the one

there is no such thing as ‘the one’. people who say they are looking for ‘the one’ are delusional. they have romanticized life and relationships. they are living in a juvenile fantasy world which does not exist and is impossible to achieve. they have become stuck in a level of their psyche which prevents them from growing and realizing their true potential and it will create future relationship problems as partner after partner, fails to meet their idealized set of un-achievable expectations. this opinion is simply a polite, albeit blunt and educated way of saying,  people who say they are looking for ‘the one’ are fucking idiots.

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unwanted again

he’s angry. all the time. it has been 2 months of anger on both sides and something has to stop. i have to stop. if i try to say anything about the fact that it’s been months since the last time he touched me, he blows UP like a puffer fish in a voracious spewing of denial and immediately tries attacking me on everything and anything to to get me off topic and fighting about anything, something, else, besides sex or the lack thereof. the more i was spewing the thoughts around in my head the angrier i was getting until the second one of the most insane thoughts came to me, that instantly made sense.

if someone kept forcing me to engage in a sexual act that i was not into, that i found not just unappealing but slightly repellent, then i would be responding in the exact same manner that he was to me, in that moment. you see, i know it sounds impossible, but i DO forget that he doesn’t want me, by virtue of the fact that he married me, he had kids with me and he shares a bed with me. he wants the appearance of a nuclear family, as long as privately, he does not have to have sexual contact with me.

i am the one who keeps trying to force him to be someone sexually he is not. because the reality is, he DOES use me for sexual gratification and I have let him to keep the peace as it was faster and easier than saying no when it takes seconds. when he gets horny and can’t take abstinence anymore, when he gets finally an erection. because of his medical issues, that means every 3-4 months, maybe. maybe. he spends minutes perhaps, in foreplay, enough to get him excited enough to enter me and then seconds to ejaculate. Not exactly worth saying no to, but does nothing for me physically.

i started making him use a toy on my to make me orgasm before he was allowed to cum inside of me. it worked for a while. until it didn’t. because of his lack of interest in sex. and getting off himself was not worth the effort of getting me off first. the last time he made an effort was 5 months ago. but i’ve serviced him. i jerked him off knowing sex wouldn’t be good anyway as it had been so long and hoping he was going to ‘put out’ on our anniversary. instead he invited our kids out to join us and hadn’t planned anything. it was our 25th. clearly that created a massive fight because my feels were brutally damaged.

and i can’t be angry with him. not now. i know him. ‘this?’ this is my fault. i’ve known for a very long time that he had no attraction to me and i stayed married because of kids. finances. and i loved him. i wanted him to love me too. i wanted him to want me the way i wanted him. and he doesn’t. and so i settled for a good man who loved his kids and did his best and wasn’t an asshole, wasn’t abusive, wasn’t an addict. i know i use ‘this’ space to vent and often mix stories with reality. but my husband isn’t a bad man. he’s just not sexual with me unless it’s absolutely necessary and then seems to resent it or regret it when it happens.

his attitude, has damaged me and hurt me in ways that i find impossible to explain. it’s de-valued me. it’s made me less than. it’s made me feel diminished. it’s taken away my joy and confidence. it’s removed happiness and pleasure. it’s made me feel isolated. it’s made me feel vulnerable. it’s opened me up to predatory behaviour by callous men. it’s made me angry that i have to place myself around callous men in the hopes of eventually finding a normal, sane, sensual one with whom i can start a normal and healthy sexual relationship with again. it’s made me struggle to not be jaded when every single thing pushes me towards being that way.

Posted in Affair, marriage, Relationships | 5 Comments

my sons pain

you are the child who was easy for me until the rough teen years kicked in

you brought me joy in motherhood and i loved you fiercely because of it

your recent pain and struggle has been so hard for me to watch you endure

your decision to serve your country, to pay tribute to your fallen friend

by taking up his career path as your own, fills me with both fear and pride

you have done more in your short life than many have done in a lifetime

 

you don’t do anything in small measure, you go all in and take big risks

stay safe my precious child and walk with God at your side always

your brothers in arms should have back and whenever you feel abandoned or lost

that is when you can call to me, because I will always be there

 

 

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alive but detached

I am alive and dealing with those pesky health issues I alluded to. I’ve never been as closed off to expressing how I feel. Much like childbirth, there is a time when you withdraw into yourself, as you fight a battle no one else can help you with. I’ve shut down, closed off and acknowledge that something has broken, perhaps irrevocably. It’s like being detached from yourself and unable to accept attachments. Not wanting them. Not even caring you don’t care. On one hand I have emotions which are running high and yet I am remarkably and truly, numb.

