Overwhelmed and Frustrated

 Today was another frustrating day. 

First, trying to rush William out the door this morning. Despite prepping him yesterday, making him go to bed early at 20:00 and waking him he still dragged his feet this morning. At one point I found him laying on the couch in the dark. I yelled at him, and he got up and went upstairs ostensibly to find socks - stayed up there for 10-15 minutes, doing what I will never know. Either lying down or playing with his legos. I was infuriated. I dressed, fixed his lunch, took Luke out, fed Luke, fed Kitty Baby all in the time it took him to get dressed. I think stood and watched him brush his teeth and brush his hair. He has no sense of priority, no rush, no hurry. I wanted to thrash him. It's so frustrating to see. He's old enough where he understands the idea of consequences, of cause and effect. He understands the words I'm saying, and the directives, but he doesn't translate it to action. My words mean nothing to him, he just doesn't give a fuck. Oh he'll act like he's sorry, he'll droop his shoulders and look forlorn and bruised but he doesn't change his actions at all. Nothing changes. 

This afternoon on the way home after picking him up from aftercare I asked if he had his math studyguide. His math teacher, Ms. Austill, sent parents an email yesterday giving us a heads up that she would be sending the students home with a study guide to prepare them for their math test tomorrow. You know this boy told me he left his blue math folder at home. Said that he didn't hear Ms. Austill tell them to take it home. I'm so sick of his scholastic laziness. Sick of it. I've yelled, I've fussed, I've guilted, I've lectured... he gets upset, he cries, and says I'm so mean yet here we are... not giving a fuck. I've already restricted ipad use to only weekends. So I kept him home from soccer. He was supposed to have soccer practice today, and I told him that since he doesn't take school seriously he doesn't need to be playing soccer. That school is more important than soccer is, and that since he left his math folder at school that he'll take the time he would have been at practice to practice on his math. Logged him into iReady and he did 30 minutes of math. After that I made him read for 30 minutes. That's an hour. He was sad about missing soccer but I told him that school is a priority. If he wants to do fun things he needs to be more serious about school. I hope that works. I can't afford him to be stupid like his daddy. My greatest mistake in life was pairing with that man. I cannot fathom how much my association with him has tainted and soured the promise of my life path. 

 I don't want him to grow up to be yet another useless ass man. A liability. 

This single mom shit is hard. There is so much to do and not a lot of time available to do it. Paying bills, homeowner shit, william school shit, extracurricular shit, work shit, taking care of my self shit, housework shit, yard work shit, car shit, dog shit, cat shit. Hell it's been a year and I still have boxes that need unpacking!! I don't have the available resources to confront each thing, I. am. tired. My default is tired.  Even if I get a nice day of relaxation to myself, by Tuesday I'm exhausted again. When will I get my feet under me, when will things straighten out? 

Sick and tired of being sick and tired. I'm tired of complaining. I'm exhausted and fed up, exasperated. I don't even want to talk about it, because whyyyyy. To what end? It isn't going to change anything. My life isn't going to improve by dumping my thoughts and worries and mental burdens on someone else. They can't help me. I don't want to be someone to pity or feel sorry for. Yeah, single mom life is kicking my ass but this is temporary. The turn is right around the corner, things are going to improve. Things are going to change. How? I don't know. William will become more responsible - he'll be proactive in his things, completing his chores and doing his school work/studies. His grades will improve, so I can stop paying for a tutor. My car a/c will get fixed. My HVAC system will be cleaned and maintained. I'll get new flooring in my bedroom so the ratty carpet will begone. I"ll get someone to pick up this damn dining room table, clearing space out of the dining room and giving me room to tackle those boxes of books. I'll promote to major, giving me a raise. Mom's 401k. The Italy house stuff. 

I dream of having someone to share these responsibilities with, but I honestly can't imagine living with someone. Having another adult in my house with me, sharing my space with them? All my secrets, the weird shit I do in the evenings before bed when no one else is around to see. I haven't met that person.

Dual parent homes

I finally caught up with my BGs on Marco polo. We hadn't talked in a few weeks, since valentines day really. I've been kind of in my hermit kick, holing away until I feel better. 

