At some point

I'll have to decide once and for all: is there enough good here to compensate for the bad?

I just don't know.

Sometimes. Last week I wanted to marry the fucker. Well, maybe the week before that. Last week I just wanted to wear my beautiful ring.

I so hate the volatility of this relationship. I don't want a volatile life. I don't. I don't, I don't, I don't. Fuck.

Here we are again

Oh, yay.

What am I doing? Am I an idiot?

I must be an idiot.

In fairness and on second thought

When he broke down today, I remembered something. I remembered why I'm here. He brings something out of me that no one else ever has. Not to the same extent, anyway.

It's this compassion, this softness that I just don't feel with other people. Or, not that I don't feel it... I just can't let it out the way I do with him. I like that side of me. It's the side I've always tried to stifle, the side my parents feared because they thought it would cause me harm. But I think not letting it out has caused me more pain than showing it ever could.

The trouble is, maybe, that I forget it exists. I get so caught up in the details, in the problems, the fears and stresses. It lies dormant while I concentrate on things that are more important and immediate and it doesn't come out until it is forced out. And I hate it at first. It is only when I give in to it that I remember and accept it.

That's kind of sad.

This bed I made

Well, that went over like wild fire. We had it out today. He lost it. I'm staying. Chances are nothing will change. I'm over the moon. Sarc.

Live blogging my decent into drunkeness...

Beer # 1

Just got home from work/dropping him off at his work/the liquor store. Things are not going well, to say the least. Why? Ugh.

Sick is what I am, if you want to know the truth. Sick of it all. Sick of feeling like a bitch all the time, sick of coming home to a mess, sick of cleaning up behind him and the little gem, sick of feeling like a second class citizen. Sick of stepping in dried pee and having to wipe the seat every time I want to sit down, sick of having to deep clean before I can kneel down and vomit. Sick of  always being the one to take out the garbage and do the dishes and sort the recycling. Sick. Sick to death.

Frustrated, too. Get some teeth, get a driver's licence, do your taxes, get in the game for fuck sake. Why do I have to be the one who takes on all the burden of money and bills? I don't mind paying them but I'm not paying everything from my own pocket.

Do you know what he did? DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID??? After having a week off last week because they closed to do inventory, he was short paid $300. We are still behind on the electric bill from before Christmas. (Please note: it's February.) So, I get it, it's not his fault. It's not. He has no control over his warehouse shutting down. But, after watching me stress-cry all day long (for more reasons than that, of course), he called in sick. HE CALLED IN SICK! He doesn't get paid for sick days. WHAT?

Of course, doing everything myself means I can buy booze and put the empties into the recycling and he'll never know because he doesn't even walk by them. Fucker.

Beer # 2

Do I seem bitter to you?

Yesterday I asked him if it bothers him to live with a bitch all the time. Because I am. And it's driving me crazy! He didn't answer. But today he texted this, "bitch is just the costume you wear to hide behind. Because you feel scared. I love the real you. The kind and gentle person. I love the dreamer and believer. So I put up with the bitch. But when you seem to fall more on the side of bitch and start to like it I am fighting alone. I can fight alone... alone. So I'm tired. Instead of getting angry, I wonder if I could do best for you by letting you go."

What bullshit. There is nothing in me kind and gentle anymore. I have eaten her into oblivion.

 "I want to kill myself" goes through my mind far more often than it should. I don't but I'm not happy.

Stacey said I sound like an abused wife. I'm not but I feel far too close to that for my liking.

Wine # 1

I want it all, don't I? I want to go and I want to stay. I want the best of both worlds. Wouldn't it be wonderful if he was always there when I needed him but I didn't have to put up with his shit? Oh, so wonderful.

Do you know that we first got together (online, of course) in 2010. I moved here in 2011. That means we have lived together for 18 months. And he has never met a single person that I know. Intentionally. I don't want him to. I don't. That is so wrong. Fucker doesn't have any teeth.

I can do better than this, can't I? I can do so much better than the life I'm living right now. And I know that. Does that mean I'm ready to go? If he is giving me the opportunity to get out of this, I swear to a god I don't believe in - I'm afraid to not take it.

I miss being anal and perfect. I miss having everything where I want it until I want it somewhere else. I miss being the leader and the master of my own life. How did I let that go? Is that what a relationship is? Am I really unable to live with someone else? Should I go?

Can't we just have this figured out already, please?

It's tearing me apart. For real.

Wine # 2

My brain is going fuzzy. Is this helping at all?

Time to watch a movie.

I think I want to kill myself.

If he starts being all gross and whimpy, I'm gonna kill him.

Yeah, I need to go now.

Wine # 3

Still here. Laughing and hickuping to How I Met Your Mother.

