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.

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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.

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Still Nuttier Than A Squirrel Turd

I’ve missed me.

I mean being Mer…you know, over here on this ancient ass blog.

Starting a new blog was exciting and I’ll be honest with you, it’s pretty fucking great being anonymous. It was sort of like drinking wine out of a Pringles can while tooting around a Walmart parking lot on a zippy cart.

Freedom, bitches.

And I’m pretty sure that I’ll be keeping the new blog, but I put my heart and soul into this blog for six long years. To keep it private felt like the right thing to do back in November, but I’ve since decided to reopen it again.

Emotions, right?

I’m hanging in there. Happy in love, probably for the first time in my life.

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I took my sweetheart out for his birthday on January 4th.

I’m still nuttier than a squirrel turd, still a chronic pain warrior (with a 101 bowling average using my 6 pound ball) who continues to swipe daily at my dark, icky thoughts. I’m still me, but I’ve changed so much.

That isn’t a bad thing, though.

I’ve missed this place and I’ve missed you guys.

Woe Is Me

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When I push my body to the limit, it repays me with pain and exhaustion. I’ve accepted this fact as a part of my reality. I’ve also accepted that others will not quite grasp the realness of my disease due to the fact that I look healthy on the outside.

I have to know when to stop and take a rest. It’s my body, after all. I’m the only one living inside this skin of mine.


I don’t want to alarm you guys, but my anxiety and depression is making a comeback. I’m still an extremely damaged person, even though I do my best to control it.

Hugging my mom is like hugging a living skeleton.

Change isn’t a simple process. I’ve removed toxic people from my life. I’ve changed my mindset and have come to finally realize that I deserve to be treated with respect and kindness (we all do). I deserve to get back what I give to others. If people cannot do this, they have to go. It doesn’t matter how long that I’ve known somebody.

Time means jack shit, one month or 28 years, it makes no fucking difference.


I read yesterday that the majority of people who have fibromyalgia are also empaths. This makes a whole shit ton of sense to me. I mean, where else would the negative emotions go if you don’t know how to rid yourself of them? They get absorbed into our flesh and bones, manifesting into a lifetime of chronic misery.


I feel like hiding today, away from the world. I want to wallow in my own melancholy stew, flavored with a seasoning packet of woe is me.