Courtney is looking to slow down her career, is stepping down from her director position and she announced her and Paul's plan to launch his full time photography career. She shared how he wants to be home more, and the Post Office is hard on his body. Not to mention it's a dead-end job. Jamie has been voicing his desire to have his daddy around, and Paul doesn't want to miss out on these core memories. Jan shared how she appreciates that Lew works from home and is readily available, and hopes that he is able to continue doing that for some time. 

Courtney then shared some childhood memories of having her dad around, at games and picking her up from school, and just his ready availability when her mom was getting her masters degree and both Jan and her shared their decision making process. It was beautiful hearing about how they sat down with their husbands and planned what they want their future to look like. Those kids are so blessed to have two parents with a shared vision of growth and aspirations for their family, and I can't help but to feel like someone on the outside looking in. 

I can't imagine what that must be like, to have a Partner to plan my life with. Even when I was married, there was no planning. He didn't have any aspirations, why would he, he was already living at his peak. I cannot fathom being with someone and growing together, tangibly. Establishing a goal and working toward that, for the mutual benefit of our family. I think I'm screwed. 

From what I've seen so far, it's not promising. I haven't met any man who wants to grow with me, or is growing, or interested in a "us" as a family. I'm not sure that exists, or if it exists I'm not sure that I'll find one. 

Adrian says to remember God is my co-pilot, I'm holding on to that. God wouldn't leave me hanging. I'm not alone in this. Although I feel very alone. I don't know how my mom did it, but then again she also made a lot of mistakes so... that's probably how. 

I feel so incredibly lonely. 

Journaling - March 15

Usually I prefer to physically write my journal prompts, but I feel that I'm going to have a lot to write this time around and I don't want my hand to get tired and I get lazy. 

Adrian says that anger helps us see where we are being violated/trespassed and where we need stronger boundaries. I've felt a lot of anger lately, towards Willie and towards Tavarean. She says I still have a lot of unprocessed grief related to my divorce and failed marriage, and encouraged me to do some journaling regarding that. I also need to do some journaling regarding Tavarean, and my anger and grief and indecision regarding him. First Willie - 

I havent' been on Blogger in probably years, and the first post I saw was one dated January 2020. I think it was an unsent text message. I read it again, it seemed like the for the first time, and it brought back so many memories of loneliness and gaslighting. I read more entries, and remembered just how miserable I was with him. How poorly he treated me. How alone and isolated I felt. The man who was supposed to take care of me, treating me like common garbage. Adrian says that I get so triggered by him because there's still unprocessed feelings. I don't know how to process those feelings. 

Old pictures of us get to me. I'm 39 now, I was a few weeks shy of 21 when I met him. He turned 36 about 8 weeks after we met. I remember when I was 36, and realized that I was the same age when we met... and looking at 21 year old as ignorant kids. You couldn't pay me to hang out with someone under the age of 25. I have one friend, Maya who is 10 years younger than me... and that's only because we were roommates in COT. Otherwise I don't think I would have befriended her because she's so friggin young. Yet this man met me, and thought I'd be a good choice of a wife. 

Why did my mom encourage it? Mom thought it would be a good idea for us to date, she didn't think twice of the age difference. I guess she thought he'd be a good pastime for the summer, but I was 20... what made her think that I knew anything about having a "pastime"? And why didn't she ever sit me down and talk to me about the relationship, the inappropriateness, the lack of a fruitful future? She knew, there is no way that she couldn't see the fat-ass bold writing on the wall, but she let it happen. Why didn't she love me enough to re-direct my future? Why wasn't she proactive in directing my life trajectory? I shouldn't have had to learn all of this from first-hand experience. I can also recognize that I had never seen her with a "quality" partner, none of her partners were ever on her same social level or professional level. It never occurred to me to look for that in a potential partner. 

Our wedding pictures sicken me. 

