"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?

One Day...

One day, I intend to post again. I really, really do. Tonight is Steven's family Thanksgiving--I thought about posting about that. And maybe I will.

But, I haven't eaten since Thursday.



I got some horrible, atrocious stomach bug...as in, I went in to work, Pharmacy sent me up some anti-nausea pills, and I threw them back up and got sent home anyway.

I'm hoping today to be able to stomach some soup. We'll see. Sprite was a challenge this morning. Too much, too fast.

And, I'm not sure if it's the sickness or the lack of food, but everything takes three times the effort it normally does. A half-hour ride in the car and then sixteen long steps to the front porch and I was out like a light for nearly an hour. We watched Avatar on the couch, and sitting up that long took so much I slept for who knows how long after that...I feel like death.

BUT.

I haven't died, and one day, I'm going to get around to a real post.

P.S. Best husband in the world. He's been so good and tending. :)

Lovin' The Lurkers Day

   We, being Steven and I, of course, really, really

You to leave a comment!! We draw such support from our dear friends around the world through this blog, and we'd LOVE to hear from you!! I know it's a smidge scary. Really, I get it! BUT,  ???

Just a little comment!! "Hey" would do!!

:) :) Lookin' forward to lovin' us some lurkers!!

Ahem. That's YOUR cue.

:D

Mid-August, Way Back When

~Mid-August, Some Time Around 4 Years Ago~

My fingers tapped on the steering wheel of my poor, banged up little car. As I pulled into the parking lot of the small, state-run college, I studied my hands. Small, relatively pale, covered in tiny, barely visible scars from a dog...bites the summer before. Thick blue veins that stood out against the skin of my hands. Average length fingers with short, bitten fingernails. I flipped them over, considering their movement. My very first ASL class was due to start in thirty minutes, and the idea of being able to talk with my hands was strangely exhilarating. On a whim, I picked up my phone.

It had been a couple months since I'd spoken with Steven--a boy I'd gone to high school with. I mean, I'd gotten a text from him a few weeks before: a mass text of a car wreck, which I'd quickly skimmed over, too busy to pay it much attention. But, hey--I'd heard through the grape-vine he'd moved back from Nashville and was attending the same college, and, let's face it--who wants to start a new class all by themselves?

"Hey," I said when he answered the phone. "What are you doing? Like, right now, right this minute?"
 "Uhm, getting ready to go into my Chemistry class...why?" That was always a plus with him. The guy was never flustered; didn't matter if I called him at four am lost, or if I wanted to find a Chik-fila, he was almost always down.
"School just started," I said, ignoring the slight snort of 'obviously' I thought I heard across the line. "So it won't count against you if you withdraw right now." A beat of silence. Huh. Who knew? He could be caught off guard.
"And why would I do that?"
"So you can come take ASL with me, obviously," I shot back.
 "Grace...I sent you a text of my car...I was in a wreck, I broke two of my fingers last week."
"So? Take the splint off, you'll be fine. Come on, you know you want to! Please??" Another heartbeat.
"When does class start?" I glanced down at the car clock.
"26 minutes and counting. I'll wait for you at the entrance...you're at the other campus?"
"Yeah...that doesn't give me a lot of time."
"You're speedy," I said and snapped the phone shut. Yes, I still had one of those hard-core, heavy duty Sprint flip-phones. Don't poke fun. I break things..

Fast-forward. Move past the many hours spent trying to have conversations in sign with limited vocab. Sidle on beyond us, sitting on big, fake lily pads in the children's book section at the library, going through the kid's books, struggling to interpret them. The play we performed for the local school for the deaf--Beauty and the Beast, with Steven starring as the Beast, and I in the role of Belle. Push on past us becoming a couple, and through the first year of signed "whispers" and jokes. To one comment that so illustrates the power of words:

"Why don't we sign together much anymore?" I asked, looking into slightly distracted brown eyes.
"I dunno," he shrugged. "I just don't really like the way you sign. Like Fred said--it's like watching a flash-bulb. Blink and you miss it. It's too spastic."

That was the last comfortable signed conversation I've had with the man that became my husband. Now, I fall back on sign in times of distress; it's easier for me. Feels more like home than English ever will. There's a comfort in the silence, the openness of expression, the feel of your fingers wrapping around each word-picture. Think how it feels to hold a pen, to watch your thoughts pour out in ink on paper; then, times it by ten at least. That's comfort, there.

