The TV plays but my mind is elsewhere. I keep trying to build up the courage to speak but it is so difficult. What if the conversation takes a wrong turn? What if I say the wrong thing? What if he doesn't talk? What if he does and I don't like what he says? What if this conversation isn't even necessary?
What if, what if, what if?
The show ends and I know I need to either say something or just go to bed.
"So......are we ok?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, REALLY ok?
He stares at me blankly. His face says 'didn't I just answer this?'
"Because I don't feel like we are ok."
Again, with the blank stare.
From here things get a little fuzzy. Emotion kicks in (damn girl feelings) and things just pour out of my mouth. I bring up his emotional disconnect, lack of interest in me..... blah, blah, blah. Somewhere in there I started crying, just a little but I had tried so hard not to.
"I love you so much but I can't continue on like this. It is killing me. Killing my self worth. I am afraid that one day I will wake up and leave.........deciding I can take no more. And that is not a threat. I know that by your behavior you would be unaffected whether I am here or if I was to disappear forever."
"You really think that?"
"I do."
He raises one eyebrow.
"What does that say about me?"
"That you are so completely shut down emotionally that you are incapable of real emotion."
Silence.
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"Do you want to stay married?"
"Yes."
"Then I need you to fight for me. Fight for us!"
He said he was sorry, that he would try harder and even go back to counseling at the VA. I feel good about us.
But then days pass................ and he still won't touch me. I start to think nothing has changed; that nothing ever will. I allow myself to think about my life without him........... a very dark place I try to never visit.
We are sitting on the couch watching TV........ we do this a lot. I am tired, I haven't been sleeping much. My mind is numb and though I am not really paying attention to the show, I am not fretting about anything either. I feel him looking at me and turn to face him. He takes my face in his hand and kisses me, full on the mouth. This takes me completely by surprise and I get butterflies. When he pulls back, I have to catch my breath. He smiles.
"I love you."
My heart aches and I fight back tears. I can't even form words for several seconds.
"Thank you."
18 January 2012
09 January 2012
Social Retard
Today I made a joke about retarded er............ mentally handy capped children. I know, I know. After I said it, I immediately regretted saying it..........at work
I have been a social retard all my life. When I was in school, I was a huge nerd (had more Star Wars shit than I ever had Barbie). A kid once told me that there was no way someone as ugly as me could ever make the dance team (I did, by the way) but still, no one ever got me. At our 10 year reunion (which my best friend drug me too, kicking and screaming) it was the same shit. People all segregated into the same clicks, bragging about their accomplishments. And it wasn't that I didn't have any, I just failed to see the need to share my personal life with these morons. So I told them I invented Post-its. You would have thought I told them I had had a sex change and was now practicing beastiality.
In August of last year, against my better judgement, I decided to become a consultant for...... we will just call it mollycoddled cookware. My biggest challenge, since I love to cook and the love product.............is, well... I am not a fan of people. So picture me in a apron (which I had originally purchased for my Burlesque dance class) in a strangers kitchen, surrounded by more strangers attempting to be charming and likable. Its not a pretty picture. But I am trying, because lately, my follow through sucks. Like Burlesque class. Though I only took the class to help me with my self esteem (which it didn't). And thought I could use the sexy new dances to charm my husband into having sex with me (which I haven't bothered to try because I would just come off as desperate and silly).
My husband used to tell me that I was weird, but just weird enough to be sexy. He never tells me I'm sexy any more. Now I have to assume I've gone past the slightly weird stage and moved on to the crazy ol' lady stage. Or the charm has worn thin and he is amused no longer. I know his lack of interest in me effects how I see myself. No amount of telling myself that it isn't me, it's him..........helps. A few years ago (with the help of a good therapist, mine not his) I had convinced myself that it wasn't me. And then I found out about the affair. SO IT WAS ME?!?!?!? And two years has done little to heal. In some ways it has only gotten worse. At least I feel worse about myself.
There was a time when I was so confident. I truly loved who I was. I worked so long to dig myself out from all the bullshit I endured as a kid to become a tenacious, strong woman. I knew I was beautiful, inside and out. And when I look at old photos, I have changed little. But what I see when I look in the mirror is so different. I don't feel loved or desired and the reflection does not appear to be worthy of either.
So........... I'm an ass and make jokes about little kids whose favorite color is ham. Then when people scoff at me, at least I know I have given them a good reason.
I have been a social retard all my life. When I was in school, I was a huge nerd (had more Star Wars shit than I ever had Barbie). A kid once told me that there was no way someone as ugly as me could ever make the dance team (I did, by the way) but still, no one ever got me. At our 10 year reunion (which my best friend drug me too, kicking and screaming) it was the same shit. People all segregated into the same clicks, bragging about their accomplishments. And it wasn't that I didn't have any, I just failed to see the need to share my personal life with these morons. So I told them I invented Post-its. You would have thought I told them I had had a sex change and was now practicing beastiality.
In August of last year, against my better judgement, I decided to become a consultant for...... we will just call it mollycoddled cookware. My biggest challenge, since I love to cook and the love product.............is, well... I am not a fan of people. So picture me in a apron (which I had originally purchased for my Burlesque dance class) in a strangers kitchen, surrounded by more strangers attempting to be charming and likable. Its not a pretty picture. But I am trying, because lately, my follow through sucks. Like Burlesque class. Though I only took the class to help me with my self esteem (which it didn't). And thought I could use the sexy new dances to charm my husband into having sex with me (which I haven't bothered to try because I would just come off as desperate and silly).
