Time

I hope by now I've come to terms with the fact that my silly little self-damaging acts of rebellion are hurting no one but me. Actually, if you want to get down to it, they are playing right into his hands. I think he feels that if I'm grossly fat I will be less attractive to other men so there will be less of a possibility that I will screw around on him. (It doesn't make him any less suspicious or confident but there it is.)

So it's time to get my act together and get my ass in gear. I don't want it anymore, anyway. I don't want to spend the money, I don't want to spend the calories. I don't want to look this way and I don't want to feel this way. It's time to make some changes.

They won't be met with any kind of positive reaction. He's already feeling it and fighting it. But I have to do this. I have to push back because I have to know if I'm wasting my time here.

I'll be 42 this year. I don't have any more time to waste.

Pushing luck

Last night I got pretty drunk and told Stacey a lot of secrets that I shouldn't have. It's the first time I've told anyone about the bruise and the grabbing and the chaos that is our lives sometimes. And today I'm thinking: what if we stay together? Now that shit is out there and it can't be taken back.

But as I'm thinking this, I know if I was sitting on her side of the computer instead of mine I would be horrified. The abused wife always defends her man, it was just this one time, it wasn't so bad. But I'm not abused! He's lost it a few times and pushed things beyond reason but it's not like I'm living in fear or something. Even when he grabbed me around the throat, I didn't fear him. I mean, after he calmed down I didn't fear him. As it was happening I didn't know how far it was going to go.

I told her I'm going to wait and see how it plays out, and I am. It could go either way at this point. I don't think it will but it is possible. I must be out of my mind for letting it go this far. I knew this, I knew it the first time I met him. That's why I broke up with him before I went home. I didn't follow my instincts and here I am. But instincts aren't cut and dried. It's not like the only instinct I had was to stay away from him because my instincts pushed me toward him, too. Right now my instincts are telling me to leave, but they are also telling me to stay. So which instinct are you supposed to listen to?

That's why I need to let it play out. I need to start fighting for my own wants and needs instead of letting them slide away while his needs become the priority. I need to start working on myself and let the rest of the chips fall where they may.

Can I do that? Good question.

Math = better

I feel better since I got all of that out this morning. I don't know what is going to happen. To be honest, this could go either way. Okay, I'm pretty confident that it is going to go with me going back west. Home. I don't know when, where or how but for the first time in a very long time I feel like I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. I hate to leave, I don't want to give up and it kills me to hurt him but it's my life and my life is going to be a hell of a lot fucking better than this. Thank you.

The math

Although I consider this blog more of a dialogue with myself, I think it's time to have a talk to him. Inside my head of course. Where I can figure things out without pressure and comments from the peanut gallery. I really need to get this out. And, in my weirdly logical way, it's gonna be in numbers. Not pros and cons, just points.

1. What do I hate most in the world? Hypocrisy. Who is the biggest hypocrite I've ever known? You go it. 

The things you say out loud are world away from the things you write and claim to feel. If I've learned nothing else in my life, I know that true happiness can only be achieved with the things you keep inside you and the things you let outside you are in sync. Be who you are, be who you say you are. You aren't. You are not. Not by a long shot. You preach with the wisdom of a man who has been places and really lived, you live as a man afraid to leave the womb. 

2. I can't count on you for support. 

I used to see you as someone I could turn to, someone who would be there for me when the going got tough. You told me you were that person and I believed you. (See above point.) But what did you do when I was at my lowest point since we met? You yelled, you called me names, you discarded my needs and you considered only yourself. And left me with a bruise on my neck that I can still see, even though it is long gone. I can still see it because it is a symbol to me, a symbol of the chance that I'm taking with you that I don't really even believe in anymore. Yes, you say you made a mistake but who's to say you won't make the same mistake again when I need you even more? And a mistake is a one time oops, it doesn't last for days on end. 

3. I'm not attracted to you.

I'm sorry, I'm not. I can still get a glimpse of the man I thought you were, I still see the man I hoped you would become. You aren't that person. That man would take care of himself. That man would have teeth. Yep, that's the biggest issue. You promised you would get that fixed. You brushed it off by saying when you had insurance you would take care of it. You and I have both had insurance for over a year now and you have yet to even speak to anyone about it. I don't want to introduce you to my friends and family, I don't want you to come near my work, I don't want to look at you sometimes. It is very unattractive, it pisses me off and it's just another promise you broke. 

4. Speaking of promises, how many have you actually kept?

By my count: none. Teeth, marriage, therapy, no physical contact in anger. You let yourself off with everything because you had a rough childhood. Get a fucking driver's licence, get a pardon, get a better job, do your taxes, get some teeth, get a backbone, get a life. You aren't a child anymore. Be accountable and dependable for a change. 

5. You don't challenge me. 

One of the things that excited me most about you was that I thought you would challenge me, I thought you would push me to be more but you actually push me to be less. You brush off my achievements (although I admit they have been minimal lately), you won't let me go anywhere alone, you don't want me to have friends, you won't even play fucking Words with Friends anymore because you don't like it when I beat you. What the fuck, man?

6. You want me to be less than I am.

You discourage every attempt I make to better myself. I'm sick of writing this already. 

