Thursday, February 25, 2010

Sometimes it's good to remember

We stood outside our building on the harbor, the water winding lazily beside us. The air was brisk, but in Amsterdam the air always is, and the sky was clear, a rarity. My cab driver loaded up the last of my bags as I said good-bye. There were so many things left to say, and too many that could never be taken back. I’d like to say that the situation was inevitable, but it wasn’t. I was just lucky. But I loved him, and I think he loved me too. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my head into his shoulders, smelling him one last time.

“So, I love you.” The words hurt. The world hurt.

“I know. I love you too.” He replied sadly.

“I guess I’ll see you later.” I whispered, half question, my tears perilously close to the surface. I knew I wouldn’t.

“Yeah. Later.” He held me even tighter. “I love you so much. So much. I never knew love, felt love, until you.”

“I know.” I whispered and hugged him back.

We kissed once more, softly, and I climbed into the cab.

My driver smiled at me kindly as we drove to the airport. “Your love is nice. You don’t see it often. When do you come back?”

I looked up, blinking back tears. “I don’t. That was the end.”

He met my eyes in the rear-view mirror and shook his head slightly. Confused. Then wondered aloud, “But you love him. And he loves you. It’s beautiful.”

It wasn’t really. Beautiful. There was love, I think, or at least pieces of it, sometimes. But it wasn’t enough. And it wasn’t kind.

August 2002

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Because I'm Inspiring

Since it's probably against all English writing code to start posts or anything literary with profanity I shall restrain. But for that code I would just say, Fuck a monkey.

Classy, I know. Whatever. I'm spiraling and really don't know how to stop it. My therapist doesn't know how to stop it. His advice is basically, "lie to yourself." Hmm.. maybe that is helpful for others, but denial has never really worked for me, so no banana.

I can't seem to find the desire to get out of bed. Lovely. I know. I have an incredible family and life, and I can't get out of bed. No one has died, our life has taken a financial turn for the better. I know, who can say that these days? Us. Apparently. My husband got a new job where he only has to work three days a week and makes more than his last job. Hah. Cry me a river. And yet... my good fortune just compounds my guilt and makes me pull the covers closer. Tighter. I don't open the shades, I don't want to know if it's nice outside. Because it's nice under the blankets, and that's all that matters.

I don't think my husband really loves me. I wonder if he ever really did. This doesn't seem to bother him, but it bothers me. He's the love of my life. I used to think that not being able to love someone in the way they love you, no matter how much you wanted to, was one of the worst feelings to live with. Ahhh, but no. The other end of the stick is much more fun.

We have sex like twice a month, and it's perfunctory on my part. Guilt induced really. Husband doesn't "need" it. He wants it, but only if I do. Hah! Okay then. So we're going the celibate route then. And he doesn't masturbate people. For real.

He's the perfect person. Loving, kind, sensitive, never complains, never says a mean thing. I've see him upset twice in the ten years that I've known him. Once because he couldn't "think away" the hiccups. He doesn't get stressed. EVER. He just doesn't FEEL all that much. He's brilliant. The smartest person I've ever known. And I'm a freakin nut job.

I am Van Gogh, minus the amazing art. Well and I have both my ears. So maybe not so much Van Gogh. Point is, I'm a creator, and as such something of a kite in the wind without string. I love fiercely, and feel everything in extremes. It's like the hooker who married the monk. But I'm not really... yeah, you get it.

My health has been on the shits for months (10) and the depression is just getting worse. I'm seeing doctors. SOOOO many doctors, of whom I'm starting to hate by the way. But what do you do when someone is just well, crazy? I don't know. They don't either.

Annnnd, I peed on a stick. And got a line. Fuck me.

It was faint, and I'm not trusting it. Because I can't right now. Another child in my life right now, that I can't take care of. Yes, that's just what I need. Fuck.

I'm peeing again tomorrow. On a fancy stick. A fancy stick with whistles and bells, and perhaps a dancing monkey. We'll see what tomorrow brings. Hell, it has to better than today. It just has to.

I know, kids are dying, people have lost their jobs, husbands hit their wives, people are starving. I'm blessed. I'm so so blessed. Which makes the fact that I can't get out of bed all the better. How did I end up here? No, where did I go? And will I ever come back?

Friday, May 29, 2009

Sux you Anniversary

One of the worst days of my life. Hands down.

Hubs and I don't normally fight, but boohowdy.

We finally went to bed at three. Both of us crying.

Today I can't look him in the eye.

I haven't hurt like this, well ever.

Anniversarys are dead to me. Forevah.