Comfort Me?

My idea of the ideal relationship is one where both people can sustain a day without the other, but that day is made infinitely exceptional and more desirable by the presence of the other. This concept can be substantially altered with the introduction of depression.

... This is my altered world. It is not desired or preferred. It is not always manageable or understood. But, this is the world I have to live in. I cannot easily alter this universe of mine with drugs. You take one drug only to find a sizable alteration in another area of your life. The slight difference that is seen by the drug in relation to my happiness, is thus almost pointless. I take a second drug to counter-act the ill-effects of the first. It is like being washed away at sea. I am farther and farther from who I am... floating here and there facing all consequences that happen along the way... and majorly unable to control my own fluctuation.

What a shitty existence. To be bound by some psychological and chemical fucked up happenings within me. We tell ourselves... we choose our path, we make our lives what we want them to be, we create our own future. What the fuck am I honestly creating? I do not feel I have created anything. Nor do I want to stand idly by and scream victim. I fight the current, the waves, the rocks, the sharks, the jellyfish. I flail hysterically trying to find the bottom, trying to find the footing that will allow me the ability to walk out of the water. The beautiful idea that I could control my own path. It seems out of grasp.

I went to therapy last night. My mood was semi laissez-faire. So much to control around me and such little power to do it with, it is discouraging. We talked about my upcoming breakfast with my father. In most instances I can handle my father. I have to stand taller, sit-up straighter, outline and define my motivations, and more and more often... I have to suppress my emotions.

My father cannot hold me emotionally... and every time I allow myself to be vulnerable to him, he drops me. He tells me a million reasons why being who I am is not really the best choice. He asked me when he came up to the hospital the night I attempted suicide... "why did you call your mom and not me?" I'm lying in a hospital bed with tubes, wires, and monitors... but you're right dad... this moment should be about how I've let you down.

This therapy session she wants to make me very aware of his inability to hold me. She wants me to know walking into it... that he will let me down if I allow him to. She wants me to place a barrier. She wants me to ask questions so that he doesn't have time to ask me some. As if I'm preparing for battle, I think about all the holes I have in my belly, all of the scars. It hurts. I feel afraid to ask for help from anyone, least of all a male.


I left therapy a bit torn and feeling cynical, having faced the reality that my father will, most likely, never provide the emotional support a child needs. I will never have that need fulfilled.

My lover and I went out to dinner with my cousin--my best-friend. She is going off for a summer job. I am happy for her, happy that she will get some of the fulfillment she needs after having paid an arm and a leg for her degree. I miss her smile, her soft skin, her sweet kisses, and constant reminder of love. But I know she is very busy and I try to respect her time.

I sit down to the dinner table... and I know I am triggered. Since the moment I left therapy I have been defensive, apprehensive, and vulnerable. I tell them. I tell them I am triggered... that I don't know why, but that hopefully some peace will come soon. He doesn't even acknowledge my pain. Too busy humming, tapping, twisting, and looking at his phone.

I reached out for help. I felt as though I had done what I could do to get help. He has told me that it is no longer his responsibility to reassure me. I fear ever bringing up this need to him. Just as my father sees me as this overly-emotional basket case, I think this is what my lover sees. And every time I ask for help it gets turned down.

I wonder if I should stop putting myself out there. I am so confused. Two days ago he was a bundle of love and on his way back to treating me like I was his gold. ... Today... his love feels careless and empty. It hardly feels at all. How can I ask for help when the person I would ask first has stated he will not give it?

We get home from dinner and I lie down on the couch with him for a moment. It feels like more of the same non-existence. Every part of my body is crying out in insecurity... begging him to say anything, do anything to show me you love me. I understand he must choose his words; I cannot tell him what I need to hear, but it does not mean I don’t still need it. Can we not find a middle ground, where I allow him all right to say it in his own time and in his own words, but that he still be willing to give?

I get up from the couch, without a word, and go to the bathroom. I take a single sleeping pill and go to bed to lie down. I always say goodnight, mostly because I always want him to come to bed with me... but tonight, I don't. So can’t he see I need him? Or does he just not care? Is this just my issue?

