Wow, I haven’t written a damned thing in a month. I meant to, I really did, I just also go busy as one does. I thought about it, a lot. I was going to write about all sorts of mundane things, of anger and of fear.
The last time I wrote I was in another bad place, my monthly bad place it seems. I finally broke down and went to the dr about seeing a therapist on the regular. I did it, I did it! But I only did it that day. There, with my PCM, I got a list to talk to drs in the area and I had to chose one. That’s fucking hard, for me at least, to make such a choice. What if I pick someone I hate? What if the person is terrible and makes me feel worse about myself? It’s not like all the drs. that my mother has spoken to in her life helped her. I don’t know… that’s why the list sat for a month without me so much as looking at a name on it. Tonight I did pull it out, however, and see if I could find any information about people online. I didn’t, but I did decide on a dr that I will call tomorrow about taking on new patients.
I’m afraid though, to talk to someone. I always wanted to talk to someone, to have someone who would listen to me and hear what I had to say and not hold my shitty husband’s shit against us in the future when I’m no long mad at him. But, no, I’m afraid of talking to someone. I’m afraid of what’s lurking my mind, of what sort of trauma I’ve blocked out… because at this point I think I might be. There’s a lot about my childhood that I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with yet. I also worry that there isn’t anything there, that my childhood was bad but not as bad as I make it out to be and that a dr will uncover that and I’ll feel like a fraud. Also, being a fraud I’m afraid of being found out. I don’t fucking know with me.
So there’s all that, not anything new. I’m full of anxiety on the regular and I feel guilty for not being more active and paying more attention to the world but when I do pay attention it makes me want to die. It all feels so awful and so terrible that it doesn’t see worth it to even be here. I’m not a valuable or worthwhile person, what am I contributing?
Tonight I finally pulled out my list of drs because I was angry at him again. He didn’t go to work but I still had a ton of work to do so I was busy all day, with my “work” and he played video games all day. Fucking 8 something rolls around, I’m off the computer but feeling so tired I can’t even keep my eyes open. I took a short nap on the couch and woke up at 9 something feeling worse. No movement from him, no suggestion that he even thought of making dinner. Not even a fucking hint. Nope, that’s not his job so he doesn’t even pay attention to it. That’s my job. That’s my thing… or that’s how I feel when he does that.
I’ve been trying very hard to be affectionate with him the last week and when he does this it makes me want to pull away and I don’t think he even notices it. I don’t know how to tell him and I don’t know how to make him see how much it hurts me.
I don’t know. I feel so passive aggressive even thinking about how to respond to him. It makes me feel selfish and greedy, to even consider asking him to make dinner once and a while. I have a good life and that’s because of him, so I should fucking enjoy and appreciate it and not make waves. So what if I have to make dinner? I don’t do fucking anything else. I hate saying that, because I want to feel like a valuable person but I don’t feel like I am. I didn’t even make anything big but I did more than he was willing to do.
Now my hurt has turned into anger. I’m mad at him. No wonder the last time we had sex was while we were in Utah. I don’t even want to talk to him when he makes me feel this way.
The problem is just me. It’s always me. I think I need to try harder or something. I don’t know what I can do though.
I’m feeling better today but still not sure what I want to do. I feel distance out of sorts, words feel gross in my mouth.
I haven’t talked it him about what’s wrong and he hasn’t asked since I said no. I hate that, because I want him to ask I want him to ask me if we’re ok. I WANT him to seem like he cares. In my heart, I think he does care but I also think because I seem better, that all is well in our world. I can’t tell what he thinks is going on but I think he thinks it is all ok.
I hate when I’m like this, I feel like I’m being emotionally manipulative. I don’t know what to do because when I feel this way I don’t really want to talk about it with him. It frustrates me to no end because when I talk to him he just sits there looking at me, kind of like a fucking dog who’s being yelled at. When I ask how he feels or what he thinks he shrugs or says “I don’t know” and NOTHING EVER CHANGES.
I know that when I just bury it inside, nothing will change either, but it’s easier on me. It’s like a form of self preservation to hide my feelings and pull away from him when I’m hurting, because I don’t know if he knows how to understand what I’m feeling or doesn’t care. I think it would hurt worse to know that he doesn’t care enough to change.
