Saturday, November 21, 2015


We had plans. All week, we were going to spend Friday together. We were going to lay in bed and just talk and laugh like we used to. I said I'd make dinner and brownies, he said that sounded good. But then work came up. Work always comes up. It happens. I said to work on it. So he did. I said that eventually he would have to sleep and could I sleep next to him. He said yes. I drove over.

On the way, I rehearsed a little speech, asking if we could go back to earlier in the week, before things got complicated. If we could just pick up being happy where we left off.

But when I arrived, he would barely look at me. Barely speak to me. We lay in bed in awkward silence. He was mad. I apologized. I cried. I hadn't meant to spoil his evening of work. I hadn't meant he had to go to bed right then. I just wanted to carve out some little portion of the Friday we meant to have. Some small sign of affection that I didn't have to fish for. But instead I made him mad. I couldn't bare it anymore. Laying in his bed, feeling waves of hostility washing off of him and on to me. My breath, catching in my lungs as I tried and failed to keep myself from falling to pieces.

I got up and gathered my things. I wasn't trying to make a dramatic exit, or a point. But I couldn't lie there and apologize over and over and over. I wasn't going to be able to make it right. I wasn't going to get a good night kiss or a stroke of the hair. I wouldn't be able to sleep there next to him, feeling out of place and burdensome.

So I went home.

He does most anything I ask him too. But I don't want to be the only one asking to spend time together. I don't want to have to initiate contact each time. I'm so tired of feeling like I'm chasing him, begging him for attention, struggling to be loved. I'm just so overwhelmingly sad.

Thursday, November 19, 2015


Imagine: that feeling when you are guarded but trying to unfurl your layers of armor so you can actually enjoy the safety and happiness that are in your world right now.

And then you fuck something up. You peek behind the curtain and know things you can never un-know. Cruel words that curl up and befriend all the self hatred that Tom unleashed into your brain. Knowing that the bad, horrible, selfish, broken parts of you, not only does your love see them, but he agrees with your horrible assessment of yourself.

And your timing makes it worse.  And it sets off a chain reaction in your Love. And knowing that makes you feel lower. The more he talks and explains, the lower you feel. Until you wish you could dissolve into nothingness. You wish you never were.

And you cry and you talk and things are salvaged. And he wants to move forward, stronger and better. And you want to run. You want to ghost. You want to warp yourself up in layers and layers of armor. You wonder why you keep making idiotic attempts to unwrap your dark, shriveled heart and give it to someone. Your unworthy, selfish, unreasonable heart. That no one will want.

Tom said a lot of insulting things. And all of them were so far from the mark as to be laughable. But one. He got one barb that cut so fucking deep. The words imprinted on your brain. I could be senile, not knowing the days of the week, but I'll remember his parting shot.

And though he didn't mean to be hurtful, my Love said words that are seared into the brain. Words that dovetail nicely with the poison Tom dripped in my ear. And you aren't mad at your Love, and you're fairly certain he isn't mad at you. But you're hurt and feel like such a wretch that you don't know if you can continue the relationship, because you're the worst person, with ridiculous wants and needs, a bottomless pit of need and dissatisfaction. Because you love him and he broke your heart. Again.