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laundry day

the plan is to put the clean laundry, which I dumped out on my bed this morning, away; which will enable me to place the sun dried comforter back on the bed as well. Once all the stacked pillows get arranged and the incredibly soft throw blanket is strategically placed across the bottom at a jaunty angle, making the bed look all the more inviting, I’m going to ask you to come fuck me until the sheets are soaked and torn from the neat edges as my fingers clutch them during the series of multiple orgasms I know you’ll force upon me, so that I am rendered unable to coherently respond to anything but the sexual demands you’ll keep placing on me. The best part of clean sheets is making them smell like they’ve been well used.

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glaring eyes mean anger

you save the best of who you are for anyone else and simply give me the garbage leftovers of your personality. it’s worse when i hear you being kind to others and then you turn around and are trite with me. i vacillate between feeling enormous affection for you and then hating your fucking guts. feeling both in equal measure and not quite understanding how to reconcile two polar feelings, often occurring within the same day. you’re under pressure. i know because i am the one you take it out on. god forbid you focus it towards the assholes that created it. they might do more than fight back verbally. you don’t react well when other people challenge you. you disappear as quickly as a melting ice cube under boiling water. you acquiesce to anyone who is clearly in the wrong and you take on their errors as your own. and then you blame me by trying to pick stupid fights over anything, because you failed to man up and stand your ground. and somehow that’s my fault. and because you know that I’ll stay. as mad as i get. as much as i hate you. i’ll stay. so you can treat me however you want and there are never any repercussions. my anger and feelings mean nothing to you. irrelevant. a bird doesn’t care if it shits in the grass.

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so easy to forget

it would be so easy to say yes to you. so easy to forget you are unreachable. part of me thinks you are trying to resolve feelings you have for me. you don’t know what to do with a woman who has no conditions and who has stayed in your life while not having a sexual relationship with them. i can see you struggle with it occasionally. not knowing how to place me. clearly not wanting an emotional connection and yet having one, makes you uncomfortable, like wearing an ill fitting shirt. and yet you try.

the sexual attraction takes me by surprise. you’ll move a certain way. i see the shift of your shoulder under your shirt, or the light catches the shadow of your beard, and there it is. it makes me catch my breath. i respond with a powerful sexual awareness, that i’ve never experienced with anyone else. when it happens to me, you notice. we could be in the middle of talking and then i look up into your eyes, realizing i’ve gone silent and so have you. and you are looking at me, looking at you, with a feral hunger in your eyes or a flare to your nostrils which speaks volumes while nothing is said.

it’s like electric currents pass between us in those moments. i don’t even have to glance down, to know you are getting, if not completely hard, already. i can feel the gentle tingling of my nipples tightening as my pelvic floor involuntarily spasms. i have no idea why this biological attraction is there between us. it’s so unique to me i wonder if you have it with others, even though you said you haven’t. it’s just so strong. and distracting. i don’t trust you and never will again yet my body will not let me forget you.

i’ve known for years that you were the game changer for me. more than anyone before or after, it’s you. it’s always been you. the missing limb is accommodated and adjustments made to how you live after it’s gone, and yet the memory it, the sensations coursing through something which is not there, remain. It would be so easy to allow that to control me. so easy to simply lay with you and forget about how my heart will feel if i let you back into my mind.

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a childless mother

15. you should be sneaking out, going to the 7-11 and buying nachos and getting that horrible slurpie stuff in a mop bucket when they have the ‘fill up anything’ promotion. you should be hanging out in the rec room in the basement with your friends talking about the girls with big tits and who told off what teacher that day. you should be learning to do laundry, a pro at mowing the lawn, getting stupid excited that you’re going to be driving soon! you and your buddies talk about getting your first jobs and maybe even the people you like.

have you had your first kiss? did you like a girl enough that you went from friends to something more? did you hold hands with someone you really liked and who really liked you too? you’re batman pj bottoms are crumpled up on the floor beside your bed. you’re rooms a mess. your school backpack smells like sour food and dirty socks with crunched up papers at the bottom. clearly something spilled in there. you were too busy socializing, laughing, always laughing, to clean it up.

your clean laundry is in the washer. how do i take it out? how do i touch it. if i touch it, i might break. shatter. it doesn’t smell like you anymore because i washed it. i washed away the scent of who you were. and now i want it back. and so i curl up in your bed. smell your sheets. clutch your pillow against my chest. my chest where my black heart is crushed and  purifying inside of my soulless body. i wish i was dead. dead. i want to be dead. i can’t do this. can’t feel this. this isn’t a feeling. this is torment, torture, violent hurting and pain beyond pain that i can’t endure.