I see my bright youthful optimistic face full of hope for the future, and in his face all I see is avarice and greed. I feel like he used up my youth. He drained me of vitality and opportunities, while he stalled with his lies and obfuscations, demanding to be the "head" of a household he didn't have the wherewithal or savvy to lead. He took from me, took advantage of my mother's love for me and my son, of her desire to see us happy, and had no intention of ever being able to support or provide the lifestyle he knew I wanted. He had no issue with taking from my mom, from me, from my nonna - he never hesitated to take a handout, with no plan to reimburse or reciprocate. 

Now looking back he has so many qualities that I abhor in a man, but I don't know if that's because of my experience with him so now I'm super sensitive.

It's the lack of return on investment. I believed him for so many years. Promises of applying for programs, degrees, Personal Training, always followed by excuses and reasons why he couldn't. I believed him because I loved him, he was my husband so why would he lie to me? But he did. He never showed any vulnerability to me, was never willing to indicate that he didn't know or wasn't sure or was worried about anything. Even when he blew his knee, he was always adamant that it's not because of old age, that it's an injury that could happen to anyone at any age. I never understood why he would repeat that over and over again, he would get so offended if anyone suggested it was because he was old. Now I know that he was insecure about it. The one thing he had was his physical strength and prowess, and here he was approaching 50 and his knee gave out on him. 

I don't know what to write - but he disgusts me as a man. He's the ultimate example of a failure, he's CAT (lacking courage aspiration and truth) the basics of what a "man" should be. TAke gender away, he lacks the basic building blocks of what a good person should be. He is all talk, no action. He makes promises but doesn't uphold. He holds more importance in image versus substance or reality, and will go to great lengths to portray the image of a Good Man and a Beautiful Family but doesn't seem to grasp the reality of what that means. 

 When I think of the marriage - I feel anger. Anger at Willie for using me and ruining my future, and anger/sadness at myself for allowing myself to be led down this path. Granted, how could I have known. I'm angry for that young girl not having any guidance. I'm angry at the adults around her for not giving her guidance, particularly her mother. 

I Just rented Adult Children of Emotionally Unavailable Parents, going to listen to the audiobook, that's another issue altogether. 

I tried really hard for that marriage to work. I had a vision for a future, and his insecurities and ignorance hobbled us from day one. I sought a partner to lead me, and he was too ignorant to even know what he didn't know.  

Now I have to be my own leader, which is fine, but it isn't easy. I'll follow-up with another post about dating and seeking a partner. 

Willie disgusts me at because although my expectations are pretty basic/Mickey Mouse, he still consistently fails. I don't know what his baseline is, and thus I continuously overestimate his abilities and subsequently am continuously disappointed by him. That disappointment triggers remnants of disappointment from my own father, who did nothing but fail as a dad. I so hoped to have found a "better" father in Willie than I had, and in some ways he was better. He didn't' do drugs, and he didn't run off to leave me to raise 2 daughters alone in a country where I didn't speak the language well ... but he's still a shitty father and husband. That triggers my anger, because I'd hope/expect him to do better by William. I can understand not giving a damn about me or my desires but at the very least do better to provide a good life and childhood for his only son.

January 2020 writing prompt

January 2020 writing prompt

"Write about a time someone talked you into doing something you didn't want to do"


Candles flicker against the dank stone walls of a basement, outlining the periphery of an elaborate pentagram chalked onto the bare concrete floor.  Deep cold seeps through the fabric of my jeans, numbing my legs at the pressure points.  Droplets of a dark sticky substance are spattered across the floor but when I try to focus my gaze on them my head starts to swim.  I'm so tired. The air hangs heavy with the mixed scent of beeswax and old damp, and something else that I'm afraid to name.

Why is that so important? I get the nagging feeling that I'm forgetting something important, something vital but what?

At that moment a faint scuffing noise draws my attention to the darkest corner of the room, which the faint candlelight refuses to illuminate.  My disorientation worsens as I try to decipher the shadows in that dark corner, as if my eyes refuse to focus no matter how much I concentrate my efforts.  They refuse to dwell there, I can't see a thing, only a hazy darkness. What am I doing here? Where am I?

"Julien? Is that you?" A small familiar voice calls out from that corner.

The bile rises in my throat as chill bumps spread across every exposed surface of skin on my body. That voice...

