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What would you do for True Love(TM)?


I think I’m over it. The idea that true love exists. I wish I wasn’t… I wish I could be my normal optimistic peppy self, the cheerleader for cheerleaders, and tell you all it exists. It doesn’t. It’s a myth.

It makes me sick to think it. It makes me sicker to share it. It just makes me sick. What is wrong with all of us? We wouldn’t know true love if it smacked us in the face. I hoped I would, but I doubt I could recognize it after decades of mistreatment.

Being psychic SUCKS.

I keep hearing this soft, timid voice in my head compelling me to do things, such as walk through the grocery store, pleading, “Pick me, pick me! I never get the girl!” and it turns out to be one of my ex-psychopaths pretending to be anyone but themselves to keep me reliving the drama (trauma) of what they did to me, pinning it on some handsome man or another to get my hopes up high before pushing my face back into the mud.

Before I died and became psychic, I would suffer just like this, actually. I would go through incredibly strong emotions from the initial trauma of a lie or a dastardly misdeed — in this case, the fornicator of the bunch is telling me that the man I’ve been courting (at least, in my head) just got back together with his ex, an elaborate lie that Ben’s been building up for about a week now by pretending to be the man himself in order to arouse me and then bring up my brother — and then hear echoes of the pain as time goes on. (Does this happen to anyone else? I call it a pendulum swing; my emotions run high and then peter out like watching ripples from a rock thrown into some still water. If it is, you’re probably psychic just a little bit. DO NOT GET THE KUNDALINI REIKI ATTUNEMENT SERIES.)

Ben happens to be in love with his sister(s?). Especially Rachel, I believe, but I have no proof… but they don’t get so creative without a shred of their own reality creeping in, which means every time he’s going to orgasm, he thinks of his own sister. I am getting the mirror image of that: I get the image of my older brother and I lose it; I vom a little in my mouth, as it were. That “man” is clearly disturbed and I want his brain sanitized if not simply removed from my brain. (Amen.)

If you do go through with the Kundalini attunement approach, you’re going to need a very powerful healer to deal with those bastards in your head that are preventing you from being happy.

I mean… I’m available, if you need help. Super_Fox#8259 on Discord. The universe requires something in exchange for healing, but we can always barter. Good conversation can go a long way.

If you want to take the assholes holding you back head on for the sake of your own peace of mind, then I can absolutely send the correct type of healing to bring you to peace, even without the Kundalini reiki master attunements. (Or I can attune you and then help you, if you’re a warrior sort and you want to fight [for your right to PARTAY!] Or even heal you, then attune you, but that’ll cost something more than conversation.)

If I knew I’d have to lose my livelihood, spend 18 months, thousands of dollars and six oceans of tears to find my solace again, I don’t think I would have done it. But, you know. God had a plan(TM). I had to trust in that plan, I suppose, or I wouldn’t have figured out peace of mind ever again.

The fornicator doesn’t want to acknowledge he’s in love with me. He doesn’t understand (or want to understand) his heart. He has a high IQ and he’s the smartest person on the planet, but he can’t figure out he’s fallen in love. I feel sad for him, especially since he burned the bridge beyond repair by raping me. In fact, all my exes raped me, that’s why they’re exes. And when I told them what they were doing, they failed to listen to me, so I walked out. I should hold them all accountable in a court of law, in retrospect, but I don’t have the energy to even bother. I’m dying and there’s nothing to fight for anymore. I might as well go pay for a steak dinner at this point and live up my last days on planet Earth. I’ve lost the ability to eat beef, the very last source of protein I could manage to keep down. Why? Because these same assholes convinced me to keep eating dairy even though I know better. They feed me my list of allergens thoughtlessly. God calls this MURDER. (Got an eating disorder or issue? You might be prey, yourself.)

Something to soothe the anguish.

It might turn around, now that I’ve expelled them (I think.) I healed them one last time a few minutes ago and it’s very quiet right now. So quiet, they might just be regrouping for a new attack. The most heinous thing is that they help each other fuck with my head. I had sixteen assholes in my head, trying to convince me that I am the one who is worthless out of all of us.

Just because I left being raped.

In fact, while I was making food in the kitchen, I was battling my ex-husband who was trying to pose as a rational friend of his, trying to convince me he was Jackson Debuhr and he was pissed at me for leaving Anthony. After I explained that I had been wronged (and how), he continued to side with Anthony. That would never happen with someone who chooses how they feel based on facts.

Calling these entities in my cranium creative would be an understatement.

