I sent it

I don’t think we should stay together.

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 do.

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.

Lonely and desperate aren’t the same

Because I’m DEFINITELY the first thing, not the second.

But what I also am is SO FUCKING PISSED.

Like, idk, I probably do desperately need therapy. Because I am SO sick of my waking thoughts haunting me. Why is it every chance I get I’m immediately thinking of shit that upsets me? There is NO point in harboring resentment or holding grudges or reminding yourself of the many many many many many times people treated you like shit, from the “Christian” adults in my life when I was a child to now, to my being able to do the work of two adults so my husband can continue to act like a retarded child. I did SO much for his 30th birthday, he did his usual pathetic bare minimum for mine.

In fact, I kind of find him pathetic in like…. a million different ways

Like he’s SO FUCKING QUICK to blame other people for his lack of achievement

Like i am DONE hearing him talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and then DO nothing.

Like is someone being nice to me the most I get to expect? I know it’s more than my mom got, but other than that my husband feels like a burden in so so so so many ways.

It’s horrible to feel that way about someone you love

Don’t say I couldn’t possibly love someone I disdain so much

You don’t get to tell me how I feel, remember? People don’t get to do that anymore. I’m a fucking person who gets to make the decisions for my life and my body.

Jesus fuck did it take me 30 years to be able to string that one together.

I just cannot remember the last time I wasn’t angry or depressed or fucked up. By fucked up I mean my usual blend of drunk and high.

I do genuinely enjoy working on my book. It is an enjoyable process. But. Is that it? I’m to hinge my life’s happiness on market success? Do you hear yourself?

I’m so sick of waiting for him, wherever he is.

Almost as sick as I am of waiting for my husband to grow up and man up. Or just stop making everything about himself.

Sometimes no one gives a fuck

Other times, I don’t want them to.

Eff, I’ve been in a bad mood for like three weeks now. Idk but Friday, December 21st, I remember being in my bathroom just bawling. Like, no one specific reason, it just seemed like what I needed to do.

I guess nothings new. If they are, then it’s just through the process of worsening.

The only thing in my life that actually makes me happy is writing. There’s other stuff I’m grateful for but like not actively happy about, if that makes sense. Like simple shit. I get I’m super lucky that I can walk and see and live in a time and place that has antibiotics and vaccinations, but like….I fucking CANT play the “at least” game anymore. I had/have to do it too much.


It’s actually very painful knowing what you want in life when the last time you were remotely close to it, you were being fucking lied to