Tag: love

Stuff – just more stuff

It’s been forever since I sat down to…. unleash some of my thoughts.  It feels like so much has happened, yet everything is the same.  Life keeps moving, no matter how much I want and need it to slow down and maybe even stop for a bit.  Just a short press of the pause button, that’s all I would like.  That’s not true.  I want a lot more.  Like a lot, a lot.  A fuck-ton more. 

What do I want?  I want answers.  I want discussion.  If someone asked, “how is your relationship/marriage?” What would the answer be?  Good?  OK?  Normal?  Is that the truth?  Is that what is perceived or what is real? 

Thinking back over the last almost four years, I have left and returned three times.  Not once was there any meaningful communication when I returned.  Just silence.  I always crawled back, tail between my legs.  Back into the position of wife, mom, Mimi, daughter, sister.  The way everyone expects me to be.  Not me as a person, but me as a wife, mom, Mimi, daughter, sister.  As long as I am here, everything is ok.  As long as I go to sleep in the same bed, wake up in the same bed, do the same things over and over again, everything is ok.  Because I am here, where I am supposed to be. 

Nothing was ever worked out or talked about when I returned.  It was just accepted that things go back to “normal” to the status quo. But there was always silence when I came back.  The silence is uncomfortable, but somehow comfortable.  Because after the chaos of the kids and grandkids leave, the silence returns.  The silence has always been part of the relationship.  There are just times where the silence screamed louder than others.   This is one of those times.  I feel the anger, the rush of emotion, the resentment, the fear, the unhappiness.  I feel it all from you, but we can’t talk about it.  Talking will make it real.

My therapist once told me, no good marriage ends in an affair.  There I said it.  The word.  The word that gets ignored.  The action that gets ignored. 

Something just hit me and hit me hard.  The times I came back, the times there were small talks, the times where I needed more, the times where the emotions were rolling out of me; I was never asked what I wanted.  I have asked that question thousands of times.  What do you want?  It’s a hard question to ask, right?  What do I want?

I don’t know

I don’t know how to be me without you. I don’t know who I am without you. I have never really been me without you. How can that be? Do you feel that way? Is that okay? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t know how to live like this. I don’t know how to keep existing like this. Do you?

Part of me wants to curl up on your lap and let you hold me. Part of me wants to scream and cry and tell you everything that is in my head and heart. How do you feel ?

Am I done with you? Are you done with me? Are we done with each other?

What do you hold onto? What do you hold dear? What can’t you live without? Can you tell me? Will you tell me?

Why do you need me? Why am I important to you? Can you tell me?

Do you know how to take care of me yet? What it would look like or be like for you? Would you share that with me?

How can we sleep in the same bed, but live separately? How do we live in the same house and yet having nothing to talk about?

Do you miss me? Do you miss my smell? Do you miss my laugh? Do you miss my smile? DO YOU MISS ME?

I don’t have the answers for us. I don’t know anymore. I am so tired, so very tired.

If you knew…

If you knew it was the last time we would sleep in the same bed, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew the last time we said I love you was actually the last time it would ever be said between us, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was our last dinner at the kitchen table, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew the last time we made love it was the last time we would ever physically be together, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew I would never stand in front of you again begging for your words, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was the last car ride we would take together, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was the last night we would sit in the family room in utter silence, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was the last time, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

Do you know?

The feels

I felt – no – I realized something recently. I realized that I flipped my “feels” switch. I switched it to off. I’m not entirely sure when I did it. I think it was gradual. I am fairly certain it wasn’t intentional. I always liked my feels, at least I think I did.

What initially made me realize it was another baby girl moment. Around 12:03 AM on New Year’s Day, she started texting. Texts were as follows:

You up

He just called the cops on me – idk

Probably going to jail

Can dad come

I need the door to get fixed

I’m out he’s throwing everything out

She called at some point in between the texts. I was asleep and yes, somewhat tipsy from celebrating NYE. The first call was to say she wanted to leave but couldn’t get her car out. Wow, can you imagine that drippy dick parks her car in? Shocking.

(Rant warning – like the time about a month ago when they drove to Walmart in her car so she could buy food for them at like 10PM with her food stamps and he made her go in the store alone, kept the keys and stayed in her car. She called me crying not knowing what to do or where to turn. She didn’t know if he would even be in the parking lot when she went out. I gave her all the options possible and as always, she did nothing. Rant over)

She called a second time. I could hear she was walking. She said she had Goose, her cat, and was going to her car and she was coming home. That was around 12:30 AM.

