I hung up on him and turned my phone off, and have yet to turn it back on. I hardly feel the barest guilt about this. I feel like my feelings are a far-off abstract concept to him. A construct to annoy him, but never to concern him.
I’m the one with these bodily problems, and he thinks he has the right to be angry about them instead of comforting me? I’m done with arguing with him. I made my mind up to that Sunday, when we almost broke up. If I’m to ride this relationship out any longer at all, I am most certainly not going to bother arguing with him anymore. He’s not going to change his views, and I’m not going to change mine. And frankly, if his views include me not benefitting him, and my feelings being irrelevant, than to hell with him.
I’m so bloody sick of however the hell my body works that I could rip my own entrails out. Surely, considering all the pain I have yet to endure from this spiteful bundle of flesh I inhabit I’ll be saving myself a hell of a lot of misery and pain to do so.
I don’t have a fucking STD, and I don’t have a fucking yeast infection, and I’m not on any medications including birth control, and my diet is well balanced, and there most certainly has not been too much sex, and I’ve not been wearing black underwear or jeans that are too tight, and so on and so on, so why in blazing hell does it hurt?
I’m so sick of this spite! First the raging hormones that could never be satisfied, years of endless desire with no orgasms to be had, then the burning yeast infections that would cause me to do the potty-dance instead of peeing for fourteen hours at a time for the fear of pain that I knew would come when I finally gave in a peed, and then the never-ending sensation of having to pee while having sex, but then never actually having to pee, and then the itching infections with no burning but just a constant painful discomfort irritated by even the slightest touch, and then the decline in my sex appetite entirely, and then my clit becoming so sensitive even I can’t touch the goddamned thing, and then more infections, and then this new sensation I get when trying to have sex on my period which makes sex on my period downright impossible, then my spot (inside) going as dysfunctional as my clit, then my fantasies stop working, then my vibrator starts failing to make me cum, then the dryness, then more infection, then more sensitivity, then going weeks without sex waiting for it to heal, then the strange happenstance where it wouldn’t stretch, it would only seem to tear, so more weeks of waiting, more itching... And every time I visit the doctors “nothing is wrong” or “everything is perfectly normal” and even “you have plenty of natural flora” and so forth.
I am cursed. So I quit the birth control. And my breasts deflated a whole cup size, and I realize that the reason my breasts have hurt for years is because of the blasted patch. It used to be that every time I took my bra off it hurt terribly for them to hang by their own weight, so I slept with them on. Now I feel what breasts are supposed to feel like hanging – which is to feel like nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever.
You can not put words to how I loath doctors. They never fucking help me.
And now, after a week without sex, after taking acidophilus (him and I both) because I suspected the onset of infection because of a minor itch, and after cleaning, and airing out, and doing nothing out of the ordinary what-so-ever, and even eating much more salad than usual, I wake up horny (a once in two month sort of happenstance) and I call to Crusifer, and of all blasted things, he enters me and feels exactly like the same blasted sensation I get during my period.
I want to rip my fucking hair out.
And then to top off my maddening fury, Crusifer has the blasted nerve to complain about how the world hates him. Nothing is wrong with his cock. In fact, his cock works overtime with all of it’s constant erections. He’s always functional! And he wants to complain about how the world hates him?
I hung up on him on the phone for good reason. You know what the bastard suggested? He said to me that “this is why we need to bring chicks home.” I gritted my teeth together, but said nothing. I went so silent that he asked me several times if I was still there, and after affirming I was there multiple times, he kept on with the topic. About Rocsanne and how he wants to fuck her again before she goes, and how it’s too bad he can’t fuck girls at work. Is he serious?
Is it really possible that he can’t get through his head that I don’t like that sort of stuff anymore or is he just an asshole? He complains about my vibrator and how it proves him inadequate! For jesus christ’s sake, I’m the one with a broken organ, who is in pain periodically from mystery infections, with a haphazard sex drive that I have no control over, and he’s talking about how he needs to fuck other girls because I can’t satisfy him, and if I have one fucking awful orgasm off that vibrating toy than I’m making a statement about how he is inadequate! It’s so fucking ludicrous that I could bang my head right through the wall.
So that’s when I hung up on him, at the moment he said it was too bad he couldn’t fuck at work anymore. Did he really mean that if he could that he was going to? Talk about pushing the envelope! Perhaps he is pushing my buttons because he wants me to break up with him! How can anybody be so blind? I’m so sick of letting him hurt me. I don’t care what he says anymore. Or at least, I’m a lot closer to not caring than I ever was.
