Repeat Realization (I've had this one before)
I am not a nice person.
I am quick to anger.
I am quick to rage.
I am quick to treat the people I love downright terrible when provoked even the slightest bit.
I am hateful to the point where it makes me ill. I hold my breath in these moments... its as if I'm hoping that by starving her of oxygen, this evil person in me will die off.
I wish she would drop dead.
I wish she'd go the fuck away.
But she won't... she is me... all that happens by holding my breath is that I get a migraine to garnish my misery with.
She is ME.
She is always there lurking in the background.
No matter how beautiful life is, she can and will find her way to the surface.
She has thrown rage fits in venice. Venice for god's sake. Venice. My heaven on earth... and she came out and threw her brutal words around at the few people that she knew and loved there. She raged and the stormed out and she searched the cobblestone streets for a cigarette like a pathetic drug addict.
I am a pathetic mess.
This is what my bad day spiral looks like from the inside...
Let me draw you a map...
Anxiety wells up. Its the same feeling I used to get when I smoked. It would build and build... and If I didn't light a cigarette, I would lose my head. And now there is no cigarette. There is only crying needy babies and sweet sad faced children asking well meaning questions of concern, and it builds and builds and I want to throw up, but I can't so I cry and watch my thoughts spiral and spin into the abyss of misery. And I feel guilty for being an awful person, and an awful mom. and I hate myself so I rage, and cry, and rage, and rage... and rage. Maybe it would be better if I just excused myself to go throw up, but the last thing I need is an eating disorder to boot.
...Sick feeling in the pit of my stomach
sometimes I wish you'd go away
it was easier to pretend that I was okay
and not a fucking lunatic
when there was no one to reflect my inner monster back to me.
This is why I don't let people get close.
This is why I don't have friends.
I don't like mirrors when I'm like this... I don't like myself and I loathe almost everyone else.
its hard to see through
the tears stinging my eyes
and the rain on the windshield
I know Im being unsafe
but I feel so self destructive that I don't even care.
I hear my voice sometimes
what an asshole she is.
I hear the mean things she says.
I hear the jealous paranoid thoughts she has...
hear the accusations that I throw around in my mind
i know its not you.
But i don't know why I can't trust you...
Or do I.
It's because I am fucked up in the head.
But This is how it sounds in my head...
I snooped in your messages before.
I know you apparently have no problem having sex with strangers.
The thought grosses me out.
We've never talked about it.
I don't even know if it actually happened or if it was sent on a whim during a weak and lonely moment... were there many weak and lonely moments?
You went silent when confronted in the night, and so to excuse you.. ( to spare you embarrassment if that is what you were feeling) I changed the subject for you... back to my violation of your privacy.
But I can't unsee that message.
and I know its not unusual. I know you are far from the only man to seek the company of a willing mouth. But I guess I am one of those women who wants to believe a more wholesome illusion of her prince charming.
I wonder if I suck as good as a professional.
These thoughts are not ones I wanted to have when pleasuring my future husband.
I wonder if I fuck as good as a professional.
or the kind of girls who fuck often and have lots more practice than I was getting during my unfortunate long periods of celibacy... Maybe I should have been practicing in preparation for you... I know I take forever to cum. I wonder if that bothers you... does it feel like a chore. These thoughts make it that much harder to climax in those moments.
I wonder if you have had many lovers...
you don't talk about your past... much. Or ever about some subjects. When you do, its because I probe... and your answers are usually brief... so I ask more. and more. trying to start a conversation flowing. But more often than not, I just feel like I am prying into private corners that you didn't invite me in to.
I wonder if you've had many lovers... Did you know them all well? Were there many one night stands?
I don't particularly think I would even care one way or the other... it's more the unknown.
Its more that in our daily conversations, there are things that I know you aren't sharing with me. Things I want to know because I WANT. TO. KNOW. YOU. good... bad.. and shade in between...
And I share every. fucking. menial. detail. of my thoughts and desires and my hopes and my past and my.... And you just lay there silent when I ask you for yours.
And with passing time, I reveal more and more of my vulnerablities.
And you lay there silent.
And I give you all the ammo you need to destroy me if you wanted to.
And you lay there silent...
And because I don't know: I don't know.
I don't know if I know YOU.
I have projected before.
Am I projecting again.
It is easier to project goodness when all is well and all has been pretty well.
You are a wonderful man.
Sometimes I worry that it's too perfect. Too good.
Am I a fool?
Am I being played for a fool?
Maybe its all an illusion. Maybe you have pulled the wool over my eyes, and I am who you go home to after you've had your fill of others. We have a decent home, me and you. I am an adequate mom to our kids...
I am adequate. Maybe...
I wonder if I suck as good as a professional and I wonder if I don't will you find that elsewhere because I don't satisfy you?
this thought haunts me.
Everytime you go to play pool. I wonder if you have ever slept with any of the women at that hall. I wonder if you've slept with any or all of the many Kims. I wonder if you've slept with the girl you play pool with that gave me the cold shoulder until you let her hold our baby. Maybe she was pouting because I have your baby and she doesn't? Its probably madness.. but these are the fleeting thoughts that pass through my mind.
I can't control them.
I can't stop them.
