Blue 82

He left on Saturday to go visit his family. It has been so peaceful. I have been able to actually watch shows without his mouth running. I have been sipping on a bottle of Widow Jane for four days! I don't have to deal with his drunk ass! It's been BEAUTIFUL!!!

There is a name for what I have been feeling lately. Disassociation. Yeah, yeah, kids, I see you jumping up and down. Sit your butt down. Y'all been living with it all your lives. I'm old and slow to the game. Disassociation is something that happens to Empaths like me when we have been broken down way too many times. The abuse and the narcissists have broken our defenses to the point where we just stop caring. The dumbass lying next to me hasn't figured this out yet, or if he has, he's not going to say anything.

I had to apologize to HIM for all the shit he has said and done to ME. It was an empty apology, but it got him to shut up for about 27 seconds. He cannot keep his mouth shut for longer than 30 seconds. I counted.

They say that disassociating is a way to help heal. It gives us time to rebuild walls and reset boundaries. He just hasn't figured out that he is on the outside of my wall and boundaries. I'm good with him not knowing.

Dreamt that I was pregnant, so something big and new and life changing may be happing in the next couple of months. I was actually okay with being pregnant and the male person with curly hair all dressed in Vanta Black was also excited for what is coming up. We shall see what happens.

The second dream, I was in a movie theater, standing at the front just below the screen. There were only a handful of people in the seats, and a voice was narrating something about true love as I was turning around. My eyes swept over the strangers, only recognizing one person, an influencer I follow on Instagram, and he was staring directly at a female dressed in Vanta Black sitting in the aisle seat closest to me.

I started posting this a couple of days ago, but he woke up.

1, I realized that I don't have the kind of friends that invite me to spend weekends at the shore or up in the hills with them, and I figure it's because I don't drive and neither does he. 2, They don't like him. 3, Maybe they do want to invite me (and by proxy, him) but they don't because of an ex. It doesn't matter anymore. It just took me years to realize.

2, I dreamt that I was getting married to a guy that I did not want to marry, but I was doing it for him because he wanted to. I was dressed in Cinderella's dress from the end of the movie, light blueish, silver and sparkly. I remember walking through what I could say was a banquet hall, there were a lot of people there that I did not recognize, and I was getting more and more pissed. I kept hearing myself saying, or at least thinking, I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this with each step I was taking. I kept looking around for someone, anyone one that I knew. Who are these people? I asked myself. Ther all had darker skin, dark eyes, dark hair. I didn't know any of them.

Just before I was too entire the hall where the ceremony was to take place, I found out that the groom had left me, that he did not want this the same way I did not want to. You would think that information would make me happy. Nope. I flew into a rage. I went looking for him. I was getting more and more pissed, I was angry mostly because there where all these strangers around me and who invited the bikers?!

I kicked open a pair of doors, moved into what looked like the bar set from Terminator and screamed, "where is he!" My face was wild with rage, I was shaking, and I kept growling "where is he" I walked up to the giant blond-haired biker, this guy stood at least two feet taller than me, and the smile and laughter quickly vanished from his face when he looked at me. I stood toe to toe with this person, looking up to him, I growled, "where is he" He looks around nervously, he chuckles and tells me "We were invited." Absolute rage flooded me, I stepped in closer, pulled this guys' gun from his holster and shot him in the foot as my temper exploded.

3, The dream I had this morning. I was at a house that was a house that wasn't. Parts of it looked like a house that I had lived in for a while and other times it did not. Anyway, I was doing laundry, gathering up cloths to be washed. I was going upstairs to my room to fold because that space was my sanctuary, it was the only room where I could find peace. I left to go do something and when I get back to my room, someone had changed it. Once again, rage started to boil up from the deepest parts of me. I knew who had done it, and I turned to go find her.

I'm not sure where I found this person, but when I did, I very calmly asked her if she had been in my room and if she had changed it around. She smirks, smiles, giggles, looks at the other two that are with her, who are all giggling too. That was all the answer I needed. I grabbed her by her shirt, dragged her up close and hissed into her face, "Put. It. Back" I was completely satisfied with seeing the blood drain from her face, the look of complete shock on her face and the fact that the giggles froze in their throats.

