It’s been forever since I have had the urge to sit down and write. I get ideas all the time and want to sit and spill my guts, but then I just kinda fade. I want to write, but why bother? Maybe it helps me verbalize and all that. Maybe it makes me take an honest look at my world. I think that’s the thing I miss most. I can be completely open and honest when I write. My true feelings come out, the real and true me comes out. The one that I have to keep packed down. Heaven forbid I speak my mind and have an opinion, right?
Let’s catch up. Since I last poured my heart out, a lot has changed. I left a job where I worked for 32 years. Yes, 32 fucking years. It was the right thing to do. I did have a new job prior to leaving and no, I didn’t retire. I wish that were the case. But at the ripe old age of 51, that’s just not an option. I hate my new job. Well, not really the job itself. The work is fine. I just wish I would have known I would be more of a personal assistant than an executive assistant. So, I am on the search again. I just wish I knew what I was searching for.
I have a new grandbaby. A baby boy born on August 30th. He is healthy and wonderful. That makes three grandkids. They really are so incredibly special to me. They are each their own person and I will be forever grateful that I get to be part of their worlds.
I have also decided to let my hair go au natural. I am going to (try) and embrace the gray. Not sure how long I will last. Probably until my mother tells me it makes me look older, not that she would ever do that……
I have, apparently, also decided to let my weight go to whatever number it wants. I hate, like hate myself for what I am again becoming. There is no one to blame but me. I know what to do, what not to do, I just don’t want to. I honestly don’t care. Food is comfort, food is my valium. Why do I do this to myself? I’m like the token fat friend everyone needs. There is always a place for a fat girl. Makes everyone feel better about themselves. That’s not true, that’s what I tell myself. UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
I managed to almost fuck up my marriage. Not sure why I was given another chance, but I was. I still feel the change that occurred between us. I think he does, too. He just doesn’t like to admit it. I know I will never be able to turn back the clock or fix all the hurt.
What else happened……major water leak in my house in July, house is still a construction site, my car got rear-ended and totaled, had to put one of our dogs to sleep, my girl is still a mess – I think I have just become numb to it at this point.
So, basically things are going really well right now.
I have to start this by telling you that I will never forgive you for what you did to me and what you put me through. You are a selfish ass. You needed and wanted to make yourself feel……worthy? And you did it by destroying me, bit by bit.
I don’t know how many times you told me that you remembered what I was wearing the first day I started work. Seriously? I was fucking 19 years old and you were what in your 30’s? Does that seem normal to you in anyway?
You used my friendship and my family’s friendship against me. You made me feel like you were a friend. You hated when I compared you to an uncle. Why? Because you wanted a sexual relationship with me and that, dickhead, was never going to happen.
You used the fact that I was an open and talkative person against me. I talked about music, books, life, at the lunch table with everyone else. If I mentioned a song I liked, you assumed it was about you. I LOVED Melissa Ethridge – LOVED her music. Now I can’t listen to it. You used it against me.
What gave you the right to profess your feelings to me? What gave you the right to give me gifts? What gave you the right to do and say things in front of others to make them wonder if all the rumors were true? You loved making people think there was something between us. You would stalk my office if someone was in talking to me or laughing with me. You would take days off when I took days off, I found that out much later. You drove around my walking route. Seriously? How fucked up is that?
I kept my fat suit on for a very long time because of you. I didn’t want your attention. I didn’t ask for your attention.
Your actions made me feel small and pathetic. I didn’t do what I wanted to with my career. I had lots of ideas. I am smart, people looked up to me. I lead committees and meetings. You destroyed that for me.
Do you remember when you showed up at my house to “apologize” for all the shit you did to me? I was on maternity leave with my girl. My step-dad talked to you, again, about leaving me alone. The first time you showed up I hid on the floor. Did you know that? But you couldn’t stop. You called my step-dad and complained that I wouldn’t talk to you. My step-dad called me and asked me to at least hear you out. You showed up the next day at my house. You never apologized, you used excuses to make what you did seem OK. I believe it was that your dad died young due to heart issues and you had heart issues, your dad had dreams and things he wanted to do but died before he could do them. You told me you didn’t want any regrets and you wanted me and you didn’t want to die or regret not trying. How many times did I tell you no? How many times did I ignore you? So, because you were a selfish asshole – you destroyed me. And what is worse is that I let you.
I have never truly found myself. I have never truly been happy with myself. I sabotage all my personal relationships because I feel unworthy. You made me feel………..dirty. You made me feel that I was doing something to make you act this way. I thought I was the one that was fucked up and wrong – I still do! You made me doubt anything I ever said out loud. You made me stop sharing a huge part of me. You made my work life hell. You made my home life hell.
Fuck you, dickhead. You don’t deserve my time or energy anymore. I have invested way too much into what you did to me. I’m done wasting my time and energy on you.
Some days I think I have my shit together and under control. And then there are days like today, where my shit is all over the place. Thoughts and feeling whirling around my brain like the twister in The Wizard of Oz. Images of important people in my world swirling around my brain evoking emotion after emotion. I can feel the turbulence in my chest. The pressure and force of the feelings is tremendous. I wish I had a magic pill to make it all go away, to make it all okay again. I don’t even need it to all be perfect, just to be okay.