The facts are, the man cheated on me. He raped me. I don’t hold a grudge, I merely cut loose and freed myself from the situation to move forward. He’s sour and angry, convinced I put on a smear campaign all around, spreading vitriol regarding our breakup. Know this now, George Scordias: YOUR SON IS A RAPIST. HE RAPED ME. HE DIDN’T CARE HE RAPED ME, EITHER.

You want a fucking reason? There’s your goddamn reason. Your golden boy raped me. Not once, not twice, not even three times. ROUTINELY. FOR TWO YEARS. For two years, according to Sir God, he wished I was Carissa Giannino instead of his wife. Talk about hatred in a nutshell.

Live with it. I already moved on from this tragedy. I loved that boy and tried for two years to fix what was going to ruin. He let it fall apart. He willed it to fall apart. Why? Because he wanted to fuck Carissa. For the entire last year of our marriage, he suggested I sleep with that bitch every chance he got.

It’s obvious, in retrospect, he was projecting: he wished to fuck her. So much so that our marriage fell apart and he married her not long after. I saw the pictures of their wedding day from her Facebook account and I wished them the best in the back of my mind because, honestly, I was happy he moved on. I thought he was in love and it made me happy to see him trying again. And now? Now he’s raping me again, wishing she was me.

He was so depressed and I had no idea how to fix it, even though I tried everything I could for a very long time, as consistently as I could, to bring our marriage back to where it should have been. The coup de grace to everything was seeing Jackson & Theresa and seeing the Old Anthony back for one little vacation, the Anthony I married, and then that boy ran away again the moment we were back home. It became clear to me that he required his childhood friends to be himself. Have they moved back yet? So he’d still be dead inside and the worst partner in all of creation… man, I got out in the nick of time.

I ask you now, how long did it take the two of them to tell you they were going steady? If it was more than six months after our separation on January 3rd, 2011 — which she broke the news to him about for me because the last time we had any friction he stole the car for hours, came back, and confessed to me he wanted to crash it and die — it was a lie.

Just like the assholes smoke Newport 100s (in a box) and hide it from you (in the freezer), like little children. As if you don’t have an ex-smoker nose and can’t smell it for yourself on them from time to time. After seven years of smoking, which was 1/4 of my life span, I decided I was a smoker, but he wanted to keep it hidden from you. I didn’t agree with this choice at all, deciding I was a grown up and I could own my flaw instead.

It caused so much strain on me, visiting you for hours and hours when I smoked one cigarette every two hours for years and years. I know you had to have smelled it on us when the flat tire fiasco happened and potentially even on the way home from Reuters a few times. I’m not so stupid and neither are you. Your son is a liar, trying to look perfect to you because he thinks he fails you.

In fact, he thought you and Margaret loved me more than you loved him. That’s why I disappeared from your lives. I wanted to reduce the idea of competition so that he could feel loved. I missed you all terribly. The fact that I tried to keep it together for two years after it became apparent to me he stopped caring about me is because I love you all. Deciding to part ways with Anthony hurt me deeply because I married the whole family and I loved every one of you the best I could as the weirdo high functioning autistic woman that I am.

Was I perfect? Never. Was he? Does he look like your perfect little angel now? It takes two to fuck it up, especially since I was dedicated to making it work. And, furthermore, he knew for the entirety of our relationship that I didn’t want children. He pressed it anyway. I don’t have children even now because I was raped as a child. I want the cycle of pain to end. He absolutely, 100% knew it without a shadow of a doubt in his heart, because I told him before I ever flew to visit you all in St. Louis for Memorial Day 2005. P.S. WE MET ONLINE, ON A VIDEO GAME. HE LIED TO YOU.

I cleaned house, day in and day out, baking and cooking everything for everyone. I did all the dishes. I made the bed if it got made. If he did a chore, he’d sit around and wait for me to give him a trophy for it, not realizing how much it sucks to clean up after everyone, especially all his fucking gamer friends that came over 2-3 times a week (and no dishwasher), for YEARS.

I cleaned the litter boxes myself the entire seven years of our relationship, despite him claiming he owned a cat. He didn’t even pay attention to Beatrix while we were together. She’d jump onto his lap or his desk for attention and he’d just set her down, give her one pet, and that was it. Even when I told him his cat was sick, he wouldn’t believe me in order to take her to the vet to get better.

That “man” wanted to force me to have children to please Margaret. Everything was geared toward trying to make you all proud, yet the truth of the matter is that he no longer knows right from wrong. He no longer knows truth from fiction.