"Julien!" The child's voice calls again, "I'm scared. What's going on?"

Julien... in a rush my mind is flooded with clarity. I am Julien LeFleur, and the last thing I remember is.... dammit I can't believe I'm this stupid. Stupid stupid stupid!!

Family legend claims that the LeFleur clan are Sensitives. That we have a closer tie to the spirit world and to the unseen.  All my childhood I grew up hearing stories about great aunt so-and-so who claimed to have had a conversation with the devil at a crossroads and left with her soul intact, or big daddy such-and-such who was able to predict every birth and death in the family down to the day.  Grandmere professed to hear angels up until her dying day, and my little sister... sweet little Faustine.

What was I doing? Grandmere is probably rolling in her grave right now, she taught me better than to mess around with this kind of Foolishness. That's is what she called dark magic, Foolishness. As if negating the damned and making it out to be silly would somehow lessen the danger.

A wave of nausea rocks me back to reality. Cold sweat beads on my upper lip and brow despite the cold. A susurration of voices in my head.  Out of reflex I raise my hands to my ears and scream.

"STOP!"

Deafening silence, like the muted stillness following snowfall. Or the expectant silence indicating the presence of a predator.

"Brother, help me" The plaintive voice calls out. I can't see her. What is she doing down here in this godforsaken hole? My baby sister. I was supposed to protect her! Keep her safe!

Soft sobs erupt from the darkness "I'm scared... where are you?"

Why can't I remember? The soft dripping of liquid hitting the concrete floor snags my attention. This... is wrong, there shouldn't be this much blood. I feel so weak. No, I'm not supposed to. Can't remember why, but there's the nagging feeling that I'm only safe within this circle.

"W-who are you?" I call out to the darkness. Silence fills the air. Angry now, "Who are you!". It's not Faustine, not my little Faustine. 

My Faustine died months ago, struck by a speeding vehicle just outside of our house. It was a crisp autumn afternoon. She was outside, as usual, trying to convince me to play hide and seek with her. Somehow she got too close to the road just as a delivery truck sped by, and apparently lost her balance. If I was out there with her, instead of inside the house ignoring her... my stomach knots with the remembered anguish of that day.

A small girlish voice calls out "Please help me... I can't go on. You called me here, and now I can't go on. It's dark... and scary." She pleads "Please brother".

Protective instincts take over just as guilt rears its ugly head. Is this my fault too, am I causing her pain in death? How? "'Tine, what do I do? Don't be scared, I'm coming to get you". I drunkenly shamble to my feet, shoes slipping in the blood and wax that has accumulated on the floor beneath me.  My limbs feel heavy, I'm gasping for air. So much blood...

The whispering is back. Telling me exactly what to do. This isn't right. I don't want to, but I have to save my little sister. That's my job,  I'm her big brother, her protector, that's what I'm supposed to do.  I stand to my full height, square my shoulders, and fix my gaze to that dark corner as I step over the faint chalk outline.  I can almost see her face, just as darkness envelopes my consciousness.

******

on Loss

Mom passed away on Wednesday, the 4th of September in the year of our Lord 2019.

I was blessed with the opportunity to be with her as she transitioned from this life to the next. She had been at Tampa General Hospital since the preceding Thursday, was admitted after having a cardiac stent placed during what should have been an unremarkable cardiac catheterization. None of her prior tests indicated anything amiss, but the cath found a 75% blockage in one of her major coronary arteries, so of course they had to do something about it.

I stayed with her that Thursday night, and again Friday night. Saturday her husband drove down and spend the night in the hospital with her. He had to leave Sunday afternoon. Sunday night I slept in the recliner next to her, spent Monday with her. Monday night was rough. She kept losing oxygenation.  She would get coughing fits, and her oxygen rate would drop to 50 or 60%, and then it would take forever to get back up to 90%. They had her on heated forced oxygen, so the oxygen was being pumped into her nostrils and into her lungs so she didn't even really have to use any effort to get it. That still wasn't enough to keep her going.

Wednesday morning she called for the surgeon because she wanted comfort care. She was tired of fighting, tired of the interventions and feeding tubes and x-rays, and couldn't go on any further.  Her final moments on this earth were spent in a hospice suite.