What a freaking misty dream is the beginning of my relationship with him. Where the hell did it go? When did the happy love-sick feeling leave me? It was so intoxicating, you’d think I could pinpoint the moment it left. I can’t believe how empty I am. I can’t believe how far things have deteriorated without me even noticing! I’m not even half as hysterical as I should be, because I’ve already been stunned by the realization of our crumbling relationship too many times to be that stunned again.
You know what’s crazy? I told him that by saying he should keep his friends around in case I should break up with him that he was creating a self-fulfilling prophesy. And his friends are still around. Sure, I don’t see them, but that’s because I’d probably raise all hell if I did. There is no way I’m going to tolerate the presence of his friends in my life, and that is that.
I’m already getting to the point where I don’t give much of a damn if he goes out or not! When did this happen? When did everything slip through my fingers like so much sand in the Sahara desert? I must be a blazing idiot.
But what about all our plans? What about the office, and what about our new kitchen, and the dishwasher he is going to buy for us, and what about lugging my old dresser out here and repainting it? How can I toss away the few things I’m looking forward to so quickly? What about when my bike (finally fucking) gets here and I can ride with him to work? Am I still crazy about doing that, like I was?
I found this program online, this “guaranteed to save your marriage” thing. It’s $70 for five hours of tapes and such. I was about to order it on the spot last night, but I only had $50 in my bank account.
Is it worth it? I mean, surely saving this relationship is worth much more than $70 to me. And yeah, it has a money-back guarantee and stuff. I just hate the riff-raff. The site claims there is a fourteen week program, as says that if you follow it, everything will work out. It makes tons of good points and lists off all the problems it’s supposed to solve. One that stuck out was “what to do if your partner isn’t listening,” and another thing that stuck out to me was that it said that 75% of all couples that go to consoling come out worse off than they started. Why? Because confronting your problems hurts.
He said that it’s best to avoid these problems and to instead focus on connecting to your partner instead. And that’s the thing that really kicking me in the gut. I feel disconnected from Crusifer since Sunday. I feel so disconnected that I honestly don’t feel guilty for having turned my phone off. I’m so disconnected that his touch doesn’t bring me out of myself and into him. I’m obliging out of habit, and I feel like my love for him must be dying. I’m positive that were it over tomorrow I’d still shatter into pieces, but I certainly don’t feel like I did just a few months ago.
I realize, looking back on my chart, that we’ve been arguing for over a month. But looking back throughout our whole relationship, despite all the times I’ve forgiven him, and despite all his promises, I notice that I don’t feel like I was ever paid back for the countless effort and time I put into him. Unless you count in dollars. Is an expensive alienware laptop enough to pay for months of my affection, cooking, cleaning, companionship, gifts and more? Hardly.
I still remember before we were going out, when he arrived I’d have food waiting for him, I’d rub his back, I’d light candles, I’d give him gifts. He drew me two pictures in the first six months of our relationship, but not a one in this past year. I’ve drawn him three, two in this past year. But oh how petty the details are! And yet how they stack!
He thinks that his collection of deeds is unimportant beside his working day after day. His time with me is like ashes next to his paycheck in his mind. He sees not the fact that the one poem-letter he wrote me means so much more than every scrap of underwear he’s ever bought me. I don’t think he’ll ever see that.
And everything he has ever done for me or said to me is rendered meaningless the moment he calls me a retard. The moment he calls me a typical woman. When he says I’m full of shit, or that I’m trying to play him. When he says he’s sick of giving, giving, giving to me and getting nothing back, then he renders everything he’s ever given to me utterly meaningless.
I have not dumped him because I’m still in love with him. I am still kind to him because I don’t think he knows how deeply he has wronged me. I’m waiting because I don’t know how else to live. I’m still giving him this last chance because like my mom I’m stubbornly hopeful in the goodness and power of people to change and grow. But somehow I don’t believe he is going to grow. The only way this could work is if I decided I was okay with all of this bull shit, and I am most certainly not okay with it.
I’ll not make a list of his misdeeds against me. I’ll not try to force him to change. I’ll not tell him what he can and can’t do. I’ll not speak of marriage and children. My last resort: not trying at all. No arguing, no confronting problems, no begging him not to do certain things, and begging him to do other things. He’ll do as he does, and I’ll watch, and I’ll gather information, and I will learn. This still has a chance to turn itself around, but I’m not going to hold my breath and hope and plead and pray for that to come. Perhaps I’ll buy the program just for the heck of it. It can’t hurt anything other than use up seventy dollars, which is plenty enough to pay for the entertainment it shall most likely serve as if nothing else.
