So. Like, idk, the idea fucking came at me that what I’ve really been looking for all these years is a therapist. I started picturing what it would be like to bitch to someone for an hour about my parents and childhood and husband and drinking problem and weird sex habits and holy shit I started feeling better just thinking about it.
So trial and error after a few dead ends I find a counselor guy nearby who takes my insurance so tomorrow is my first appointment with him. We’ll see how it goes. I’m super not thrilled that it’ll cost me about $50 per week to see him. Why is it that if I want an hour of pole dancing and an hour of therapy it’s $72 a week??? Isn’t that insane sounding? I feel like it’s insane sounding.
Not going to lie I’m really really really uneasy about it, about going, for some reason. No actual reason why. That I can consciously identify other than the effort it’ll involve and the fact that the winter has been especially grueling this week. I try not to let it get me down but it’s also hard to want to leave your house if it’s -25 outside.
So. Therapy tomorrow. With a guy. Finally. The three times in my life that I’ve tried therapy/counseling before it’s been with women. No wonder it didn’t work. So we’ll see.
I don’t think we’re good together or good for each other. I think we’re both just clinging to this marriage to prove something to ourselves, or about ourselves. Do you even love me? To me, a person cannot love someone and have such a shocking and frightening level of stored up resentment. It just KEEPS HAPPENING. I don’t want to hear about how bad you feel. I don’t want to hear how you’re going to change. I don’t want to hear how I mean more than anything in the world to you.
I DONT BELIEVE ANY OF IT. Why would I? How stupid would I have to be to think it would somehow be different this time?
And before you flip the tables and make me the monster and you the victim, as you HAVE to do, any time you profusely apologize you’re just waiting for your turn to freak out and act like a shitty imbecile who bashed their head against the furniture to accentuate a point.
Have you ever been afraid of me? Have you ever stood in front of me and started running it through your mind how fast you’d have to dart out of the way if I grabbed you,
Or shoved you, again? Have you ever wondered “is this is? Is this when she finally starts hitting me?”
I do NOT want to hear how you don’t hate me.
You’re in denial. Or it’s latent, but you fucking despise me. No one would say what you’ve said to me over and over or act the way that you have if you didn’t. You don’t know why you acted that way? I DO.
Everything is broken and I have no interest in picking up the pieces, not this time, not when this is just set to happen again and again and again until one of us is dead.
Did you think if you’re just 100% nice and loving and helpful for a few days I’ll give in like I always do and we go back to pretending like everything is fine? It’s not fine. I’m not fine. Just like when we drove home from our wedding weekend, these past few days I’ve been hoping I would die soon so I could just not deal with this.
You hate me.
I deserve better than being with someone who hates me.
You should not want to be with me, it’s just some attachment you formed because being married to me makes you feel good about yourself. You don’t actually love me. You could not possibly.
And there’s no fixing that.
We’ll talk more about it whenever I see you next and I’m sober.
My plan today is to find a place to drink after work and then come home absolutely plastered.
Then, after tonight, we’ll see how much YOU still want to be married to me.
So it was -4 when i drove to work this morning. It was a whopping 13 when I drove home at 4pm.
And what do I see upon pulling into my driveway?
My husband in nothing but sweatpants. No shirt or shoes or socks or anything. He’s shoveling the sidewalk. So I yell at him, because it seems VERY stupid be be dressed as such in such cold weather and especially doing something that we always leave neglected so who cares?
I’m pissed before I’m in the house because I know. He’s shit faced. He has to be.
Then I on instinct lock the front door. He takes it as a sign I locked it on purpose, then when i insist otherwise, then he changes it to i I distinctly didn’t think of him and locked the door.
Then let’s see. It all deteriorated so fast. Because he does this thing when he’s wasted where he WONT leave me alone. Even if I like fucking scream at him to get out of my face, he’ll leave the room for s minute then be back. Like he can’t NOT antagonize me. And boy did he pull out the big guns today. I was told at least five times I was acting exactly like my father.
His pathetic attempts to wound me are sickening, if little else.
He drank what can be sure was a few beers and a pint of brandy after he got home from work.
The worst was around 5pm, because I started yelling back. I really don’t take it for long. And I’m not afraid of him. I’m just not. I’ve lost too much respect along the years. Anyway.
