is the reason I've been so depressed the last month or so. I can't wait to be away from her negative attitude and energy.
One last story before I shut up for the evening and stop my bitching. Two weeks ago, Aunt and Uncle went out of town to stay with their son. On the day they were supposed to come back, I guess Aunt downed a large amount of margaritas. She ended up getting so drunk she told her husband she hated him and she wanted to leave them in front of their son and his wife. On their way home, Uncle had to pull over 5-6 times to let her puke. When they got to the house, they sat in the car for 30 minutes and I guess she puked 2 more times in the driveway. We (husband and I) were standing in the kitchen when she came in, hair matted to her head and wearing sunglasses. She stumbled past us and didn't say a word, just went to her room. It was a Sunday, so she called in sick to work the next day with a "stomach virus". So irresponsible. Once again, she proclaims she will never drink again.
When pigs fly. Snort.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
About That...
I just realized today that since I wrote about my friend D's abandonment of me, that I haven't been thinking about her as much. I haven't been searching for her on Facebook as much, and not scouring the Internet for her, looking for any tidbits of information. Yes, I have a problem with cyber-stalking. So sue me. I have a hard time getting over past hurt's, and D was one of many. I thought maybe if I wrote about another past hurt, the same thing would happen? It's worth a shot.
My high school/college boyfriend, B. Sigh. What a mess. The whole 3 year on-and-off- again affair was always a struggle. If that relationship was a highway, there were many exits I passed up, and many detour signs ignored. Like that person that ignores the signs on the interstate warning "Accident Ahead" and doesn't get off the freeway, I sped along to see the carnage for my own eyes. The first red flag was the first time I ever went to his house. His mother answered the door, shortly told me he wasn't home, and slammed the door in my face. Wow, nice to meet you too, bitch. She never liked me, by the way. The very first day after we had the "DTRT" (designate the relationship talk), I felt something was wrong, and wanted to break up with him. My best friend convinced me to give him a chance. I should have went with my first instincts. And when he assumed that I was a virgin, I lied and told him I was. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies.
I met B. at the tender age of 17. I extremely vulnerable at the time. My parents were separated because my dad had had an affair. My mom had breast cancer, and was going through chemo and radiation with no one else to talk to, save for her 17-year old daughter. I had an eating disorder, and carried 100 lbs on my 5'5 frame. I was weak. He was hot. And he liked me. No one like him had ever even paid attention to me. I fell hard into lust. We had a typical high school relationship, and fought about everything.
We kept going for a year and a half this way. We went to separate college's, about 100 miles apart, but stayed together. I put on the freshman 15, and that's basically when things went south. I became insecure, and so jealous. I called him a dozen times a day, and obsessively checked his email and social media accounts. Eventually we came to that day that many young loves come to, the day that we broke up.
It was 4th of July. 2001. We were at a beach party on the Oregon Coast. We got into a screaming match on the beach because I had to work the next day and wanted to leave. He did not. The fight was definitely fueled by the amount of alcohol we drank. I told him I was leaving. He said if I left, it was over. I defiantly walked away. He lunged to grab me, but only grabbed my hand. I had a deep, fresh cut on that hand from the meat slicer at work. I shook him off, and stalked to my car. When I got to the my car, in the light, I looked down. My pristine white sweatshirt was covered in blood. He had re-opened the cut on my hand. I remember staring at it, getting in the car, locking the doors, and starting it up. The drive home? I don't remember. It's a miracle that I didn't kill myself, or someone else on that drive home.
After a couple of days, I had sobered up and was sorry. But I couldn't find him to save my life. He didn't contact me for 2 weeks. My heart was broken, and I, again, was an emotionally distraught mess. When he finally did come back, he told me he'd been staying with another girl. I fell into a ball on the floor, sobbing. Somehow, after talking all night, we got back together. This time around, he transfered to my school so we could be closer.
We were back together, but nothing had changed. We still fought. I was still jealous. I had begun following him around campus, checking on his stories. Finally one day, I caught him at a girl's dorm. With a girl. I forgave him. I saw him at bar, making out with another girl. I forgave him. I found pictures of him at a sorority dance with yes, another girl. I forgave him.
Looking back, I am completely disgusted with my lack of self-respect. How could I let him walk all over me like that? I look back at that girl that I was, and she doesn't even feel like me. We ended up breaking up for about 2 months, later on that year. I'd starting dating someone else when he came back, and told me he wanted me back. I'd just started to move on, and he pulled me back in. For 1 week. 1 week later, on a very cold February night, with driving down rain, he blindsided me. We had just finished studying and were standing outside the library when he told me it was over. For good. He left me standing, sobbing in the pouring rain, outside the library.
This was one of the hardest time period's that I've had to overcome. I don't think my heart as ever been broken more. It had been shattered with a sledgehammer into a million pieces. For a long time after that, I felt like I didn't even have a heart anymore. My self-esteem had also been shattered. I didn't feel like I would ever be whole again. I would never be able to trust anyone again. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I hated that I laid in bed at night, unable to sleep, images of him with someone else in his arm's flashing through my over-active imagination. To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him to degrade me so entirely. I didn't date anyone seriously for 3 years. The first serious boyfriend I had after him, is now my husband.