I think I need to change me. I don’t know what to do, but perhaps the problem isn’t entirely him, maybe I need to find a way to give myself value. I’ve said this before, in other instances where I go so mad at him I cried talking to him. I might just be angry at myself and how I see my life that I project it onto him. I’m not really sure. I do know that seeing him sit in the living room for a fucking week doing nothing every day made me the maddest I’ve been at him in a while. It’s not his responsibility to do things when he’s home, it’s mine, and that’s clear.
He hasn’t been playing video games the last couple of days, or at least he hasn’t monopolized the living room playing them. I chose to interpret that as him noticing that I’m angry and trying to be different. It doesn’t matter at this point in my mood, I’ve been angry and made for too long for it to make a different. In a few days I’ll forgive him, possibly cry and we’ll talk about it. Well, not “we” but me, I’ll tell him I’m angry while trying not to hurt his feelings, downplaying my own in the process.
I can’t remember the last time we kissed. A few days ago, I think, when he hadn’t been home for a week straight. I shouldn’t begrudge him the time off, I get to stay home everyday.
I’m going to call tomorrow about seeing a therapist or a counselor and start talking about how angry I am. Because when I get like this, I’m angry at him and myself and think it’d be easier to just drift away. The level of suicidal thoughts vary, but thinking about how insignificant I am to the person I’ve chosen to spend my life… it hurts so much. It’s like how when someone in my family wants something from me, it’s the only time I hear from them. It hurts too much and I just want to disappear. It’s the cycle of my life, I’m never going to be a priority to anyone. I need a book on that, “How To Come To Terms With Your 3rd Place Status: Because No One Will Put You First Or Second.” Perhaps I should write that book.
Read GA #16 and Rat Queens #1 – #2. Still working on Americanah.
I always wanted to go to a therapist when I was a kid. I loved the idea of talking to someone who has to listen. I never felt like anyone listened to me, I felt lost in the shuffle, never fitting in anywhere. I still feel like that, only now when I talk I try not to tell people anything of substance. They’re not listening anyway, they’re thinking of the next thing they want to say or something in their life. I’m like that too, so I can’t blame them too much.
I do hate when I go too deep, reveal too much. I hate telling people real things about me, even though sometimes I can’t help it. I get too personal when I’m angry at my husband. I try to be glib and laugh it off, but the pain and anger gets to me and I bad mouth him to people who don’t know how. I sometimes tear up or totally cry about it. I hate those times, I wish I can erase them and stop talking to people when that happens. I can picture myself scampering off, like a wild animal who got spooked, and hiding in the woods where they will never find me.
Right now I have a tab open on my laptop to call to find out how to talk to a therapist on Monday. I need someone to talk to. I have no one to talk to. I sat in a Target parking lot this evening, trying to figure out what to do with myself and how to keep from crying because I didn’t want to be home. I hate when I play games like this, I don’t want to be this person, but I didn’t want to be here. I wanted him to get scared, I wanted him to think I’m leaving and I want him to think about how valuable I am to him. I don’t know if it worked, other than the fact that he was putting away the dishes when I walked in the door. I think I was gone about an hour, so he started doing it when I pulled into the drive way. I sat in the car for a few minutes before I walked in, I’m almost certain he started when he heard me pull up. I want to ask but I’m afraid of the answer.
I don’t know what I’d tell people if I did have someone to talk to. I keep people at a distance anyway. I have 3 sisters and 1 brother whom I rarely talk to. I ask them how they are and reply with “same as I always am” if they ask the same. I don’t want to burden people with my shit. What can I say to them? I don’t know what I want from my husband so I don’t know what I want to do. I hate him, I don’t even want to talk to him but I miss him so much right now it hurt to breathe. Is it because he’s all I’ve ever known or because I know without him my life would be so hard and so empty? Or is it that I still love him, even if I hate him? Do I still love him?
I can’t tell people that. I can’t tell people who will see him, talk to him, and know that I’m hurting and I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t want to put that on someone else to feel. I can’t.