I'm forever grateful to have been with her in those last days and moments.  I thank God, and our angels, and our ancestors, for giving us that time together.  As I lay in the hospital bed with her, I talked to her. I told her all my silly secrets. I confessed my ugly thoughts and resentments, and forgave her for her shortcomings. I'd like to believe that she heard me, that she felt me holding her hand, and kissing her forehead. That she appreciated the petty secrets I shared with her, and shook her head at my foolishness.

A year ago I imagined what losing her would be like, and I must say I was pretty spot on. The world kept turning. People continued on with their lives. They woke up in the morning, drove to work, ate lunch, went home. Nothing changed. Yet my entire universe is slightly tilted off center.  Like when you get a new pair of glasses but the prescription isn't quite right and everything looks just a bit distorted. Things appear larger, or closer, or further away than they really are. Like seeing the world through funhouse mirrors. It's all wrong.

As long as I'm preoccupied I don't notice. Life continues, task after task. Planning ahead, making lists, crossing them out, go to work, household chores, take the dog out.

But the silent moments are deafening. The space that she took up is empty, the quiet crushing. It sits like an elephant on my chest, weighing me down, making it difficult to breath, causing my feet to drag and my shoulders to slump.

I try to keep my memories of her alive. I think of combing and braiding her hair while she was in the hospital. Her chubby little fingers, nails clubbed from chronic lack of oxygen. Her eyebrows, the fleshy mole she had underneath one. Her cheeks and sideburns. Her nose. The beetle-shaped birthmark she had on her leg. How pale and yellow her skin had become from lack of sunlight. Her funky little feet, and how they had a permanent arch to them. Her propensity for ill-fitting bras. Her sharp little smile and vicious wit.

No one will ever love me like she did.

That's something to think about - knowing that your greatest champion, the one person who had your back no matter what, is no longer here.

So now I have this loss, which feels like a solid, real thing. There really isn't any way to describe it so that others can understand. It's like depression, but sticky and adheres to everything it touches. It will always be there. There isn't a pill I can take, or alternate coping mechanism that will get me through this. She's gone.

I'm at a loss. How does one move forward from this? I've always been Princi's daughter, from day 1 that's been my identity. What am I now?

Holiday Recap aka the worst Christmas of my life

This Christmas was another shitshow. I say this as if I've previously made any kind of mention of shitshow holidays. Just know that Christmas has always been hit or miss for me, and that did not change once I got married. If anything, it got worse. Christmas 2017 wasn't bad if I'm recalling correctly, but Christmas 2018?

It doesn't help that my marriage is already falling apart, okay? It starts every year, a few weeks before Thanksgiving. Every year we fight over where we are going to spend the holidays. He always wants to stay home, he never wants to travel anywhere.  Thanksgiving - the kid was off of school for the entire week.  I tried to convince him to drive up to Mississippi to see his folks. He'd be able to stay at his brother's house, and spend all day out in the country without having to worry about me getting bored. He probably sees his mom twice a year, and she's old. I firmly believe in appreciating people when you have them, because tomorrow is not guaranteed. Apparently Willie has a different philosophy, because he opted to stay here.  Did nothing all week long. IF he had gone, he'd have spent several days with his family members and with his mom. If he had spent thanksgiving with them, we could have a stress-free Christmas with my family.  But that's too much like right. 

My mom is big on being with family for Christmas. Now that she has a terminal progressive disease and doesn't know how many more Christmases she'll have, she's ever more determined to have us with her for the holidays. So determined that she paid for our plane tickets to fly in to see her.  Initially I told her to just buy tickets for the kid and myself, because Willie had a job interview coming up and if he got the job he'd probably have to work Christmas. Frankly, I was looking forward to getting away from him. He had become a toxic presence and I just didn't want him around me.  Then he got all pissy because he wasn't going to spend Christmas with his son, and he felt that I did it out of spite to hurt him. Which is not true at all, and quite ironic seeing that he chose to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning with his family and wasn't there anyway. 

