To Blog or Not to Blog

 That is the question this cold, dreary, winterlike day.

Well, first, Happy December. It came earlier than I expected, or wanted. But we're here now, may as well make the best of it.

But... honestly, I don't feel much like blogging. Not anymore. Nothing in my life is blog worthy right now. I have nothing to talk about that I haven't mentioned on Facebook. And I barely Facebook anymore. 

Writing anything now is just rehashing the same old same old bullshit I've already hashed in the last few months. I have no answers. I don't even have questions anymore. 

I know this will be the final Christmas in this house. I can't afford the mortgage anymore. I don't believe it will sell. I need to do a lot of cosmetic fixing to get it in shape to sell. It needs new carpet, fresh paint. Minor repairs. One major repair. And I just don't have the money or the credit to do that. Not dry begging as someone has pointed out. Just stating truth. Selling it would be nice. 

The problem is, I don't want to move to another house in Alabama. I always said when Aubrey is out of school and in college, I'm going to sell this house and get the hell out of Alabama. Aubrey is going to the local university and their financial aid doesn't cover housing. So, I must keep a place for them... SIGHS. They are sighing too, believe me, they want to be in the dorms and on their own as much as I'm ready for them to be in the dorms and on their own.

And that leads to other topics. The autistic adult child that lives in my house. The husband I don't want to ever move with again. Pets. Dissolving thirty-seven years of constant stress.

I never discuss my personal life in a public forum. I make that a point. I will talk about my children only in positive ways. I'm proud of all four of them in their own ways and capacities. I won't discuss my grandson, other than to say I have one. He's adorable. Curly blond hair just like his father, my son. The name or photos are not mine to share. 

But, my marriage is something I've chosen to never speak of. It is not a happy marriage. It hasn't been for twenty years or so. Sometimes, I'm not sure it ever was. I was too young, too stupid, and then trapped when I'd finally figured it out. And now, I just want it to be over. I'm tired. I don't love him. I don't even like him. I don't hate him. But there are times that I do. I feel nothing for him at all and just want to be free of him. The last ten years or so have been especially bad. The past five almost unbearable. 

I blame him for financial abuse. Constant fucking financial abuse. Constantly walking out on jobs or being fired just when he'd made it to an advanced position. Constant destruction of property. Cars specifically. Every time we had two cars and I had some minor access to freedom, he'd wreck one. Cars I'd acquired through help from my family. Or cars I'd financed. Totaled. He's totaled more cars in the last ten years than most people have in a lifetime. And I'm always the one to sacrifice my freedom. Yes I could take him to work, I'd have to pick him up at one in the morning. I have no interest in that.

I believe he wrecked three cars in rapid succession because he inwardly didn't like my success as a writer. I believe he chose to sabotage me to some degree after I financed the house in my name alone without his name or credit. I believe he figured out that I was working to control my own life and a future without him. Oh, he liked the money. Don't get me wrong. He didn't work for two years. He did like the money. But deep down I believe he resented my success. I know he belittled me and my writing to his work friends. I was mocked by a long time work acquaintance for writing smut, and  other choice demeaning words. I know it was a running joke in his workplace after he went back to work. I know it's still a joke. Because I've never met most of those people in my life but as soon as I do, that's the joke. 

I know that people he works with hate me, though never having met them. He likes to tell me that his manager hates me. I couldn't pick his manager out of line up if I tried. And I never forget a face. 

There's so much more that I won't put out in public. Things I don't want my kids to know. Things the older kids should know but were too young to figure it out. 

I'm tired, and I'm isolated and I can't build new for fixing what he breaks. And this is not a life I would wish on anyone. But that's where I am and that's the main answer to all questions of why... I'd rather never write another word than write romance when this is the bullshit I live with. 

Oh but he's not abusive abusive... he doesn't hit you... 

No, he doesn't. Because he knows I hit back and I hit harder. He knows that for an actual FAFO fact. 

But why did you stay when it's making you unhappy...

Four reasons. Only four reasons. I did not want to deal with child support from a man who would walk out of a job on a whim when he had a family to support, why would I think he'd ever offer any support. And I didn't want him to have custody... because other reasons.

Fifteen years ago when I first started as Mercy and started making a little money, everything was fine enough. I didn't expect to end up here. I thought the money would change my situation, with him, I thought he'd stay employed. I thought he was supportive. I didn't love him. He'd destroyed that already. I just thought we could make it through and raise our youngest... I began to question my sanity. I couldn't go to book conferences and trust him to stay home with the kids. I couldn't even write because he had to have my constant attention or he made life miserable. He didn't respect me. He didn't respect my career. He made that very clear. But he liked the money and he liked not working and he liked sitting around all day watching TV. and he hated when the money dried up and he was absolutely furious when he had to go back to work, so he totaled his car... because I could go anywhere I wanted during the day and for some insane reason that made him... hell I don't know. Destructive. If we don't have two cars she can't go meet other people and have a life but I don't want to do anything but watch TV to watch porn. But she writes smut and it's embarrassing so I must degrade her to my co-workers. She's controlling. She wants the fucking trash taken out. We had a full fledged fight about the trash when I wasn't even in the room and hadn't said one damn word to him all day. He had it, outloud, in the kitchen, by himself.

So, I stopped writing sex scenes. I stopped writing romance. I was replacing him and killing him off in my books. The gay shit embarrassed him. (his words, not mine). 

And in the end... he won. Everything I built he destroyed. And I just want out. My youngest is an adult. There's no reason to stay. But now he's sick. He's showing signs of dementia. He rages. He can't see well, he won't do anything to help himself. And I'm fucking stuck.

So, yeah, this has been a blog post I have started a thousand times just to get my anger and rage out but I never post it because it's airing my dirty laundry in public. Something I find repulsive. 

This is why. To all the questions. Why there will never be another book in any series. Because that's just one more thing I lost. My ability to separate my personal life from my characters. And my ability to control my own anger that I can't express in real life. Because I'm the stupid bitch who married someone beneath me because I thought I could change him into a better person and got pregnant every time I tried to leave.

But I wouldn't trade my kids for all the peace in the world.

So... yeah. This most likely will be the last blog post. Comments will be turned off. I didn't write this for sympathy or attention. I wrote this to answer the questions for once and for all. I will never write another HEA when I will never have one. And that's the best I can say on it.

Thank you for years of support and for buying my books. Wishing you the happiest of holidays.

And most importantly,

Peace,

Marcia