"Ridiculous"

  Feeling super discouraged and worn ragged today. I feel as though I've lost my temper in the strangest sort of way--a kind of cold detachment that's stolen over me, instead of the usual fiery red fierceness that takes over. Warning: This is long and rambling and doesn't make just a ton of sense. I just...ya know...needed to vent today.

I've reached a point in my marriage, and today, it feels like my life, where I simply just don't care. I go through the motions of the morning, the daily necessities: you know, feed the dogs, brush my teeth, go to class.

But, I was able to sit, dry eyed, across the living room from my husband and tell him I was ready for nothing other than a marriage of convenience. I told him I was tired of being the one always trying, always pushing, always willing, and if he felt strongly enough about our relationship, he was welcome to fix it, but I didn't care. I told him I didn't want to celebrate our half-anniversary anymore, that I was opening a new bank account, and we could go in half on the bills.

He told me I was being ridiculous.

Who knows? Maybe I am.

He told me I dug in a conscious effort to find reasons not to trust him.

No, I dig because every time I do, I find something. Some more serious than others, but all a big pile of lies. Always, always the lies.

A few weeks ago, it was texts to the same girl he text-cheated with on me in May of last year...and November...the one I found on his phone when he was sick last Fall? When asked about it,

"Oh, no, Grace...it's been ages since I've talked to her!"

Really, because I have phone records that say you lie.

Then, it was "Did you feed the dogs?"

"Absolutely!"

"Why are their bowls in the same place?"

"...."

And, then, last night, money.

Now. You may not know this about me. It doesn't have reason to come up often. I'm a HUGE anti-borrower. I hate borrowing. From anyone. Ever. Ever. I will go out of my way and live on pancakes six nights a week from a box half a year old before I'll borrow, even from my parents. If I can't go to work and get it, I must not need it that bad. Which, Steven knows.

Admittedly, we've been running a little close to the wire recently. So. What does he do? He borrows from his mom. Hundreds, really, over the span of several..weeks? Months? I'm not sure. (Just a side note here, his mom is broke. Always broke. Desperately so, much like my real dad. If we HAD to borrow, she was not my top choice.) When asked where he was getting the money from, he lied on two different occasions: "Mom owed me some money from before. It just happened to go in today." (I know, I know, I'd shake my head, too. I don't know why I ever believed that line of utter BS.) Then, again, "Oh, don't worry. I had it. There's always money somewhere, Grace...you just have to know which ass cheek to pull it out of." With a snort and laugh. And, ya know what's pathetic? I believed him, then, too--and I laughed with him. I am SUCH an idiot. I should distrust everything that comes out of his mouth strictly on principle.

I believe VERY strongly in my marriage vows. I made my promises, and come hell or high water, I'll stand by my end. But, this...this is miserable.

I told him today I was redoing the budget, to be one hundred percent sure that he never felt the need to borrow from "Mommy" again. After all, this sheds all new light on why he didn't ever really defend me when his dad accused us of all those things right before we were married--he was probably borrowing from them, then, too. Not that I think borrowing when you absolutely must is a jail worthy offense or anything--

But, certainly doing it without my knowledge, against what he knows are my wishes, and then lying about it...

Maybe that was just the straw that broke the camel's back. I told him we had an awful, miserable, sorry, broken, ruined excuse for a relationship, much less a marriage.

"Grace. Sixty bucks doesn't make or break a marriage."

"No, but trust sure as Hell will!"

And, it will.

I wish he wanted to fix it. But, as for me, I can feel it already--I'm emotionally checked out. I mean, was the relationship that I grieve over so often...was it ever a real thing? A thing like I see you all have? A real, honest, painful, communication, struggling, joyous, strong relationship like you guys have? Or is it just another one of his many lies? Am I just an easy way to a house and clean underwear and dogs and a fake little family with fake little smiles on fake little faces?

I'm giving up a Christmas tree this year. My first year without one; I love them. Green and piney smelling, with beautiful, colored lights and balls that hang all around; thick and full all the way around...no skimpy backs for me! My Dad taught me how to pick out that perfect Christmas tree. But, if we don't have enough money for "just enough lunches to get me through til payday, Mom," then, I don't have enough for a tree.

I hate this. I hate watching my ideals crumple up all around me. What have I been living, myself? I have to wonder.

And, then, I think maybe crazy gets passed down. Dad's crazy. And I feel that way, all cold and detached, and then hot, angry violence like when I drank a half a bottle of Jack to forget that he was talking to that whore again and smashed the glass against the dresser and watched as it shattered into hundreds of beautiful, terrible sharp pieces on the hardwood floor--

"It's not their fault, Grace," his best friend told me. "It's always our person's fault. Our significant other, my fiance, your husband...they can say 'no'. They don't. It's our person's fault. Always."

But, I was here this time. I was present. I only work three nights a week--he brings me lunch each night. I'm slipping right now, but I've been better with house work. And, I've lost a little bit of weight, too...and Mom's bought me some nice clothes recently, because she says she dresses me better than I do..and I wear my make-up every day...even when I was so sick, I got up once and tried to put some on, so I didn't look so much like a corpse.

Maybe it was just sixty dollars.

But, it was another lie.

Maybe I'm being ridiculous.

Or, maybe, he's finally just driven me crazy. I asked him at one point to kill me, while I lay there, crying on the bed. So desperate to stop this madness. He said he wasn't going to do that, he loved me; took the guns out of the house and went to work.

I don't really want a marriage of convenience. I just want him to take me seriously. To not lie to me, not about the dogs, or texts, or girls, or money. You know, when we were just best friends? We never lied to each other. We were honest. Always. So proud of that, so proud of being so damn honest it hurt.

There's a song, it's very dramatic, but it's one of my favorites, by one of my favorite artists, and it's how I feel...except, I'm tired of trying. I'm sure, though, at some point, I'll get my second wind. Or tenth wind. Or whatever.





                                                                                                                                                                    I mean, did you hear that? "Ever worry 'bout what he's doing? How it all turned to lies? Sometimes I think that it's better to never ask why."

"Ever worry that it might be ruined? And does it make you want to cry?"

Yes.

I really, really want us to fix this. I want us to try. But, if he won't, I'm not willing.

Which is probably wrong.

His friend told me marriage vows be damned, staying wasn't enough if we weren't working on it.

Do we have enough left to save to bother?