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.

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