I took a little me time a few weeks ago. I still can’t believe I had the balls to do it, but I did. I left my home and all the cozy comfort it brings me. I was fortunate to have a place to go and feel safe in. Why did I do it? To think, to feel, to cry, to scream. Did it work? I don’t think it did. I have been questioning my marriage and relationship with my husband. I can’t say exactly how long, but long enough. In the past I have tried to explain my feelings to him. I know I already wrote about that.
Communication. Communication is something I need desperately. Any major decision that needed to be made over the last 29 years of our marriage has been made by me. Why? Because there was no discussion. I would ask a question and get an answer of I don’t know. So I just made the decision I felt was best. Now that we are out of the kid stage, now that our lives have calmed down and there is more time to think and talk and make decisions I still get the answer I don’t know. And it makes me crazy. So, I left home the day after my birthday. I sent my husband an email from work telling him I wouldn’t be home that night and where I would be. He knew me leaving was a possibility from previous conversations. Yes, I sent him an email. I have also sent him text messages trying to explain how I feel and why. I do this because it gives him time to process, which I think he needs, but also so I don’t sit across from him staring at him waiting for an answer that never comes. That is the absolute worst.
I went to my safe place on a Monday evening after work. It was hard, incredibly hard. What was I expecting to happen? I don’t know. Isn’t that fucking ironic? What was my hope? That he would call me, text me, come to me (because he knew where I was) – anything to show me he cared and wanted me and that I mattered. I wanted him to fight for me, damnit. Why doesn’t he want to fight for me? Is it just assumed I will always be there, no matter what?
Monday night, I received nothing from him. Tuesday morning, I received nothing from him. Tuesday afternoon, I received nothing from him. Tuesday evening, I received nothing from him. Tuesday night, I was a puddle of tears and I broke. I called him and hung up. He called me back. Hearing his voice was a knife to the heart. Thinking back, I really don’t remember what was said. I was an emotional wreck. But we decided he would come to me Wednesday evening and we would talk.
He came to me. It was painful seeing him. The emotions, memories, feelings. It was overwhelming for me. We decided to go to dinner and have a kind of neutral place to talk. The drive was……..awkward in a sense. I asked a few question, but mostly surface stuff. We got to the restaurant, sat and ate. We talked, I guess. I asked him if he thought we would make it and if he wanted to make it work. He said he did. What else did we talk about? I’m not sure. I don’t think we really did. I think I thought it was more than it really was. We went back to where I was staying. He came in with me. We sat on my bed. I stared at him. I saw love in his eyes. I wanted him to hold me and stay with me. I think we talked, didn’t we? Did I do it again? Did I just let things slip back to the old ways? He didn’t stay. He honestly couldn’t, I knew that. Three dogs at home to take care of and all the other home responsibilities. I just wanted that to be the time he fought for me.
I went home Thursday evening after work. It was strange and weird. Do you go back to the old routines? Do you act like everything is suddenly okay? I think that is what I did. Why? I guess because it’s easy. Does he truly want me or is it the convenience of having someone take care of everything? Has our relationship become a convenience? Were we so busy during those early years of marriage, buying a house, having kids, raising kids, dealing with kid issues, working to pay the bills, that something just faded between us? I don’t know.
Does anyone else play the what if game? What if there is a person out there that would fight for me? What if there is a person out there that would sit down and talk to me? Would someone else find me valuable and beautiful and special? Do we love each other, but aren’t really in love with each other anymore? Does he deserve/want more than I can offer him? Do I deserve/want more than he can offer me? What if we separated or divorced? What does that look like? What happens then? Can I be alone? Can he be alone? How will I feel if he finds someone else? How will he feel if I find someone else? Is it time to find someone else? He knows all my scars and what they are from. Will someone new overlook all my flaws? What about my love handles? What will they think when they feel or see them? What does he think when he sees or feels them? What happens to the house I love; the house that we created together? What happens to the unfinished projects that we are both excited about? What happens to the stuff in the house? What happens to our kids and grandkids? What if he becomes a drunk? What if he doesn’t stay in contact with the kids and grandkids? What happens when there is a holiday or a birthday party? He has no one else. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? What does starting over look like? Why is my heart racing right now? Where do I go from here? How do I know what is right?
I found myself staring at him many times over the weekend. What is happening in his mind? What is he thinking?
To top things off, I also received an incredible job offer. After three or four years of applying and interviewing, I received an offer. It terrifies me. As of June 19, 2021, I will complete 32 years at my current job (please remember I started at the ripe old age of 19). I am 51 and seriously considering switching jobs. Am I fucking insane? Is the universe trying to tell me it’s time for a change? How will I make the right decision? Will I make the right decision? Do I want the stress of a new job? Do I want to feel like I am valuable again or stay where I am comfortable and just a convenience to those around me? Why do I feel like I am being pushed out the door in my current position? Is money and leave time all that matter at this point in my life?