The work that needs doing in this house is endless. I just spent the last half hour untangling the laundry within the washer. Crusifer’s skater pants had looped one of their straps around the center pole within the washer, consequently preventing appropriate movement of the pants within the washer. Hence, the other laundry became rebellious as well, seeing their path round and round quite blocked, and threaded their way through the straps, around the chains, around each other, and so forth. I pulled both my black pair of pants and Crusifer’s other pair of black pants out from within the tangled straps, as well as four pairs of my pink underwear and three shirts. What a mess!
I come downstairs to discover the odd noises I had heard were indeed my mother crying. Though sometimes I think she is crying when really she is just on the phone laughing. She is dismal about her computer, which she’s been trying to get rebooted since sometime yesterday. Her USB ports, sound and re-writable disc drive don’t work properly anymore and she suspects that if she reboots the computer that they were resume working. Well, after going to great lengths to back up some of her files through e-mail, attempting to burn to disc and so forth she finally decided to go ahead with it, only to find that her computer won’t boot from disc. She has tried Crusifer’s boot disc, her own boot disc, and even Aunt Mary’s boot disc to no avail.
It’s hard to remember how meaningless progress is. I always think things are getting better, but that’s just the surface. Underneath, things are always getting worse. I feel sick to my stomach. I keep letting my hopes rise up. How can I even live with him without hoping for things to improve? But he’s come all the way down to comparing me to the guys at the shop.
He says he doesn’t care. He’s saying I’m a “bitch ass nigga” and that I didn’t used to be. I’m not even sure what the fuck he means by that. I’m not even sure I want to exist. I’m so sick of relationships, of love, of heartbreak, of separation and connection.
I went to visit Tina. She had her baby yesterday. I feel even more desolate coming home now, with Crusifer not yet back, and not having called me in all of these hours. I think one of the main obstacles Crusifer and I are facing right now is that we both care too much. We’re both trying to make things “perfect” instead of working our way around each other’s issues. At least, I wasn’t working my way around them before, now I am, and instead of appreciation I get more flack.
He said he wasn’t ready to marry me, and I took away the ring.
He said he couldn’t wait to have his own room so he could listen to his music away from me, so I left the room to let him listen to music.
He said he wasn’t ready to give up drinking, so I threw up my hands and said do what you want.
He said he couldn’t give up his friends so I didn’t fuss about him going out.
And I think he resents me for all of it. He certainly turns it all into an argument. I can’t understand why when I say something politely, like “I’m nervous” (because something he did while driving made me feel nervous) would make him explode on me. What happened to the rational Crusifer I thought I had snagged? I used to think of him as such a prize, and more and more I feel like he’s a burden. I don’t even look forward to him getting home anymore because I’m just expecting something to happen to cause an argument.
Seeing Tina and her baby makes me even more miserable. I want a baby and a family. The father of her baby... Tom, I’m not sure what his deal is, but he’s nice enough I guess. He’s more of a annoyance (from my perspective) than anything. He seems to love the baby though. They aren’t married of course. Tina says that if it were not for the baby they probably wouldn’t even still be talking...
I used to feel like Crusifer and I were so much better than other couples. We were different, and we were united. I think the fact that I don’t want him sleeping with other girls has changed things a lot. I think that contributes to his dwindling opinion of me. Why has he started treating me this way? Surely my intolerance of some sorts of music can’t be serious enough for him to go on about it for hours, and then go off with his friends over it. Maybe he just wants an excuse to argue with me, and excuse to get mad and leave and be with his friends.
I wish...
I don’t even know what to hope for? Do I hope things work out? That sounds good, but is it possible? And what does “working out” even consist of? Do I wish to break up with him, move on cleanly, find a better man...?
I think he doesn’t respect me because I don’t have a job. It’s disgusting really. Even he has no respect for woman’s work. I hate society. I hate modern rules. I want a husband, and I want a baby, and I want to do woman’s work! What the fuck is so hard about that? One hundred years ago I might not have had any way to avoid that, but these days it’s impossible to get at all!
He thinks he is so much better than me these days. All because he doesn’t care what music is playing. My intolerance to cigarette smoke, the fact that I can’t stand the smell of pee while I’m brushing my teeth, my not wanting to kiss him while he’s drinking, my not wanting to listen to rap music – those things make me inferior in his eyes. And it’s downright unfair. The fact that he wants to drink, go out, and listen to music with such immoral lyrics makes me feel like he is the one who needs to step it up. But you know what? I’ve tried working around that. He hasn’t even acknowledged that fact... I’m not sure he has even noticed. I’m sick of trying to compromise... Trying to figure out what to do. I’m sick of all of this shit. I locked my damned journal for him, and he doesn’t count that as a sacrifice?
