Fault Lines


I see my words.  I see my pain across the page.

Spilling them, I feel a little better.  I can release a little, see my echoes, face myself.  And I feel worse.  I feel a blackness about my future.  I see no light at the end of this tunnel, only the navy blue horror sitting forever between my shoulder blades.  I will never feel clean again.

I guess I had better just get used to it.

I want to be more positive.  I keep trying to be more positive.  But I don’t know how anymore.

I DON’T WANT TO LIVE LIKE THIS.

I don’t know how to get out.  Crazy, crazy, I keep trying and nothing ever works, I am right back where I started only a thousand times worse, and I don’t know what I am doing wrong, and I think my only choice is to give up and quit trying and hoping for love because everyone says that is wrong.

I am wrong.

He keeps wanting me to be wrong.  Was that something his father pushed on his mother?  His broken hearted, broken spirited mother?

He is always so angry with me.  He gets angry so easily.  At least I know more that he is angry now, and I guess that is more open, but I don’t understand why he is always angry with me.  I guess he isn’t angry with me.  That is a projection of past hurts.  But he acts and sounds and takes out his anger on me, and he punishes me for his anger, and he lies because he acts like his fears and his anger are my fault.

It isn’t my fault.  It isn’t my fault.  Maybe I don’t know the perfect way to state what I need to state.  Maybe I don’t stand up for myself in the least provoking fashion, the perfect way of speaking.  It isn’t my fault he gets angry when I talk about issues which must be talked about, the money, the bills, his agreements and obligations.  It isn’t my fault if he gets defensive and attacks me for not allowing him to slide by over and over and not fulfill his part of ‘partnership.’ 

I hate that there is a need to bring up responsibilities.  I am not his mother.  I am not his father.  I have needs, and one of those needs is financial security, and with both of us having very good jobs I should NOT HAVE TO BE ASKING HIM TO MEET HIS FINANCIAL OBLIGATIONS!  I resent being forced into that position or the bills don’t get paid or I have to pay them myself, by myself, with my funds, while he buys motorcycles and jackets before he meets his obligations, then gets angry at me for making him face himself.

That isn’t my fault.

But I am having to live with it.  And it is so very scary.  And it isn’t fair that I have to be the bad guy because he won’t pick up his own end.  I can be understanding.  I can be enabling.  I can too easily see how this is fulfilling a dream, and that is something he should be doing.  Taking care of himself.  I can see how the motorcycle makes him feel good.

So did whores.  So does overeating.  So does smoking.  So does lying.

I don’t see him giving up anything bad and destructive for him, for us, in order to reward himself with something so expensive.  I feel like he is still giving in to his addictions rather than taking responsibility.  I think he made things worse between us over the past month so he could justify not having to ask anyone or discuss with anyone why he was going to spend so much money and go into debt.

And now that his addiction has been fulfilled, for the moment, he can find the calm to be nice.  I wonder how long it will last, before the addiction screams again for him to buy, and collect, and eat, and sex, consume consume consume, and demands he medicate away his pain as it leaks back to the surface.  When this momentary fix runs out of power.

I have only see him cry, twice.  Once, totally for himself.  The other, for his dog which died.  He still has never cried for the death of his marriage.  For the devastation he has brought into the world.  For the pain he has inflicted upon others.  He has never gone into those feelings and let himself feel that terrible hurt, for me, for his childhood, for his parents treatment of him.

So, he placates himself with ‘stuff’ more ‘stuff’ and more ‘stuff.’ 

I think I am just ‘more stuff.’

Love.  Love.  I don’t know how to make this work.  I am trying.  Every day.  Every conversation.  Every fear.  Every deep deep soul searing pain.  I am trying.

I am trying.

I must be crazy.

No big surprise.

It isn’t my fault.

It isn’t my fault.

It isn’t my fault.

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