Ring, Damn It

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I’m sitting here waiting for my boyfriend of 5 months to call me, like he always does after he gets off from work. His hours vary, so I just go about my business with an ear out for his special ringtone that I’ve assigned to him.

But as the minutes tick by, I start to get anxious, just like I did when I was a young girl, waiting for my dad to come home from his weekly Tuesday evening out. He (now deceased over 30 years) was the king of introverts and loved his alone time. He’d even go to movies all by himself, which I admire greatly.

The anxiety? Yeah, that stuff runs in my veins.

Maybe today is the day that my boyfriend dumps me, I start to think. Or else he got hurt while cutting tomatoes or something like that. My mind is a hatchery for negative thought eggs that smell like sulfur when they crack open.

Being in a new relationship after being cheated on and emotionally manipulated, abused and used for 15 years…let’s just say that my baggage is heavy and my self-esteem is as delicate as a house of cards, my mental health is teetering.

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All About Abbey

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I do not condone running with scissors.

I’m in my mid 40’s because time keeps on slipping into the future.

I am disabled, live with my adult (sort of) daughter and my two dogs. I’m still technically married to a cheating fuck, although we have been separated for close to a full year.

I’m a suicide and domestic abuse survivor, twice over by nasty men with whom hopefully karma will catch up with. Now I am trying to start my life over again, this time on my terms and awake as fuck, like the kids say nowadays.

This blog is a part of my healing, but if I happen to gather some kindred spirits, that would be pretty cool.

Abbey Normal 11/01/2018

The Douchebag Scale

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I had a philosophy that I now realize is offensive to men, I called it The Douchebag Scale.

Every man on earth automatically receives an initial score of 1, just because they have a penis.

The score goes up if the male acts like a fucking jerk. Most jerks are actually douchebags, if I may be so bold.

Even my dad who was like the nicest guy ever, he was a level 2 douchebag because he sometimes upset my mom by being a jerk!

My brother is a level 4 douchebag. If you’re under a 5, it’s not considered as a full-blown DB.

My first abuser is a 10. He is a controlling, demanding, manipulative, perverted, cruel monster who still haunts my nightmares after almost two decades.

The second one was a moderately safe DB at 5, until he started graduating from level to level, which put him into a close tie with my first trauma provider, at an evil 9.

I see now how awful this idea of mine was. It’s the same as men saying that every baby girl born in the world gets an automatic 1 on the bitch scale.

But honestly, I’m about a 3 myself and I’ve known a ton of total bitches.

I made it up mostly to make my coworkers and friends laugh. And it worked.

But that was a long time ago, so I sincerely apologize to the douchebags men who might be reading this, although it’s doubtful with all the internet porn.

Come on, that was funny.

It is funny.

Don’t be a douche.

Abbey Normal  11/1/18

Scorn & Sage

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I start each day knowing that I’ll come face to face with something that will remind me of my cheating husband. I still haven’t filed for divorce and I’m not exactly sure why. I haven’t had any contact with him at all since January and I don’t know where he’s living currently, although I have a suspicion that it’s with another woman. Lord knows that he can’t hack it on his fucking own. I was always the one who paid the bills and made sure that we continued to have a roof over our heads.

He wouldn’t know an electric bill if it bit him in his fat, disgusting ass.

The days continue though, full of landmines. Spending fifteen years with someone, you tend to gather tons of relationship tidbits. A song, a saying, a certain food…I’ll never be able to listen to Led Zep again without wanting to puke my guts out.

The restaurant we frequently had dinner at burned down and I was actually glad that it was gone, his easy conversation and fake smiles smoldering in the ashes of someone else’s worst nightmare.

The owner is rebuilding down the street, so my guilt isn’t as heavy, but I still feel like a total asshole for smiling like a fool when I first heard. I pray that their pork chops stay moist and delicious.

I have some sage to cleanse my house. I’ve never done anything like it before, I’m just your average middle-aged, scorned woman who wants to rid her home of evil, smelly, perverted energy.

Abbey Normal  11/1/2018

There’s a woman screaming in my neighborhood, so come read my blog!

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Starting this blog is incredibly necessary for the continuation of my healing from a lifetime of traumas that continue like fucking hell on toast to hold me back from living my best life.