I wish my parents wouldn’t have had me. I’m sick of myself and who I am but I don’t know how to change. Maybe if I had had different parents I would, could have, been someone else. For a while last year I was writing these shitty fanfictions about being someone powerful, someone meaningful and someone who others wanted to be around in these worlds I read about. I’ve always done this, in my head, acting out scenarios where I’m someone else, but last year I started writing it. I had to stop, it was rather consuming and hurt to come back to reality. I don’t want this life but my life isn’t that bad, so what am I complaining about?
I have a good life, I have to keep telling myself that, because somewhere I forget. Again, I don’t know how to be happy or what I want. I think, perhaps, I will always be this way, ever unhappy and frustrated with my own existence. I think I’d be happy if I flew away.
I’m excited at the prospect that I can talk to someone, who might listen to me and give me advice on how to be happy with myself and my life. Can she, because it will be a woman or else I won’t be able to talk, suggest a good book on how to stop caring or being so in my head or just fucking settling? Is there such a self-help section at the book store?
The “Grow the Fuck Up: Adulthood Wasn’t Going To Be Perfect, So Get Over It” section?
“How to Accept That He’ll Never Be Quite Enough”
“He Doesn’t Hit You: The Lowest Of Bars That Proves He’s The One”
“It’s Ok If You’re Unhappy, No One Else Is Either”
“Get Over It, You’re Average At Best”
Now I keep entertaining the idea of going back to school again, which makes me laugh. I was here, 5 – 7 years ago, thinking that if I just go to school it will make me feel better. It will give me value and fulfillment in my life that I so need. It feels like I’m circling again. But that’s because my degree brought me shit. I should have picked something better, maybe business this time? Be a real person with a real job? Have value? No time to think? Still do everything around the house and hate my husband, resulting in me leaving him or killing myself? It’s always in the back of my head, has been since I was a kid. I don’t know if I can tell a therapist that.
I was always afraid of talking to a therapist but right now I feel like it’s the right thing to do. I hope by the time I make the appointment, I’ll still feel as confident. It’ll go back and forth.
I’m not ready to talk to husband yet. After I got home we had dinner and watched tv a bit. We talked, about shallow things like news and whatnot. He asked how I was earlier when I left the living room to write and cry in the bedroom. I said I didn’t want to talk about it. I always censor myself when I’m angry at him. I don’t want to be my mother and yell or say what I mean, because then it’s mean to him. I’m always very conscious of his feelings. I’ll probably just tell him “it’s the same thing that I’m always upset about.” And we leave it at that. Nothing will ever change and we will continue to be us.
I feel like someday I’ll have the courage to stand up and ask for what I want, but I think I need to figure out what it is that I want. I’m older now, I need to figure things out, right?
Today I woke up from a bad dream.
It’s fading now but I remember being somewhere with people I sort of recognize as people in my past. I think we were playing softball or something… on a field or or a street. I remember being out voted, talked down or something and I was angry and shouting. I was being obstinate and talking back. My sister was there, for some reason… probably because I argued with her yesterday about how I hate all men and she countered with “not all men, right?” and I stuck to my statement of yes, all men. I don’t necessarily mean all men, but I find more often than not, yes. That’s not important though.
I left, everyone left and the game was over, with me still pissed off and angry. My sister was gone, don’t know where. I heard a former manager talking about me, it was probably negative, as I walked down a street to get home. I called out to her “are you talking shit, bitch” and in my memory, it was playful but I doubt that’s how it would have been interpreted. As I continued on my course I got a staticy call from my sister, she had gotten on the train (why, I don’t know) and didn’t get off the right stop. She was in Birmingham. I panicked and started running back to the station, all the while saying she deserved it because she sided with the others over me. I was on the phone with her, trying to figure out where she was when I woke up.
I don’t know what the hell that dream was about but I woke up angry and sad. I felt bad for my sister in the dream, even though she’s 25 and can take care of herself. And so I laid in bed thinking about how awful of a person I am and it makes sense that people around me don’t stay around me for long. My manager in my dream didn’t like me and didn’t like me in real life either. People rarely do, it seems. I don’t know how to be the kind of person others like and it wrecks me.