2008-05-13 01:50:35 Hallie says:
Ok, that list of pros was better than I thought it would be. It contained some very sweet and insightful things. But a lot of the things on it, well... they're really not pros. Or at least, they shouldn't be. They're givens. I mean, your relationship experiences (especially Tre, your most recent before Crusifer) have not been, shall we say, entirely positive. I get that. So I understand that my perspective on this is different than yours. I also know that you live in Buffalo, and that I don't, and that you're sometimes inclined to respond to me by describing the conditions in which you live. But I've been to Buffalo. My parents lived there for quite a long time- I was almost born there- and they still have strong connections there and so, by extension, do I. I have returned frequently throughout my life to the neighborhood my parents lived in, and believe me, they were not rich when they were young, self supporting grad students. So, basically, I'm saying that I know your life may not be all shiny-pretty-happy like in Hollywood movies, but men STILL do not get credit for not being drug dealers. It's not like "ok, he's rude, so -1 point, but he's not a dealer, so +5!". No. Just... no. There are certain basic conditions that a person should meet before you consider even having anything to do with them. For example, not being a zombie. Not being a serial killer. Not a thief, not a liar, not a cheat, not an abuser. Crusifer should not get any more points for these things than he gets for not killing puppies. Do you see what I'm saying? Respecting your privacy, having a certain level of intelligence, not being a jerk when you ask for a little favor, willingness to work... these things are not special. And this is why I included that part earlier, about how I am not entirely unfamiliar with where you live, because I'm afraid you're going to respond with something like "well, easy for you to say, but here it's so hard to meet a guy who's not a dealer/alcoholic/wife beater!" or "so says you, but I haven't met that many guys who have an IQ of even 87!". I also know that you might respond by saying that your experience has taught you that I am wrong, that these traits are rare. To that, I say two things. First, I am older. Ha! But seriously, my experience is longer. I have known and dated more men. So I am saying all this from a larger pool of data than you have. Secondly, you have had, in the past, at least, some bad dating patterns. You have chosen bad men. By which I mean boys. Think back to the boys that came before Jeremy. How did you feel about yourself? What kind of people were you choosing? And, when you chose Tre, what kind of place were you at, in your life? I'm just saying that, in my humble (and protracted, sorry about that) opinion, your experience is based on the kind of boys you chose before. They are not the same caliber as the men you will be choosing, in the future, as a more mature, intelligent, stable, self aware adult.
That said, I do see where you're coming from with a lot of the other list items. And I get that it was hard for you to make the cons list, and I see that from the fact you defend him even on the cons list you are much too entangled to end this right now. But I stand by what I said after your last entry. I am aware of the "A Relationship Should Last Until the Pain Outweighs the Benefits" school of thought, but I do not belong to it. I am of the "Life is Short, but Life is Awesome, and There is No Point Sharing it With Someone Any Less Awesome Than I Am" school of thought. It worked out very well for me. I still think that you are unhappy too often for you to keep this going for the rest of your life. I think it's wearing away at you, and that without major changes (ones I don't see coming) you will get too exhausted to continue it. But it's entirely possible that you cannot get out now, because you love him too much. Maybe you'd break your own heart too badly. Maybe you need to wait until it's crashed to be able to leave without looking back. If so, I will not say "I told you so" if you end this relationship with Crusifer, because I won't be happy. I expect that if this relationship ends, even (maybe especially) if you end it, you will be very unhappy. (I also predict that you will eventually be happier, or I wouldn't have advised it, but still). I think you'd be very unhappy at the time, and I am not a complete jackass, and I do not take any gratification in your pain, so I wouldn't gloat.
Oh, and also, it's too bad there isn't some kind of Longest Blog Comment Ever award, because I would be in the running.
2008-05-13 08:16:36 Nathan says:
Hallie speaks much sense, and you would be wise to heed her words. With the additional note that if you're including things in the 'pros' list that should be a given, that could be an indication that you're stretching to pad the list to make him look better than he is. Or Hallie could be right and you're just comparing him to the extreme shitty end of the bell curve because you've never even dated anybody in the middle. (I don't count. I'm so awesome as to defy comparison.)
malimar.livejournal.com
You’re completely right Hallie, and while I might not have responded that way, it’s certainly something I would say or think given certain aspect of what you’re saying. However, the way you worded it didn’t really have me thinking along those lines at all. Crusifer actually tries to use my past bad choosings against me. He says “if you could deal with Tre for two years then how can you not deal with a horror movie” and other things of that sort a lot.
But you’re right, the pros and cons list gave him way too much credit, and it also didn’t include a lot of cons I’ve thought of over the past few days. And I’ve been thinking more and more into your school of thought as of late in general. Especially when I know people willing to do as much as Crusifer is doing for me and more, only issue is, neither of the first two that come to mind are particularly attractive, and neither of them are particularly well off in life. Yet, if I can think of two guys I know who’d take me, and who’d be willing to do everything Crusifer is doing (without calling me names) then there are probably lots of other men out there who would.