My husband used to tell me that I was weird, but just weird enough to be sexy. He never tells me I'm sexy any more. Now I have to assume I've gone past the slightly weird stage and moved on to the crazy ol' lady stage. Or the charm has worn thin and he is amused no longer. I know his lack of interest in me effects how I see myself. No amount of telling myself that it isn't me, it's him..........helps. A few years ago (with the help of a good therapist, mine not his) I had convinced myself that it wasn't me. And then I found out about the affair. SO IT WAS ME?!?!?!? And two years has done little to heal. In some ways it has only gotten worse. At least I feel worse about myself.
There was a time when I was so confident. I truly loved who I was. I worked so long to dig myself out from all the bullshit I endured as a kid to become a tenacious, strong woman. I knew I was beautiful, inside and out. And when I look at old photos, I have changed little. But what I see when I look in the mirror is so different. I don't feel loved or desired and the reflection does not appear to be worthy of either.
So........... I'm an ass and make jokes about little kids whose favorite color is ham. Then when people scoff at me, at least I know I have given them a good reason.
08 January 2012
Nostalgia
I have been looking through photos trying to find ones I can use on my blog. Thirteen years of photos. So many memories. Most are good. Many have me recalling the man I married. And some make me want to run in the other room, kiss him passionately and tell him just how much I still love him. But I resist. Worry that he will look at me as though I have lost my marbles and tell me to get out of the way of his MW3 game.
Still, the memories are good.
Still, the memories are good.
03 January 2012
Intimacy Issues
GOOD GOD, I MISS SEX!
A year ago I started keeping track of when we had sex. I did this because I felt as if I was constantly telling him that it had been "months" since the last time he had touched me. But the truth is, I tend to exaggerate when I'm attempting to get a point across. This way, I could tell him, "Hey! It's been 95 days, 4 hours and 36 seconds.....wtf?" Maybe with less exclamations and profanity. You get the point.
So my birthday was in Oct and though I had really hoped he would ravage my body like they always do in those house-wife-porn novels, it was not to be. But a few days later, he did. And it was amazing and all was right with the universe.
November came and went and nothing. I have learned not to ask because after 7 years of this......rejection is difficult for me to take. Our anniversary was December 22nd and I had really hoped that he would want to then. At dinner he was unusually quiet and when I inquired if there was something wrong, he said he had stomach ache. Again, I didn't ask. Figured his stomach ache was an excuse just in case I thought about asking. New Years Eve was the same thing, only this time I did ask and though it wasn't an out right rejection, the result was the same.
So today I decide to go back and find out just how many times we had sex last year.
Nine times.
Neun
Nove
Nueve
That is 356 days without. 356 day of feeling rejected (another exaggeration), I am sure I only felt truly rejected for 300 of those days.
I know I should be grateful that I have him at all. I know there are many who would give anything to have 9 minutes with their lost spouses, let alone nine days. And I am grateful. I do love him. But it is difficult to have him but not have him. To never truly feel as though I am what he wants. To not feel wanted. To not feel desired. And at times, not feel loved.
A year ago I started keeping track of when we had sex. I did this because I felt as if I was constantly telling him that it had been "months" since the last time he had touched me. But the truth is, I tend to exaggerate when I'm attempting to get a point across. This way, I could tell him, "Hey! It's been 95 days, 4 hours and 36 seconds.....wtf?" Maybe with less exclamations and profanity. You get the point.
So my birthday was in Oct and though I had really hoped he would ravage my body like they always do in those house-wife-porn novels, it was not to be. But a few days later, he did. And it was amazing and all was right with the universe.
November came and went and nothing. I have learned not to ask because after 7 years of this......rejection is difficult for me to take. Our anniversary was December 22nd and I had really hoped that he would want to then. At dinner he was unusually quiet and when I inquired if there was something wrong, he said he had stomach ache. Again, I didn't ask. Figured his stomach ache was an excuse just in case I thought about asking. New Years Eve was the same thing, only this time I did ask and though it wasn't an out right rejection, the result was the same.
So today I decide to go back and find out just how many times we had sex last year.
Nine times.
Neun
Nove
Nueve
That is 356 days without. 356 day of feeling rejected (another exaggeration), I am sure I only felt truly rejected for 300 of those days.
I know I should be grateful that I have him at all. I know there are many who would give anything to have 9 minutes with their lost spouses, let alone nine days. And I am grateful. I do love him. But it is difficult to have him but not have him. To never truly feel as though I am what he wants. To not feel wanted. To not feel desired. And at times, not feel loved.
02 January 2012
From the mouths of babes
"No. Kiss me here, on the cheek. I think I am getting a cold sore."
I hear this about once a month (maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration..) but I try really hard not to take it personally.
Our daughter looks up from her video game.
"What?"
"Your dad has lip fungus."
I know this sounds mean, but really it is a reference to an old cell phone commercial and we all have a very demented sense of what is funny or even appropriate.
Attempting to stay positive, I quickly add -
"But he is only looking out for me. He wouldn't want me to get it."
"Or............ he just doesn't want to kiss you."
Ouch.
I hear this about once a month (maybe that is a bit of an exaggeration..) but I try really hard not to take it personally.
Our daughter looks up from her video game.
"What?"
"Your dad has lip fungus."
I know this sounds mean, but really it is a reference to an old cell phone commercial and we all have a very demented sense of what is funny or even appropriate.
Attempting to stay positive, I quickly add -
"But he is only looking out for me. He wouldn't want me to get it."
"Or............ he just doesn't want to kiss you."
Ouch.
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