I lie in bed and cry for a few moments. How am I supposed to learn to ask for help when I’m hurting? How am I supposed to learn when the person I want to wipe away my tears doesn’t want to? I’m so lost. I’m in a relationship and feel almost as lonely as I was without one. I feel his love but I have lost so much of it. I’m afraid to ask for help. I tried tonight... at least twice... why can’t that be enough for him to know I need him to comfort me?

It’s as though we are in a relationship but our emotions are our own responsibility. I see a loving relationship as the one where we cheer each other up when we are sad. I see a relationship where one does not always have to say to the other... put your arms around me... hold me... tell me it’s going to be okay. He already knows... and takes all the pleasure in the world from being the man in my life that gets to. He wants to wipe away my tears because he hates to see me sad. He wants to hold my hand because he doesn’t want anyone’s eyes on me without them knowing we are a pair.

Am I asking for too much? Wanting to be held, loved, and comforted? I see that as a real relationship... and if it isn’t a part of this one... then what is this? I just want him to comfort me... to want to comfort me. My heart hurts again...

Hate...

Oh my god... I hate myself so much!!! I need too much! I want to turn it off like a switch, a switch I am so sick of dragging around behind me, on top of me, covering me, smothering me.

The idea of time apart makes me sick. Makes my stomache churn, my body shiver, my heart pound, my throat soar, and my eyes well up. For him... nothing? For him... it is of no effect. For him... it is of no consequence. I thought I had found someone who wanted to be as wrapped up in me as I wanted to be wrapped up in him. But, I fear I was wrong... and now it is just an imbalance that I have to learn to live with. Learn to change myself... to not feel, need, or want.

Am I in too deep? I feel so deep and when it is good, I shine. When it is bad, I break and bleed. This thought has me wishing for a bridge, a really high bridge. I wonder if this love transferred over into an addiction and I missed it. I wonder if I feel something that isn't real. ... Artificially creating the world I need to feel safe, even if just for a moment. Wanting something I will never truly have. Wanting to be wanted and needed the way I want and need.

It comes in the beginning of a relationship. That false sense of perfection. For them it fades... but for me, it never goes away. My fucked up head won't let go. Won't let anything go!

I hate my mind, I hate my thoughts, I hate my tears, and I hate my feelings. Not one piece of me feels right. This is what I felt that night. There is no absolution. Just more pain.

I hate me! If only I didn't have to feel it all. I hate feeling.

When Will I Learn?

I find myself in a mess of emotion and confusion, once again. It is the little things, the in between things, and the say it like you mean it moments.

I'm lost somewhere between... I know this is what I need to be happy and this is what he is willing to give to make me happy. In between, I have to figure out what is worth fighting for. I have to figure out what I am willing to do without and what I can learn to provide for myself. It is so hard. What seems to me like such a simple fulfillable request... it has become comparable to pulling teeth. And I don't want to pull anyone's teeth.

He still hasn't said he is happy to be with me
since the mess. He seems to be able to love me and such, to hold my hand if I reach out first, to tell me he loves me too, when I offer. But... to get to that place where he can say it on his own, I don't know what it will take. I feel I'm trying to be patient but really I think he just doesn't want to ever say it again. It seems he can't say, "you make me happy", "I love having you in my life", "my life would suck without you", or "I am lucky to have you"... or any combination or concoction of these ideas.

Asking to hear these things I feel like I am asking him to die for me, to drink poison for me, or to step in front of a loaded gun. If it is really that hard... ... ...then what am I supposed to believe?

I find myself looking at him, just caught in a moment enjoying him. I find myself smiling just because he is beside me. I am happy to have him in my life. I sit and think about all the ways he makes my life great... the smiles, the laughs, the hugs, the incredible love-making... it goes on. The more I do this... the more I wonder if he ever sees me like this. Does he ever get caught being so happy that we are together? Do I complete him this way?

He makes a lot of playful insults. I know this is merely male-banter but it can be hard for me. I try to take it in stride. I try to smile and shake it off. It is a lot harder to play this role when I don't hear the good things counter-acting the jokes. It's like only hearing the negative and being asked to infer the positive... and from someone who does not appreciate inrerences no less. What should I believe?

