Gah! I haven’t been so tied up in knots since I was a melodramatic college student. Forty-four days sober, but as my pal HH says, white-knuckling is going to fail me. And I believe that wholeheartedly. I think that’s the reason why I put so much weight on after losing nearly 90 pounds ten years ago. I was going on self-restraint alone, of which my stores are finite…and low. S&B came to stay with me last weekend, and we had some amazing discussions that I think were really helpful. I just hope I can remember all of it. C was out of town for several days, so I felt I had already become an afterthought. He was seemingly looking forward to seeing his out-of-town crush, which is lovely for him. His minimal description of her previous behavior was not flattering, though, so I hoped she got her head on straight before leading him around by his vulnerable nose. I wonder to myself, not aloud to anyone, if this is something I’d like to give a shot. I just don’t see my current relationship going anywhere. It’s so forced. D. just doesn’t understand what it is I’m looking for, probably because it’s things he doesn’t need: passion, human contact, concern. He sent me the bare minimum texts since leaving town Friday night. It’s a little humiliating when I’m home and feeling so very broken. I cried most of the day Sunday when I was awake, I got out of bed at 4, I changed out of pjs at 4:30, I ate food at 6, I left the house to go down to the beach at 7. I even stayed home from work Monday so I could just have a day to get my shit back together.
Seriously, what the fuck am I even doing? I’m having serious yet unrequited feelings for someone outside my marriage and spiraling obsessive thought processes that distract me from just about everything. Why do I torture myself? It absolutely does not feel good. At all. It feels awful and makes me want to die because I feel so useless and undesirable and alone. So fucking alone. And there isn’t anyone in the world who would want to listen to me complain about any of this. I mean, really, I have an amazing home, a terrific job with a stable income, I can stand without assistance (for now). But my health sucks, my marriage is dead, I’m getting old and gross, I’m ugly and foolish and pathetic, and I don’t have anyone really that I can trust completely, except my therapist, but she doesn’t love me. I pay her to listen to me. God, that’s so fucking pathetic.
HH says I need to start making more conscious decisions, not decisions for today or long-term decisions, but decisions that will make tomorrow go more smoothly. I’m not 100% sure what those are, but I get it.
And then I have the ocean. This is my only friend right now. It’s so pathetic. D tries, but he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t have the feelings for me that he used to have, and I get that. I’m not adorable anymore. I’m old.
I’ve made one bit of progress, though, for which I am proud: I’ve started allowing myself to take up space. It’s not easy, especially when I’ve spent my entire life trying to stay out of the way of everyone around me. My mom’s favorite “cute” story to tell about when I was born is this: in the first couple of days of my life, in the hospital, she had a conversation with me that went something like “Little baby, you are the youngest of four, and you will go to every football practice, every softball practice, every swim meet, every Girl Scout meeting, and every carpool line, and you will sleep where you are, and you won’t complain.” Her intention was to say that everyone else’s plan would not be interrupted by my existence. I would be accommodating and not complain. So now I apologize for existing, for being fat, for being in the way, for being visible, but I’m trying not to do that anymore I’m trying to allow myself to take up space. When D asks if I want to order something in a restaurant because it includes something he wants, I would usually say “yes,” but I’m not doing that anymore. It’s not my problem. I deserve to have what I want.
I’ll be 50 in 13 days, so I’ve been thinking about what I want the rest of my life to look like. I want it to include some element of desire and passion. Maybe it means couples counseling. Maybe it means a conversation with D about finding those things elsewhere. I know that sounds outrageous, but I don’t have to live out my last years missing that so desperately. I know he’ll live longer than I will, so I need to solve the problem now that I know it’s a problem. I don’t think he understands my emotions at all, but I also don’t feel like he wants to. He seems to avoid them as much as possible. That’s such a bummer. He has never told me he loves me unless we’re going to bed or one of us is departing. That sucks. And I’m not saying that C offers me that; he does not, but he allows me to talk about my feelings in a way that is validating and supportive and shows that I’m not alone. When I’m with D, we’re not really together unless we’re eating a meal at a table staring each other in the face. Otherwise, we’re just cohabiting. That sucks. We can sit next to each other for hours in the apartment and he’d never give me a thought. That sucks.
So I’ve decided that I need to start being vocal about my own needs and not pay so much deference to the needs of others. It feels so selfish, but you know what. Fuck ‘em. I’m getting too old to be a people pleaser all the time—especially when it’s ALWAYS at the expense of my own needs. Yes, it’s inherited, but it doesn’t need to keep going. I have no solution for this yet, but I’m working on it. I’m just so exhausted.
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