I wonder if you ever slept with that european woman that wanted you to hang up a shelf in her apartment and wanted to know all about me afterwards. Wanted to know all about our family and how old I am. I wonder if you could tell by that message that I read that she was coming on to you. I wonder if you have her in your phone still because you will sleep with her if we break up. I wonder if you know how fucking insecure and pathetic I am. I wonder if you will leave me if I ever weaken i(n my resolve to bottle it all up) enough to let all this craziness come spilling out. You will be disgusted. You will know that my "strong independent woman" thing was a farce. That I was single because I am a MESS. That I was scared of men. broken. I was a broken woman. I was afraid of men that might stay longer than a few weeks.. a few months. I was single because I scared.. not strong. Or maybe it was a little bit of both... I don't know. Just when I think I've got myself figured out, I realize I didn't know shit about even my own motivations.
Was it just that once?
I don't know if you were cheating then... were you single?
I don't know the timeline of your (long?) list... perhaps I don't want to know.
But I wonder. I never cheated on anyone... but I've been "the other woman" trying to steal another woman's man before. I probably have it coming to me karmically...
Will you cheat on me before you leave? When I drive you away, will you take a lover first? replace me so you won't have to be alone even for a moment. Like my brother does... Are all men like my brother? Is loyalty a fantasy?
Will you leave me marked with even more stigma than my previous great love did?
IS this all in my mind... do I mentally accuse you of insane things
just like my craziest ex accused me of all kinds of off the wall behavior?
Maybe I am mentally ill... I must be.
I wonder what my diagnosis would be...
I wish I was foolish or weak or brave (or crazy) enough to seek out a pill. Maybe there is a pill that would make me not have to feel. Or think. Or worry. Or have this anxiety that boils up and over sometimes, burning everyone around me. I wish there was a pill that made me not care about world war three and the threat of watching my babies starve. I wish there was a pill that made me not care about anything or anyone. I wish I could not feel... or not hurt. There probably is... But hippie chicks like me won't take it anyway.
I digress. Over and over again.
I swallow the lump in my throat and remind myself to take another breath before I pass out.
I try hard to push you away.
I am not loveable.
I am not loveable.
Sometimes I mean it when I say "I love me". But sometimes I am so very full of shit.
I am not loveable.
I am not worthy of love.
I am not deserving of devotion... I am damaged goods.
I am cracked and dented and broken.
I am lazy as shit, and we will probably never get ahead in life because I like sleeping and playing more than I like cleaning and working...
I am NOT loveable.
I know that it's only a matter of time before you realize this fact.
You probably already suspect.
You probably are already weighing up your other options.
Women are easy to come by. You've had more than a few.
I am easily replaced.
I wonder why you aren't turned on as quick as you once were by my presence.
I wonder why the gap between our sex drives widens. I am tired, I am stressed. But I have never turned you down, and I would have you twice as often if I could.
You don't feel the same...
Maybe my body grosses you out now that you've seen it at the full mass of pregnancy?
Maybe the weeks with a wound in my abdomen won't leave your mind?
Maybe it's because I don't moisturize religiously or shower as often as I did in the beginning?
Maybe its because I am nothing more than a milk machine almost all day long...
Maybe you are getting your needs met elsewhere?
Maybe I'm not as attractive now that I am as poor as you.
Now that I am a liability instead of an asset...
or maybe you are just tired of me.
you don't feel the same about me...
You don't kiss me like you used to.
You don't look at me like you used to.
We've barely begun and I already feel like I am losing you to monotony or... worse.
Maybe I'm not sexy to you...
I gross myself out half the time when I look in the mirror.
Half the time, I see this amazing strong sexy goddess. The other half I see a saggy, marked, mess of a body that looks twice as old as I really am.
I am damaged goods. I am scarred and unsexy.
You can still get a woman with a nice unblemished body. You know it, and so do I.
So why don't you? Plenty of them are not only better looking, but less work and maintenance than my emotional turbulence requires of you.
I am crazy. One moment I am sweet as fucking pie and the next I'm cold as the arctic.
You will tire of this...
just go now, while my memories of self sufficiency and independence are still fairly fresh.
I can handle being dropped like a rock right now.
It'll hurt like hell.. but I'll get over you.
(who am I kidding... no I fucking won't.)
The longer this foreign life of depending upon you goes on, the harder it will be when you inevitably leave.
and you will.
I know you will.
(why wouldn't you... If I could leave me I would)
once you've stuck around long enough to realize....
I am not a nice person.
I am not loveable.
and if these ramblings are any indication, I'm a kind of crazy that pills can't fix.
You have made a mistake and I will drive it into your head, until I drive you away. And if you don't leave I will probably run away from you. Maybe I will even do it first, because when I sense it might be ending I panic and figure I should just get it over with for you. As if it would make a difference in my heartbreak, if I save myself the humiliation of being "dumped". I will drive you away because I am afraid to love and lean on you so damn much. I am afraid that you can crush me. I am terrified that you will and I am terrified that maybe I DESERVE IT.
I will drive you away, because I love you. and you deserve more than the anxiety ridden, damaged, insecure, fragile, flighty, scarred, broken, moody, lazy, fearful person you have chosen.
When I say I am in a bad mood... this is where I am.