So we got to my mom's house after 10 pm, spent Friday with her. Or, the kid and I spent the day with her. Willie spent part of the day closed up in the bedroom watching Narcos on his phone, and part of it out doing whatever (I don't know where or what, he just wasn't around). He wanted to drive down to his mom's Saturday morning, and then return to my mom's house Monday afternoon. So after accepting paid plane tickets, to dip out for the entire weekend and come back Christmas Eve? Where they do that at? Not only using my mom's husband's vehicle, but add to that the additional expenditure of gas (because that damned Jeep got 14 mpg) but also a hotel room because his mom lives in a nursing home. If it wasn't for my mom buying the tickets he wouldn't be there to see his mom. Well I wanted to spend time with my mom, so I told him that we could meet up Saturday afternoon. His folks live about 3 hours south of my mom, but we were planning on doing some shopping Saturday so that worked out fine. Naturally he gets pissy about that, I guess because I wasn't enthusiastic enough? I'm not sure.  We tell him to come get me around 2:30 - 3:00, I'd call and let him know where exactly. 2:00 rolls around, I call him and he says he's still an hour away. He claims that he didn't know what our plans were. 😑 (I see you Passive Aggressive/PA) He meets us at my mom's house close to 4, which I'm upset about because now my mom has to drive back to her house by herself in the dark - which is why I specifically wanted to be picked up earlier. But anywhoo...

We ride back down to the nursing home, with a stop by Dollar General and Lee's Chicken for his mom. Take her back to the home, and we go to the hotel room. The next day, Sunday, we only saw his mom for maybe 20 minutes because she had dialysis that morning and wasn't feeling well. We did eat at his aunt's house, and we dropped by his brother's house for a few hours before going back to the hotel.  He claims that he only really wants to see his mom, he doesn't really care too much about other folks and really doesn't like his brother (some interfamily mess) so really Sunday was a waste. Then Monday morning we were supposed to meet up with my mom at 0900 for her to take The Kid (TK) and myself back up to her house. Mr PA strikes again, we didn't get there until 10.  He stayed down with his folks until Christmas Day, he drove back up to my mom's and ended up going back down to see them again (with TK this time) on Wednesday for a full day (left in the morning and came back at midnight).

Of course my mom had questions, and what could I say? I'm over coming up with vague excuses and reasons for his stupid behavior. We've been together 14 years and still he hides out in the bedroom to avoid being around people? Really? Sir, you are damn near 50 years old. What is the issue? And then he wants to portray the good family guy around his own folks. Get outta here with that bull.

2019 is  the year of big changes in my life. Everything has a reason and a season. Some seasons last longer than others.  This is the last time I allow someone to ruin Christmas for me.

God has been showing me for some time that this is not fertile ground. Does that make sense? Nothing more can come of this marriage.  It's taken me so long to face this because I held so much hope despite the obvious signs being thrown my way.  One doesn't get married lightly right?  I guess I hoped that I could make it work.  It took the literal in-your-face diagnosis for me to get the message, and I have no one to blame but myself for that. I can't help but wonder, if I had listened to my gut the first time would I have 3 kids by now? What would my life look like? Who knows.
 

Never sent...

Copy/Pasted from my phone. I typed this out one day at work when I too much on my mind.  Initially I intended to send it via text message but eventually decided against it.  I'm to the point now where I don't have the patience.  We've done this so many times before: Things go wrong, I type out a long ass message only for him to tell me that he didn't read it.  So why bother.  I'm posting here for my own posterity. So that one day I can look back and read this, and remember what it's like to be lonely and to feel unloved.

****************************************************************************** 

This is long, and you don’t have to read it all - But I’m not going to tell you what I sent. So either read it, or not. It makes no difference to me.

It’s disturbing to me that, as much as the word “divorce” has been thrown around between us lately - your only reaction has been anger. You haven’t shown shock, or sadness, or grief.  Nothing to suggest to me that you’re sad about how our relationship has gone downhill. You’re mad at me, and you lash out and want to hurt me. But the thought of losing me doesn’t make you sad. You’ve made it clear that you’ll be fine starting over because you’ve started over twice before. When you say start over, what does that mean? I think it means financially. Finding a place to live, starting over. No concern at all about losing your Wife, the person you vowed to have and to hold for the rest of your life.