I never wanted to have to be on the hunt again. The dream of finally finding the right guy was so bright and beautiful, and the bubble isn’t quite popped, but it’s certainly leaking out it’s air.
So in the interest of getting my head straight, and in the interest of a clearer view of Crusifer, here is my revision of the pros & cons list. (As a side note, a lot of things I’m finding on this pros list are not consistent enough to really count, so I’m removing those.)
New Pros List
New Cons List
(And you can see why I find it so hard to leave, when a whole page of pros rolled right off my finger-tips, and after less than half as many cons I’m sitting here staring at the screen trying to come up with something more.)
That is probably a more accurate pros & cons list. Thanks for the insight. I hate feeling alone in this, so anybody’s and everybody’s thoughts are welcome.
5/12/2008 Angel writes me:
Hey I been meaning to send this to you for awhile now. I'm not sure if you read/heard of it already but I found it rather interesting. I'd have to admit that he indicated some pretty good points but then again some were not entirely true... or I mean for this reservation.
A message from Jay Leno:
Jay Leno wrote this; it's the Jay Leno we don't often see...
"The other day I was reading Newsweek magazine and came across some poll Data I found rather hard to believe. It must be true, given the source, right?
The Newsweek poll alleges that 67 percent of Americans are unhappy with the direction the country is headed, and 69 percent of the country is unhappy with the performance of the President. In essence, 2/3's of the citizenry just ain't happy and want a change.
So being the knuckle dragger I am, I started thinking, ''What are we so unhappy about?
Is it that we have electricity and running water 24 hours a day, 7 days a week?
Is our unhappiness the result of having air conditioning in the summer and heating in the winter?
Could it be that 95.4 percent of these unhappy folks have a job?
Maybe it is the ability to walk into a grocery store at any time, and see more food in moments than Darfur has seen in the last year?
Maybe it is the ability to drive from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean without having to present identification papers as we move through each state?
Or possibly the hundreds of clean and safe motels we would find along the way that can provide temporary shelter?
I guess having thousands of restaurants with varying cuisine from around the world is just not good enough.
Or could it be that when we wreck our car, emergency workers show up and provide services to help all, and even send a helicopter to take you to the hospital.
Perhaps you are one of the 70 percent of Americans who own a home. You may be upset with knowing that in the unfortunate case of a fire, a group of trained firefighters will appear in moments and use top notch equipment to extinguish the flames thus saving you, your family and your belongings.
Or if, while at home watching one of your many flat screen TVs, a burglar or prowler intrudes, an officer equipped with a gun and a bullet-proof vest will come to defend you and your family against attack or loss.
This all in the backdrop of a neighborhood free of bombs or militias raping and pillaging the residents. Neighborhoods where 90 percent of teenagers own cell phones and computers.
How about the complete religious, social and political freedoms we enjoy that are the envy of everyone in the world?
Maybe that is what has 67 percent of you folks unhappy.
Fact is, we are the largest group of ungrateful, spoiled brats the world has ever seen. No wonder the world loves the U.S., yet has a great disdain for its citizens. They see us for what we are. The most blessed people in the world who do nothing but complain about what we don't have, and what we hate about the country instead of thanking the good Lord we live here.
I know, I know. What about the President who took us into war and has no plan to get us out? The President who has a measly 31 percent approval rating? Is this the same President who guided the nation in the dark days after 9/11? The President that cut taxes to bring an economy out of recession? Could this be the same guy who has been called every name in the book for succeeding in keeping all the spoiled ungrateful brats safe from terrorist attacks?
The Commander-In Chief of an all-volunteer army that is out there defending you and me? Did you hear how bad the President is on the news or talk show? Did this news affect you so much, make you so unhappy you couldn't take a look around for yourself and see all the good things and be glad?
Think about it... are you upset at the President because he actually caused you personal pain OR is it because the "Media" told you he was failing to kiss your sorry ungrateful behind every day.
Make no mistake about it. The troops in Iraq and Afghanistan have volunteered to serve, and in many cases may have died for your freedom. There is currently no draft in this country. They didn't have to go.
They are able to refuse to go and end up with either a ''general'' discharge, an ''other than honorable'' discharge or, worst case scenario, a ''dishonorable'' discharge after a few days in the brig.
So why then the flat-out discontentment in the minds of 69 percent of Americans? Say what you want, but I blame it on the media. If it bleeds, it leads; and they specialize in bad news. Everybody will watch a car crash with blood and guts. How many will watch kids selling lemonade at the corner? The media knows this and media outlets are for-profit corporations. They offer what sells, and when criticized, try to defend their actions by "justifying" them in one way or another. Just ask why they tried to allow a murderer like O.J. Simpson to write a book about "how he didn't kill his wife, but if he did he would have done it this way "... Insane!