I gave him a Father's Day card and it became a battle. I merely thought of him, his love and devotion as a father and knowing his fifteen year old definitely would not say it or think to get a card, I wanted him to know he is special. I handed it to him and he placed it off to the side and continued watching t.v. I mentioned he should open it and not just put it to the side. He picked it up and continued to not open it for another five minutes. I walked away. As always... as a man... he walked up to me later without a single thought of how that might have felt for me.

I relate this to him buying me flowers on a random day. What if he were to hand them to me and I just put them down beside me without a second glance. Not a sniff, not a smile, not a glimmer of pleasure or appreciation. How could that not hurt??

I told him it hurt me. He made me feel like the bad guy, because I expected him to open his card. I felt so sad. I cannot buy him a fancy watch, a sportscar, nascar tickets, or a cruise down the Caribbean. But can't I still say you are special in little ways? He told me I didn't need to do it. Related it to his family... that spouses do not get their lovers Father's Day cards. How do I answer that? ..."I'm sorry I appreciated you and wanted to give you a card... and in return I expected that you'd actually want to open it and perhaps say thank you for it."

I use to feel like my passion for life and those around me was something to feel good and proud about. Something that made me unique and special. But, unfortunately... with passion for happy and good things, comes passion for many things, including the bad. I wish I had selective passion. I wish I knew how to tame and control my emotions to the convenient, tolerable moments. I can't seem to learn.

I went to the shower and cried that one out. I can't make him understand. I just wanted to show him some appreciation and again it turns into a battle about me being too demanding and overly needy. Like many other times in my life... I fall under the belief that I just won't ever be good enough. I don't know how to do it right. I don't know that I ever will. I wish I could learn... when will I ever learn?

Want This?

I find myself trying to entice him, to lure him, to intrigue him, and to captivate him. I want him and I want him all to myself. I have become so greedy and determined to keep him, always.

I lay there in the dimly lit room... in my black and pink, pin-stripped babydoll... his favorite. Waiting to hear him walk in the door... I try to keep myself busy. Having just replaced the batteries my best vibrator is humming against my thigh. I try to imagine his reaction. I try to think of what he might say when he sees me.

He's always said he wants to catch me... playing by mself. As we are all well aware, since I've mentioned before... I'm not much of a player on my own. It's rather unliekly he will catch me, unless I actually want to be caught. ... this time I do.

I lay there running my legs over the expensive and ultra-soft, cotton sheets. The smooth fabric awakens my body. It is this touch, any touch that sends me reeling. I run my hands up my soft white thighs. I love feeling hands there... touching me, inching closer, not quite there. ... Makes me close my eyes and let go. My hands crawl farther and I pull the panty portion of the outfit to the side.

I want him beside me. I want him pressed against me. I want him inside of me. I dream of what he would see. I wonder about his thoughts of seeing me. If this is how he thought it might go. I continue to play... my legs spread and my fingers teasing. Within minutes the teasing has led to a silky, wet mess dribbling down over my ass.

I hear the door. Oh my god... this is that moment. I lay there completely aroused... and nervous. I'm waiting... and trying to remember to let him catch me. I try to play... but all I can manage is circles around my lips. I've never been caught before. The idea of it is complicated and exciting.

I keep my hand pressed to my moist lips and watch the door. He slowly opens the door letting in only a smidgen of light. My hand freezes. The room is still shadowy and dim. He looks at me and ... I can't even hear what he is saying. I watch his eyes. I watch his eyes watch me. I'm looking for some reaction, something to tell me it's alright, something to tell me he wants me and this is exactly what he wanted to come home to.

He walks back out of the room...

I freeze. I try to hold back tears and a hundred fears washing over me. Did he just tell me he didn't want me? I analyze. ...do I get up and get dressed? ...do I close the door and cry my eyes out? ...do I wait for him to come back, maybe he just needed to put something down? Did he not see?? The fear is paralyzing, so I stay and wait.

He comes back and lays down beside me. I'm so happy to have him there with me. I find the strength to start moving my fingers again. I look at him, begging for some reaction, something to tell me it's okay. Please give me something...