*hicup*

I've havlel the hickemups. *hic*

Ima go to bed nows. Half a glass and another half a glass left and I think I'm done. In the living room, at least. Gots to get up at 6:30 A. M. to go pick up my wonderful boyfriend from work, after all. I'm considering a work to rule strike so he'll see how much I actually do around here.

Won't work.

What the fuck am I doing with myself?

Wine # 4

I want to leave so bad. I want to run.

I want it to be a year from now and I'm already living in Vancouver and my life is already back in order. I want to never hear from him again so I can pretend and assume that they are better without me. I want to run. I want to be careless and inconsiderate and I want to run.

Fast forward one year from now, please.

Would I regret it?

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. 

No, pal... you got a problem

I want to get stoned tonight. As a special birthday surprise, I got a shit-ton of weed. I can't smoke it when my fella is here. I promised myself I would only smoke it on Friday and Saturday of Bev-weekends. But now it's Sunday. I will hate myself. I will crap all over myself.

I'm trying to break old habits. Change them. But it would be so much fun to sit around and eat and be lazy and not worry about anything.

That's kind of what I do every day, though, isn't it?

*sigh*

More

Yes, things are well.

We are good. We are happy.

We are right.

It's nice.

More love (written by my love)

One year ago this week.

Bev and I moved in together.

 We’ve lived together for a year now.

It’s been a full and busy year. Because in that year we’ve both worked our way through new jobs. We’ve begun a life together. We’ve started a home. Bit by bit rebuilding lives we had apart, but this time together. It was one of those really fortunate things you don’t see as fortunate at the time. But aside from some crappy furniture I had from when I lived alone and Ruby’s stuff (which was always in better shape than mine) we had nothing. We have built things up. And what we have is genuinely ours. It’s really a shared life.

We both were making our way back from some of life’s toughest challenges. Hers was the illness and death of her father. She moved east to be close and spend his final days with him. Me I was tending to a collapsed relationship with my daughter’s mother. My little girl was very tiny when I left, barely a year old. And I was coming back from my father’s suicide. Ruby was just 11 weeks old then and it just sped along an end her mother and I knew would come. Because we just were not right for one another.

But after that and some dating with some nice enough women. And a sincere effort to connect, I found that there was no spark. No fire. No real interest.

Then I met Bev and we lit like a wildfire. And like a wildfire we have had our rough spots while we were dating and since we moved in. But we still got heat. It’s strange but we actually broke up a couple years ago for a while and both dated other people. And both found it to not feel right. Our hearts were tied together. We were still drawn to each other, even miles apart.

We came back together and in a crazy and busy time we just dove in and ahead last year. To the outsider it would have maybe appeared crazy and make no sense and probably not well thought out. But aren’t all great relationships seen that way? Unless you are in it you just don’t get it.

And here we are, we’ve worked our way through. I cannot imagine any other person being in my life but her. This is my family. It’s all I need. I love her and I lust for her. She makes me feel loved, safe and calm. When the hours are long at work or when people wear me down, when I just feel like I got nothing more to give. When my daughter’s mother makes me want to break stuff and when my boss makes me feel about 2 inches tall. It’s coming home to her I think of. It’s in her that I find new strength and time to heal. When I need it’s her that I need.

That’s new. That’s something I never understood or saw in other relationships. I have been used to and been accustom to and I have built a habit. But I’ve never needed. It’s as real as an addiction. When we apart too long I feel it. Except this is a healthy need. Because she refuses to allow me to be crippled by it. Or rely on her. She supports me and pushes me forward, she will not leave me to do it alone. But she will not do it for me. And that’s the greatest gift anyone can give us, the right to fight. The right to do for ourselves. When she gives me the room to fail she gives me the room to succeed.

And now there is us.

The smell of her, the sound of her, her breathing and her voice. The taste of her and the feel of her. The acceptance and the affection. The intense love making. When I close my eyes it is her I see. She is my perfect woman. My perfect thing. She makes me smile and she makes me shake my head. We laugh a lot. We have inside jokes and we laugh at the world. Hell we laugh at you. Don’t worry it’s not malicious. It’s just that we share in a sort of amused view. You guys are a part of us. Not a bad thing at all.

41 years and for the first time in my life, I am truly happy. It’s not the happy I thought people had when they got here. I always pictured some Hollywood version or some song sung in the breathy tones of affection. But a movie is 2 hours and a song is 4 minutes. This is real, it’s life and it’s forever. It is a happiness that is not euphoric. But really I don’t want euphoria. That’s not a realistic way to live. I tried, 20 or more years of addiction was about chasing the euphoria of that first opiate rush. There’s always a price to pay for that. This happiness is a low and warm fire. It is reliable and sustainable. It doesn’t make promises it cannot keep. And it is not scary. It’s not happiness with a warning sticker. One that warns you that it can be swept out from under your feet. It’s real. It’s ours.