Stop buying the negativism you are fed everyday by the media. Shut off the TV, burn Newsweek, and use the New York Times for the bottom of your bird cage. Then start being grateful for all we have as a country. There is exponentially more good than bad.
We are among the most blessed people on Earth, and should thank God several times a day or at least be thankful and appreciative.
"With hurricanes, tornados, fires out of control, mud slides, flooding, severe thunderstorms tearing up the country from one end to another, and with the threat of bird flu and terrorist attacks, is this a good time to be changing the Pledge of Allegiance?"
>> Jay Leno 2007
Angel,
This is such a hunk a crap that I couldn't finish reading it. Yes, Americans are spoiled brats, but that's the only good point that was made.
Sure, we're not starving, but our food is loaded with cheap crap that the government endorses that makes us sick, bloated, inflamed, mentally unstable and fat.
Our prisons lock away innocent people, drug deals, children who didn't know better than to murder another child into prisons where everyone is raped, beaten, and learns how to become a colder criminal than they ever were before they were taken to jail.
Our child protection services take away children from loving parents for the most arbitrary reasons and often throw the kids into much worse situations.
The ghettos are neglected, violence is rampant, schools in the ghettos don’t help and often are just another way to form gangs (just like prisons are) and these gangs are often better for these kids than their families and teachers ever were to them, and so they learn about drug dealing (which is the only real motivation for them to learn math) and they get addicted to drugs, and because these kids have no skills or crafts of their own they have no respect for belongings so they break things, they tag things, they steal things, and eventually wind up in prison where their weed addiction (or weed sales) upgrade to coke and heroin, and where they either join a gang or be an anal sex slave.
Religious freedom is all well and good, but there sure as hell is plenty of religious discrimination to go around. They sure could use some religious acceptance courses in our free public education. Speaking of free public education and food – school food is probably darn near as bad (or possibly worse?) than jail food. The servings are small, none of the kids actually eat the vegetables, the ketchup and other condiments are loaded with sugar, and the flavorless food needs those condiments to be palatable, and the sandwiches come with white bread, and they have the option of taking chocolate milk and ingesting more sugar into their bodies, and who ever speaks up about that?
And for all of our technology, where are the free typing courses in our free education? Nowhere to be found in my experience between ten different public schools. Where is computer literacy courses? What good is it to give a computer to one of these soon-to-be gang-bangers? They’ll either give it a virus downloading porn, or ruin the thing for the fun of it.
And Bush? The war is inexcusable, but what about the science and education cut backs? What about the fact that 3% of our high school graduates go into science, mathematics and engineering in college opposed to China’s 56% rate? Why does everything think our imports are so high?
And I seriously doubt the war in Iraq has anything to do with terrorism. Bush is the terrorist, and he’s breaking the constitution at every turn. The war is a greedy expedition, and I’m not entirely convinced that 9/11 was even done by terrorists. I’m just as likely to believe the government set it up. The pentagon most certainly was never hit by a plane, and that’s a well known fact to anybody whose done a tiny bit a research.
The fact of the matter is, America is a bunch of spoiled brats, but we’re no where near as bad as our government or our president as a whole. I’m 100% sure that people are more logical in Europe and Japan. After all, if they were as poorly managed as America I’m sure the world would have imploded by now.
Crusifer has probably been asleep for about an hour now, which is extremely early for us. No surprise, he’s probably had more than one beer today. I didn’t even question him. I don’t even try to stop him from going out, I didn’t even call him once, and he didn’t call me either. He didn’t greet me when he got home, nor did he join me by the computers. When I joined him on the bed, about ten minutes after he got home at about 12:10am he was drawing. We spoke about ten words to each other. “I need to move this blanket” and “Hi” and “Okay,” and perhaps a couple other non-conversational statements. I was so immersed in my book I didn’t notice when he fell asleep. I noticed at about 12:30am I think, and I kept reading. I read for around forty-five minutes more, until around twenty minutes ago when his snoring began to drive me nuts. I put the book down and watched him sleep for a while. He’s beautiful to me, you know?
I can drive a cold hard resolve into text, and into words, and into my posture. I can slap on a blank face for a while, and sometimes I can even paste it on during our arguments. I pretend that I’m all logic, and no emotion for moments out of my life, digging a deeper and deeper pit to hide my hysteria in. I’m optimistic to cover my depression. I’m easy going and easy to make laugh to cover the stains of all of my tears.