I fell into a restless sleep. I stirred at every noise, but it was never the garage door going up. I looked outside for her car during every bathroom trip. Her car was never there. So, I woke up New Year’s Day not knowing if she was dead or alive, again. I started all the checking. Checking social media to see when she was last active, sending text messages, sending facebook messages, calling her over facebook messenger, calling her two cell phones. And I got no response. I fought with the idea of calling the police department in her area and asking them to check on her welfare. But, there are so many buts that go along with that.

She finally responded around 11AM, via text. She was alive.

Since it was New Year’s Day, my very small family was going to be gathering around 1PM for the annual pork, sauerkraut and knepp. And if you don’t know how amazing that meal is, I feel sorry for you. She sent a text at 12:30 AM that she was on her way. I was shocked, but thrilled. She showed up. She looked awful, so skinny, too skinny.

I did my best to talk to her to try and find out if she was physically OK. I know she isn’t mentally OK. She said she was. She said they fought until 3AM and then he slept in bed and she slept on the sofa (I didn’t even know they had a sofa). Drippy told her she should stay because he was concerned about her driving with all the drunks on the road. Yes, you read that correctly. I asked if she was done with the bullshit and she said she was. She said everything was packed, but she needed to fix the back door, according to drippy dick, because she shut the door and the hinge was now loose. Yeah, that’s because she lives in a shithole and has a slumlord as a landlord. The frame is rotting out. Drippy dick told her that her dad has to come fix the door. Oh, I have so many comments for drippy on that one. Sooooooooooooooooooooooo many comments. She said would leave the next day when drippy was at work. We, my and my husband, were off the following day as our work holiday. I felt better being home when she got there.

She texted first the next day. I asked what was happening and she said what we planned on. She said she guessed she was leaving. This was the text I got “He told me just to go so he can heal and grow without the weight of me on him.” HOLY FUCKING WOW. But there was still the issue of the door that her dad had to fix. As we were trying to figure out what would be needed to fix the door and if drippy left for work, she sent the following, “Yeah, I was jut gonna text dad back. Just forget about it. idk what’s wrong with me or why I stay. I think the back door is as fixed as it’s going to get, its a piece of shit anyway. I just have to go to Home Depot at some point I guess and get a new bathroom door and see if they can put the hole in it for the doorknob and what not.” That’s because the bathroom door also got broken during their fight.

She stayed, again.

That’s the last I have talked to her. Back to my feels. I don’t cry the way I used to, I don’t hurt the way I used to, I don’t feel the way I used to. And it’s not just with my baby girl. It’s with everything. I’m not reaching out to friends to check on them or reaching out to family the way I should.

The feels have been boxed up. Tucked neatly away like my Holiday decorations. No extra chaos in my brain! Keep those feels far, far away. Fuck. Am I pretending again? Or have I actually gotten so used to hurting that I am now numb to it? I would hate to see what would happen if I dusted off some of the feels.

A day

Today is a day. I felt it as soon as I woke up. I didn’t want to be awake. I wanted to be deep in the blackest sleep possible. Why? I’m not really sure.

I did my normal morning routine. It’s almost like it’s so automatic at this point I don’t even really remember doing it. Know what I mean?

I was in my car driving to work. I was definitely driving too fast, which I tend to do on a regular basis. Tempting fate, maybe? Anyway, I had music on. Celine Dion’s, These Are The Special Times. It’s my favorite Christmas album. I’m not even sure why. When CD’s were still a thing, I think I bought about 5 of them over the years because I played it so often. It shook loose all the feels that I have been stomping down and ignoring. I was on an exit ramp and thought…………. what if I set cruise control at like 80 mph and just shut my eyes. I didn’t. But I thought about it. I closed my eyes for a second. Then I thought about the innocent people I may hurt if I did it. I will carry more than enough guilt into my afterlife, I don’t need to add more.

Isn’t it amazing how many thoughts you can have in a very short time? I asked myself why, why would I even think about doing something like that? I thought being able to watch all the people that I love, but not feeling the feels, would be magical. Seeing their daily lives, watching them grow and flourish. Maybe nudging them gently in what I considered the right direction for them. And then I thought what if I couldn’t watch them? What if after the darkness there isn’t anything else. It’s just dark. Would I know? Would I know what I am missing? Would I still feel those feels that I want to run from? Would that go on for eternity? An eternity of darkness? An eternity of those feels? Is that what would happen? Is that what I really want?

Yes, this is a bit chaotic. My mind is a bit chaotic today. Today is a day.

Darkness

I begged the darkness to take me.  Cocoon me in nothingness.  No feelings, no thoughts, no love, no loss, no hurt, no guilt – nothing.  Keep me safe from others; keep others safe from me.  I will let the darkness do with me as it wishes.  

