I am not allowed to “yell” or “express anger”. FUCK THAT. I got a call from my partner this morning, as he was on his trek home from his mother’s. I understand he is probably exhausted, spent. I am compassionate enough to feel these things and allow for others to just “be”. Instead, what I got from him – after specifically telling him today was a day when I was working on an impending job interview later this week – was not what I needed. What did he give me? Another fucking list of places to apply to. What do I need? Time to work, uninterrupted, by his needs, wants, cares. But, obviously, mine are not important to him right now.
I told him such. He blew up on me, telling me I was yelling at him and he would not have a conversation with me if I was acting as such. What had I told him? Leave me the fuck alone so I can concentrate on this. And now my concentration is blown. Anger washed over me, as if I had gone to the beach and was waiting for a breaker to take me down.
I have been with him for 8 years. In that time I have moved for jobs 6 times – mostly for him. Would he enjoy warmth over freezing up north, but having limited time with his son? Would he rather I be within driving distance so we could see one another every week, although the job was so toxic it almost (and I am not kidding) killed me? What spot on the chessboard can I jump on next, to make him happy, to make myself and my vagina available to him whenever he needs an ear or an outlet for his manhood? I have grown to HATE what I do – not because of him, but because of what this industry has become – but I am stuck here, because he is off on his Peter Pan dream, and I am the one who has the health insurance to cover us both. I am so exhausted trying to live up to every new expectation he places on me everyday. And yet, if I complain, if I say “give me time”, I am “yelling”. And that is unfair. I have never thrown eggs or a cell phone across the room. I have never lashed out with a loud voice to defend what is a ridiculous impediment in our lives. I am the calm one. But today, I am the “bad” one.
I spoke to my mother this morning. It’s Mother’s Day after all, and I don’t know how many more she will be around for. Her vision is failing. She is incontinent. Every day is a step backwards into infancy, and I don’t know if she will get the assistance she needs before she wanders off and my idiot father never finds her again, until it is too late. Yes, I have that joy waiting for me next weekend as well…
And thus, I am angry. I am LIVID. I moved here, thinking this would be my home. Within months, after my mother’s diagnosis and my partner’s demands, I realized it might be impossible to stay, though that looks so bad on resumes…and yet I rose to the occasion, and started the job search and listened to his rants and raves about places I should apply to.
Why the fuck am I doing this? Do I need to be in a relationship this badly? Do I fear being alone? I do not think so. But I also love him, and am weighing if that love overcomes the battle we are facing. At this specific moment in time (and it could change in a minute, an hour) I hate him. I hate everything he represents. Because it reminds me too much of my father. It reminds me too much of the other men I have carried on my back throughout my life and I am so damn tired of doing that. I would love to meet a woman who has a man whose central focus is on her, because I have not had that for 13 years.
I have not had stability for 13 years. And he is fucking with my head today, the worst time he can. This was my day to focus. To make it all happen. And now, all I see before me is passing out and smoking too many cigarettes. And I blame him. I blame myself for not being stronger, and I even blame, to some degree, my husband who died suddenly 13 years ago. Would this have been my life if you were still alive?
My favorite ride at a carnival is the Tilt-a-Whirl. I feel like I have been on it for too many years. I am exhausted, and although people may not believe by looking at me that I am almost 50, I feel 80. Where is my happiness? Where is my mountain top, where I can scream with all the energy in my lungs and purge myself of the pain, sorrow and fear I feel?
I am ready to make a break from this all. To leave. To escape. To never tell anyone and just disappear. Into a new life. Is that possible at all?
© Sorrow & Kindness