...He always bangs the wall when I’m away from the bed... And I’ve never asked him about it. Even in his sleep he does it, usually once. Last time when I was gone and he was asleep he banged the wall, but in the morning he didn’t realize I had ever been gone. Is it subconscious then? My heart pours out to him like sweet grape juice... I am cauterized (I think this is the right word, though I’ve never used it) inside by all of this angst and uncertainty.
Am I already crushed? How much more will this hurt as time goes on? It seeps out in little bouts. I don’t let them carry on like I used to. I used to cry for hours after he left. Now I cry for ten minutes, sometimes five. I don’t know why the tears start the moment he’s down the stairs, but they always do. It’s as though he’s taking my happiness and composure out of the room along with his body and his harsh words.
Mother tells me that Crusifer heard Aunt Mary speak of a spell she cast that got her the new house, and Crusifer (according to mom) asking Mary if she could cast a love spell to make me love him again. Oh how revealing! He probably honestly believes that I’m the one who is being harsh and mean. But if he does believe that, how does that help? Denial is so key, so key to breakups.
I don’t want to believe this is really over. I feel like today really finalized it. I wished today that it had been a work day and that he hadn’t managed to get Wednesdays off. How terrible of me to think that... But what a bitter disappointment today has been. We didn’t eat together once, we didn’t draw together (not really, though you could try and say that technically we did) and we did not talk, we only argued and argued, and we not laugh and kiss and be merry as we used to for even an hour, perhaps not even a half hour.
My eyes are not dry. Reality is sinking in. I feel the weight on my chest of heart break, though not the sharp sting of shock. I feel the burn of loss, the empty dragging feeling of depression. I have that nagging feeling every morning to just sleep, sleep, sleep the days and nights and all the rest in between away, away, away until nothing is left but dreams inside a rotting corpse.
I have to constantly tell myself that I do not want to die so that I won’t be tempted to wish it on myself, so that I won’t be tempted to cut myself or fling myself through a window or in front of a car. Though I may not really have the guts for these things, thinking about them certainly will not help my mental health.
I think my hope is burning out. How long can I wait? How much longer can I feel this strain and allow it? I should suggest to him (before next Wednesday) that he not take the day off, because after all, things are rough at the shop right now, and they might need him. It’s treasonous to everything I’ve ever said or felt to be writing this garbage! Oh how I hate my own bitter thoughts! I curse my damned fingers than type and type and type and never stop truthfully revealing my innermost demons and broken soul.
Blasted tears! Blasted feelings! Blasted emotions and love! Isadora is so right. (Erica Jong who wrote Isadora is even righter.) “Only the deepest of romantics can ever become so cynical about love.” How much more deeply can this sting? How much worse would I feel alone? How many times would I regret my actions, and call him and ask for him back? But he wouldn’t come back, and I’d hate myself, and I’d hate him, and I’d hate life... Or would I?
Or do I already feel that way?
Blasphemous! For me to be writing and thinking these thoughts. He’s making it so hard to hang on. I wanted to wait this out, but after today I feel that every day with him from here on out will likely take it’s toll on me. Over music, is it? It’s hard to believe. I thought he was so obliging, so cooperative, so understanding, so protecting, so rational... All of it proved untrue, and even heartless on top of it... All of this revealed three times to me in such a short period of time that my head is swimming.
Even if he is simply out of it, even if he changes back to the man I love, the man I wanted to marry, the man I engaged to, who is to say that this will not come out again? I don’t want to live feeling this way for any period of time. But to let go? I must at least order these tapes from this Dr. Mort guy or whatever he is called so I can at least listen to his five hours of explaining his fourteen-week plan to do a 180 on your relationship. After all, I still want to fix things.
If this Mort guy can tell me things that will allow me to fix our relationship, then I’ll be damned. I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, praying that Crusifer will not push me off, or that if I fall off, he’ll catch me, and not being too sure that he’s on my side... He’s in this for himself, so he said to me today, and he doesn’t see what he is getting out of this. I sure as hell didn’t get anything out of today.
Five hours he was gone. I went to see Tina for three of those hours. She delivered the baby yesterday. Seeing and holding the little one made me feel so cheated in life. She has a baby, and her mother (the baby’s grandmother) doesn’t want her staying at home because she doesn’t want to deal with the baby, and Tina’s younger sister keeps threatening to kill the baby in one way or another, so Tina doesn’t want to be there either. Tina never wanted a baby, and I don’t think Tom is too happy about it either. And there they are, that strange couple, and Tina’s mother and father (and even the devil of a little sister) all in the hospital with her. Her water broke at 4:00am and she didn’t deliver the baby until 7:00pm, and it was a 10-pound baby of all things. She of course got stitches and she says she’s in a lot of pain though she seems to be handling herself as always. I actually expected her to be more worn out from the experience than she was.