I have no excuses for all the wrongs I have done.  I will not make excuses.  I am not a prize to be won or bartered for.  My love is not a prize to be won or bartered for.

The armor I wear every day is stronger than diamonds.  My heart, with each break, turns to stone.  Hard and impenetrable. 

I will try again tonight. I will whisper sweet nothings to the darkness. I will beg the darkness.

The Dance

How long have we been dancing the dance?  Do you remember?  I think the real dancing started about four years ago.  To be fair and completely honest, the dancing was always there.  It was in the background at times, but it was always there.

You do know the dancing I’m talking about, right?  It’s what has become our traditional relationship dance.  I think we unknowingly started this dance; it wasn’t intentional.  We did what we needed to do to, right?  Is that how you remember the dance starting?  There were times family interfered with our relationship.  We each pacified the other.  I know I felt stuck in the middle and I’m sure you did as well.  Looking back, I wish we would have had the ability to cope with the interference and stop the dancing.  But we danced around the problems, hoping they would just disappear.  While it wasn’t always looming over our shoulders, the dancing was still happening in the background; waiting for a weak moment to speed up the tempo, to make one of us feel weak, vulnerable, unsettled.  We did the best we could, right?

I think there was a time, and it probably was about four years ago, where the dancing pattern we are in now started.  I would talk to you about needing help with decisions, kids, money, day to day stuff.  I would talk, you would listen.  I would get frustrated and stop talking.  You waited me out, at least that’s how I felt/feel.  You waited until I could no longer take the awkward silence, the no talking.  I would break my silence, and everything would eventually go back to our normal dancing.  It’s odd now that I think about it.  I couldn’t stand living in the awkward silence, so I broke.  But there was still silence, just a different kind of silence.  It was the silent song of our dance. Our dancing pattern happened when, like every three or six months?  The dance always started and ended the same way. I feel like I tried over and over again.  Do you feel that way?  Like you tried over and over again?  I guess it doesn’t matter. 

We are still dancing.  Now we dance around each other.  We dance around talking, touching, feeling.  What happens when the dance ends? What happens when one of us stops dancing?  What if it’s you?  What if it’s me?  Does it look different or feel different?

Do we continue to live in the comfortable uncomfortableness that surrounds us daily because living in the comfortable uncomfortableness is easier than moving our lives into the unknown uncomfortableness.  Is that anyway to live?  How do we continue to avoid what is right in front of our faces? 

I feel like you are living in the shadows of the three wise monkeys; see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.  If you turn a blind eye to what is happening to us, you don’t have to worry about anything.  If you refuse to hear what I am saying over and over, you don’t have to worry about anything.  If you refuse to speak to me about what is happening to us, you don’t have to worry about anything. 

But I have a question.

What happens when one of us steps off the dance floor?

Spin cycle

I feel like rambling. My apologies.

So many different things circling in my brain. Kinda feels like a washing machine that is stuck on the spin cycle. I keep trying to break out of the cycle.

First and foremost is a dinner that is planned for tomorrow evening. It is with my sister and two friends. I am beyond fortunate to have these women in my world. It’s a shame my brain always gets in the way. I have given myself the title of “token fat friend” for the group. No one else gave me that, just me. And if anyone who doesn’t know us would see us out and about, they would easily pick me as the one that doesn’t quite fit with the group. Some may think that’s a good thing. I’m not sure how I feel about it. I will give the facts as I see them. Just facts, not my spin on the facts. I will spin those facts a bit later.

Facts: I am the largest of the group, I am probably the loudest of the group, I am the only one in the group with super short hair, I am the only one in the group with tattoos, I am the only one in the group that doesn’t exude confidence, I am the one in the group that will be slumped and slouched, I will eat less than anyone in the group, I am the only one in the group that swears like a sailor, I am the one in the group that looks at life a bit differently and has some very different views and opinions.