We sign, still. I sign more than he does, though less around him than anyone else. But, once a year, we sign something together. Last year, we did "The Three Kings and I(What Really Happened)" by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. This year, "What is Christmas?" by the same people, and probably "Mary, Did You Know?", though we want to be careful with that; too many don't use true ASL, and I hate the loss. It's easy to go literal with that song. I want the meaning, the interpretation--all the feelings and emotions in that story. Really, it's quite powerful, and I'm pretty excited about it.

And, yet--as we sat down today, intending to work on it, I kept noticing him looking down at his phone. I leaned over to look, and he willingly showed me--a video game. For some reason, I'm extraordinarily hurt. Not that I'm not guilty of the same. How many times have we been hanging out, and I'm in my own little Candy Crush world? I love technology in so many ways--I can order any movie, right from my couch. Turn up the volume on Pandora from my kitchen. My house stays warm when it's cold, and cold when it's hot. I have friends in you all, from around the world. But, sometimes, I hate it; I hate that lack of being truly present with another human being.

I hate that we are not interested enough in each other, in our lives and conversations and interests and quirks, to not need Candy Crush or some other game to keep us entertained during a little time together.  Not that we're miserable, or in some deep rut, or some horrible, dark place in our marriage. Certainly, you know that Steven and I--we've walked Hell and Back together. Pain like I've never known before or since, joy and love that I can't imagine topping. And, I love him. He's wonderful.
In the words of one of my favorite preacher's, "Your spouse becomes your standard for everything. They are your ideal. You chose them. God made them for you, just right for you. Not that you won't know pain with them. Just that they are the best for you--for your discipline, for your love, for your perseverance." And he is. My ideal.

I want a marriage that thrives. I want to spite the pain we've experienced together through a love that is blinding. But, like I told him tonight--if that's the case, there's some definite changes that need making. We're making it a mutual rule that phones stay up when we're together. I'm making it a personal goal to be utterly captivated by my husband. He's my world--I want to know it better. I want to be 100 years old, laying in bed together, and not have to ask what he's thinking or feeling, because I'll know him that well. When he reaches out and touches my hand, I want to hear his thoughts.

But, that takes two. It takes me letting go of words that hurt, and being willing to be more vulnerable than I already am. It takes him being willing to try with me. For us to honestly, desperately pursue one another's hearts.

I don't even know where to end tonight. But, I know I want to end with the sureness of love. So. There it is.

Dapples of Daylight, Take 2

Ok, so the first time I did this kind of thing, Steven and I were definitely in a rough patch, and our little fun exchanges were so few and far between, every little thing was a "dapple of daylight" in a rather bleak little world. I'm quite pleased to say now that we're doing so, so much better, and these little snippets are just pieces of our overall joy in being together. But, I still feel the name is appropriate--these snippets, these "he said, she said"s, are STILL the dapples of daylight that bring more light into our lives. :)

"You know, honey, in the Sims, you could just buy a money tree. Then, we could just go pick our money. I'd even pick the ones."-- Me
"Yeah. If only life were like the Sims. We'd be cleaning puddles of pee out of our kitchen, because we wouldn't go to the bathroom when we needed to." --Steven



"When was the last time you smoked, Grace?"--Steven
"Oh, gosh, babe, I don't even know! It's been forever!"--Me
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Oh, just there's a half smoked Black and Mild in your car."
"Really?? Where at?"
"In the not-so-secret secret compartment under your radio."
"Eww! That's been there for, like, a year! I wouldn't smoke that! It's probably got some kind of horrible disease in it or something, sitting there that long."
"It does. It's called 'lung cancer.'" Really? Man thinks he's soooo clever...

We were chatting about future plans, and mine were a little...well, big. And slightly lazy, I think, lol.
"Babe. I love you. I do. But, that time in your life where you can just sit back and just enjoy life? It's called 'retirement', and we're about forty years from there."--Steven



Brief history: I'm a little...behind...in all pop culture references. Steven jokes I was born under, and have lived most of my life, under a rock. And I got a bug bite.
"Grace, don't squeeze that--it's a bug bite. Nothing's going to come out of it."
"Clearly, you haven't had enough bug bites! There's poison in there, little devils. With mosquito bites, you're supposed to cut them and get all the poison out."
"...Yeah. I've never seen that."
"You just weren't raised in the sticks, like I was, obviously." (Which, by the way, he's WAAAY more hillbilly than I am...
"Oh. I see." A pause. "Makes sense, though. Must get bitten by a lot of bugs, ya know, under that rock."