We had one last conversation, after that incident in front of the library. It came via phone call late one night, about 3 months after the end. He was drunk, and said some of the most horrible, vicious things anyone has ever said to me. At the end of the phone call, he said, "We'll be friends again. You'll forget what I said. I don't care if it's 1 year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. You'll forget everything, and you'll come back". I said, "I will never forget". I hung up the phone, and that was the last time we ever spoke.
So, it's 9 years later. Time heals almost all wounds. I'm married, and I'm happy. But I'll never forget. I still find him on Facebook from time to time. He's fat and balding now.
Is it bad that that makes me happy?
My high school/college boyfriend, B. Sigh. What a mess. The whole 3 year on-and-off- again affair was always a struggle. If that relationship was a highway, there were many exits I passed up, and many detour signs ignored. Like that person that ignores the signs on the interstate warning "Accident Ahead" and doesn't get off the freeway, I sped along to see the carnage for my own eyes. The first red flag was the first time I ever went to his house. His mother answered the door, shortly told me he wasn't home, and slammed the door in my face. Wow, nice to meet you too, bitch. She never liked me, by the way. The very first day after we had the "DTRT" (designate the relationship talk), I felt something was wrong, and wanted to break up with him. My best friend convinced me to give him a chance. I should have went with my first instincts. And when he assumed that I was a virgin, I lied and told him I was. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies.
I met B. at the tender age of 17. I extremely vulnerable at the time. My parents were separated because my dad had had an affair. My mom had breast cancer, and was going through chemo and radiation with no one else to talk to, save for her 17-year old daughter. I had an eating disorder, and carried 100 lbs on my 5'5 frame. I was weak. He was hot. And he liked me. No one like him had ever even paid attention to me. I fell hard into lust. We had a typical high school relationship, and fought about everything.
We kept going for a year and a half this way. We went to separate college's, about 100 miles apart, but stayed together. I put on the freshman 15, and that's basically when things went south. I became insecure, and so jealous. I called him a dozen times a day, and obsessively checked his email and social media accounts. Eventually we came to that day that many young loves come to, the day that we broke up.
It was 4th of July. 2001. We were at a beach party on the Oregon Coast. We got into a screaming match on the beach because I had to work the next day and wanted to leave. He did not. The fight was definitely fueled by the amount of alcohol we drank. I told him I was leaving. He said if I left, it was over. I defiantly walked away. He lunged to grab me, but only grabbed my hand. I had a deep, fresh cut on that hand from the meat slicer at work. I shook him off, and stalked to my car. When I got to the my car, in the light, I looked down. My pristine white sweatshirt was covered in blood. He had re-opened the cut on my hand. I remember staring at it, getting in the car, locking the doors, and starting it up. The drive home? I don't remember. It's a miracle that I didn't kill myself, or someone else on that drive home.
After a couple of days, I had sobered up and was sorry. But I couldn't find him to save my life. He didn't contact me for 2 weeks. My heart was broken, and I, again, was an emotionally distraught mess. When he finally did come back, he told me he'd been staying with another girl. I fell into a ball on the floor, sobbing. Somehow, after talking all night, we got back together. This time around, he transfered to my school so we could be closer.
We were back together, but nothing had changed. We still fought. I was still jealous. I had begun following him around campus, checking on his stories. Finally one day, I caught him at a girl's dorm. With a girl. I forgave him. I saw him at bar, making out with another girl. I forgave him. I found pictures of him at a sorority dance with yes, another girl. I forgave him.
Looking back, I am completely disgusted with my lack of self-respect. How could I let him walk all over me like that? I look back at that girl that I was, and she doesn't even feel like me. We ended up breaking up for about 2 months, later on that year. I'd starting dating someone else when he came back, and told me he wanted me back. I'd just started to move on, and he pulled me back in. For 1 week. 1 week later, on a very cold February night, with driving down rain, he blindsided me. We had just finished studying and were standing outside the library when he told me it was over. For good. He left me standing, sobbing in the pouring rain, outside the library.
This was one of the hardest time period's that I've had to overcome. I don't think my heart as ever been broken more. It had been shattered with a sledgehammer into a million pieces. For a long time after that, I felt like I didn't even have a heart anymore. My self-esteem had also been shattered. I didn't feel like I would ever be whole again. I would never be able to trust anyone again. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I hated that I laid in bed at night, unable to sleep, images of him with someone else in his arm's flashing through my over-active imagination. To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him to degrade me so entirely. I didn't date anyone seriously for 3 years. The first serious boyfriend I had after him, is now my husband.
We had one last conversation, after that incident in front of the library. It came via phone call late one night, about 3 months after the end. He was drunk, and said some of the most horrible, vicious things anyone has ever said to me. At the end of the phone call, he said, "We'll be friends again. You'll forget what I said. I don't care if it's 1 year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. You'll forget everything, and you'll come back". I said, "I will never forget". I hung up the phone, and that was the last time we ever spoke.
So, it's 9 years later. Time heals almost all wounds. I'm married, and I'm happy. But I'll never forget. I still find him on Facebook from time to time. He's fat and balding now.
Is it bad that that makes me happy?
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