Those are facts. How my brain spins those facts is where the trouble starts. I have been worried about what I am wearing tomorrow evening for the last two weeks. What will make me appear smaller? What will make me fit in? What will everyone else wear? What if my tattoos are visible? Will everyone be embarrassed to be seen with me? Am I going to get another lecture about tattoos and how they aren’t feminine or whatever? I will do my make-up the best way I can in hopes to not look like a man. Hoping that the makeup will take away from a face that looks like a long horse face (a comment that my mother once made to me, and I can’t ever forget). I will cross my fingers in hopes my rosacea that I have gotten over the last two years will stay away tomorrow evening. If not, my cheeks, nose and forehead will appear blotchy and red, similar to a drunk person. I will sit with my back to the wall, facing out. This is for a multitude of reasons. First, my back fat will not show to those approaching from behind. It also helps when others are approaching the table that I would normally hug, because my seating choice makes it difficult to be hugged. Which means no arms/hands on the back fat, waist fat or hip fat. Of course, I will do my best to keep all fats controlled with spandex. But one can only wear so much spandex. While facing out, I get to watch the faces, stares, and reactions of others. The others in the group will share stories of travel and experiences I will never have. Again, due to seating choice I can observe and listen, waiting for the opportune time to make a smart-ass comment to deflect from what I am really feeling. That feeling would be inadequacy. A feeling I know well. People will also see me from the front, again due to choice seating. If viewed from behind, my super short hair reveals a neck area that has no definition either from the back or side due to a fat neck and double chin. People will be greeted by a smile. A smile that hides all the pain and doubts and insecurities. I will be the funny one, or at least attempt to be. I use humor to deflect from real feelings. Don’t ask me how my marriage is or how my daughter is unless you really want to know. Cause what I would like to tell you, well that shit ain’t pretty and you can’t handle the truth. I will scan the room, searching for those who are judging. I can tell who they are. The sideways glance that lasts a bit too long. Someone thinking or wondering what poor individual gets to wake up next to me in bed. And what the hell might that look like. If I resemble a bull dyke lesbian in full make-up, what must I look like first thing in the morning. Believe me, it’s horrific. And I don’t wear spandex to bed, so imagine that nightmare. People will come to the table we are sitting at because the others at the table are known. I will get introduced as the sister of one of the groups most well-known. I see the fleeting look of surprise, wonder and at times shock and horror cross people’s faces. How can that thing (meaning me) be related to the gorgeous, feminine, posh, woman? It’s at these times I will make it known we are only half-sisters. I got the bad half.

I will, of course, use the correct forks, use table manners that would make Emily Post proud. After all, while I might be a bull dyke lesbian looking thing, I’m not a complete cad. Now, pass the bread and let’s get this party started

A question


I asked you a question a few months ago. A question that was posed to me from an outsider.  The question I asked you was “what does taking care of me look like to you”.  I did not push you to answer. I asked occasionally if you had thought about it or if you had an answer for me.  It took a month for you to answer me and even then, it was because I was seeing the outsider and I don’t think you wanted to look “bad”.  Your answer was, “Difficult to answer, not sure how to answer.  Is it because I never did actually take care of you? Or never really thought about it. To take the time for your wants and needs.  Flowers to brighten your day, a card, a phone message to say I love you.  More decision making on my end to help end your stress.  To have answers for questions (not, I don’t know).” 

What has changed, in your opinion?  I would love to hear that answer from you.  From your lips, not written on a piece of paper or sent in an email or text.  Could you answer?  Would you answer?  

I started therapy, for me.  When I told you that I finally made an appointment you asked me, “Should I be worried?”  I would have to assume if you asked me that question, you were already worried.  Right?  You felt me changing.  You felt the distance that was created between us.  You had to.  People around us saw it and felt it.  Is it easy to ignore that feeling?  I can’t ignore it any longer. 

I fill my days being busy to keep the real from creeping in.  To fill the voids and the gaps with something, anything.  You have to realize that.   You have to see that.  The busier I am the less time for the awkward silence to ooze into all the empty spaces

You will always be a person that will hold a very special place in my heart and in my world. I will always love you, no matter how fucked up that sounds. I don’t want to replace all the memories we have. I want to keep those memories. I want to keep them safe, keep them happy, not destroy them with words of hate and feelings of…discontent, unhappiness, and loneliness.

Our house. Do I love it? Fuck yes, I love it. After almost 20 years, it has become what I had always hoped for. Our kids are comfortable coming and going, even as adults. Our grandkids know where to find their snacks and their favorite toys. That is what rips me apart the most. What about them? I see the way you look at each one of them. Your love shines through your eyes. I worry if we are no longer “us”, your relationship with them will change. That destroys me. But I can’t control that. I can’t control you or your actions.

If I ask you the same question today, “what does taking care of me look like to you”, what would your answer be?

What happens if I go away

Who will take care of cleaning?

Who will take care of cooking?

Who will take care of the wash?

Who will take care of paying the bills?

Who will take care of birthdays?

Who will take care of anniversaries?

Who will take care of holidays?

Who will take care of appointments?

Who will take care of ordering food?

Who will take care of getting groceries?

Who will take care of loading the dishwasher?

Who will take care of unloading the dishwasher?

Who will take care of the kids?

Who will take care of the grandkids?

Who will take care of giving support?

Who will take care of giving comfort?

Who will take care of giving love?

The world will continue to spin if I go away

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