The Fuck You Tongue

Have you ever had a scab that you know you shouldn’t pick at, but damn if the urge isn’t there to see the grossness underneath the healing?

It’ll leave scars, our elders told us, don’t do it, leave it alone or else, Miss Missy!

Well, my scab happens to be named Asshat and today, I couldn’t stop myself from ripping it clear off, revealing the worst of my nature.

I broke my no contact streak of almost 6 weeks or roundabouts.

As a matter of fact, I still am. (Nothing illegal, I still have a hold of my facilities, what’s left of them.)

I decided that I wasn’t able to just “let it go” like everyone keeps telling me. I want him to suffer, but I know that nothing I can do will get a response that will make any of this shit better. It’s as pointless as banging my head on the wall.

It’s just this intense rage has taken a hold of me and I can’t seem to repress it. I mean, I’ve never hated anyone like this before, ever. He hit me directly where it hurt and how can I just let him go, all zippy-dee-do-da after all that he’s done to try and destroy me? For all of the bullshit that he’s put my kid through over 15 years?

No. Not this time. This is too big of a betrayal.

He’s a sick twist, a perverted sociopath who once proclaimed that he “had my back” and that I was his soulmate, someone with whom he could not ever live without.


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Everyone! Hailey Mills and the Fuck You Tongue!

Holy fuckballs and I believed him. If by chance someone says that to me again before my ashes are scattered at a favorite childhood park, how will I ever believe them?

I’m really a nice person, sweet, generous, kindhearted, just ask my friends and family…but yes, even meek and mild Mer can become a rabid dog ready to bite hard (and not in a good way) on his johnson.

I ain’t no twinkling, pure snowflake anymore, you piece of fuck.

Ah ha, this is the anger part of the grieving process and it feels like Icy Hot in my veins. If I wasn’t buttering his muffins, why not just tell me the damn truth?

Geez ass.

I was supposed to write here at Spooky blog today about the untimely return of my sex-drive, but that will have to wait until next time.

Here’s a question for you, Paul: How do I stop myself from trying to garner any kind of human reaction from Asshat?

And do you have some bail money?

Filthy Acts of Betrayal

Hi there! I’d like to apologize for my extended absence. It’s a really decent excuse too.

My partner and husband of 15 years is a lying, cheating sociopath and I had no other choice but to kick him out. After it came to my attention that he was having an ongoing affair, I went 100% no contact with him on December 4th.

He’s been such a bad boy, I had to put this as my “intro” on Facebook:

If you’re here to rat out my husband, don’t bother. I already know that he’s a sleazy bastard.

Yep. The current tally is now 5. Every damn time that I log in, I’m afraid that another one of his extracurricular activities (or an honest friend of one) has left me a message informing me of his filthy acts of betrayal.

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This would have been me 60 years ago.

At this point, I don’t give a shit how many times he’s been screwing around. The damage has been done and I’d love to plead total blissful ignorance from now on. I mean, five is bad enough, why add insult to injury.

I like my salt on my fries, not rubbed into my wounds.

I’ve been struggling to write on my own blog, so sadly my gig over here on Spooky blog has been on a hiatus. But, I am starting to write again and am semi-participating in blogging once more.

I’ve done a lot of swearing, crying, sleeping, zoning out…repeat cycle.

Don’t get me wrong, though. My husband has always been a bit of an abusive asshole in other ways, so my almost 21-year-old kidlet and myself have been enjoying many freedoms that we had almost forgotten about.

That word, though. Freedom. It’s a beauty, ain’t it?

I am planning on posting here at Paul’s bit of the internet at least once a week, like I had originally planned before I had the rug pulled ungraciously out from under me.

There are certain topics that I’m unable to dish about on my own blog, plus how in the fuck could I turn down such an awesome invite from our very own curmudgeon?

Exactly. I could not (would not in a boat.)

No. Not even with a goat.