I’m never sure why I share all that I share with you guys lol. Daddy says that it’s my “safe space”. I suppose he’s right.
I’ve been journaling weekly, if not daily, since I was 11 years old. I still have every single diary I’ve ever written in. When I was in college, I switched to keeping my diary entries on a computer, and then on a cloud service.
It helps to go back and read my feelings…I think sometimes we forget and are susceptible to making the same mistakes. History repeating itself and all of that jazz.
As I thought about how (overall) happy I am today, I asked myself for the umpteenth time how I got here. How did I get to this point–of having a husband and a dominant who are not the same person? I mean, I’ve chronicled my journey here on this blog. Just the recaps. Not every conversation…every fight…every make up session.
I was talking with Daddy on the phone and mentioned that he shared some similar qualities of my own father: quick to laugh, loves to cook, enjoys being around family. Uber responsible for those he cares about. “I think my father would like you,” I laughed. “Y’all would have a good time talking.”
And just then, an image of Daddy and my father standing in my kitchen cooking popped into my mind’s eye. I could smell the food on the stove. I could hear their laughter in my ears.
It scared the shit out of me, and I quickly pushed the image out of my mind before changing the subject. Daddy kept talking happily about cooking…and a wave of envy hit me. I wanted, in that moment, to be his wife. Not Husband’s. I wanted, in that moment, to be the one that woke up to a cheerful man cooking in the kitchen. To be the wife of a man who fixes his own cars, insists on renovating his own home himself, and growls in the bedroom.
In that fleeting moment, I resented the hell out of my husband. And it’s bothering the fuck out of me. I love Daddy as a friend. He is not my husband.
Later on that day, the tiresome question “How did I get here? To the point of fantasizing about another man being in my life in that way?” hit me again.
So I started reading through my diary from 2014, when I was heavily pregnant with our daughter. My husband had been out of work for five months by that point, money was basically nonexistent and we were extremely stressed. Here’s a glimpse of what I was going through during this time:
It’s hard. Being the ra-ra girl. I mean, yes, I’ve had my hormonal periods. And Husband gladly stepped in and took care of me. But today he’s in a bad mood. It’s another week of fruitlessly applying for jobs. It’s been 5 months since he’s been out of work. The words ‘bankrupt’ and ‘relocation’ pop into my head every day (but I’ve yet to say that to him).
99% of the time I love him. It’s that 1% that hits me when I resent the hell out of him. That 1% is rearing its ugly head today. All I want to do is go home, take a long bath and watch Bones, I thought on the way home. It’s been a long day. My pregnancy brain made me be $300 over budget on a [work] event we’re throwing tomorrow (I just caught it now). I’m usually so on top of that stuff! I stayed late to work on contracts. My finance internship program isn’t panning out because to be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve been very busy at work and stressed and despite drinking lots of water the baby hasn’t been kicking much which is worrying.
So all of that is on my mind as I walk through the front door.
And he’s frowned up, sitting [playing] on his game in the same clothes he’s been wearing for the last three days. He starts talking to me as he plays his game and I ask him if he’s going to talk to me or his computer screen. He mimics me but shuts it off. I ask him gently how his day has been. “Fine,” he grumbles. I mention that I know how hard it is to be in the apartment every day, but he needs to take care of himself. It’ll make him feel a little better. Maybe a shower tomorrow? The dog is going fucking crazy. Maybe take her out to the dog park? “Fine.” he mutters. “I’ll take a shower right now.”
I sigh as he stomps off to the bathroom and play with the dog while he showers. He emerges and I ask him to take the wet towel off of the bed (I have to get in it soon). He glares at me but does it. He then says he’s going to the grocery store for dinner. I tell him what I’d like and ask him to put gas in the car. “Yeah, whatever.” I then ask if we have enough cash in the account as he’s the one who’s been monitoring it. He snaps at me and leaves, closing the door a bit too hard. My chest tightens as I realize that I’m on the verge of yet another stress induced panic attack.
This morning, just because, I texted him “I love you.” I never got a text back. Which hurts my feelings. It upsets me that the dog is trapped in the house all day with no physical or mental exercise and when I come home I can’t spend a few hours playing with her (I won’t even allow myself to play tug with her because I’m afraid it’ll aggravate my sciatica). It bothers me that he won’t take initiative and do laundry or wash the dishes just once. It’s my job on the weekends unless I have a complete meltdown in which he’ll feel guilty and do it.
I know he’s having a bad day today. Maybe tomorrow’ll be different. I don’t have a positive way to end this entry.
Reading that entry brought tears to my eyes this afternoon. That was one of many awful days we had during the seven months my husband was unemployed. And then, when he found a job and started it, the baby arrived two weeks later. I dealt with postpartum depression and anxiety primarily by myself, while taking care of our newborn. Three months after she arrived, I found myself standing on the street corner, watching cars drive by during rush hour traffic. I was trying to pick one to jump in front of.
Here’s another that sits with me. This was two months after my daughter was born. I was basically begging for any kind of affection I could get from Husband at that point…and he kept repeatedly blowing me off:
I’ve had a glass of wine and not enough water and I’ve been in the house almost all week thanks to rain and meddling fucking in laws so I’m not sure what day it is.
My husband is not interested in me sexually.
And I’m tired of begging for it.
If he wants to be roommates, then fine. I don’t want to be friends with him. Like Deborah Cox, I can’t be friends with someone I’m in love with.
I think my weight gain plus my stretch marks plus my stomach that hasn’t gone down yet (when will that happen, btw???) turns him off. And that’s not fair. I created a human fucking being. Almost died bringing her into this world. Worked until a week before my due date with sciatica. Spent 75% of my pregnancy working 14 hours days, six days a week much to my doctor’s horror so we could make ends meet.
We had sex the other morning and it was ridiculously quick, per usual. He’s not interested in buying condoms. No matter how many times I flirt, hit on him, etc. Maybe there’s someone else? Maybe the porn is doing it for him. I don’t know.
Like I said, I’m tired of trying to get my husband interested.
As I’ve mentioned before, Husband is not a bad person. In marriage, we all hit snags and have to work through them. But when I ask myself “How did I get here?“ I simply reference the many diary entries like the ones above. Now if I could just shake off this icky feeling that I have and move on with my day…