I know her. She knows me. And the woman I know is better than anyone. I’d stand beside her in anything and fight for any reason she gave me. Because she would never abuse that faith or trust. She would never ask of me anything but what is important and what is real.

Here’s the truth, if I could just be her friend and know her like that, I’d feel honored. That I get to call her my partner and my woman. That’s like winning the lottery. I got this through no fault or plan of my own. I got lucky here.I won this time.

A year feels like a lifetime and not enough time. And we have a lifetime left. That’s a gift.

Love - My Truth (written by my love)

I usually don’t go along with the whole inner child, things happened to me as a child that affect me today in some way. Which sort of makes me a hypocrite, because I have PTSD that began in my childhood. But I do try hard not to use it as a crutch or an excuse.

I mention that because I want to tell you about my childhood. You see it was violent, it was abusive and terrifying. The abuse I suffered was ongoing and extreme, the kind of craziness they write books, Lifetime movies and psychiatric reports about. It was terrible. Beyond terrible, it was obscenely horrible. I don’t talk about the specifics anymore, it does no good for anyone and it just sparks fires that take me weeks and months to extinguish in my heart and psyche.

Through this all my mother was present. And she was the one person who could have done something…anything. She could have stopped it. She could have prevented it. Or in the least she could have eased the resulting pain and trauma. But that didn’t happen. Instead much of the blame and responsibility was placed on my little shoulders. Often I heard things like “Jeffery if only you would…” or “Well you know what happens when you do that, what did you expect?” or the worst “When will you learn?”. All these things placed the abuse at my feet, my responsibility.

In a tangible and sad way I was abandoned by the one person who could have held me together and helped, in some way.

Much later, the day after my father’s funeral my mother said “I would have taken you and left and protected you. But he’d have found us and killed me’. At that point I was a father myself and all I could say is “So?”, my life, my freedom, my well being are irrelevant when it comes to my child’s safety. It was not a connecting moment, it just hammered home the truth, I was damned from the start.

So I started at odds with the first woman in my life. And that fractured relationship continued with every woman in my life.

Most of my romantic and sexual endeavors have been seeking, someone to tell me, I’m okay, it’s okay, to stay through the storms. To stand when I cannot. To approve of me and show me that I worthy of love. Because the little me was quickly and thoroughly convinced, I am not loveable. Because if I was…These things wouldn’t happen, she’d come to me and save me.

Twist all that up into the result of the abuse, the mistrust, anger, the anxiety, the PTSD and the suicidal idealizations and lifestyles. I was a mess. Romantically hopeless. And hopelessly romantic. Because someday…She’d come the one who’d save me, she’d walk right in and stop the next punch, the next wound, the next heartbreak. An expectation that far exceeds more than anyone should ask of another human being that isn’t a parent. I wasn’t looking for a partner, I was looking for a martyr. I wanted someone who’d bleed for me.

One after another women came into my life and fell in love with me. Madly and in some cases angrily. And I’d run them into the ground or they’d cross some imaginary line and I’d simply stop. Just stop, stop feeling, stop caring, stop participating. But I’d still hang on, because goddamn it…She was suppose to save me! And if there was no love left, well she could still do what I needed.

What a mess. A selfish and cyclical mess. One that would repeat over and over. Two or three co-habitations, a marriage, a divorce a couple engagements and more long term relationships beyond that. It was becoming so that the little voice in the back of my head would respond to a new relationship with ‘How long till you fuck, twist and break this one asshole?’

And that was the state of the union for a very long time. A deficit each new woman walked into. And eventually after my daughter’s mother and I went south and I tried dating a couple times I decided I would no longer do it. I was asking too much and I do not know how to give back.

Into this mess walks Miss Bev. A brave and crazy woman. Because I was sober when I met her and thinking clear I felt obliged to tell her I was broken, I was probably not all there and she’d be crazier than me for even trying. She took it in and responded “Yeah I know. But why don’t you let me decide?”

And she did, at times drawing back when I got too demanding, too wild or too crazy. Or more accurately, I drove her back. We broke and repaired a few times. All the while she made sure I knew she would love me because she saw the real me. And she would love me for the man who has gone to war and come back, scarred and walking with a limp, but still whole. Just a little shell shocked. But she also made sure I knew it was not her job to fix me. To take responsibility for the wounds and misdeeds of others. She would love and support me through the cleaning and clearing of old messes, but she was not going to do it for me. Because she couldn’t, in fact no one could. And I better see that. because this is not an unending offer. She has her dignity and life and if mine starts to erode hers she will protect it.