Do you remember when I used to ask for a hug? Or tell you to put your arms around me in the kitchen? I used to ask because if I didn’t ask, you’d brush me off and tell me that you’re busy doing this or that.  Once I started asking, you’d get offended and fuss about it because asking made it seem like you never did it and you didn’t like that. So I stopped asking. And so I’ve learned to stop looking for and expecting affection, outside of the rare times when you feel like showing it.  Do you have any idea how painful that is?

I try to ignore it, but it hurts. Especially when we’re around other couples and I see them sitting near each other, or the man with his arm around the woman, the casual affection indicative of love.  I remember back in 2012, at the one prenatal class we attended, Nick and Candace where there. Nick was constantly touching Candace. His hand on her shoulder. Rubbing her upper back. Hand on her belly. And I remember feeling so alone, even though you were there physically, I still felt alone. You didn’t think to touch me. I didn’t get my lower back rubbed, or my hand held.  I had to help myself up off of the ground. That was 6 years ago.

Since then, we’ve had bright patches and stretches of time when things were good but it always seems to go back to your normal.

Like in 2014 when William and I went to Italy for 2 weeks without you.  On phone calls you couldn't even say that you missed me, you'd always say "I miss y'all". There's a difference you know, words mean things. And even when I called that out, you still didn't correct yourself.  After the trip, I came back expecting maybe some demonstration of how you missed me, some indication that being without me was difficult. Instead you went on and on about how you painted that damned fence, and got mad at me when I pointed that out. I guess I wasn’t appreciative enough.

Even this past month, with the situation of the plane tickets. The only time I’ve seen you express hurt was at the idea of being away from William for Christmas. Not about being away from me. If I were to not come home, if I were to disappear from the earth, you wouldn’t miss me - Marisa.  At least as long as you have enough money to make sure the bills got paid.

I still can’t get over how, as I sat next to you on the bed crying my eyes out, sobbing uncontrollably- you couldn’t bring yourself to comfort me. That’s when I knew.

And I know what you’re thinking - I'm never satisfied, right? No matter what you do it's never enough.  You're right, it isn’t enough. The little bit of affection you provide (when you feel like it) is not enough. That is not what I’d call a Good Relationship. It is not enough for me.  I need more than what you have been giving me, and its not fair for either one of us. You have proven time and time again that you cannot give me what I need in order to be happy.  And it's evident to me that I am not the person you need to make you feel happy and satisfied as a man. THAT is what I mean when I say we aren’t good for each other. I want more than what you can give me.



AND I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT MONEY!  I would have been content working and being the financial foundation if this relationship were based on anything substantial, but it isn't. What is our relationship based on? What do we have?

Love and affection should be given freely, naturally and without second thought. I don’t want to live the rest of my life hungering to feel loved. I don’t want to be an afterthought, only to be considered until all other tasks have been completed.  People should take priority over things.  I ought to be more important to you than household chores/cutting the grass/cleaning the kitchen/watching tv.

You do the same to William. He talks to you, and you ignore him and talk over him as if he hadn't said a thing. He'll ask you to do something, and you ignore him until you feel like addressing it.  You keep him at aftercare until 6 pm so you can finish tasks and chores - nevermind the fact that he spends more time at school than he does at home.

I need to be cherished. I need to be loved. I want the kind of marriage where we can do fun things together - take walks in the evening, ride bikes together, go to the pool together.  Have fun family traditions that we do every year.  When I suggested taking family walks together you immediately shot me down, came up with all kinds of reasons for why it couldn't happen.  We've been married for 11 years and our only "tradition" is the annual argument about travel over the holidays.

 In a marriage, husband and wife are supposed to have their best interests in mind. Decisions should be made together, and should work toward the same goals. We don’t have that.  You don't have my back.

So no, this isn’t about 3-4 days of not talking to each other. This isn’t just about you being upset about moving on base. Our marriage isn’t just now sliding downhill. It’s at the bottom.

If this is married life, I’d rather be alone.