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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Lost Days & Panic Attacks

Every once in a while, I’ll have what I like to call one of my “lost days.”

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I had one of those yesterday. I was awake long enough to talk with my mom for a few minutes, then my boyfriend brought me dinner. I was able to stay coherent long enough to dine with him for a mere two hours, then right after he left, it was back to bed with my exhausted ass.

I’ll wake up if:

I need to go pee or poop.

Well, that’s pretty much it.


I had a panic attack Thursday night at the bowling alley. I support my boyfriend and his teammates on their all men league. Since I dislike aggressive men (and there are plenty of them there, full of competitiveness) I’ll sometimes find it difficult to filter out the combative vibes.

My boyfriend doesn’t really grasp my empath ways and unfortunately, his alpha male personality towards others occasionally triggers me. I suck up feelings and sadly, I don’t always have control over it.

I took an extra dose of my anxiety medications due to the anxiety attack and I can’t help but wonder if the whole shebang helped manifest my “lost day.”


I am in desperate need of a therapist, but because of my health insurance, finding one that accepts Medicare isn’t all that simple, not to mention that if I did locate someone who did, I’d have to pay out-of-pocket for at least 20% (if not more) of each session. I can’t afford that.

I am currently doing the mental health stuff all on my own and it’s not going well.

I’m still having suicidal thoughts, although they are low-pressure. They come in and I entertain them for a few minutes, then off they go into whatever dark place that they came from to begin with.


My mom is sick, extremely sick. The doctors have no clue what is wrong with her, so there’s nothing that can be done.

It’s breaking my heart and most assuredly adding to my depression and anxiety.


Maybe asshat realized just how fucked up I am and that’s why he did me the way that he did. I can’t help but to feel this way, especially since he filed for divorce first and put down “incompatible” as the reason why our marriage will soon be officially ending.

I’m not going to the hearing. What are they gonna do, arrest me?

I’ll pay the money (it’s always about the money) and then that will be it. An entire 15 years of my life, all gone and flushed down the toilet.

I don’t want to fucking see him and his new girlfriend. If that makes me a coward, then so be it.

A “Rest and Relax” Day

I just got off the phone with my mother, canceling my planned visit this afternoon because I’m having a hard time igniting my pilot light this sunny, yet wicked cold spring afternoon.

She’s canceled with me twice already due to her own illness(es). (My poor mama.)

We’ll try again for this Friday, when perhaps we’ll both feel a bit more spirited.

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Put a cork in it, Annie.

There are some days (way too fucking many if you ask me) where leaving my house is almost impossible and reminds me of just how sick I really am. I do tend to forget sometimes.

But, I was out and about yesterday and the day before, so now I’m in need of a “rest and relax” day.

Or maybe two or five.

I hate to lump it all on having fibromyalgia, but let’s call a spade a spade.

It’s because of my fibromyalgia that my head is fuzzy and full of glitch’s, that my body is achy, hurting and twitchy and I have the energy of a sloth.

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I’d love to take a nap with this little fella.

Anything that I can get my body and brain to accomplish is never taken for granted anymore. I am always mindful.

Each time that I’m able to go bowling with my specially modified kiddie ball that mimic’s an adult ball, when I go shopping with or without the assistance of a zippy cart, do some housecleaning, make an important phone call…all of those little things that healthy people do without thinking, I’m always so exceedingly proud of myself for.

Because not everyone has those abilities.

So, thank you God. I am grateful for having the opportunity to be completely tuckered out.