I’m sitting in Panera trying to eat my lunch without crying. Me and Sean ( he said I can use his actual name) got into an argument that carried on into this morning. I have this thing where I don’t talk about how I’m feeling until it gets to a point where I have to. Apparently I end up talking at Sean instead of talking to him. I never mean to be angry at him or take things out on him. I’m just bad at talking. I always think I’m gonna sound stupid or he’s gonna think i sound stupid. So I hold things in until it becomes unbearable. He says he feels like my punching bag. I don’t mean to. I don’t know how to fix it. Now I have to go to work and smile at people.
I just got an email from one of my professors saying that I have six absences, and unless I have valid reasons, he has no choice but to fail me. I told him some things that weren’t so far fetched, just sort of twisted time lines and things. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve lost all motivation to go to school. I feel like a failure. I don’t know what to do, anymore. I honestly hate school. Nothing about it makes me happy. I hate that I chose morning classes, I hate that I have to write papers, I hate having to pay for an education. I have no will to learn anymore. Or maybe, I just have no will to go to school. I just hate that part of my life. I’ve been wondering if I’m suffering from depression, but I don’t think that’s right. I eat, I smile sometimes, still. I think I’m stressed and school isn’t making it any better. I just feel no reason to go to school other than I’ll never have a job. I just want to bury my head forever and cry. I’m a horrible student. I forget to check my online class, I procrastinate til the 11th hour, I’m always absent, when I get there I wanna leave immediately. I sound like a whiny baby, don’t I?
Maybe when I get home I’ll make an about me post. Blogs are supposed to have those, right?
So, after I posted that angry post on…Sunday? Err, no. Early Monday morning. Like, midnight, early. (Even though it says that post was written at 4:03 in the morning, I know it wasn’t. I will get to what happened at probably 4:03 in the morning.
So, after I made that post, Patrick (that’s his middle name) asked me why I was being so quiet and sullen. In my usual me fashion (keep things to myself, I never divulge what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling. I need to work on it, I know), I replied, “Nothing, I”m just bored.” So he says (not really knowing I’m upset because I wanted to BE with him, you know? Pretty much, I was horny, I missed him and his skin, I wanted him close to me), “Well, what would you like to do? Wanna watch a movie?” And I said yeah, sure, just kind of detached from the whole thing. At one point, I just got up and walked into our bedroom (we live together) and laid on the bed and never walked back in there. So he notices, and comes in our room. He was really trying to understand what was wrong with me, trying to get me to be affectionate, and I just was so closed off I didn’t let any of it happen. So we go to bed. He’s trying to cuddle with me and love me and I just ignore it and lay there, pretending to be asleep.
Note: Here’s the thing. For maybe the last 2 months, I’ve been feeling like Patrick just hasn’t wanted to have sex with me. It feels like he doesn’t want me, and I’ve been the one wanting to have sex all the time. And it’s been me initiating it, not him. And sometimes, he couldn’t take the hint, either. It was making me feel very unattractive, like I was doing something wrong. I have all these cute sexy clothes and everything, and once, I sat in this cute little thing all night and he barely even noticed. It sucks, you know?
So we got into this argument in bed (in the dark) dancing around the subject until I got just a smidge fed up about it and yelled at him how I was feeling. I started crying and everything (in all fairness, I was feeling a little hurt). I told him everything I said above, and had I been able to see his face, I’d guess he was rather surprised. We talked some of it out, and he asked me a question: “Is that all that’s wrong with you?” (it was something like that, pretty much asking was there anything else that was bothering me) And I didn’t get what he meant. At one point, he got me to roll over and I sat in a sort of tight armed cuddle against his chest. He got me to hug him (well, not really, lol), and he said that the things I was feeling, it wasn’t like that and I told him I just wanted to be enough, to do enough, to be attractive to him, that’s why I buy cute sexy clothes (other than the fact that I like how they look), I wanted to be sexy for him. He asked me why I would ever feel that way, because I am enough, I do, do enough. I said I don’t know, I just want you to think so, that’s why I do so much. So, his next big piece of dialogue: “Why? Do you think I’ll leave you if you don’t?” This is what killed me. Because after this, he said something that pretty much ruined my talking abilities. (keep in mind, this is all from my memory, it’s not verbatim)
“Sometimes, when you ask me questions like, ‘you won’t leave me, right?’ I wonder why you ask them and why you think I’ll abandon you like that. Now, I don’t ask you about this or talk about it, because I know you don’t like talking about it, but is this because of your father?”
Note: My father and I have a rocky relationship. It’s too much to explain and it’s also too difficult, as well. Sometimes, he’s there, sometimes, well, he’s not. And those are the destructive times, we get in fights, we don’t speak to each other at all. Since my sister (his daughter, my mom and dad are divorced, his wife <she’s 26 years old, she’s no stepmother to me, I’m 22. Homie don’t play that> has gotten pregnant twice, with Jhojo [he’s 3] and Marly [she’s maybe 6 months]) was born, or on the day of, we haven’t been speaking, she was born in April, I think. We got into a very explosive fight in the vestibule of Beth Israel Hospital and he hasn’t spoken to me since. And every time we’d fight, I’d be the one to give in and say sorry (even if it wasn’t always my fault) because he’s my father. I wanted him in my life, I wanted to forgive him. But this time, I just can’t. And when my brothers birthday came around, I texted my father and his wife both, more than once, to ask for the address to their house, and the sizes of my siblings, I wanted to send them both something. And I said I know we weren’t speaking, but can we put it aside for their sake, because I don’t have other blood siblings, and I love them like they are my full blood. Neither of them answered me. In fact, they ignored me. And it hurt. It rips me apart still. When I talk about my father to other people (unless it’s my mother, she’s been there, she knows all of it), I ignore what’s going through my head, and I put on this facade, acting like our relationship is not what it is. The memories are the hardest. Because I have some amazing memories with my father. And I have some really painful ones, as well.
So, when this came up, I began bawling my eyes out. And as hard as it was to speak, I did. I told him everything I felt, about sex, and about my father. And we sort of solved some of our problems. We went to sleep, I felt much better about it all. And, that morning, when I was supposed to be getting ready to go to the dentist, we had sex instead 🙂 I wasn’t late to the dentist, either! We even had sex later on that night when we came home from class. Things are better.
Patrick and I love each other more and more every day, it drives me wild how much I think of him a day and how I miss him as even he even leaves. He’s my hunny and I’m his baby (with many other nicknames that take up too much space) and I would be utterly surprised if we don’t stay together forever. (And yes, we have some time under our belt. We’ve been dating for a year (since July 31st) and four months now, life has been a whirlwind since we moved in together in March, and since we even decided we wanted to date each other (that’s a fun story, lol). And in times to come, I will be ranting and raving about him a lot, or saying how much I love him. It’s a continuous cycle.
From now on, if I can help not being the one to initiate sex between the two of us, I’m gonna stop doing it. Why should I be the only one? It makes me feel like he thinks I’m unattractive.
I think I’m starting to realize that I don’t really care about following other blogs or having people follow me on here. This one is personal. And I could care less if others read my (so called) diary/journal entries. What.Evs.