I’ve wanted a baby for two years now. I feel sick sometimes when I think about the fact that I don’t have one and that it will be many more years before I “should” have one. And if Crusifer and I won’t be together then for fucking goodness sakes it will be at least five years before I get to have a baby. I feel so blasted cheated!
I’ve never shed so many nearly-silent tears. You know what I’m afraid of? That I’ll finally get everything right, one way or another, and then I’ll start trying to get pregnant only to find out that I can’t. I think I might just kill myself if that were the case. No. God damned everything that is so unholy and unjust I must stop with this suicide talk. It’s useless, unhelpful, negative and won’t solve a blasted thing in the universe!
But why does it come so naturally off the tongue, “I want to die.”
I feel so utterly miserable that no other sentiment can appropriately state my disgust with myself and my situation. I don’t think I even know someone who is happy or even slightly content with their life. Is that just it? Unhappiness forever? Work, work, work and more work with no reward? Is there light at the end of the tunnel? Perhaps happiness is a myth I dreamed up from some fairytale book I read.
Okay, I’m getting irrational here. I’m letting the tears take over and that’s no good.
Let’s get back to being productive. Dry my face and breathe.
I have not a single productive thought in my brain. Once I’ve shut off the water works the best I can, I’m back to being an empty shell.
You know I felt hope when he asked to work on the board game with me again... Not that we touched it today or last night. No progress was made what-so-ever. Was he serious about wanting to work on something with me, or did he just say that to try and win back some points with me? His feelings and thoughts are more and more abstract to me. His actions make less and less sense. I don’t understand how he could be the same person that I thought I knew. I feel betrayed and abandoned and cheated and empty. I hate the empty feeling, like something is missing in your center.
Why does misery make me write without end? Something about this burning hole inside me makes my fingers enchanted. I must write. I must express. I must get all of this out of me before I burst. I cry in text instead of tears. I scream in prose for lack of voice. I argue in writing for lack of spoken words. I’ll unload my burden here.
People say “I’m here if you ever need to talk” and I tell them come to my blog, but they never do. Who knows why. Perhaps it’s too much work? Perhaps they think it would be impersonal? But why the hell should I type this up again after it’s incomplete and fragmented in my mind?
He is banging the wall again. Perhaps he misses me?
I have written enough to my fill, but I am not tired. Tired is for the happy, well-spent people. It’s for those who have worked hard and can feel pride. It’s for anyone other than me.
I wonder how much he read. I always leave this document up, probably hoping (at least subconsciously) that he would decide to sit down here and read it. I know he at least read what I wrote in the middle of the night last night.
He wants this to work too. I can tell. He was going to leave without a word this morning, but I had been awake for half an hour, listening to the gentle scratch of his pencil, the fluttering of paper, his soft prances around the room. When he was dressed and near the bed I called to him and he came to me. I drew him close to me for a kiss. He kissed me urgently, as if he missed me dearly, and I could feel emotion pouring out of him.
I’m getting that tingling of hope again, and I want to squash it so that I don’t get hurt even more, but it grows inside me like a weed. He wasn’t writing in his journal or in his dream journal like I had thought he was, he was writing me a letter.
The letter can be summed up easily in a few statements; “I can tell this isn’t going to work much longer... Why am I not happy when I really should be? ...I’ve been in denial too long. ...I went down a road of self destruction. I started drinking. ...A customer I tattooed told me his story on drinking. ...He said “your in the beginning stage and if I were you I’d quit.” ...If you can’t just have one beer then you need to get help or stop. So I tried to have just one beer yesterday to prove myself. ...Some how I managed to get into an argument with you and go drink more. ...I do have a drinking problem. And if you leave me it won’t get fixed. Instead I’ll drink more. ...No one cares about me, I know they don’t. ...They encourage drinking and drug usage. ...I’m sorry for hurting you for the past year and a half. I beg you not to leave me. ...And help me. I can be a good husband for you. I’m not heartless. I just am when I want to drink. ...The poison is stopping me from proving that to you.”
Okay, so that was a ton of statements, in fact, that is pretty much the entire letter. I’ve been waiting for him to come to such realizations for so many months that I had stopped even looking at his drinking issues. I turned my back on him in a way. I feel like he just tapped my shoulder and I turned around and saw him again for who he really is.
He’s insecure, he’s covering his fear with armor made of poison spikes, and he has a drinking issue that worsens his behavior. I am afraid to put my heart into giving him another chance, but I have to sorely admit that my heart is still in his clutches and when he calls out to it, it answers without my permission. No sooner have I begun to detach myself than I find myself re-attaching again, again, and again.
I’m a woman of “just one more chance” who never knows how to stop, much less when.
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