Husband was a wake when I got up, still sitting on the couch. He’s been home all week, work stuff has worked out for him that way, and it’s getting on my nerves. I’m angry at him again. It feels like it never ends with me and that it’s my fault that I’m always so angry at him. I just keep feeling like his mother or maid and not his wife. For 3 days I left the laundry on the couch to see if he would put it away. I finally put it away yesterday. I hate when he’s home like this. It serves as a reminder that he does so little around the house, even just basic cleaning or putting stuff away escapes him.
Yesterday I was sick, felt awful and laid in bed hating myself and hating him.
Today I asked myself, how long can I keep doing this?
His last deployment I swore I couldn’t, wouldn’t, stay if things didn’t change. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changes. I don’t know what to do. I do this to myself. I say something to him but I play it off and defuse it. I think part of me likes feeling like a martyr, a strong but sad wife or something. But another part of me thinks I deserve better. Another part of me still thinks that it’s stupid that I think I deserve better. I know if I leave him, I’ll be alone for the rest of my life. I’ll have nothing and no one.
Most days I think I should learn how to accept things as they are and stop being like this. Stop thinking that it should be better. After more than a decade of marriage, what makes me think that I deserve anything?
I don’t think I communicate with him what I want but I don’t know how to. I just want him to know that when there are dishes in the sink, clean them. If there is laundry in the dryer, take it out and put it away. Carpet dirty? CLEAN IT. All of that goes unnoticed by him and that is my largest contribution to the household and it makes me think that what I do doesn’t matter. It’s weird, I don’t want him to do the things I do because it would take away from my value but I don’t want him to not see what I do, because then I have no value.
I’m valueless. I don’t matter.
This is when I start thinking that if I ceased to exist, no one would notice.
I’ve told my mother more than once I don’t worry about what would happen if my marriage ended, I only need to look out for myself. But I would have nothing if my marriage ended. I would be without all that is around me.
I was thinking about that a lot today while I made breakfast, my choice to cook for the both of use (I’m sure he’d be quick to mention that), what would I do if I left? I have no job, no skills, no money… nothing. I would move in with my mother and hope to find a job out there, somewhere. I can hope that in a few months or so I would be able to move out and live alone, for the first time in my life, on my own dime. I don’t know if I could do that. I don’t know if I have what it takes to be alone.
So I stay. I write angry blog posts and cry over dishes and get angry because he either notices and doesn’t care (or doesn’t know what to say and thus making me think he doesn’t care) or doesn’t notice. I think I need to start taking care of myself, getting my shit together and getting a job so I can be ready if, or when, I decide I can’t do this any more.
It’s probably just me, though. I’ll probably never leave.
I started reading Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.
It’s been a strange, wonderful, and terrible week.
My life, as it always goes, is pretty much the same. Sanding, tinting, and re-sealing the counter tops, cleaning up the dust from the sand (for days and it’s fucking everywhere, I might add), and working on patterns and new projects. It’s kind of all the same, all the time. I both like it and hate it.
This week, though, my life was different because our country is different. Friday Trumpers was elected. I’m terrified, as are many in the country and in the world. It’s a scary time to be a dissenter because we live in a post-truth and post-reality world and I hate it. I’m afraid of all of it and I feel guilty, because my life as a married white woman isn’t going to be as difficult as the lives of many of those around me but I’m terrified all the same. That’s part of the reason hubs and I drove to D.C. at midnight on Friday – for Saturday’s Women’s March.
I was, and still am to a degree, elated to be apart of something so large and so powerful. It was a pleasure and an inspiration to listen to the speakers, knowing that saner and wiser minds than my own are taking the lead and all I need do is follow. I can do that, I can follow if I know where we’re going. It’s when I have to walk alone that I falter.
Unfortunately, or forunately if you’re a numbers person, there was a shit load of people in D. C. on Saturday. It was worse than any GA at any concert I’ve ever been to. Thank the gods that it was cold and sprinkled the whole time or else it would have been down right unbearable to be around that crushing amount of people. I still found myself, hubs too, complaining and hating those around me for even the slightest disregard for other people. I tried to make myself smaller and it was 4+ hours of the rally and 2 hours of waiting before.
As the party pooper that I am, after a few blocks of marching through D.C. with the masses, hubs and I left at my behest. My back hurt, my legs ached and I was moody. I feel bad now, because I’m better, that I rushed us out of there so fast. I know there was more to do and see, venders or artist tents to look through and I should have worked through the physical discomfort but I couldn’t. I was done. My spirit was broken and I wasn’t going to be a good person to be around.