He asks, "so you have your suit on already, huh?". I think he is talking about my sexy outfit... and say, "mmhmmmmm". He asks something about taking a nap... and I realize... he can't see a goddamn thing. I vehemently request that he turn the light on. He hits the light and begins to notice. His beautiful blue eyes get bigger and brighter.

Mmmmm... that's what I wanted. He grins at me and reaches down to put his hand over mine. He feels all the slippery warmth... he touches me more and watches me touch myself more. He wants to see me do it myself. Scared I won't get another orgasm, I softly protest. I ask for him... for his body... for him to make love to me. He refuses to give me what I want until I cum. Slick little devil...

I cum... loud and explosive.

I'm scared the next one won't be as good. But he now gives me just what I wanted. His soft, warm skin all over me. It is delicious perfection. It is not just as good or just as explosive... because it is better and so much hotter! I feel him explode inside me and I claw at his back completely overwhelmed with the amazing orgasm I'm having! I hear him enjoying it just as much.

Oh my god... this is exactly what I wanted. So glad he wanted this, too!! He lays down beside me and I cherish him and pet him. He is perfect for me!

Rebuilding...

Our relationship has started over in a way. It is a whole new beginning... sad in some ways, happy in others. It is like starting over with fresh eyes and planning to be stronger and smarter. Knowing each other's weaknesses and strengths we have more to grow on.

I am scared in a hundred new ways. And my sense of his devotion and love for me is blurred almost beyond recognition. When we started... it was with a bang. He fought for me, fought to have me. I felt so special, loved, desired, wanted, and needed. I feel the love coming back day by day, litte by little. There are glimmers of moments when I feel wanted. But to feel special, desired, or needed... I wonder if those feelings will ever come back. And I wonder if I could survive intact without them.

I feel as though I am begging him to want me. I feel as though I am fighting for him. I understand he needs to see some of this. I walked out repeatedly because of my own fears and emotional methodic instabilities. He needs to know I won't do that. He needs to know that I love him to the ends of the earth. He needs to see that I believe in him more than anyone ever will. I have to give him back the faith in me and us. But first, he has to see that I am who I have always been. There are no head games and there never will be. I am not the type to play petty games. I am real, as is my love for him!

In giving him what he needs I begin to wonder if I am forfeiting some piece of myself. I know I have needs. He is holding back in fear and doubt, but will he ever be the man I first met, again? Will he come back to being the supportive, giving man he was from the day we met. It's funny to me... he said repeatedly, "I show who I really am from the beginning so that you won't be confused about who I am later". I am confused... very confused. The entire definition of who we are has evolved.

I'd say I have been me from the beginning. I've been scared, overly honest, emotional, somewhat irrational, highly sexual and extremely passionate. I am still that person. The only difference is that I am trying to manage my ill-timed panic attacks and careless temper. Trying to be the person I really want to be, with the man I want to be it with.

I want to make love to him more than ever. This seal that I have only felt with him. There has not been one man in my life that has made me feel the way I feel when my naked body is pressed against his. I love feeling him, seeing him, seeing his reactions, seeing him see me, hearing him... all of it has made this perfect connection I have never felt before. A connection sweet, powerful, and meaningful enough to be classified as 'making love'. A feat I could never make happen with my husband.

I'm afraid to need anything and I find myself trying to give everything. I don't know where the balance is... I guess that is why relationships are so much work. A balance of two.

I want to be his number one. I hope that I am not rebuilding to be number two or three on his list. I was hurt by my father who told me I would never come first to him when I was eleven. And hurt by my mother who proved I was not her number one by staying in an abusive home for years. I fear I will not be his. I've never been anyone's number one. Maybe I never will. But for now... I am just rebuilding... praying we make that beautiful castle I long for. I hope he still wants that too.

What Now?

eginning last Friday it seemed my life could not find an up. I struggled to stay afloat and the surging waves and relentless tide demanded that I go under. It is suffocating and defeating breath after breath... stroke after stroke. My own life is toxic. The barrage of shitty moments is too much for me to bare. Why should I try to fight back?

Everything was already in shambles but the day, that day, was one of trigger after trigger...