your birthday card is in my calendar. i already wrote in it. i bought it 2 months ago and it cracked me up and i knew you’d laugh and so i bough it. a white envelope. unsealed. addressed and written in. just laying there. tormenting me with it’s presence. mocking me. screaming at me. i took it for granted. your birthday. i assumed that i’d give you this card and you’d laugh and i’d laugh because you’d laugh. i was waiting to laugh with you. and now you  never will. the card is garbage. ruined. a perfectly good card i presumed i had enough time to give you. and i don’t. you’ll never laugh with me again. and i stupidly waited to give it to you when i could have had that moment stored in my memory already.

you died. you died laughing with your friends and showing off. doing stupid shit that you’d done 100 times before. boy shit. look at me i’m doing semi dangerous things shit. shit that makes a mother cringe and a father say he’s just doing boy shit. yes, well now it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? arguing what is and what isn’t an appropriate risk? a right of passage? a boy thing? a normal fucking boy thing. other than the dying part. that’s not normal. how can dying when you’re 15 be normal.

your broken body. naked on a cold metal slab shared by 1000 other dead bodies, separated only by the chemical bleach used to clean the gore away, once a stranger dissects your once perfect and beautiful body. this stupid fragile shell of a human body. worthless without the soul of who you were inside of it. animating it. giving me the heat and joy of who you were. the animation of everything silly and funny and amazing of who you were. gone. forever. ended in a fraction of a second because of a stupid decision that you don’t get to take back. no do overs. no resets.

you died hearing the sounds of your friends laughing and cheering you on. it’s the last thing you heard. i should be grateful for that.  but i’m not. i hate them. i hate them for not protecting you and for encouraging you. i hate you for not listening to your inner voice that said don’t do it. i don’t hate you. i hate this. this is too much to bare. too much to understand. too much to process. too much to live through.  i’m tight with the contained violence. the rage, the sorrow. the despair. the void of nothingness. i need to hurt myself physically to release the pressure. to equalize on my body what’s happening in my mind or i’ll die from it.

i want to. i need to see you again. your rumpled hair as you flopped down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing the milk and telling me you were going out with your friends swimming. how can such a casual every day conversation be the last time we’ll ever talk? it was normal. nothing indicating that you would die today. i could have stopped you. i could have asked you to do some stupid chore. i could have needed your help cleaning the garage. i could have ruined your life by asking if you had gotten to that science project and demanding it be finished before you went anywhere. instead i told you to have fun. have fun. yeah. you had fun until you died.

and now i have to live through this. ‘this’ what is ‘this’ called? what do you call a mother who has a dead child? you know why there is no word? it’s because its not  natural and it takes at least a sentence to convey the message that you are talking to a woman who is living because they are waiting to die and who is nothing but pain and sorrow, ground and butchered, rotting meat. hollow. nothing will ever be good again. or right. or pure.

don’t talk to me. don’t offer platitudes or condolences. don’t you dare try and comfort me. the only thing i want is to be stabbed by a thousand knives until i die and your soft and gentle words make me want to kill you instead. i just want to lay in his bed, holding onto the clothes that once touched him and I want to die.

(ps. this is not me or my situation – but a friends child)

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needing him

i can’t help it. he is the single male creature on the planet who makes me insanely excited simply because i read a message he sent. when i look at his face, everything melts and lights on fire. my nerves regenerate at super sonic speed and all i need is to be touched by him in order to ignite. i wish i didn’t want him so hard. so violently hard and hurting. he distracts me beyond everything i can adequately write. he leaves me in a panting liquid mess. i miss his touch. i ache for his touch. and when he wants me, there is nothing but stupidity stopping me. and i want him. god i do. and every time i go to him i say its the last time and its not and it doesn’t make anything better, because i want him more not less. i could not imagine ever wanting him less. that’s the problem. regardless of time spent and spent bodies, it is outrageously escalating every time i spend time with him. does lust last for years?

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distracted and unmotivated

distracted. i wish i could focus on a single thing and complete it. i’m torn between several urgent and must do things if i decided to prioritize them and quite frankly, I am at the point where i simply want to retreat and do nothing. it’s a horrible feeling, being our own worse enemy for time management especially when you are used to functioning at a much higher level. ultimately, i know why. and i know this will be another thing i shall push through and get past. but life would be better if it was fixed sooner. and i am tired of spending so much time in transition rather than simply enjoying the experience of what i’ve built. this cyclical event happens in May and June annually because if is the season of loss for me. too many memories and reflection on what might have been and people i miss. it’s funny how our minds tries to shield our hearts from hurting.

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