We’ve struggled much. Let’s face it, life ain’t a three act play. There’s no set up, conflict and resolution. It’s an ongoing thing. And we fall down. She has her times where I find myself wondering who the crazy one really is. But we get by. We get through. Sometimes it seems impossible, but I guess all great endeavors seem impossible at times. But we go forward and we have always had an unspoken (more or less) agreement, we would always move forward and if moving forward means going apart then that’s the way it is suppose to be.

In all of this we’ve fallen madly in love and sometimes madly out of love (but only for a few hours or days). But I have come to know. She is the love of my life. She is the one I’ve waited for. But exactly not the thing I was waiting for. It’s funny how life works. That paradox. The person I wanted was not the person I needed.

I love her more now than ever. And that scares me. So much. It trips me up and shuts me down sometimes. I adore her, I need her, I lust for her (just typing that has caused a stir in my loins), we have incredible and intense intimacy. It’s not sex. It’s just sex. It’s our thing. We have talks. we talk a lot. We are a nation of two. We have no real friends outside of us. We have acquaintances. We don’t need anyone else. No one else speaks our language and no one else knows how our gravity moves us. We fight and we growl sometimes and we say some stupid things. Sometimes those stupid things last longer than they should and pride gets in our way. I ain’t giving in…Well me either. And sometimes we come back together, in an angry heap on the living room floor spent and tired and still mad but not as much as before and in that love making we begin walking together again and the minor wound heals.

Always there’s that little kid me, that hurt and broken little boy who needs his mother to scoop him up and run away with him and run till the monsters can’t find him anymore. To make him safe. That never happened. That fear and fight became my only existence. I learned a hard lesson.

Trust comes easy to no one “I have trust issues” is the great cliche. Hey buddy don’t we all. You either get over them or you get out. But for me. For that little boy. Trust means more than just accepting that she may not decide to have sex with another man or steal my money. It’s life and death.

I trust her. I trust her and just her. I put all my eggs in one basket and I don’t regret it at all. She’s worthy of that and has earned it. Love is to little a word for what I have. It’s a misused and plastic word for a great thing. Calling what I have love is like calling an ocean wet.

She’s my world. And my world is safe in her.

We don’t need it, but if she came home today and said “Marry me, now, today.” I’d do it. Without hesitation or question. Well one…Where we getting the money for the license?…We’re broke honey.

And if she came home and in a calm and sincere voice said “I’ve got to go now, I need to leave here because my life is going somewhere else now.” I’d hurt and break I think. But I’d let her go, I’d even make sure she left as well as she could. because if you care and love someone enough, their needs, their happiness and that place in the world we all are searching for, is all you want. Even if it means they do it alone. Knowing they’re out there in the world finding where they belong. That’s enough.

My truth.

Yeah, I will!!!

Hotel Services Supervisor????

Yes, please!

(Just call me, already!)

This always makes me laugh

Every time I log in here and read the last post of angst and frustration... then I look at the date and realize that everything has been wonderful since then. And every time we have these fights/arguments/squabbles/tiffs we come back stronger than ever.

Is this what a relationship is supposed to be like?

Weird.

Why

That's nice that I wrote all those lovely things yesterday. Today? Yeah, not so much. Today I'm ready to pack it all in, tell him to go fuck himself and die and walk. I already told him to go fuck himself. The rest? I can barely restrain myself.

Five hours. That's how long I've been pissed off. Five fucking hours. Man, if I had somewhere to go I would so be out of here tonight. I'm not even kidding you. I don't even want to calm down. I want out and I want out now, you fucking asshole mother fucker from fucking hell I hate your fucking guts and I'm a fucking idiot.

Remembery

Today I figured something out. Again.

I love to give. In a relationship I am happily tidying up behind him, closing cupboards and drawers, sucking on his penis and giving kisses on the cheek.

Until.

If I feel like I'm not getting what I need, it stops. It used to be dead stop and, while I don't think I'm quite that bad anymore, it still freezes and stalls. I start to resent the things I give because I begin to feel taken for granted/taken advantage of. And I don't want to give anymore.

I always felt justified in that because I honestly believe that you teach people how to treat you. But am I teaching him how to treat me or am I teaching him that, unless I'm getting what I want, what he wants doesn't matter.

Hmmm.

More

It's not all okay again. I mean, it's better - WAY better - but I'm not all in and devoted yet. I'm not pushing anymore, though. That's important. I'm not fighting. And I really really do feel more like myself than I have in a very very long time. Only time will tell where this will go and what will happen next. I'll tell you one thing, though: I'm open. Open to all the possibilities. In ways I don't think I was before. I'm not looking for nos now. I'm just looking. We shall see.