50 Days of Sad House / by Casey Whitaker

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The following story is one of those you hear and you think that would never happen to me or that’s MADE. UP.

Well, buckle in cause it’s fucking REAL.

Day One: I have been in LA for the official move for almost 24 hours! My best friend, Rachel, and her bf showed me around the house I’ll be staying at with them and it’s so great!! I have my own room and half bath and they said I can stay for as long as I need to find a permanent apartment for Bill and I! Haven’t heard much from Bill but it will all work out!

Day Two: Bill broke up with me over text. Mike broke up with Rachel tonight. Currently in Rachel's car behind a bar near a dumpster with her while we facetime her mom.

Cue garbage fire and the Universe being all, “oh you thought you were happy and in healthy relationships? Nah girls, things bout to change.”


*Queue Sad House Theme Song*

Let’s skip ahead.


Day Twelve: Rachel and I finally laugh for the first time in weeks. We gave each other new nicknames. Her’s is Dover. Mine is Fuct (I really want my stand up name to be Fuct Whitaker from now on, think about it like “and next up is a funny gal from Chicago put your hands together for FUCT WHITAKER!! Also, my dad has always wanted my stage name to be Casey Whitney for no real reason besides that no one would trust me cause I would have two first names) and for the first time we put them together to reveal what we are. Fuct Dover. Later it will become our new Wifi Domain at our new apartment.

Day Fifteen: I drink Whiskey and Rachel drinks La Croix and we talk about our situations. I realize that there is no one else I’d rather be going through this with.  The day after their break up, Mike left to visit family for four days and when I think about her all alone in the Sad House I start to cry and thank the cute ass angels for making sure I was able to be there for her.

Day Nineteen: We get our auras photographed. It seems dumb but it was lovely. #haloauragraphics Mine shows a bright yellow color for my incoming energy from the world and I agree that although I am sad, the kindness of strangers is real.

Day Twenty One: Still fairly numb and in shock. We start looking for apartments. Every day here is a reminder of my situation. Mike is Bill and Bill is Mike and I am Rachel and she is me. I start to accept that I might not ever see the man I loved for 6 years ever again. I go on job interviews, I get a car, I meet up with friends. And then I get home to the sad house and the new reality tv show the three of us created continues.

Day Thirty Five: It’s Valentine's Day! I can’t go anywhere without seeing candy and roses and cute couples showing reasonable PDA. Today is the day I get to facetime my bestie in Chicago so she can separate my stuff from my ex’s and ship it to LA. Towards the end I am hysterical but we get through it and my stuff gets sent off because Ashley has been my friend since 4th grade and that’s what best friends do. I think back to my last few moves in Chicago and I remember that it was Ashley who got me from point A to point B. She was my family. She was the person I could always count on. All of the women in my life have always continued to hold me up with both hands while Bill only ever used one.

Day Forty: Rachel is in Denver and I hear Mike come home with a woman. I fucking text Rachel cause tribe vibe and it turns out to be a friend from high school he brought inside while the girls boyfriend stood on the porch- so like false alarm, but damn!

Day Forty Nine: I rent us a Uhaul. I get anxiety driving it up a steep hill in the rain alone. I take a deep breath. The last time I was in a Uhaul, Bill and I were moving into our first apartment together. As he went in to pay for the truck, he got a text and I accidentally-definitely on purpose read what it said. It was a text to a old girlfriend from college and when she asked how the move was going he had written back “I just don’t want to take care of her.” I cried but couldn’t tell Bill or our friends who were helping us move that day why because that meant they would know that I snooped. (This is different than the phrase snooped which means you get high at a party without telling anyone.) This time I was driving a bigger Uhaul, in a bigger city, all by myself and it was hard but it was mine.

Day Fifty: Last night in the Sad House. Still trying to figure out what I am meant to learn from the trauma but I can at least tell you what I know and that is romantic relationships come and go but the relationship with yourself and your fucking gal pals will last forever.

Source: https://www.wokebrownfeminist.com/the-late...