It happened a second time. Three or four people had entered my room, rearranged it and took it over as theirs. I was heartbroken, so hurt that these people would not, could not respect my peace. I truly though they had learned their lessons, but, apparently, they did not, and the sadness was replaced with rage. I gave them a chance to put my room back the way it should be the way I had it, and they chose to ignore me. I very calmly beat the living crap out of the closest person, a chick, about twenty-something, who was the leader of the group. I threw her across the room, moved forward to the two young men huddled in the corner who were doing everything they could to avoid my wrath. They were crying that it wasn't their fault. That it was her idea. That she had told them it was all right. All I could think was how disrespectful they all were. I chased them out.

Yeah, it's my day off. It's a beautiful summer day and I am here, sitting in my apartment listing to my crime shows (don't give me that look...basic white chick crap. You like it too.) On to the point. I think Monday days off are the worse. Everyone else is at work and there isn't really all that much going on community wise, all that took place over the weekend which you worked. You can't get together with friends because they are at work because they have Monday through Friday jobs. I got all my chores done around this place on my last day off, laundry, bathroom cleaned, kitchen cleaned. I even cooked enough for us to nosh on for a couple of days.

I have a guilty pleasure, and that is that I like to watch Charlotte Dobre on YouTube, my jaw drops at some of the stories she reads. Anyway, she was reading AITA and the OP was asking if she was indeed the asshole for divorcing her husband after he had read her diary three different times over the course of a couple of years. Each time he read it, he would tell her that he "accidently" found it or that she had left it open and he did not like what he had read.

Now the OP of that story and myself have something in common in that we write to get all the crap out of our heads, it's healthy and we both write the truth how we see and feel it.

Here's where you have to check this shit out, my W-Y-W-T-C-H pipes up and says that the OP IS WRONG FOR WRITING THE TRUTH as she sees and feels it. He claims that if what the OP is writing is hurtful to the husband, then she is wrong for writing. Friends, my jaw still hurts from keeping my thoughts to myself. He has asked me to let him read these posts, and if he thinks what that woman wrote as therapy is hurtful, then he would be balling tears if he read my posts!

My coworkers and I got together last month to celebrate a birthday. We had some drinks, had some food, we laughed and just had a good time. We did not stay out late because we all had to get back to work the next day. We all decided that we would do this once a month. We chose a day and a place. Tonight was that night.

I will admit that I forgot several times to tell W-Y-W-T-C-H but I did remember this morning, so I told him. He looks at me and says, "Okay. Bring me something home." I looked at him and asked if he meant food. He says no. He wanted me to bring home alcohol, and I flat out said no. We all know how he is when he drinks, and I am not putting up with it anymore, and I will not be going out with my coworkers later. He absolutely starts pouting saying that it's not fair that I get to go out to have drinks and he can't.

I tell him again that I will not be going out and that he will not be getting any alcohol. He says, "so you're not going to go out, and you are going to tell them that it's my fault." I did not tell them anything other than I was not going to make it. They are smart enough to figure it out.

Am I the asshole for not going out and not supplying him with booze? Do we all understand that he becomes an insulting, vicious asshole when he drinks? I would rather never go out again, never drink again if it means that I do not having to listen to him call me a skank, tell me that he is going to replace me with a nineteen-year-old prostitute, tell me to "gargle cock" and that I can "have fun being on your own, I guess?" Because he is worth so much and that you "only get THIS once."

WTF is it with guys and telling me I need to get laid? I have had two guys tell me that in the past month. I do not need to get laid, not after everything W-E-Y-W-T-C-H has said to me. Not after what my abusive ex did to me. No thank you.

I have always heard that you only dream about faces you have seen. I am pretty sure I have never seen any of the people that have ever shown up in my dreams.

So, this last one is rather interesting. I was dreaming about the Marvel Comic Hero Moon Knight. The hero looked like Rami Malek but was so much bigger than the actor. Or maybe I should say heavier...five foot nine to maybe six feet but more muscle weight. There was a girl in this dream, I'm pretty sure it wasn't me. This chick was thinner, younger and her hair was much darker and longer. I never saw her face.

I remember the hero was doing his best to fight the bad guys, keep his identity secret and still make it for his date with the girl. I remember seeing the hero in blue jeans and a well-fitting tee shirt with the white mask on, he had a bouquet of flowers in his hand, he got smashed in the chest by a golden light that pushed him out over a lake and the bouquet went flying. The girl was confused. ducking to stay out of the way. I remember seeing our hero fly out over the lake, grab the bouquet before it hits the water and land back on the beach.

