The Shit Hast Hit the Fan


If you want to see the culmination of three to four years of trying blow up into a glorious cluster fuck of epic proportions, tell your spouse with a personality disorder that you want a divorce. Watch out, though! You are about to experience a while ride. Rage, sobbing, calmness, and everywhere in between will be on display. As their manipulation fails, and their world crumbles, no one can predict what will happen. Last night, I told her I wanted a divorce.

Obviously, it’s my fault. It’s my fault she’s been depressed for two years, causing her to drink more. Obviously, I didn’t try hard enough. That’s according to her. She forgets that I have been begging her for three years to be active and do shit with me. She’s upset because she gained a little weight. Let’s go for a walk every day that we can! Nope. She wanted an elliptical. I spent $1,200 on that machine. It was used for about a month, then sits there as a clothes rack. Let’s eat more health! Oh, she doesn’t know to cook healthy. I broke her heart? Mine was broken long ago. I just didn’t realize it.

Right now, it feels like I’m in a sitcom or a theater. When I get near, the waterworks are flowing. When I’m away, she’s laughing and acting normal. It seems like an acting class. Everything is thrown back at me. She can’t do dishes because she has a headache, but I’m expected to pick up a 100lb piece of wood with intestines hanging out of my gut. My dad always said I was attracted to crazy, but this is like a whole ‘nother level, and I’m not attracted to this type of crazy.


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