This “man” never drove either of us home in the singular car we owned together, always citing a migraine on the few occasions I asked for his help and partnership. This “man” who never spent his $200 allowance on anything but himself and eating out, because he deserved it. He deserved those Magic Cards he kept buying! (By the way, you can have the whole collection if you’re willing to come get it. My brother forfeited his right to them when he failed to take Power of Attorney while I was dying in order to fight with the moving company to find my possessions.)

I didn’t give myself an allowance all throughout our marriage and our budget couldn’t sustain it, but it was never enough for him. It is true, I occasionally overrode him and bought the things we needed for organization, I will admit that, and it put us further into debt because Anthony never sacrificed for it. This “man,” who wouldn’t even take a McJob to make ends meet for six fucking months after Sam fired his ass, wanted children.

Guess what? HE LIED ABOUT WHY HE WAS FIRED, TOO. His guilt and shame kept him on the bench, and yet he couldn’t accept working for a local restaurant or eatery, not even MacArthur’s Bakery, which I assure you would have delighted in having him since I got a roommate after that who worked there and loved the job, to boot, and was fairly easy walking distance of the house. Anything would have helped keep us from sliding into resounding debt that I was only ever able to pay off after the divorce. In fact, I remember him asking me for the numbers on the credit cards while we were separated and bitching about how they went up the next time he asked me for the debt totals.

I told him to use the original figures since they were more accurate of our union, but the truth is I’d already started repaying them and I should have demanded he use the later figures, which were slightly higher. Not to mention I should tell you that half the reason we were in debt was we [yes, we, I’m also to blame] couldn’t wait to get new computer shit until after we’d saved it up and we put it on my Best Buy credit card, which had a 25% APR.

Did he even tell you that I found granny’s ring months after the divorce was final and I returned it? I knew it wasn’t mine. But boy did he steal my Wheel of Time books that I had borrowed from my mother to read (after buying them for her.) (Okay, I admit, I stole Vanilla Sky… You can have it back if it’s so fucking important, Anthony.)

I could have waited to buy new computer shit if I wasn’t swept up in his excitement to go to brand new dual monitors just because he got a job that hadn’t even paid him yet. The job Margaret wanted me to go for, probably so we could get to know each other better. I went on to stay at Reuters for a total of six years. I don’t really regret it other than I didn’t really know how raises worked yet and I never got one. I was making $28k in that position those six years and I generally know how to live within my means.

I’m unemployed now and what that means is I don’t spend a dime that’s not on a necessity because I can’t afford non-necessities. I even shop at Goodwill when I need new clothes because of weight fluctuations, assholes. But what about your son? How does he behave? Is he back in debt? Is he blaming his new wife, who also clearly knew how to spend within her means enough to live in that condo by herself?

Does any of this sound like the boy you raised? Does this sound like someone instilled with your morals and your ethics? I was sold a fucking lie and I got out when I could. Over a year later than I should have, to boot. I had decided to spend an entire year cataloging how he behaved toward me to see if it was worth staying. It wasn’t. Not only was I the “hired help” that did all the chores, I was a cum dumpster, I paid all the bills and did all the taxes. I did everything. Eventually, I decided it would be less work just to divorce him and literally do it all by myself.

I was no longer a wife. I was no longer cherished. I was no longer appreciated.

And still, he raped me, as if he was my husband. He took me to bed, daydreaming of having Carissa’s curves under his hands instead of mine. What a fucking INSULT to add to the INJURY.

After we went to visit Jackson & Theresa in California, I asked him for a romantic liaison and all he did was call Chris over to visit instead. My needs were no longer important to him, clearly. He divorced me before I even asked for it myself, distancing himself in his head again and again (and our bed), chasing the spirit of Carissa instead of me because she is a massive cheating flirt who wouldn’t know loyalty if it smacked her in the fucking face.

I don’t know anyone who stays friends with their exes but her. (If you know someone who does this [without having a child to raise], you better run for the hills, dear reader. THEY’RE CHEATERS. — God)

You can sit around and be bitter about me divorcing him or you can ask yourself why this all sounds like the truth in your hearts. Why do you think I didn’t want to tell you what happened? Because you might have loved him less. The two people he thought loved me more than him could have loved him less. I couldn’t trust you not to love him less, so I left without a word of explanation. My last act of True Love(TM) for Mr. Anthony Scordias was to allow his lies to stand the test of time. No more. It is clear to me that this charade has gone on too long, for you still hold hatred in your heart for me. I still love you. I still love all of you.