7. I hate it here.

I hate this province. I hate this city. I hate this apartment. I hate that you treat me like a maid and expect me to clean up after you and your kid. I hate that you don't say thank you when I do something nice for you. I hate that I'm expect to be all of these things and you get to complain when I'm not, yet you sit on your ass all day and preach to the internet about being good and loving one another. What bullshit. 

8. Did I mention you're a hypocrite?

You spend so much time bitching and being disgusted by people you don't know and who have absolutely no bearing on your life whatsoever. It's infuriating. 

9. Could you try to be positive and not a dick? Just sometimes? For just a little while?

I didn't think so.

I know you want this to work out between us. I know you have these ideas of what and who we will be but I think you're living in a fantasy world. Those things don't just happen on their own. They need to be tried and molded and we aren't doing that. We are sitting still in a world that continuously moves forward. That feels like going backward to me. 

I'm sure you're wondering through all of this - as I often wonder - if things are so fucking bad, why don't I just leave? Since we're all about numbers today, I'll give you two reasons.

1. It's not all bad. There are times that I like you as a friend. 

2. I'm so fucking sick of starting over. And, quite frankly, I can't afford to start from scratch again. Not that I couldn't, I just don't want to. Where would I go? What would I do? Who would I be? I don't know if I have the energy or the gumption to make another go of it. Part of me just wants to wither and die. Which makes the other part of me extremely pissed off and completely shocked that I let myself get here again. 

Maybe I was right, all those years ago. Maybe I can't live with anyone happily. Maybe I need to go and be happy with myself. 

Rubbing the wrong way

Oh fuck. I'm so over this. This... life, if that's what I'm supposed to call it. The other day I thought to myself "what the fuck is wrong with me? I strove (is that a word?) to get the job I have but it's not good enough, I worked to get the man I have and he's not good enough". What is it going to take to make me happy?

Right now I feel like I have nowhere. There is nowhere I belong, nowhere I fit. But isn't that the way I felt before? Is that was drove me to make all of these crazy changes that got me where I am right at this moment?

I feel like I'm losing all that I worked so hard for. But I can't help but wonder... were all those things I hoped for and dreamed of just pieces of my stoned brain working over time?

I don't know.

I know I'm staying where I am. There is no quick fix. There is no turning back and there is no running away. Maybe some day I'll get there. Wherever 'there' is. Maybe someday I'll be the person I want to be and live the life I want to live. But it's not now. And, quite frankly, I'm really fucking sick of trying.

I think he's rubbing off on me.

And I don't think that's a good thing.

Piece out, whore.

Time flies

It's been a while. I kinda killed my computer. Not on purpose but definitely in a rage. I pushed the TV table over and it landed smack-dab in the middle of my laptop monitor. Crrrrrack. I thought it was working otherwise but today is the first time I've pulled it out in a few weeks, I connected it to Jeff's monitor and it's giving me all kinds of trouble. So, buy a new monitor or wait until I can get a new laptop? Yikes. That's gonna be a really really long time. 

Anyways. Completely besides the point, I guess. 

It's been a while. In November I got this really great idea to go off my anti-depressants. Things were going okay at, Jeff and I were never better, money felt reasonable, life was good. I figured if there was ever a time to do it, that was then. Turns out I couldn't possibly have been more wrong. 

I didn't tell him at first. Not that I didn't want him to know so much as I didn't want every mood, feeling and issue to be chalked up to 'she's a nut bag' and ignored. He found out by mistake, I don't really remember how. But, shock of all shocks, he was quite supportive. At first. 

It didn't take long before he was doing exactly what I didn't want. And I was in a rage all the time. I felt so out of control and out on the edge. I remember feeling that way pre-Wellbutrin but it was a million times worse. Back then I didn't know how to express my feelings and kept everything bottled up. Well, seeing as I just spent five long years teaching myself to get things out, I was a complete and total nut bag. Okay, not complete and total.

I wonder how things would have gone if he didn't fly off the handle at me that night. Somewhat before that and completely after he acted like a dick. Just mean and cold. He said things to me that still bring tears to my eyes. Maybe I am a lightweight and I'm supposed to be able to take shit like that. Doesn't matter - it was uncalled for and unnecessary and so beyond unsupportive. Did I tell you he grabbed me while we were fighting? I had a bruise on my neck for a couple of weeks. 

I honestly considered leaving him then. I told him I wouldn't make any decision until Christmas was over but I was pretty sure I was gone. And then Christmas was over and I wanted to go even more. So fucking inconsiderate and self-fucking-centered. But aren't we all? Probably me more than most. 

I'm still here. We are getting along fine now. He had a meltdown when his ex didn't bring the little gem last week and I was supportive and helped him get through it and somehow it fixed what our problem was. 

You see, the thing is... that's all fine and dandy but what about the next time it happens? And the next time? I told him there won't be a next time. He asked me to give him six months to prove that he can change, that he won't act like that again. I told him I would give him forever, but if he touched me -or even attempted to touch me- in anger again, it was over. No discussion, no chance, no way. 

That all went down about a month ago. On his way down melt-down lane last week he started getting on with his bullshit and I warned him. I will go. And he stopped. Which is something, I guess. 

The fact is, even though I sometimes don't want to be here, there is nowhere else I want to be. I love the mother-fucker. Even if it kills me? No. But we'll see.