Groundhog DayPosted: October 4, 2011
I do my best thinking in the car. Also my best stressing, angsting, crying and self-loathing, but I guess they all come with the thinking territory.
– My husband didn’t know whether he wanted to be with me: check.
– He wanted to give it time to see how he felt about me: check.
– He made fuck all effort during that time: check.
– I tried so, so, so hard, all the time, every day, until it hurt: check.
– The very best I got back from him was silent acquiescence: check.
– I didn’t know when to give up and kept on with the CPR well into the flatlining: check.
– I was a stupid twat: check check check. Full house! High five!
WHY am I doing this to myself? Why? The pain when my husband finally left – or rather, I finally kicked him out – was horrific, but nothing compared to the slow torture of the months preceding it. Leaving myself open to rejection over and over again, humiliating myself pretty much every day, trying to be prettier, wittier, happier, thinner – the very essence of perfection, anything so he would love me again… It was unbearable. And here I am again. How did this happen? This was supposed to be my fresh start, damn it.
I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be loved. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be important, to matter to someone. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be happy, to feel safe, to feel excited about the prospect of getting up in the morning, to look forward to the weekend. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to care about someone other than myself. I am SICK of myself.