To cut people out of your life when they are removed from your orbit. It is something so much more difficult when they are right next to you. Everything, everyone is telling me to dump W-Y-W-T-C-H, and I know that I should, but I know he is stuck in the same boat I am. Neither one of us have anywhere else to go. He claims to be able to go at any time, because, you know, he is going to replace me with 19-year-old prostitutes anyway, and, according to him, I will be on the losing end because "Not just anyone gets one of these" (indicating himself.) He claims that he can go to any one of the friends that he has who have money, but he never calls them to ask if he can crash on their coach.

Sunday, we went out to this little museum, it is a Vampire/Paranormal place, little and if you don't know about it, you would ride right by it. I was in this room that had crystal balls and scrying mirrors on the left side wall, a small closet in front of me to the left, the hall that led through to the next room directly in front of me, large African carvings on my right. I made my way around the room to the left, stopping to loo and read about the crystal balls and other objects. I get to the closet, and it is full of dolls. Clowns, mannequins, ventriloquists' dummies, puppets and a plaque that tells visitors about how some of these artifacts *may* have attachments and to be aware. I nod, acknowledged this fact, and turned to read about these African wood carvings.

I am the only living person in this room. W-E-Y-W-T-C-H is two rooms ahead of me and there is NO ONE in the room behind me. Clear as day, I hear a woman's voice say, "I am here." I take a deep breath, nod and say out loud "and you will stay here." I start heading back the way I came from when W-E-Y-W-T-C-H finds me. I look at him, not knowing if he had come into the room before, after or during that brief experience, so I asked him if he heard what I heard. He said no. I nodded, and we walked out of that room.

Where things are changing. I have been looking forward to this since I was 13 and things changed the first time. I was expecting all sort of stuff to happen like night sweats and mood swings, what I was not expecting were the little things like pimples. What?! I was under the impression that I left that particular problem far, far behind. Mother Nature is funny.

Let me tell you something about myself. In my head I am on the athletic build side, not super thin, but not overweight either. I am fine looking in the mirror and seeing myself from the shoulders up. My mental well-being took a very hard hit while I was on vacation last week. I saw myself in a full-length mirror, naked and I wanted to cry. What I saw was horrible! I look like a Blob Fish! Tits sagging, four inches of just fat everywhere. I am ROUND! I am bloated! I spent the rest of my vacation avoiding the mirror.

My whatever-you-want-to-call-him made a statement about a random man that we saw at the pool. This guy was approximately middle aged, swim shorts on, dad bod, broad shoulders. He could have been a dad, he could have been a grandfather. Whatever-you-want-to-call-him blurted out, "See that guy? He was special forces, a body builder, that's why he's so big." The man was 15 feet away from us. What I saw was just a man. So, I ask W-Y-W-T-C-H what made him come to that conclusion. His answer was, "I just know."

We were staying at a resort designed for active, retired, honorably discharged Vets. There was no way anyone could tell anyone apart, weather you were Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines or Space Force unless you talked with people. This particular person that W-Y-W-T-C-H was talking about had never spoken to the man, never met him, wouldn't know him from Jack, but when I questioned his assumptions, he told me I was being mean to him. I told him I wasn't being mean, that I was asking him how he could make such an assumption. He told me he knew because of the way this person's muscles lay under his skin. W-Y-W-T-C-H stated, with all the confidence of a toddler in a Batman tee shirt, that this random man had been part of the Special Forces and he was big because he had been a body builder AFTER he had gotten out, because no self-respecting SF solider would ever allow themselves to get that big while they were still serving because they needed to be small, quick and agile.

My point to W-Y-W-T-C-H was that random guy may not even have been in the military, that, maybe, he was the family member of a solider. Nope. W-Y-W-T-C-H, gets up and tells me that he is right, that I am being mean and that he will go get this man, drag him over to me and prove just how wrong I am. I told him that there was no need, that I am not being mean, I was just asking questions. I stopped talking with him after this.

I am beyond tired of being the adult in this relationship. I am so tired of not being able to enjoy having a couple of drinks because he feels the need to out drink me. For every one drink I have, he has to have double.

I started to write a story about life and how freaking tired I am. I got a paragraph and a half written and stopped. I reread. Paused, and deleted it. Why? Because I realize that the bitching and complaining is pretty much all I do, and I did not want this blog to be all about the crap, but the crap truly outweighs any happy stuff

Not a lot going on. My mind has shut down. The thoughts I had...gone. I am not paying much attention to just about everything. Work is work. I stand around and stare out the window until someone comes to the counter.