At 5 he did he usual just scream at me and act super weird and talk in the worlds most annoying tone of voice and then of course threaten to leave. He probably would have left if my car hadn’t been blocking the way. He told me he was driving to his parents. As much as I would love for his useless ass to be with them right now, there’s no way he would’ve made it. He would’ve died or killed someone else or close to it even attempting that drive. So I told him if he tried to leave I would call the cops and he’d get pulled over before he hit the highway and then he’d get to explain his dui to his parents from jail as he asked them to pay to bail him out. That seemed to work, because after that he let it go about leaving. That’s one of his go to drunk shitty things. There’s a lot of them. He did a lot of them today.
Then at some point he went out to the garage and was out there awhile, then he came inside and was in our bathroom a long time. Then he moved to the couch.
I went to use the finally vacant bathroom. He pissed on the lid of the closed toilet. There’s piss everywhere except IN the toilet. I used his bath towel to clean it up. I washed it, but the principle.
So that’s what’s happening.
Imma be the BIGGEST CUNT HES EVER SEEN about all this
He complains and complains about how I’m ALWAYS so angry?
I’ll show a mother fucker angry
If I’m so goddamn horrible why doesn’t he leave? Like seriously. Tf seems like I need him for, anyway? Because if I was alone there wouldn’t be someone to disappoint me and not listen when I talk?
I had a migraine last night. Worse than even the one last July. It started around 1pm, ended around 12am. That’s when I finally fell asleep for good. I can’t go on anymore about that, because fucking talking about them triggers them. I tried having a characer with migraines but found I was incapable of describing one in the detail is deserves without living through it. I get the constant screen time and tech neck don’t help but they sure aren’t the causes. Anyway.
So. I think it’s time I come to terms with shit. I think we all know what’s going to be for the best.
But please. Let me talk about why for a really long time first.
I don’t know.
Since I drunkenly (DISCLAIMER: when I say I was drunk while I did something, it’s more like a detail than my making an excuse. I DON’T do that. It’s annoying) screenshot a text convo with best friend and made it a blog post (see one below) I think things might be over with N. Not that they ever started. But more often than not, I find myself just fucking wishing this had never started. Because, I guess, there’s no possible way he could realize how increeeeedibly hurtful I’ve found all of this. ALL OF IT. Like. What did I do. What the fuck is it that I do that screams “treat me like shit” to people? Do I ACT like I don’t have feelings? Because I feel very emotional. Like all the fucking time. I guess some good came of it. Twice he articulated a feeling I was having into actual words and I was like….omg he’s right….and that’s always fun, because you’re like..wait…no…I learned this recently….I get to have my own writing space to say anything I need to…or…it’s shitty when someone makes me sexually uncomfortable. Not dying to discuss why I fucking needed these things explained to me at thirty, but whatever, moving on.
So. Idk. He DM’ed me and was at first all saracastic like pffft you shouldn’t have used WEEKS because it’s slightly longer than he said to get my manuscript from me, then went very like, I can’t believe you’d hurt me this way, “sometimes I let people down but I really don’t think this is one of those times. // Anyway have a good night.” Then that following morning, because he sent these while I was sleeping, I said, “18 days=justifiable all caps, I stand by it. And why did I say I was ignoring you?” Because in one of his messages I glossed over he was like “Do you really like I’m ignoring you?”
UH. YEAH. WHY WOULDN’T I.
It makes me super sad that the most he ever talked to me was when things were all flirty before that one time we hung out. Was it because he wanted to fuck me? Well that doesn’t upset me, in fact, that’s SO what I was into happening as well…so….yeah….it’s like even more depressing
What’s REALLY crazy, is, I think I know the real issue. I haaaaaaad to have somehow formed some sort of feelings for this guy. Like being as a pathetic as I am, it’s not shocking someone showing even slight interest is enough to draw me in. Look at R. I mean really, the things I put up with from him. Anyway. You know why I know I REALLY liked him? Because like, physically, he’s not what I’m SUPER into. Granted, if you don’t know what a guy’s dick is like, you can’t really judge him as a whole, physical specimen, but I mean, N is basically a less hot version of my husband. And my husband is also ripped, and slightly taller. (only slightly).
But. I still really, really, really liked this guy.
It’s happened before. That’s how it was with Paul (remember him? GOD that was a long blog). And it was sort of the same, in the sense that Paul was also an English major, although he was three years older than myself and we didn’t really bond over that subject. But it was still a talking-based, intellectual thing. Like with R. But, okay don’t get me wrong I was very sexually attracted to R. Dude was fiiiiiine. And like, if I had to rate him on dick/ability to fuck, like an 8.5. Truly wonderful. THAT was not the issue with him. But alas, that can’t be the only thing, NOT when someone has the issues R has. I tried finding him on instagram the other day, just to like, see if he was still alive, and I couldn’t. So, maybe he deactivated it? I tried googling if he died and couldn’t find anything so it’s probably not as dramatic as I’m making it because of course I am.