It started the night before when I found out my boyfriend wouldn't be taking me to my medical exam. The exam where I am poked, prodded, and scraped for skin cells off of my cervix. Completely uncomfortable... and as a victim of rape and abuse this exam is more than painful, it is emotional and at some points intolerable. I fall asleep crying.

I woke up to the realization that I was so very alone. I tried to call my mom and ask her to come with me. But as soon as she picked up, she listed all the many things she had to do that day and all the stress she was under. I was scared but I decided not to ask. I didn't want to stress her additionally.

I went to the exam and it was painful, as always. But I didn't have his hand to hold. And my already shakey state of mind had my body tense and frightened. I was so clenched that she had to force me open. They kept telling me to breathe and telling me it would be okay. It didn't feel okay. I wanted to sob. I wanted to yell at them to take that fucking speculum out of me. I wanted it to be over, because I knew if I made them take it out, they'd just have to start the painful process all over again.

I went to work and sat down at my new desk. Piles of assignments from my old position were weighing on my mind... and thoughts of new and unknown assignments were creeping in to join the mass of stress bringing me down. I went to my first meeting with my new boss. He gave me a three page sheet of the tasks that would be encountered in my position. I told him my tendency to be late and he gave a lecture on the importance of being on time. I don't think anyone actually chooses to be late. To wake up in the morning and say, "hey, you know what? I think I'll be late today. Start my day off badly and have my boss pissed off at me." It's simple... I am not a morning person. Waking up is like trying to get scrambled eggs off of an ungreased cast iron pan. It's not happening fast, that's for sure! I walked out feeling inadequate and destined to fail.

The evening was decent. A lot of tiptoeing around trying not to let a fight start between him and I. Trying not to let myself be the crazy bitch I seem to be. I missed his touch. I missed his loving thoughts of me. I missed him holding my hand. Not one inch of me knew how to fix it and every effort just seemed to wedge us further apart. I stayed quiet.

We laid down in bed and he asked why I hadn't taken my clothes off. The signal that I wasn't alright and he was receiving. I said to him... "I'm not ready. I still don't feel safe and I don't know how to tell you." I tried to explain and it blew up. He was in pain from a stomache ache and my conversation was ill-timed. I didn't know how to make it right. I'm hurting and I don't know what to say to fix it. I'm afraid.

I attempted suicide because what else is there? It was not planned. It was an act of hopeless, bottomless depression.



I began to sob and went out to the living room to feel less vulnerable. He is sitting there like stone and I am crying my eyes out. I find my sobbing to be too loud for the living room. I grab the paring knife off the counter and walk out to my balcony. I sit on the ground and cry. I try to muffle my whimpers. I pressed the knife tight to my wrist. I wished I could pull. I thought about it enough... and pulled. A slight red line came across my wrist... but no blood. I wondered... do I not want it enough? I placed it over my wrist and pulled... and pulled... and pulled again. The blood refused to pour. The sobs turned to a silent numbness.

I hate myself... that is all there is to it. So unhappy with myself. So angry that I messed up this relationship. I realized I just wasn't strong enough to cut my wrist and this knife was far too dull. I thought about the Iron pills sitting on my dresser. The prescription I was given for Anemia and choose not to take. I know they are lethal, easily lethal... and I have so many. In my silent paralysis I walked into the bedroom. I flipped on the light and tried to begin the conversation from a better, less attacking angle. He was angry, more angry than I had ever seen him before! His responses were stinging full of sarcasm, doubt, and resentment. His face was empty. He didn't see me like he used to see me. He came back because it was easy. He hated me... and I hated me!

I pulled the box from my drawer and popped out four pills. I held them in my shaking hand as I began to sob again. I took one. I didn't know what was right. I was so angry with me. I ruined us... I ruin everything... it will not get better despite what they all say. They say that to keep you moving, but really we are all down. The economy, the country, the world. Everything is wrong and so am I.