After listening to the crowd chant “March” over Angela Davis and walking over the considerable trash on the ground, I couldn’t deal with these people. I was bitching, complaining, and losing interest in the whole event as I saw those around me almost congratulate each other on attending the rally and march. I don’t know what they’ve done or what they still intend to do, but I don’t know if we’ve started the revolution or just made ourselves feel better after such a crushing defeat. Maybe a bit of both? I hope it’s both.
The car ride, because we were both so low on sleep, was one of the worst since leaving NY. Hubs was a wreck, falling asleep at the wheel, and the rain covering the roads and making it hard to see wasn’t helping matters. Because I haven’t driven the car yet, it intimidates me with it’s price tag, he didn’t trust me to take over driving. So, when we finally came upon a rest stop, we did stop and slept for a few hours. Luckily this time we packed pillows and blankets. Yay learning! The seats, comfortable as hell when sitting up, are not nice to sleep in, something we did not know when we drive to Texas last year.
So now we’re home, feeling both enthusiastic about the future and still scared. I’m so happy to have been apart of it! I get to tell people I heard Angela Davis and Gloria Steinem speak, live, at the rally and nothing will take that from me. But my fear is still there. It’s still there when I think “oh, my phone call doesn’t matter… someone else will call and make their voice heard,” and then I lost that motivation. I felt like I could help make a difference there, now that I’m home I feel slightly hopeless again. I’m an asshole who shares posts on FB and retweets people who make a difference, I’m nothing.
And the of course, there’s that fear that none of it will matter. Sitting at the check out at the commissary, hubs and I saw the cover of Marine Times that discussed how Marines view Obama’s legacy and Trumpers plans for the future and we took a moment to be scared… even if we didn’t call it that. We thought on how we hope, *HOPE*, that the future won’t be so bad for the many service members across the country. We’re both pretty terrified about what the new Congress will do with the budget. Our lives are comfortable and nice, but that can change. I live in fear of going back to the struggles of my childhood. I can’t be uncertain of where the money for bills or food will come from. I can’t.
But right now, despite all the anxiety and fear I’m doing ok. I’m going to try to focus on that, work what I can and try to make phone calls to representatives and donate money when I can.
Started reading The Obelisk Gate a couple days ago and it’s just as engaging as The Fifth Season was. I love it so far. May have stayed up too much reading it a couple nights. At cereal and sandwiches today, because I didn’t wake up until 1pm (we got home at 6am).
Tomorrow I try better and harder.
Aaaannnnnddddd… we’re back! I’m home, so to speak. I can’t say that I’m really all that “at home” here in NC but it’s where I hang my hat these days. Sure… I hate it here but it’s still “home.”
And of course I haven’t updated this damn thing in the 3 days I’ve been here. It’s probably from the first night, I felt a lot like falling back into depression pretty much immediately. Hubs’ hair is long, overgrown, and out of regulation so he’s not into leaving the house. I had to go grocery shopping by myself the on Friday and it reminded just how alone I am out here. It’s weird, painful, and hard to admit that I’m alone and don’t know how to fucking figure out how to fix it.
I’m really crappy, overall, as a person… I think. I’m worse now than I ever have been, I think. I’m really stuck in my ways, very vocally liberal, and pushy about my opinions and not a lot of people like that. I’m also very judgmental about other people’s opinions, especially when it’s less of an opinion and more of a “you’re a huge asshole” – a possible quote from me, although I might be paraphrasing it. Hell, I call people “my bigot friend” and it’s because I’m so crushingly lonely I keep people around me who are bigots. I can’t decide if that makes me a bad person or not.
It makes me laugh, though, that I concern myself so much with other people… it’s not like it’s entirely my choice to surround myself with people. I spend most of my time at home, being a boring person as I am but I also have a lot of projects here that keep me busy and occupied.