Today, when he came in from the grocery store, he held a bag up proudly.
"Look, baby! I bought you some decorative pumpkins!" -Steven
"That's...great, babe...what do you want me to do with decorative pumpkins?"
"I don't know," he shrugged, still grinning. "But they were 99 cents and looked like something we needed."

 I should start by saying this picture cracks me up. Steven showed it to me, and it gets me EVERY SINGLE time. I was in clinicals, though, and having one awful time of it; I texted him.
"Babe, I wish I was home, and snugged up with you..."
"Me, too," I got back. And, then a second later, this picture, and, "So does Phteven." I was in stitches. My mom doesn't find this picture nearly as entertaining as I do.

I don't know if any of you have tried the workout Insanity. It's awful. One afternoon, while pouring sweat, and hopping up and down like fools trying to mimic Shaun T's movements, I gasped out, "I think he's very encouraging--don't you, honey?" Steven cut his eyes over to me, and didn't answer, so I added, "Come on! Dig DEEPER! Very deep, babe! Come on!...isn't this good??"
"Grace..."he panted, "There's a reason I played...football...it's because...I got to...HIT people...after I worked out. As...I can't...hit you...why don't we just shhhh, hmm?"

"Alright, babe. Back to work. Goodnight, I love you." --Me (Reminder: I work night shift. Three nights a week, he's home in bed without me. :( )
"I love you....more than you even know." Isn't he sweet?

He Rocked It

 My husband is wonderful.

Don't know if I've mentioned that nearly often enough, but it's true.

I love him, and I love our relationship--it's fun and quirky, and I know that this man was made for me. (At some point, I'm going to write up another little He Said, She Said type thing, just for kicks, but today...today I just want to say how special he made me feel.)



Today is my birthday. I'm 23 years old.

And, today, when I pulled in the driveway, he met me outside and clapped his hands over my eyes so I couldn't peek. He led me inside, closed the door behind us, and told me I could look.

A big Happy Birthday banner was strewn up across our kitchen. Bright, happy yellow balloons floated in clumps around the kitchen and the living room. Yellow cupcakes with sprinkles of all colors waited on the counter, a candle in each, already lit and waiting. Two new fleece blankets/throws were stacked up right beside, with a "The Princess Bride" DVD sitting atop them, inviting a date night curled up on the couch.

Behind that were a dozen white roses in a beautiful new vase.

(Aren't they gorgeous??)

I was so incredibly touched; it was sweet and romantic, and a bit outside our normal interactions, which made it all the more special.

"Better blow out your candles, before the wax gets on the cupcakes," he said, tone a little bemused when I couldn't stop hugging and kissing him.
I did--it was a little rough--I almost didn't get them all out on the first go! I managed, though, and we took turns licking all the icing off the ends of the candles. He then informed me he was making chicken pot pie for dinner(my fav!), and that there was something better yet.

"Close your eyes!" he demanded. This time, he didn't have to cover them for me; I did it myself. I heard the freezer door slide open, and had to fight the urge to peek. I mean, seriously, what surprise goes in a freezer??

A Chadwick Churn Cookies 'n' Cream ice cream cake goes in there!!

I love ice cream.

Like, ya'll can't understand.  Before we were being all healthy, I ate ice cream every single night. We never had less than three flavors. It has been my biggest sacrifice to the Health Monster. And Chadwick's Churn...

Oh, my goodness...

It is the BEST ice cream in the world.

It beats Baskin Robbins and BlueBell.

Kills Kay's.

Even blasts Ben and Jerry's away.

It is FABULOUS.

And, it, along with my husband, our furbabies, a good movie, and some chicken pot pie is in there waiting on me. :)

All that to say--

He rocked this birthday. I am so grateful for how picked, how chosen, how special he made me feel today. He's wonderful. Absolutely takes my breath away sometimes, honestly.

And, today, as much as I ever have, I'm so very aware that I'm blessed.


:) :)

Where the Heck Do We Go From Here?