Maybe I should get a lawyer and subpoena his text records from our separation and the year before it and find out for sure he actually committed this treason, but it’s really not worth it to me right now, in this time and this place, not unless someone is going to do the gymnastics for me. I could sue Carissa, as well, for failing to give me the appropriate chiropractic treatment, but I’m sure her practice isn’t very popular since she laughs about putting people through pain. To their faces, no less.

She lied to me. I asked her how Anthony was once and she gave me shit about not seeing him, despite living with Stephen at the time. I asked her how he was because I wanted to be sure he was okay. She said she didn’t know. That was the last time (or nearly the last time) I saw her lying, cheating face.

God’s not happy with either of these children and neither should you be, sir. In fact, he’s the one instigating half of what I’ve written. However, if you want to prove it to yourself, why don’t you subpoena the text message records between him and Carissa from Cricket Wireless between January 2010 and January 2012. Find the truth for yourself. Hell, subpoena all my records if you want to read my devotion and eat your shorts.

Once a cheater, always a cheater.

Then, after Carissa told me she had no contact with Anthony, I saw little Nolan from the back room of the office she used. I showed up early and sat in the dark, enjoying the quiet moment before chiro. I even talked to the life coach lady she was sharing an office with; she showed me a photograph she’d gotten of her chakras and showed me the colors that showed up where they were. I asked her about the white one at her crown because she didn’t point it out to me and she said to me, “I knew there was a reason I needed to talk to you this evening.” And she asked me about her indoor plant a little bit. That is the last time I spoke to Carissa and I shall never speak to her again.

I overheard her and little Nolan talking about me. She was laughing, so I can’t imagine it was anything positive, since that woman is solely comprised of piss and vinegar with a veneer of beauty and charisma which no doubt has slipped as she gained weight eating your sour cream-based goodies outside of holiday meal times. (Wanna get healthy? Ditch the dairy. All of you.) Her vanity does not impress me. I wonder how it went once he got ugly due to all that sin he’s holding in? I saw him at the TMBG concert he went to, standing in the middle of The Pageant with a couple of friends of his. I wondered to myself how I ever dated someone so dark on the inside. He’s lost his soul.

How? I don’t know. It’s a long road to lose one’s soul. It takes consistent terrible life choices to accomplish it. I hope this was all worth it. He’s going to go to Hell, if you can believe it.

Do you know what your son said to me when he decided to give Margaret a grandchild? He wanted to see how our genes would express together. I had offered to adopt someone out of diapers because there was no way I was going to change diapers for that man to have an expression of genes. He didn’t even care that a child is a tiny “human bean” that needs nurtured to grow into a beautiful soul. He cared about a science experiment and mommy getting what she wanted. My desires were unimportant, my boundaries were ignored. Boundaries I laid before we even got hitched. Boundaries I laid very early, before he even moved in with me.

That “man” would never change a diaper in his life. He would gag just scooping the litter box. THE LITTER BOX!!!!! GAG! He did it to get out of doing everything. He even got out of doing the dishes because I forgot until God reminded me that he was a professional dishwasher at Saleem’s. I wasn’t even angry about this information myself; it just builds the portrait of the loser user he is more completely. I was abused. God’s angry, though. He’s livid, actually. Anthony is a shit stain that deserves every dollop of whipped cream he can heap onto that pie this Thanksgiving; it’s going to send him to the hospital. He always told Crystal he was going to die of a heart attack by age 50 because living was such a burden.

She was forced to clean up after three adult children, feeding them and all but wiping their fucking asses, for years. Excuse her for putting her foot down about diapers and baby vomit. She was already all out of gas for taking care of anyone but herself. As you well know, she gained over 100 pounds in that relationship. Why? SOUR CREAM. She has a motherfucking DAIRY ALLERGY. What do y’all eat? Oh, right. DAIRY, DAIRY, DAIRY, GLUTEN, SUGAR.

This is killing your entire family. The End. — God

Cut it out and tell me I’m wrong. — God

You can keep whining about it but you can also prove me right. — God

Yeah I could keep going all night, but we have better things to do, such as make eye contact with a hottie in the grocery store, much to your son’s psychic chagrin. [Btw, Joe, we’re talking about YOU.] — God

The End. Le Fin. Goodbye, Scordias family. I’m changing my name and ditching you all. I kept it to show you I loved you but now I see that it was wrong to love you. You don’t know how to love, especially if Anthony’s fears come true and you cease to love him. Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone.


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