Actually, that’s another thing that has kinda brought back the feeling of depression in me. I look around my house, with all the fool-hearted projects I began, and see that I haven’t finished them and it makes me feel like a failure. I get overwhelmed seeing what I need to finish and think I’m a freakin’ garbage person who never gets anything done. I keep saying I need to make a list and work on each item of that list one at a time. It will keep me motivated… or that’s what I say. Maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll just keep being a fucking lazy ass. Dunno. I know that there is a clock on my projects, that we’ll be leaving this place soon and that alone gives me tons of anxiety.
I plan on getting shit done in this house while hubs is deployed but who know how long that will last? I kinda hate myself for how little I get completed. I have so much to do and I really need to get going on it. Perhaps I can look up motivation routines or something, to keep myself going. I also need to exercise more. I should put that on the list.
Stupid lists, they never go away.
Read some comics and more of Postcards from the Edge because I left it here while I traveled. Ate lots of garbage since we got home, but I bought some lettuce – I should watch it and eat it.
Oh, poo… I’ve already failed my half-assed goal of writing every day. Alas, I haven’t really felt like writing. I don’t know what to write about, to be honest but I guess that’s not a surprise because I’m boring.
In the last few days a couple developments have come up. The day after we got here hubs’ co-worker messaged him and told him that he will indeed be deploying soon. At first I was super excited, because I would be able to visit him because it’s not a combat deployment. But that made me feel immediately depressed and guilty, especially because he may still have to recruit when he gets back. It’s so fucking awful and sad. He hated recruiting, as did I, and him having to go back to it is so upsetting. I’m also dealing with him leaving again. I’m full of guilt for all the anger and resentment that I’ve had towards him the last couple of months. I do love him, a lot, and to have him leave again fills me with fear and anxiety.
I don’t even know what to say with him leaving again. I feel like holding him close and panicking. I’m afraid to be alone again. Luckily I’ll have to come back out here in a couple months, when I can, because I need to finish my Wonder Woman tattoo.
Five freakin’ hours of tattooing and it’s not done. It’s looking amazing though and I’m really grateful to my artist for being awesome. Funny enough, for me the worst of the whole tattoo is that I’m dismayed because I should have tipped him more than I did. I hate that feeling, not tipping enough. I wish I was better at tipping but my first inclination is to be cheap and try to do the math quickly in my head but I’m also kinda bad at math.
*sigh* I hate being cheap. So, in true me fashion, I laid in bed, on my stomach, thinking about how I’m a shitty person for tipping less than I think I should have. I didn’t tip less than 15% but I should have done A LOT more. I fully intend to compensate when I get back with a larger tip but I don’t know if it will matter. I feel so guilty and he was really good to me with the tattoo and being really talented.
Do other people do this? Do they agonize over stuff like that? I feel like a crap person because it was a lot tattoo and he undercharged me and I should have tipped generously. I did this with my hair too! When I got it cut and didn’t do the math quick enough and tipped less than I’m normally into. Agh! I hate feeling like this. I wonder how many times I’ll be cheap and feel bad after before I stop being a cheap-shit.
Fun story, because the tattoo is located on my back, I wasn’t able to wash it myself so I had the husband do it. So, even though I was fine all the way through the tattoo, the cleaning took me out. Standing there, while the husband was washing off my tattoo, my hearing started to crackle and sound muffled, my vision tunneled, and my stomach dropped- I was beginning to pass out. I’m not unfamiliar with the signs of passing out, unfortunately as I’ve either passed out or felt the early symptoms of it a few times in the last few years, so I knew it when I experienced it. I felt myself “going down” and told the husband as much, who stepped out of the way, as I slowly lowered to my knees, then my hands, then my butt and eventually to my stomach because the tile felt cold against my face. 0/10, I would not recommend laying on an unfamiliar bathroom floor.
A half a glass of water and an orange later, I was able to get up and lay on the bed while he finished cleaning it and the applying the ointment. I nearly passed out again last night when my shirt attached itself to the tattoo, freakin’ plastic wrap moved while I was shifting in my sleep, and I pulled the shirt off the spot and it hurt so much I got dizzy. Today was a ton better and I hope it heals well… as I have a plane ride to look forward to on Thursday.
Not a lot of action going on in my life, just spending time with the family and hanging out. I feel like I should be active and doing stuff, which is just who I am. I always feel like I need to be working and moving or doing something. Even just sitting and watching TV makes me anxious.
Today I ate trash. Read nothing.