Wow, that does look like a real sentence…damn, Abbey.

Not bad.

Within this space I will lay down, with sincerity and truth, all of my worst memories.

It might come in spurts or like an avalanche, I cannot promise you a post a day, also not in chronological order. I can however promise to be real.

We are made from our past, slowly molding into the people that we are right at this moment. If you hadn’t met that one person and gone to that party, or had that emotional gutter punch to an already upset stomach that aches day and night.

My mother cannot shit. I mean this sincerely. This issue has plagued her for going on 5 years and she’s slowly starving to death. She tries so hard, my God she tries, I am suffering watching her weaken before my eyes and holy fuck she’s going to die pretty soon and all of us who love her has to watch.

Does anyone else feel this way, or like me, afraid to bring it up least we all face the music?

People are afraid of the truth.

I need a safe place…cause I have a bunch and they are screaming at me.

Abbey Normal 10/31/2018

I’m Abby & I’m Not Normal

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It’s that sound of my roommate snoring that makes me want to take my pillow and push it up against her innocently sleeping face, but I don’t move from my perch on my own cheap mattress pad. If being locked up in a modern-day asylum for the crazies is beyond dreadful, imagine how bad being put away in a woman’s only prison for murder would be.

I just stare at the ceiling, listening to her nose whistling, in and out, my eyes closed. The smell of her is pungent and is almost comforting in a sick way, but then again, I am sick.

I shouldn’t be so cruel to the poor woman, she’s more alone in this world than even I am, but I just cannot find any empathy for her. She follows me around the place like a scared puppy dog and instead of allowing her the refuge that my kindness would give her, instead I scowl and give her looks of evilness.

Leave me the mother fuck alone, you nutcase bitch!!!

I am also a nutcase bitch and I have nothing left for anyone, especially not you.


My beloved, the man who I’ve put all of my love into for years, has betrayed me. I want to tell everyone inside this dank building, where the food is tasteless and the hours crawl by slower than the baby ants carrying cracker crumbs back from the Sunday church picnic.

Listen, I know that he doesn’t love me anymore, that he doesn’t want me! I have driven him away with my mental illnesses, by my not being a normal girl, not giving him enough blow-jobs and letting him cum on my titties! As we speak, he’s out there fucking another woman, I just know it.

I don’t have proof, but I know that something inside of him has switched from caring about what happens to Abby to only caring about his cock.

I swallow back my tears and take my medications like the good little puppet that I am. If I lose my sanity in this God forsaken place, they’ll keep me in here forever. I smile falsely when the shrinks ask me how I’m feeling. Oh, just fine doctor, I am feeling as stable and as normal as I can given that my entire life is going to fucking hell in the same garbage can where I vomited up all of those pills.

I failed at killing myself, they let me down just like my old man has.


The newest resident of the crazy-barn wants me to braid her dirty, disgusting hair and since she seems the type that would kick my ass if I didn’t follow her orders, I comply without complaint.

It’s like opening my mouth when a man wants me to suck him off.

Her nasty brown hair feels like grease and smells like open ass, but I braid the holy fuck out of it because if I don’t, she’ll become my enemy. Life in the mental ward is difficult enough as it is, so I really don’t want to piss off the alpha female.

“Nice job, although it could be a little tighter, she says. The other ladies of the manor are staring at me, waiting for my response.

A bit of my inner angry bitch sneaks out.

Hey, I say, I told you that I wasn’t all that great at doing hair.

She laughs and looks away. I silently berate myself for being so careless with my attitude, but the c-rag inside is quite pleased.


You’re going to miss lunch, I hear the nurse tell me from the doorway of my sparse accommodations.

I’m not hungry, I mutter back from under my blanket. Your food is just awful.

She makes a disapproving sound with her tongue and walks away, logging it into her little notebook.

If I keep losing weight, maybe my man gone astray will change his mind and love me again.

If I really desired, I could hook-up with the male night nurse. I can tell that he’s interested by the way he looks at me when he gives me my pills at 2 in the morning.

I don’t pursue it, although I regret that decision now.

 

ABBY’S NOT NORMAL

10/18/18