I hate multi-posting on the same topic in the monthly mini-rants thread, so here I am. (Shit, last time I did this, my husband was sick. That didn’t end well.*) Guys, I really need your help; I need a kick in the ass, or a digital/virtual hug, or realistically y’all can dish out both in whatever proportion I deserve.
Fuck it: roast me. I’m sure clearer heads will see some glaringly obvs. insights in my ramblings, but whatever those may be, I can’t see them.
I’m scared. I’m tired. I’m desperately avoiding what I know needs to be done - and for once, that doesn’t mean putting off scooping the litter box.
I’m tired of feeling more lonely when my boyfriend is around, than I do when I’m alone. I’m tired of doing 80% of shared responsibilities (cooking, cleaning, shopping, basic household mngmnt. stuff) and feeling like I do 95% because I don’t get much in the way of non-household in return. (Affection, attention, sex, hugs, etc.) I’m an introvert, but I need some social interaction ferchrissakes. Also, chicks like to get laid.
I referred to my b.f. here as My I.T. Guy because that’s sorta how we met. He’s nearly my opposite in most ways. Obviously a deliberate attempt on my part to try & head off what happened last time: my Other Shoe and I were so. fucking. similar. and that was bliss, until it spiraled into such a clusterfuck that sometimes I can’t believe it wasn’t just some drunken fever dream. Look up my old threads, or maybe someone else can link 'em, because after over five years I still can’t bring up details of that time in my memory without sobbing.
I lost respect for this guy a while ago, and I guess we both have succumbed to resentment. He pays the rent; in his mind, that’s the end of the matter, because he earns easily 3x what I make. Cue Kanye’s “Gold Digger” song. He takes out the trash each week, thanks to a reminder he set on his phone. Reminders I set for him go ignored. Blah blah, this is already degenerating into the same song and dance most women bitch about, I guess.
I keep putting this off, because besides I.T. Guy and y’all, people don’t know my shit. And I just do. not. want. to go around explaining all this again. My husband, my mother, my financial problems, my addictions. My redacted due to board rules helps, until #3 and 4 join forces with the anxiety demons, and then they really start screaming at me.
Yes, I need to get out of this state. Politically. Mentally.
It got to the point where I privately made an “I need a hug” sign, because I have resting bitch face, and communication problems.
So I’m wearing it now.
For y’all.
The real sign was crumpled up by Drunk Me and flung at I.T. Guy. She’s a bad bitch but she does stand up for me when I’m unable to speak for myself. Methods could use subtlety, but that’s really not her style.
Tell me I’m not worthless?
- narrator: “he died.”