9:12 a.m. - 2001-05-12
I don't know why I feel so depressed lately. It didn't have to do with the dinner being a flop and basically sucking. It probably didn't help that E went to the neighbor's to get their digital camera and didn't come back for 3 hours (then returned drunk and reeking like stale beer). I get annoyed when he does that. I know that we do a lot of things separately and few things together (one of which is sleeping on the couch while a rented movie was on tv), but sheesh dammit. Whenever he rushes to go over there to get something, it takes him hours to come back. I like those neighbors, but MAN do they drink (all day, all night). I don't like when he comes home drunk and wants to grope me. It makes me ill. I hate that. But he did, and I went to bed mad and he got the royal cold shoulder. Today, I woke up w/ an attitude problem. Dammit, I wanted a semi-decent Saturday.
Then, last night, while in bed ignoring him, I started crying. I hate bouts of depression like this. They last for days and I feel like shit the whole time. Not only do I feel crappy, but I sleep ALL of the time. That's my coping mechanism. I can't tell him that, because he won't listen. That's probably why we don't have a very good communications thing, even after all the years we've been married.
I hate that. I like clearing the air, with everyone except him. He's mellow. He's quiet a lot of the time. But, he and I never *talk* about us. We can talk a mean Home Depot or discuss issues at school, but the one thing we still haven't managed to discuss is us. Us=everything that we hold private or that bothers us. Hence, I go to bed mad and he walks around me afraid to set off the timebomb which never explodes.
I sat outside last nite, alone, with my dog (I guess that's not too alone) wondering how we could've been married for 8 yrs and never held a private discussion about us. A few years ago, we went thru a funk. That funk resulted in me writing a letter expressing my deepest feelings and him using that letter against me ALL OF THE TIME. He never really understood that I am a very sensitive person, and I feel things that may not seem *normal* to everyone else. I think ALL of the time, so much so that a friend once told me that my "gears never stop churning." I can't help that, maybe its not a particularly good thing, but that's how I am. I know that when I have a lot or a good amount on my mind, I CAN'T SLEEP. Why? Because all these thoughts are churning around my head. I think of solutions, I compare and contrast, I tear it down and investigate piece by piece. That's how my brain works, and it has always been this way.
At times it isn't a good thing, trust me. If I'm upset or angry, like last night, that "churning of the gears" can be a BAD thing. This usually ends up with me crying in the bathroom on the floor w/ the door shut, b/c I STILL don't feel comfortable crying in front of him. I do occassionally, but its usually not as spontaneous.
He knows I'm in there, too. He just stays in bed and waits to hear the door open, then he pretends to be asleep. So, I just quietly make my way to the bed and hug the edge so as to not alert him in any fashion.
I don't get depressed all the time. But, when I do it lasts for weeks. I told E once that I thought I was having difficulties dealing w/ this depression and that I should see a doctor. He said there was nothing wrong with me. If there is nothing wrong with me, then why do I feel so crappy right now? Why do I want to run away and leave everyone HOME?
Ha. He doesn't really know me as well as he claims.
Back to that stupid letter I wrote him. It started because he made a stupid comment that still bothers me to this day. He said I didn't do anything FOR him. We were together 5 or 6 yrs at the time. We had two boys. I asked him if I excited him anymore. He thought for a moment, and made the biggest mistake of his life. He said, no.
Those words haunt me still. We went through our bitter trial of not speaking, me crying a lot, and the near-demise of our relationship. I wanted to move out but was still in college. He wanted me to stay but didn't tell me WHY. I wanted the boys, the house, and happiness. He wanted me, the boys and the house.
Then I thought about divorce. That D word is scary. My mother would call me all of the time, telling me that I couldn't possibly divorce such a *good* man. Plus, her church would frown on it.
That's one of the reasons I stopped going to church. I stopped because everyone's a hypocrit. Including me. I hated myself for faking a life everyone wanted me to have. I hated going and feeling condemned for everything. I hated going and being told I was a sinner. Isn't church supposed to love you? Aren't they supposed to be better than the "ordinary" people? Guess again. There was more back-biting, back-stabbing, gossiping, and sectionalism in that church than with my regular friends who DIDN'T go to church. I was tired of people "laying" their hands on me to "restore" my marriage.
I still don't go to church, I won't even step IN one on the holidays. I made the mistake of going to mom's last year (pentecostal something or others) and the pastor yelled (YELLED) at the people who were sitting in the seats and NOT getting prayed for (it was ME and two senior citizens). After that humiliation, I never went back nor will I ever again.
That's one reason why I feel so depressed. E and mom conspired to *make* me stay. I thought my mother was on my side, being that I'm her only child. But, apparently not. I had his mom (she annoys me badly), his sister, MY parents, and MY family calling me and telling me that *I'm a sinner and going to hell* because I wanted a divorce.
So, I stayed.
He's a good man, mind you. Just lately, rather lately in the past year or two, I feel ... I don't know. I just don't *feel* anymore. I've had too much loss in my life, too much disappointment, too much of the shitty-depressing-hurtful crap poking at my life and not enough of the totally hysterial fun stuff.
That's why I anticipate Friday nights w/ my friends so much. It's my outlet. It's where I get to go out w/o him and enjoy myself. I know my friends love me for me and know that I need to *stretch* and relax. So, they tolerate my personality and sometimes encourage it. We laugh. We drink a couple drinks. We laugh. We laugh.
That's what I missed from last night. I didn't laugh. Everyone cancelled except for the three of us last night. I need R to be there to make me laugh and joke around. I need S's giggles to crack me up. I needed that. But, I didn't get it. I came home disappointed and then E took off for the neighbors.
I guess I shouldn't blame him. For the past 2 yrs I haven't been exactly the pornosexkitten he was hoping for. I never was. I don't particularly *like* sex. I just do it to shut him up. And I don't do it well. Just let me be, is my motto. I don't know how I ever had kids. I never wanted to have sex. At one time, during the honeymoon period, I did. But then I got pregnant, and fat, and cranky, and undesirable. He didn't touch me and when he did, I had just given birth the week before and there was NO WAY in hell THAT was gonna happen.
I need to go to therapy, but I'm afraid that people will think I'm crazy or something. God forbid my mother hears of that. She's spread it through her church like the plague and THEN everyone will know EVERYTHING about my life.
By the way, she told her church about that letter. That goddamn fucking letter that STILL haunts me. I tried looking for it in his stuff, but I couldn't.
We got back together after 2 years of my struggle. I call it my struggle b/c I struggled with everyone. I wrestled with thoughts of singleness, singlemotherhood, suicide, depression, you name it.
I need to talk to someone who wont tell anyone what I say. Who won't judge me, who won't make me feel bad, who will let me cry, who will hand me tissues, who will understand that I'm so complex that I don't even understand me.
My aunt is bipolar.
I wonder if I am, too.
She won't get help.
I want it but no one will help me get any.
I'm tired of hiding my emotions.
I'm tired of hating my life.
I want to LIVE my life uninhibited, unafraid of who is condemning me, unabashed by the restrictions that are STILL on me, even tho I'm 33.
I'm just goddamn fucking tired.
No, I won't kill myself. I never could do it anyways. I want to live. I just don't want to live feeling like this all the time (or most of it either).