Pulling the Wool

Nobody believed at first that asshat was cheating on me due to the fact that he weighed over 400 pounds. (I assume that he still does.)

It completely dumbfounded my family, especially my mother. She really loved him and when the shit hit the fan, she took it personally.

Love can turn to hatred in a nanosecond.

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He had pulled the wool over her eyes and that was unacceptable. Just like me, he is now dead to her and that’s that. I wasn’t the only one who was so bitterly betrayed.

But back to his weight and the fact that people were like…what the fuck? Who would want that fat ass?

Well, as it turned out, there was a vast supply of females who wanted a piece of that jelly roll.

(I can talk like this because I have always been on the heavier side myself.)

Back in 2015, when I was going through a severe mental health crisis, I had a feeling deep down that he was cheating on me, but when I vocalized my suspicions, my mom nixed the idea straightaway. (See above for why.)

I let the idea go. It was easier for me at the time to dismiss my gut instincts and blame myself for just being sick in the head and paranoid.

Appearance has nothing to do with it. If someone is able to cast a web of bullshit, they can catch a turd easily enough.

Don’t ever doubt your gut.

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Like Jo Jo the Circus Monkey

Although the words don’t come as easily as they used to, I’m thrilled to finally be able to blog here again. My goal is at least one post per week. When I think back to how I would feel guilty for missing even one day, I lightly smack myself on the forehead for being so hard on myself. I had the mindset that in order to feel useful, I had to type up something, anything, just so I could take a nap and not feel like my entire day was a waste.

It’s still really difficult to take extended periods of time just to REST and do absolutely jack shit.

Which is something that’s required when you have fibromyalgia or any other chronic pain/fatigue condition. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told to just “take it easy” and “get some rest.”

That shit gets old really quick, but it’s a key element of eventually receiving a good day now and then. (In which case I get all excited like Jo Jo the Circus Monkey and I end up overdoing it. Then the cycle begins anew.)

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Hey Jo Jo, take a fucking nap already.

I haven’t worked since June of 2012. If I’m doing the math correctly, that’s going on (carry the 4, um…) 7 years of not being gainfully employed. I had just turned 38 when I applied for disability. This August, I’ll be 45 years old.

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Preach.

Unless a miracle happens and they find a decent treatment or a cure for fibromyalgia…well, then I’d still have to face my mental health issues that continue to whip me around like a rag doll. I’ve also acquired within these last few years three new diseases such as the mega painful gout, osteoarthritis and diabetes.

The sense of shame has faded mostly, but I still become sad and dare I say a bit salty that I can’t even take a small part-time job in order to bring in some extra cash and to socialize with people that I don’t even like that much.

I’m in awe of people like my brother and sister-in-law (both freshly turned 40) who hold down demanding full-time jobs with seemingly little problems.

Then I remember when I was able to do that. I tell them often to hold on tightly to their health and to never take it for granted, like I did.

Having my boyfriend Steven, who is supportive and kind, has given me so much of my self-worth back.

Here’s a few photos of our adventures together.

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Steven at our bowling alley.

He’s showing off his new 16 pound bowling ball. I just got myself a new 6 pound ball.

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Looking at Christmas lights back in December. (And that’s me freezing!)

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A gorgeous view of Amish country.

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A choppy morning on Put-In-Bay last August, a Lake Erie island.

I’m not what asshat tried so desperately to convince me that I was; an needy, pitiful, inept invalid.

Steven doesn’t make me feel scared, like I should stay locked up in the house due to my shoddy health. He’s always encouraging me to experience life again and to find ways to modify my traveling to fit my limitations.

He’s made me feel more alive these last 9 months, in ways that I thought I never would again.

And on my really bad days, when I can’t do much more than lift my head, he’s right there to spend time with me and yes, to take care of me.

(Not on his phone sending dick pics to other women.)

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I need a gallon of eye bleach, please.

See, I promised you guys that I would find a way to get a jib in at asshat and I didn’t fail.

You’re welcome!

This Used To Be My Playground

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I was notified by WordPress yesterday that I’ve been blogging for 6 years. I knew the anniversary was sometime in October, I just wasn’t positive of the exact date.

I used to be able to share every detail of my life without much of a problem. But nowadays, the idea gives me a bad case of the nerves.

Me no likey being open, raw and honest anymore.

Life changes…people come, they go, they break your heart, they stay, they love you, they hate you, summer turns to winter, children get older, suicidal urges take up brain space, handfuls of pills are taken with sips of Aquafina, husbands cheat…the earth continues to rotate and reality television stars become president.

I won’t be a drama queen and say that I’m closing up shop, but my days of posting on a regular basis are over with. If you don’t see me around much, I can promise you (about 87%) that I’m just peachy fucking keen.

I haven’t been a fan of Madonna since like 1988, but to steal the title of one of her songs, this used to be my playground.