The decision had to be made. I got a therapist lady.
Y’all don’t have to worry about me as much now. I thought some y’all were starting to worry because my husband cheated on me AGAIN, and this time I had to leave him. I moved in with my mom. I had to carry most of my clothes, make-up, and toiletries out in our beach bag. Well, it’s my beach bag now. I paid for it. Along with every vacation photo you’ve ever seen of my husband and I. Yea, I paid for almost every vacation we took. I normally had to save all year to take our family on a vacation. And our two-week honeymoon. I paid for almost all of that too. And the wedding. I paid for ALL OF THAT too. My mom helped me buy my wedding dress.
So if you any of you Misfits are are thinking about getting married, guess what I got for sale? A beautiful beaded and lace champagne-colored David’s Bridal wedding dress. It’s in a fancy box because apparently I was preserving it for all those times my husband decided he would cheat on me. I’ll make ya one hell of a deal on the dress. I only wore it once for like 4 hours. I have Steve Madden gold glitter Harlow shoes I’ll throw in for free and some jewelry. There might be a veil in the fancy perseveration box. I can’t remember. It’s been a rough few weeks in my new broken home.
Therapist lady is real nice. She’s different than any other therapist ladies or gentlemen I’ve had in the past. I’m also paying for her. Which I don’t think is fair because I paid my share to live in the house, and bought ALL THE FURNITURE, and paid for most of the vacations, and bought the bulk of my son’s Christmas gifts, did the entire Easter thing by myself, and paid for all his birthday parties. Here’s the best part: I make $27,000 less than my husband. I’m poverty level poor, but I know how to budget y’all. I also don’t eat a lot because my family needed things.
You would think if your husband cheats on you 3 different times, he could at least pay for your therapy. But NOOOOOOOOO, he’s cheap and stingy. He hasn’t even sent me “I fucked up flowers” yet.
I usually get the discounted bouquet of “I fucked up” flowers from WalMart’s clearance section. He stopped buying the nice bouquets of red roses from WalMart’s rotten flower bin a long time ago. Now, I only get half dead peach roses. Peach roses are supposed to mean “appreciation.” I guess he appreciated me buying him all that shit and taking him on free vacations while he messed around with other girls. Am I supposed to say “you’re welcome” here? I’m not sure. Maybe I’ve forgotten my manners in all this since I left my home and my lying, cheating, no-good husband.
He said a few weeks ago if I continued to write about him, he would look into whether he has a case against me. I laughed, and laughed, and guess what I’m doing right now?
I’M LAUGHING SO FUCKING HARD MY INSIDES AND CHEEKS ARE HURTING FROM GUT-BUSTING LAUGHTER.
Please sue me.
Defense for libel: TRUTH.
Now my husband doesn’t know or understand the meaning of the word “TRUTH”. It’s like when you ask him to tell the truth, his tongue gets all knotted up. He starts telling these far-fetched, twisted stories that make no sense. They just come pouring out of his mouth. He begins speaking some kind of strange man pig-latin, which basically tells me I’ve caught him in yet another lie. I stand there, staring at him, with my face contoured and scrunched up because his stories don’t make a lick of sense. They’re not the TRUTH or even remotely plausible. I think they’re just the first words he’s able to furiously spew out of his pie-hole in order to try and cover his ass. Because he got caught messing around, yet again.
He usually just expects me to believe his odd, malfunctioned, not plausible pig-latin vomit.
I usually do not believe his weird, nonsensical word vomit.
Well, then we get to a-fighting and a-fussing.
This is my favorite part of when he gets caught cheating: HE BLAMES ME.
(LAUGH. JUST LAUGH AWAY.)
At this point, I laugh to keep from crying. I laugh all the time. Then I go to therapy where I don’t laugh quite as much. Because this therapist is different. She doesn’t just throw pills at me and say go talk to some other lady. She is giving me a “plan”. So far my plan is to rest and she said I should write.
Here I am. I’m writing away.
I don’t think therapist lady has discovered “my writing” yet. I hope she does.
Therapist Lady, allow me to introduce myself….. I am “Misfit.”
Now, let the healing begin!