I guess what’s REALLY depressing is how much this whole thing meant to me, and how obsessed I still am.
Which I guess brings me right to my original point. I guess I should just give up there. I think if I remain completely silent at this point nothing more will occur.
Do I want it to?
Of fucking course.
I should move on
I think the fact that I’m asking tells me what I need to know.
Why does it make me SO sad?
When you repress you real feelings, for means of survival, for SO long, it does something to your abilities to express them later on. Which is grossly unfair. But you know what’s more unfair? How fucking puffy my undereyes get when I cry, which leads to to gross under eye creases that make me look old and tired. HOW FUCKING UNFAIR IS THAT. My god do I hate the cosmetic payments I must make for my myriad mental illness.
Or maybe it’s just the alcoholism? Cannot tell.
But back to my really infantile emotions.
SO like. Knowing I’m way into this guy, I go into what SEEMED like it was going to be an awesome evening only to be obliterated, then I continue the connection, if however removed, for months. WHY.
OH I fucking good and goddamn know well why. Roughly the same reason I love getting fucked up.
I like this feeling, and I’m going to pursue it. Because there was a long, long time where I didn’t GET to express my feelings, and it fucking warped part of me. But it’s too little too late now, isn’t it cowboy? IDK where that term came from but I’m SUPER drunk guys. Can you tell? I pride myself on hiding it whilst communicating like a pro, because that’s what I am at this point. Anyway.
So. Time to fucking breathe and tell myself this is for the best until I’m fiiiiiiinally at the point where I actually don’t care. Instead of just publically pretending like I don’t care, which has already started.
This is a picture of a tweet i deleted because who cares? But it’s true.
My fucking frightening mountain of issues aren’t anyone’s fault. No one who meets me/knows me in a not-personal context could possibly realize how fucked I am, and in how many ways. I guess no one can tell by the way I interact with them that I’m not like this with everyone, and this really was special to me, and I cannot possibly imagine a time in the future where it would seem worth it to try for this with anyone else, and that breaks whatever strange heart I have left.
I wish it was just that I’m horrible and my husband should be enough.
But this is how I feel. At this point I don’t think I should keep trying to control it.
I feel I’ll find him at some point.
Or I’ll have kids.
Like, besides writing my book, and potentially moving for the change of scenery and because this area holds no joy for us, that’s really the only thing happening in my life. Me. Going about things. Waiting for one or the other to happen. Working hard because that’s how my mom and Grandma raised me. Absorbing pain and harboring grudges like nobody’s business.
I don’t mind either.
But. Like my book will happen regardless. That’s like a given. NOT THAT I HAVE A BETA READER ANYMORE. But trying to move past that….
One of them needs to happen soon here. I’m bored. I’ve worked long and hard enough. Not that I plan on quitting working or writing, but I’m just saying, like, IDK, perhaps it’s my innate arrogance, but I genuinely do feel I deserve good thing and happiness. Is that SO wild? Because, where I grew up, IT IS. BUt I don’t want to talk about them, they suck.
So. That’s what’s REALLY up with me. And why the wholllllle situation with N just bummed me the fuck out. I’m weirdly lonely and I feel like just my husband isn’t enough when I don’t have ANY family of my own, and we don’t have kids, and I literally don’t have friends, like at all, in real life. As in people to sometimes spend time with. It just isn’t a thing.
It’s not N’s fault that I’m so fucked and needy. And I don’t think he could possibly realize how hard all of that was for me, and how much it meant to me. all of that is my fault anyway.
and it seems like it would be best for the both of us if we had nothing to do with each other. Which is what I meant when I said “things go back to the way they were before” months ago when I was texting him the day after he..idk what you want to call it, whatever’ed my feelings. He said thank you and it stung all the more, then he was like I thought you meant before it was weird, and I was like…when was that except when we weren’t talking? Then I tried to go back to the talking alot flirty stage and that OBVIOUSLY wasn’t right either.
So. No more conversation.
No more beta reader.
I need this weed pen and cheap beer taken away from me.
I cried for two hours straight yesterday. Migraine.
Can feelings cause migraines? Because there’s a frightening amount of tension in me. It causes them. And I feel it in my chest when I’m doing yoga. I know that sounds stupid but like, it’s definitley what’s happening.