I’m.

“How are you”

It’s too bad I can’t just tell the truth.

“Didn’t kill myself yet, so that’s something.”

But you can’t burden people with that.  You can’t say the truth.  So you rage about the crap you can control and you try to hold all the cards together.  You try to be the light that you need.  You try to be the soft place that you don’t have.

His bipolar or narcissism or crazy as fuckness has been bad.  I can’t even get time alone with a computer to type a blog, let alone read other blogs.  I try to keep everything I do to a pretty PC level because I’d really hate to get caught writing this stupid thing.  I don’t know what he’d do, but I bet it would be bad.  He’s an ass.

He lost his shit at me this weekend because I wanted to punish the kid by locking him in the room.  I wanted him to do chores instead.  So I was “undermining him”.  I hate the fucking gas-lighting.  I can’t deal with it.  There was an article in Psychology Today about strategies for reducing verbal abuse, I guess that’s why it’s somewhat under control…  I do most of that stuff.  I stand up for myself a lot more than I want to.

Some days I just want to be held.  Some days I consider becoming a lesbian.  Every day I fantasize about death or leaving him.  Every day I wish I could go back in time.

 

I don’t know why I thought this would be better than lonely.  Why did 18 year old me think would happen if I had to be alone?  Was I worried that my lady bits would dry up?

I had no idea what all consuming loneliness would take root with the “less-lonely” choice.  I wish I had never met him.  Every minute is so incredibly lonely.  Every day is an eternity of silent alone space.  I hate it.  I hate my life.

 

 

 

 

Alive.

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