Just Move On, Mer!! A Special Rant Post

Now that I’m divorced, I have many people telling me to just move on.

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Let me break this shit down for all of those well-meaning peeps. (Love you.)

My MARRIAGE ended in the absolutely worst scenario, like, ever.

My husband CHEATED on me, probably multiple times over the years, but he had a fucking MISTRESS. Her name was Debbie. She had a pug. She lived only a couple of towns over.

She knew that he was married, but this did not stop her from diddling my ex husband.

So, as much as I am ecstatic to be divorced now and no longer living with such a garbage person, a genuine sociopath, who darkened my life with his fiendish personality and also subtly abused my daughter, I cannot just “move on” that easily.

Do you know how that totally fucks with your mind?

You’re thinking to yourself, well shit. I must be the worst, most ugliest, worthless woman on the planet.

The entire ordeal continues to haunt me. I’m almost positive that it would haunt YOU as well, thank you ever so kindly.

Trust me, I DO want to MOVE on, more than you can even fathom. I wish that there was a reset fucking button and I could go back to the day he asked me to marry him.

I would’ve laughed in his damned face!

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I would’ve kicked him out then and there. Phew!

Fuck yeah!!

I would’ve spit in his food and told him that his beloved ding dong was microscopic.

But I can’t go back in time, this isn’t a mother fucking movie.

But what I can do is be realistic and realize that I need to address years worth of trauma and abuse. I asked my doctor to refer me to a psychologist, which he did. I’ll make the call tomorrow morning.

I think that most people don’t quite realize how truly difficult it is to “just move on” from unpleasant life experiences. In theory, it sounds fucking peachy keen, doesn’t it?

Oh yes, I never think about it anymore, Wilma. I have successfully moved on! 

My God, I wish that were the truth.

I’m admitting right here, on my humble little blog, that I do indeed need some professional help dealing with a large¬†amount of bullshit. Self-administered EMDR therapy and positive memes just aren’t cutting it.

Rant over.

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Thank You For Being With Me

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“I don’t care that all you can do right now is sit in your chair, I love you. You’re not six feet under and you’re here with me, that’s all that matters.”

Hot tears slipped down my flushed cheeks as I looked away from him, the ugly truth of one of my biggest fears uncovered.

Will he cheat too? Decide that I’m too sick for him to deal with as well and end up regarding me as a worthless, mentally ill cripple?

(Who doesn’t sexually please him well enough?)

It’s a real demon of mine and my boyfriend knows that.

“From all that you’ve told me about your past, you should be patting yourself on the back, honey. Don’t even get me started on the first one who put you in the hospital and then the second one, who did you even worse if you ask me…”

Which one is worse? Abusive relationship A or abusive relationship B?

Flip a coin?

As hard as I try to run from my two abusers, they continue to seep into my current reality. I’m just a middle-aged woman with a love of fuzzy socks, not a sorceress who can cast a magical spell, abolishing the memories of my past traumas.

It takes time, people tell me.

How long?

Everyone is different.

Are all men nasty, evil swine?

No, of course not.

Is there something wrong with me that I found not only one, but two of them?

No, I was just asleep for a long time.

My boyfriend kisses me on the forehead and smiles at me.

“Thank you for being with me.” I reach out to take his hand.

“No, thank you for being with me.”

Self-Conversation

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The first one was somewhat thrust upon you without much time to really think about it.

Even the thoughts that did whistle through your mind that this didn’t feel quite right were mostly ignored due to your youthful, inexperienced and trusting nature.

Love meant that he had a right to know your every move, your every thought.

Your friends were scared off and only by sheer willpower did you get to keep your family, although when he snapped his fingers to leave, you’d jump and scoop up the child that you had together before he lost his cool.

He was in charge and he called the shots. You had no opinion of your own, nor were you allowed to be an individual. Bravo on eventually getting even by defying him more and more often as the days went by. Even back then you had some spunk, you were just starting to figure out how to fight back the best way that you could.

He was no king of hidden things. He was blatantly abusive and almost proud of it, as sick as that sounds. Every person who came into contact with him knew that he could turn nasty in a heartbeat, but he also had the ability to be charming when it suited him.

He was a crafty bastard, no doubt. But you took your beloved kid and courageously escaped after just less than 6 years. Phew, that has been a total bitch, but you’d never allow that kind of thing to happen to you again, you swore to yourself.

The second one you chased because you enjoyed the thrill that it provided you with. It was much like a challenge, to win the heart of this man who seemed to struggle with living life almost as much as you did.

He shared the same twisted sense of humor with you, bantering naturally back and forth as quickly as a tennis game, a match of wits.

He broke your heart constantly, but you kept taking him back because you still believed that you were destined to be together and after so many years, you knew him so well. You got smug about it, thinking that no matter what sort of drama that he brought to your table, you had no choice but to endure it because that’s what love was.

A race of endurance no matter what the cost.

He was the rabbit. Instead of being the tortoise, you were the ostrich, with your head buried under the sand for just shy of 15 years.

Forgiving yourself, now that’ll take some time, but it’s an extremely important part of moving onward, otherwise your future with the third one will be poisoned with rodent killer.