When do you know when it’s over? How will I know when it’s over?
I knew that when I married him that he wasn’t a communicator. But I loved him, so I worked with it. It was hard. Decisions we should have been making together were made by me. Discussions that needed to be had, were had by me alone. We fought about it.
When you are young and married, you really don’t fight fair. I know I didn’t. I was taught to use guilt, be mean and nasty. Let it get ugly. I did that to him many times.
He never learned how to fight, he also never learned how to communicate growing up. His dad was a wonderfully, mild mannered soul. His mom ran the house and everyone in it. She put the fear of God in everyone. If she liked you, you were good. If she didn’t, you were screwed. And she could turn on a dime. You never knew what her mood would be. I don’t know what it was like for him to grow up like that. He has talked about some of it, but not all of it. I know it impacted him and how he deals with relationships or doesn’t deal with relationships.
What I can’t get past, is that we have spent the last 35 years together. Over half our lives. We have gone through sooooooooooooooooo many of life’s ups and downs together. I thought we always came out closer, stronger. Maybe I was wrong. I don’t want to be wrong. I am very afraid I was wrong.
I need, want and deserve someone that will share their thoughts and feelings with me and listen to mine. I want that to be him. I don’t think he wants it to be me.
I have felt so alone for a long time. I ignored it. I didn’t want it to be real. How can the man I love make me feel so………….worthless? Is it the years of being together? Is it boredom? Is it complacency? I am far from perfect. I try to keep things new and interesting. I try and tell him I find him attractive and I want him, do things he likes. I try. I ask what else I can do. His normal answer for any question – I don’t know.
I can’t keep living with I don’t know. He has to know something, right? He has to know if he wants me or not, right? He has to know if he loves me or not, right? He has to know, right?
So many memories wrapped up in what was us. Will there still be an us?
Why doesn’t he fight for me?
Am I not worth fighting for?
Why doesn’t he want a future with me?
Has the past been that awful with me?
I wish I knew what was in his head. I wish I knew what he was thinking. I wish I wasn’t so incredibly sad, hurt, raw, brokenhearted…….
I will call it my fat suit. It is exactly what it sounds like. About 10 years ago I thought I had rid myself of my fat suit. I was wrong.
Those of you that have read my previous posts know I had gastric bypass surgery. You know I have struggled with weight from my teenage years through adulthood. I thought I ended the cycle. I was wrong.
I used my fat suit over the years to protect me. If I was fat and unappealing, the harassment I endured would stop. If I was fat, people wouldn’t expect anything from me. If I was fat, it was fine to be average – even below average. If I was fat, I wouldn’t get hurt. No one really loves a fat girl. No one really wants to be in a relationship with a fat girl. And anyone that says they do love the fat girl or do want a relationship with the fat girl is just trying to make the fat girl feel good. They don’t mean what they say, they are just trying not to hurt the fat girls feelings.
My fat suit allowed me to not feel. My fat suit allowed me to make excuses. My fat suit kept me safe from heartache and pain. My fat suit insulated me against the big bad world.
I thought I would never go back to my fat suit. I was wrong
I thought I would never need my fat suit again. I was wrong.
I thought it was okay to open up and feel love without the fat suit. I was wrong.
My fat suit is returning pound by pound. It will protect me from the hurt. It will insulate me from the pain of him not loving me anymore.
There are too many decisions that I need to make. Too many people, places and things that I feel ultimately responsible for. I feel like I know where I want to be, I just don’t know how to get there. And if I get there, is that really where I will want to be?
Decisions about my daughter. Do I finally kick her out? Do I send the boyfriend a trespass letter? Why did she let him in my home? She was told multiple times he is not allowed in my home. She will say he was only in the garage. It doesn’t matter. It is still my house. Will my decision blow up her world and the trickle down will blow up my world? A decision I do not want to make alone, but I am being forced to make alone. Will I find her with an open scissors against her arm, again? Will I hear yet another screaming phone call while she fights with the boyfriend, but then go to church with his mom? So much I just can’t understand. I want to understand, but I can’t. I want to help, but I can’t. I want and need to make the right decision. I won’t.
Decisions about my job. Do I leave a 32 year job? Do I take the pay cut for my own mental health and sanity? Am I tired of being a “convenience” for everyone I work with? I feel I am just paid to sit and be convenient for others. I smile, I laugh, I entertain. Why? What am I getting out of it? Am I growing as an employee? No, because I am not allowed to grow. I am not allowed to think unless someone needs me to think. What will the pay cut mean to my family? Will he help me make this decision? No, he won’t. I will hear the same answer from him, I don’t know.
Really? Guess what? I don’t fucking know either. I don’t want to make the decisions anymore. I don’t want to feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. I don’t want to be used as everyone’s punching bag. I don’t want to be a convenience.
I want to be numb, even for a little while. I want to be truly happy, even for a little while. I want to be taken care of, even for a little while. I want to be heard, even for a little while. I want to be truly loved, even for a little while.
So, is this the beginning of the end or the start of the beginning……