Knowing Him Now For Who He Really Is

I think the realization of why asshat went totally berserk with the abuse and cheating hit me hardest the day that I received the divorce papers.

One of the last things that he said to me was a clear indication and I’ll never forget the look on his face when he said it, almost regretful. (Not quite, just almost.)

“I missed the way you used to be.”

Ah ha! Before I got knocked over by a feather.

He missed healthy Merry. The woman who had her shit together, a mostly upbeat, energetic, humorous person, who could bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan. He wanted his old Merry back, the one who didn’t cry constantly or think about killing herself, the person who didn’t sleep during the day. The person who could walk long distances without needing someone to push her in a transport chair. The human who wasn’t always in pain, who didn’t stare into space with a brain full of fogginess and fear, who didn’t have constant panic attacks.

That was his excuse…and for someone as empty as him, that was all of the fuel that he required for doing so many despicable things, especially leaving me in the ER after my suicide attempt in the summer of 2015 so that he could go fuck his whore.

Imagine that, if you can. There you are, puking liquid charcoal into a garbage can all alone, wondering why your husband/wife decided that you weren’t worthy enough of their love and support during such a frightening and lonely time in your life.


No hand to hold, nobody to wipe your tears away…

As if I had asked to become sick, having no other choice but to quit working and apply for disability at the age of 37.

He always fucking knew that I had depression and fibromyalgia. I told him everything about me when we first met in 2002, only a few months after I left my first abuser, my now 22-year-old daughters father. It wasn’t like I had tried to hide it from him. He knew the risks of being with me. I had been an open book, candid along with my signature humor that I’ve always strived to use in order to lighten up unpleasant circumstances.

My 2nd anniversary of Discovery Day is coming up on July 31st. I’ve come a long way since that soul-crushing day and I have no plans on ever wishing him well on the rest of his journey here on earth. It wouldn’t be Christian of me to wish him pestilence, however I do hope that he never gets a full nights rest ever again.

Although knowing him now for who he really is, I bet he eats his hot wings, then falls right to sleep like a baby who had just been fed his bottle and gently burped.

How nice it must be to have no morals, conscience or self-realization. I’m not perfect by a longshot, but at least I have those three things going for me.


That’s My Old Man’s Wang!

It took me several days, but I’ve sent all of my posts written prior to Discovery Day (1,973 of them!) to my virtual trashcan.

All you’ll find here now is my writing starting on July 31, 2017 (311 of them!) til today.

Why, you ask?

A few reasons:

  • The woman who wrote all of that no longer exists anymore.
  • I don’t want to ever again accidentally come across another bullshit supportive comment from asshat. (I love you more than anything, I got your back, baby!) Um, pfft. Fuck off.
  • Sometimes it’s a good thing to downsize, that’s a huge trend right now, isn’t it?
  • Because I wanted to, that’s why.

It’s already going on 2 years since my life changed drastically within the 2 minutes it took me to read his nasty sex ad and then recognizing his dick.

Of course I did!

I knew “it” intimately for many years. Like, you could have put 10 of them out for a line-up and I’d had pointed and said, “yep, infidelity police, that’s my old man’s wang!”


It’s more wrinkly than I remember.

Bring it in for questioning!

It wasn’t easy seeing certain old posts that showcased our marital bliss (a total farce) together. Clicking the delete button was far more gratifying than I had originally expected. Then, when they were all gone and bye-bye, a quite loud sigh of relief came from me, which made my dogs look up from their slumber questioningly.

“I fucking love technology,” I said. Then I gave them dog treats as a form of celebration and I ate a large quantity of chocolate.

It smells so much better here now. Seriously. Take a huge whiff!

Now, isn’t that just lovely?

(If you happen across one that I’ve somehow missed because WordPress sort of sucks like that, please let me know. Thank you.)

Poisonous Fingers

In my music post yesterday, a part of Adele’s lyrics goes “I’ve forgiven it all.”

Nah. Good for her, but I haven’t.

This whole forgiveness thing is popular nowadays, it’s everywhere you look. I’ve had countless people who mean well tell me to do this “simple” thing. I’ve read at least a thousand memes that say just let it go. I’ve ingested articles on the subject, so many that my head spins only thinking about it.

If I forgive him, then I’ll be free. (I don’t. But I’m still fucking free.)

It’s not all that effortless, my friends. It takes time. Lots.

And honestly, why the hell should I forgive someone so easily who did such nasty, cruel and heartless things to me and my daughter?


I think this elephant might be taking things a little too far, maybe.

I still haven’t fully forgiven the first one, her father. (Um, the kids father, not the elephant.)

It’s been over 16 years since I took my then 5-year-old kid and ran like the wind blows. I haven’t seen or heard from him in almost 10 blissful years and when I do mention him, I still refer to him as a pus-filled boil.

Because he’s an asshole and there are days when he’s alive and well in my head, still calling me a lazy bitch and throwing plates at me. (Which I dodged with grace and skill, might I add.)

Anger is an excellent motivational tool. I’ve tapped into it a million times within the last 9 months to propel myself forward and I’ll continue to do so. There’s a reason why we’re made to get pissed off, just like we kick our leg when a doctor uses a rubber hammer to test our reflexes.


Yes, I am still angry at him for thinking that he had the right to fuck around on me behind my back for so long, while still promising with a straight face that he loved me ever so much.

I am still angry that he left me to sit in that ER all by myself during one of the most scariest moments of my life.

I am still livid that he got his own mother to assist him in tricking me into trusting him again just so that he could make our fake marriage last a few weeks longer. (Tommy just made a mistake, he’s so sorry and he’ll never do it again.)

You guys, he asked my best friend if she wanted to screw and not to worry about me, that I’d never find out about it.

But I did.

Eventually, I found out about it all. (Yet I betcha there are even more events that took place that I’ll never be privy to, which is fine with me.)

I’d like to quote Elton John.

Don’t you know I’m still standing better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid
I’m still standing after all this time
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind

All true, thank you Elton.

But as for forgiving him for touching my life and those I love with his perverted, poisonous fingers?

Check back in with me in about 16 years.