The Final Smackdown

There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding here. There seems to be a thought process somewhere, somehow by someone that I am bitter.

I am a Bitter Betty.

Apparently I am bitter because I write how I actually feel about certain topics. I acknowledge certain emotions. I pull the shit out of my brain and throw it up against a wall and describe the splatter pattern. Because I choose to do this in lieu of covering up my ears, closing my eyes, and shouting LA LA LA LA LA at the top of my lungs, this makes me bitter.

I am, apparently, living in the past.

You know, I started a new blog with the conscious choice to move on. I wanted a new virtual space if I couldn’t have a new “real” space. I was tired of looking at the blog stats and finding the key words that brought people to my site were “how to be a pedophile” and other even more unsavory terms which I refuse to reprint.

Aside from being accused of being bitter, I also find, as I check my blog stats, that I am once again on the #1 hit parade for the pedo-ex’s former “don’t call me a bad mother” girlfriend. Or perhaps it’s her husband? Or perhaps it’s the Antigo, Wisconsin “Everyone come over to Alissa’s House and stalk her former pedo boyfriend’s spouse on the internet” fan party that insists on logging in a ridiculous amount every day.

All this to say, I am tired. I am tired of having my life and my choices judged by those that don’t walk in my shoes. I am tired of having people that don’t know me think that they have a right to tell me that what I sincerely feel in my heart is invalid when, in reality, THEY DON’T KNOW ME even if they think they do.

And I’m sincerely sick and tired of even the thought that psycho bitches (or perhaps former psycho bitches who are now totally cured and are wonderful loving mothers and have stopped consistently cheating on their spouses) are peeking through my virtual curtains.

I’m just tired of it. Don’t call me bitter, just call me tired. No matter how much I try to not live in the past, I seem to be dragged back there by forces outside of myself.

I think I’ll be hanging out on Twitter now where I can choose, or not, to let this shit get under my skin. Perhaps I’ll start a third blog which will NOT be linked from here. If you want to be notified of the location, post a comment below. If I know you or your IP address is not that of Alissa Merritt in Antigo/Wausau Wisconsin or the local environs, then perhaps, I’ll let you know where I’ve gone.