I popped the three open pills. I burst out into tears. I began writing emails. First, to my mother... the one I am most worried about. ...I popped ten more pills. I don't want her to be mad at me; I know she will be. I popped five more pills. Then my dad... he resented my uncle for killing himself. I heard the things they said about him. How he was a coward and took the easy way out. I asked him to forgive me, that I couldn't handle the hard way any more. I popped six more pills. Then my step mother. She has always been a beacon for me, a light, a vision of possible happiness. I'm not as strong as her. I popped ten more. I told them all I loved them. I messaged my cousin, my best friend, my sister. I told her to understand and to take care of my mother and cats. I popped five more to be sure it would work.

Thirty-five, three hundred twenty-five milligram tablets. I was sure to die. I don't want to chance it. I laid down with the lights off and begged for it to come, begged for it to wash over and swallow me.

I had to pee. I peed. I had to pee again. I peed. I had to pee again. ... I peed. Each time I grew more apprehensive of my decision. I googled the effects of this type of poisoning. It was vile, painful, and awful. This is not what I wanted. I called Poison control and asked if I could puke it. She was adamant that I not do that, that I should go to an ER immediately. I didn't want to go. ...

... I reached out for help... I called my mom. I told her and she was so sad and scared. I knew she didn't want this, I've always known that. She said puke and she'd find an answer. So... I puked. Over and over. It was dry and chalky. So dry it was blocking my throat as I puked. I tried not to choke. I puked about six times. She came and got me... she took me to the ER.

I puked it all up. I'm alive. So... what now?

Can't Stop Analyzing...

I think about his fun weekend. ... or at least un-miserable weekend.

I think about how he tells me he had to let me walk out and not follow me so that I could see that my actions needed to stop. And yet everything he did this weekend were actions of a single man, or at least not one in this relationship.

I think I fucked up.

I think I learned my lesson and I wish he would have told me he couldn't take it anymore before we had to spend a weekend apart.

I think about how he thought we were so over, despite telling me it was just a chance to show me my wrong, that he cancelled our already made plans and changed passwords.

I think... how could that be just a test?

I think he wants out.

I think why did he read all my emails. ...My old emails from before him, when I was facing such a strong pull toward my very unhealthy sexual addiction.

I think... how can he tell me, "reading someone's past emails gives you a feel for who they really are."?

I think how badly I messed up.

I think how much I wish I could take back my walking out.

I think he wants it to be over and he is begging me for a reason.

I think... why has he made steadily less and less time to talk to me while we're at work?

I think... I thought I knew him. I thought I could trust him. I didn't think I would ever need to change my passwords. I didn't think he would trust me so little that he'd change his passwords to protect himself.

I think, I may have walked out the door... but I never turned my back on us. Because I spent the weekend missing, wanting, begging for us. And he spent it thinking about anything else under the sun.

I think my trust is broken.

I think I don't know how to tell him how hurt I am because every time I try he tells me why my thoughts are manipulating his actions. How he can't be free and has to constantly control himself for me.

I think how could wanting to hear my boyfriend to tell me I'm beautiful be such a horrible desire. How could it be bad to need him to tell me he wants me and loves me?

I think... how am I in a relationship with someone who doesn't want to make me feel better? When did it change?

I think how could it be bad for him to give me one tiny shred of a thought that this weekend was flawed for him.

I think he came back with a million reasons why I seem to be holding him back.

I think, again, he wants out.

I think how could he not take me to my doctors appointment. The appointment I cry and shake through. How could he cancel on that? He wanted to protect me before. I cried and shook through it alone.

I think why doesn't he want to go to lunch with me anymore? Of course there are things to do and of course he wants to be healthy... but before, the thought of not having that time with me made him sad and longing. It doesn't anymore.

I think he changed his mind.

I think when he told me he would always be the way he is right now (when we first met)... he might not really know himself at all.

I think I fucked up.

I think it's over. And definitely not because I want it to be... but I fucked up so bad!

... And I think he's done.

Upside Down...

I wonder why I am sitting here... a quater past midnight. I wonder why I can't stop sobbing. I wonder when might these bouts of fear and doubt go the fuck away?

You're probably wondering where the hell I've been and what the hell I'm talking about. Approximately Christmas time I met someone. Everything was magical and pure.

I am pulling my same usual bullshit of running away. Why the hell am I running from something so completely magical?? Why do I seem to find every reason under the sun to be mad? There is nothing to be mad about. I have him. I have a wonderful, loving, honest, and giving man. ... But I'm still mad.

