This Very Simple Life We Live

I know we haven’t really used this in a while, because we’ve become more involved with YouTube, but I (Tim) just wanted to give an update.

Following our YouTube shows a bit of us, but the truth is we’re always facing trails in our lives. Be it health (both mental and physical), money, feeling safe, or even being able to function, Emily and I are in a constant battle to maintain a normal life. Emily fights harder than I do, and my fight takes a deeper toll on me than her’s does.

The problem isn’t that we’re unhappy together, far from it, the problem is together we’re fighting in a world that seems unaccepting. Her father doesn’t really believe that Emily is sick. More or less, he believes she’s just becoming like her mother: something of a hypochondriac. I swear to you, with ever fiber of my being, I hate him for feeling this way.

Emily’s step-mother is worse though. Her step-mother is something of a ‘social-alcoholic’, and by that I mean she’s an obnoxious wino/drunk who lashes out verbally at Emily’s father and all of his ties to Emily (including Emily’s sister). From my side, I think of her as a blemish on the world, an ugly spot, that radiates sadness, anger, and negativity around her general vicinity.

That being said, I have a constant twinge of anger when I think of her father and step-mother, but I try to contain it, because I’m not helping by being so angry at them. Emily is so sweet, so idealistic, that she only feels sorry for them for not being able to be happy. I am so negative, that sometimes I can’t fathom how she doesn’t hate her father and step-mother.

I love Emily. I want to (and will) spend my life with her. But, going back to what I initially was saying, we’re in a constant battle.

Emily recently upped her Lyrica (a medicine for fibromyalgia) and it helps, but she’s still very weak, and unable to function. She told me yesterday something along the lines of she needs to space out her days with people other than me, because even talking to others leaves her with fatigue and pain.

I wish I could take her pain away, take her away from here, and give her the life she deserves. Sadly, I face every day knowing that we’ll live paycheck to paycheck in order to maintain this very simple life we live.




A Terrible, Beautiful Life

Lovey Dovey

Bloomsburg is a lot like hell, in the sense that you feel trapped here (if you have any sense about you). There are people I’ve met who considered it more home than any place they’ve ever been. Other’s, less fortunate I suppose, are home because they don’t know anywhere else can be home. What I’m trying to say is: It’s a small town in bumfuck nowhere that consists of people who are trapped. The people who are born and raised in the area generally don’t know how not to be shit-kickers, especially a small bunch in Buckhorn. That’s not to say that it’s entirely hopeless. Emily’s father, Darren, and step-mother, Jenn, hate me because I’m older than her by eight years and I’m also her second cousin. That doesn’t insinuate that if we had kids they wouldn’t meet social standard, but luckily we never plan to procreate. We’ve messed our lives up enough to know adding another into the mix would lead to catastrophe (maybe we’d create a little Patrick Bateman. Or something more broken)

Because I love her, and she loves me, and we live together, we’re a scandal. Emily compares us to one of the gay couples in the ’90s. I compare us to lepers. Either way, no one in this God damn town thinks what we have is worth the ground we walk on. Ironically, I don’t think this town or it’s people are worth the soles of my shoes. Beyond this town is my family in Virginia. No, I’m not a southern boy. I’m not one of those rebel flag waving, truck driving, tobacco chewing, gay bashing, George W. loving, church going kinds of guys. I’m more pragmatic and cynical than that. My family consists of my mom, who supports Emily and I, my Dad, who openly supports Emily and I, and my brother and his wife, who don’t like us being together and everything we do. Luckily my brother and step-sister are kind to no fault. Oh yeah, and there’s my best friend Will, who has some serious social anxiety.

So, I moved to Bloomsburg to work at a cell phone store and help support Emily and I, but that went south. I’m bipolar, that’s worth mentioning, and I dabbled in YouTube as The Bipolar Chef, where I cursed, cooked, and complimented myself. Bipolar disorder, maybe just for me, means I love myself, hate myself, want to die, want everyone else to die, and also am ambitious with relent.

Emily and I are currently, and will always be, in a war to stay in love without having to sacrifice people. Well, she is; I’m more willing to choose the ones I love over the ones I tolerate. I tolerated her father and step-mother, along with some other people who I forgot already, and you can only guess as to how much love those people have for me.

However, Emily is less like me than anyone, and for that she suffers quietly to maintain any kind of dwindling bond with the people she loves who hate myself and ‘us’. I am sometimes the devil on her shoulder, whispering that she should tell her father how she feels, but she is too good to listen to me when I become manic enough to do that. So, where do I begin with this? We love each other, and sacrificed so much too, but how can you express something like that?

In October, 2014, I told Darren about Emily and I. Henceforth, I was known in this town as a predator and, I guess, a pedophile (I’m not, I hate kids). Emily was 18, I was 26, I was getting ready to move to Bloomsburg in November, and what better way to show up in style than by making my friend (of the time) and his wife hate me? Sufficed to say, I do sometimes regret telling him, considering the circumstances.