Sometimes I want to write but I honestly don’t know where to start. There are so many ways this entry could play out. So many things to say. Yet, so little desire. I want to. But I don’t. Does that make any sense? I wish I could just rip out every single thought, word, wish, desire, heart break. Plaster them into paper. And be done. The end. If only….
Why do I settle? Settle on a life that I know deep down inside isn’t enough for me. It’s not what I deserve. What I crave. What I grew up wishing for. It’s just – well, it simply just “is”. It’s here. It’s easy. I’ve taught myself to be content in what it’s become. I’ve taught myself just to live it for me. I’ve got the physical life I always dreamed of – Just not the emotional part I always thought would accompany it. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be with someone who truly loved you, adored you, wanted to be around you. How amazing would that feel? Does it exist? Maybe it’s not even real. And thus I settle. *sigh*
My friend asked the other day – Do you guys ever get along? No. Not really. It’s not that we fight all the time. I’ve just – given up. It’s not worth it. This month was our 10 year anniversary – Guess what he got me?!?! Nothing. The same thing he’s gotten me most years. 3 years ago I got him an amazing (expensive) gun. 2 years ago I believe was a jerky/lottery bouquet. Last year a card. This year – Nothing. Why bother. PreCovid I was looking at some amazing all inclusive resorts. 10 years should be fabulous. Right? But with all this thinking. Why bother. He doesn’t care. He can’t take time off. He doesn’t want to go anywhere. Okay. (No worries. He’s taken ALL Labor Day week off. Just to stay home. Drink. Fish. All alone.)
I mentioned I wanted to go eat somewhere expensive the other day. It’s season and phenomenal. First I’m told I can’t make plans with Stacy. He might want to go. Then, days later he’s like oh, no I didn’t want to go. I just said that to fuck with your plans. How nice. I told him he’s ridiculous and he said he had to find something new since I don’t beg anymore. Again, I quit begging years ago. I’m above that. I deserve more. I’d rather do something alone than feel like I forced someone to go with me. He laughs and says I know, so had to get you somehow. I simply rolled up my window and drove away.
I have never met anyone so selfish. Someone who WANTS to hurt others. To make them beg. To feel in control to this level. He wants to work 24/7 and drink the night he does his reset for work. Fun. He wants to tell me how I don’t understand what he does for us. Other than bringing home a paycheck. What exactly do you do? For real? (Don’t actually ask that – It starts a world war.) But he gives me a set amount to pay ALL the bills (which I AM thankful for) then he gets the rest to do whatever. His spending money is generally $1,500 in a low month. He doesn’t have to pay ANY bills with that. None. Zero. (He really doesn’t have to work the hours he does. Who in their right mind needs that much a month). He doesn’t clean. Doesn’t cook. No emotional support. No kids activities No dog help. Rare, hey that’s a great job. No dates. He’ll mow to look good for the neighbors with his beer but won’t water. Please, what the hell do you do? 50% of the bill money he gives me goes to his truck payment, his insurance and the crazy ass cable bill he needs.
Really, he just complains that nothing is good enough. My spotless house isn’t right. Dinner is taking too long. Even tho we made it late so it’d be “fresh” for him. Nobody shows him any respect. Blah blah. He needs the shower first. He needs to go to bed first. He needs his plate made first. He needs me to google an address even if I’m busy. He needs the kids to water. He needs me to close the curtains. He needs…..
Over it. So bad. Happy 10 years of dictatorship to me.
So as the kids get older. I do me. Only one is home now. He works. So like tonight. I didn’t cook. There are leftovers in the fridge. Do you know how many doors have slammed while he made his own plate? It’s ridiculous.
I come home. I clean. I cook if necessary. I go down stairs. I make polite conversation when needed. I don’t invite him to the play, To movies, shopping, to dinner, to have a beer. I don’t invite him to anything. I just live my life as if I’m entirely alone – Well, not entirely. I do cook and clean and pay bills. He doesn’t care.
Really, we’ve fallen into the routine of roommates. And I can’t even say I care. I used to worry. Where was he. What was he doing. Now I’m simply happy he isn’t here. Isn’t bitching. Isn’t ruining our Life.
I’ve decided he’s a narcissistic alcoholic and he’ll never change. It’s always been the same. It’ll always be the same. The only difference is I’ve quit letting him see me cry. I stand tall. I do me the best I can. (Oh trust me. It still hurts like hell somedays. But he will never see that.)
I don’t want a divorce. I don’t want to give up this gorgeous house. This gorgeous life. I’m just not sure I can afford it without him. Instead I simply wait. His awful lifestyle choices have to lead to his early death. Don’t they? Someday.
Until then, I’ll just keep doing me. The best that I can possible do. I’ll get better and better. I’ve vowed that to myself.