I have begun an intensive form of therapy to begin working on the things I need so desperately to fix about myself. To fix all the wrongs I learned as a child and have clung to as an adult. I want to be better than that. I want to be better than a string of poor excuses. Rape, incest, abuse, neglect... no matter the poison I must choose to be better than that. I must choose to live for me, for now, for life... and let go of all those pains.

This weekend I pushed him away harder than ever. I packed my things and called my mother for a ride. I stormed past him repeatedly taking my bags to the car one-by-one. I refused to make eye contact. I needed him to stop me.

My therapy has brought me upon a new topic I'd rather not approach... my father. I love him dearly. I see so many good things in him. We have had moments where I felt our bond was unbreakable. This is not that year. When I was 8 or so... I fell off the rocking chair in the living room. I cried out for him in the kitchen... he chose not to come. Lying on the floor in tears, this is how I seem to always be. An inexcusable mess of a human being unable to pick myself up without someone else telling me I am okay. My father didn't come... and when I told him I had fallen his best console was that I probably wouldn't use the rocking chair like that again... would I?

The mess applies in my relationships. I tell him the story of my father... and that very night the situation presents itself. A small fire starts on the stove and I yell for him... twice. The child beside him on the couch teaching him to play the video game says to him, "she's calling you". He stays still. Once I have the fire out and I have the pasta drained he strolls into the kitchen. His best response, "what could be so important about draining pasta"? I look at him with darts of hurt diving through my heart and out of my eyes into him.

I walk away. I eat dinner alone. I sleep on my edge of the bed. The next morning he walks in as if nothing has changed. "You coming with me to get the Brat?". ... that's what I get. Not an apology for his choosing to ignore me in that moment and through the night. I tell myself that I can't need him because I need him more than he is willing to be needed. I decide I must end all dependency. He leaves and I pack.

We spent the weekend apart. The first since the day we met. We have not spent hardly a pinch of time apart, not one full day. In the beginning he told me he loved that. He loved that I always wanted to be with him.

He didn't call. He didn't write. He didn't come... I cried. I cried sopping wet, fat tears into his shirt desperately sniffing any smell I could between sobs. I cried wishing he would come. I cried wishing I hadn't left. I cried praying I didn't just fuck up the best thing that had ever happened to me. Sunday afternoon I emailed him... without response. Monday morning I logged on to find more silence. Finally, I couldn't stand it...

"So this means were done then?"

No... we're not done, I hope. He spent the weekend relaxing with friends and pleasuring himself without me. I feel sick. I feel so completely sick! I feel useless, replacable, broken, and so fucked up!!

I try to tell him it sounds like he had a good weekend without me. He says... "Should I have sat around and cried all weekend? I know better than to waste my time being miserable, it doesn't help."

I try to tell him how replacable I feel. He says... "if you keep saying it, I'm going to start to believe it".

I try to tell him how... un-special I feel. He says... "how?"

I try to tell him I don't think he wants to be here with me. He says... "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be".

... Really? Not one word of reassurance. Not one... "I love you more than you will ever know! Yes, I hurt this weekend, but I had to go on for my kid. I hated being without you... only you." I feel empty. He tells me he can't reassure me all the time and that he can't always says exactly what I need to hear. But where does it end? I know I am demanding ... but throw me a fucking bone!!! Make me feel just a little like I matter because right now, I don't! Not one little bit!!

I lay in bed clothed, a very very rare occasion as you might guess. He asks why, and I tell him I don't feel safe yet. I tell him I don't now how to explain it and he warns me of farts. I tried again to talk... to tell him. He tells me to try, but I've tried, over and over. I can't right now, I have nothing left to give. All I can do is turn over and sob because somehow... I know I did this. I turned us upside down.

Honest to fucking god... how should I feel? It was magical. He made me feel real with kindness, hoesty, and loyalty. He made me feel heard. He made me feel special and one-of-a-kind. But what now? I love him so much! But now... I just feel upside down. Now... I don't know if it's fixable. The weekened I spent sobbing... I needed him to fix me.