Today is one of those thoughts are hurricanes, battering away inside sort of days. A lot of guilt, a lot of stress. A lot of just need to see it out in writing to even KNOW what it is that I'm thinking. So, bear with me.

Steven and I were married in June. Not new news. BUT, there were some things that went down that I didn't post out. I'm not sure now if that's because we were so busy, or because they were so stressful and painful that I didn't WANT to see them out in the wide, wide world. But, of course now, they're coming back to bite me in the tail.

Just shy of two weeks before we were married, my mom took Steven and his mom out to get Steven his suit. Now, his family is a little tighter with money than my mother, so she asked Steven on the way to meet his mother if there was a price limit on the suit. Thinking it was going to be rented instead of purchased, Steven said no.

Fast-forward. It was a great suit. It was not for rent. It was ungodly expensive. My mom covered half of it, but the other half was put on his mom's crazy sister's credit card. That night, the aunt was told that everyone was taking advantage of her, so she cut up the credit card, tried to stop the payment--made a big to do about everything. Two days later, Steven's mom--we can call her D--had a stroke. A pretty severe one. We found out she was still going to be in an inpatient rehab for our wedding.

I was in the room with her or checking on her(I work nights at the same hospital) nearly all the time. I was there more often than her husband. I put in her the showers, I stayed for her occupational and physical therapies. Steven came most nights to cover while I was actively working. The aunt--she can be B--called several times. She called Steven and his little brother, harassing, asking where her money was. If D was in the hospital, who was going to pay her?

I came in from work one morning to find D crying by herself in the hospital bed. I was irate. I went home and...eh, we can call it discussed, I suppose, the situation with Steven. That is to say, I yelled and ranted and raved, and he informed me that I was absolutely to stay out of it. I wasn't to speak to B at all, I was to keep my nose squeaky clean.

After he went to work, I ignored him. I went back to the hospital, where D told me that she just wished someone would stand up for her. I figured if no one else would, then by golly, I could. Furious, I went to her house. We got in an absolute, screaming, cussing, finger pointing shouting match. She told me I was never again welcome in her home, I told her to stay the f*** out of my life, my wedding, and if she held my kids, it would be over my dead body.

Steven was furious. I was spanked. I had to apologize. And, then, as he knew they would, everyone but me made up.

That afternoon, in the hospital, D was taken down for a test. I was there, and so was Steven's father. While she was downstairs, he proceeded to inform me that I had no decency if I didn't cancel the wedding. I mentioned that my mother had already paid for my dress, the venue, the cake, the bouquet, half of Steven's suit, the food...everything, and we would lose all that if we backed out now. He told me he didn't care how much money Mom had spent. That I had forced Steven into marrying me, against the family's better judgment, that we couldn't even afford tags for the car(which wasn't true, and I mentioned), that it was senseless and stupid for us to get married. He said my mom was manipulative, and if it weren't for us, D would never had had the stroke. Nevermind that she's already had open heart, a previous stroke, is overweight, and has uncontrolled diabetes. None of that had anything to do with it. It was Mom and me. I was hurt, I was furious. I found out he'd been telling Steven not to do it for a while. Of course, the family stood behind that. His other aunt and uncle, his mother, everyone.

She ended up making it to the wedding. But, those interactions have tainted every interaction that I have had with them since. I loathe his father. Completely and totally.

He would come to Steven's softball games, see me, and sit as far as possible from me on the bleachers, not making eye contact, not saying hi. The other wives asked me all the time, "Isn't that Steven's dad? Why isn't he sitting with you? Are you guys fighting?" And I'd lie.

And, his aunt? The one I had a little screaming match with? Thanksgiving is usually at her house. I've gone for years. But, she insists she's not eating with "D's daughter-in-law." Steven, of course, is caught in the middle. I have to work that night anyway, I think I just don't even want to go to a Thanksgiving--certainly not one where I'm so blatantly not welcome. During the wedding, my entire guest list came to me and asked if there was an issue with his family, since none of them would hardly "speak to the outsiders." I spent a lot of time covering for them.

He's out with his family today. I'm at home. Technically, I was invited to lunch; but, really who wants to go when you know how you'll feel the whole time? I begged off with a headache. But, now, I'm sitting at home, lonely and heart heavy. And, this is only the first year of our marriage...if this is our starting point, where the heck do we have to go from here?