Triggered..again. Fuck this. Seriously what is wrong with me? Why do I continue to try and “be a better man”. Swear to Odin, if I find out she’s still fucking with him, I mean real proof I’m out of here. She’ll be better off too. Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck you too. Ridin out, pronto.
True Life: I Thought I Was Getting A Refund But I Actually Owe Taxes
My heart is beating so fast. I’m hiding in the bathroom. Did I just stumble upon her secret way of chatting with “him”? I was using the laptop and the last web page she was on was up. It’s a work program she uses all day. But there was no reason in this world for it to be open this night. And the page is titled temporary messaging. What if they exchange their little lovey nonsense this way? Shit that was supposed to have stopped last year. I don’t know what to do now. Am I imagining this? Is it nothing? It isn’t nothing cause my heart is just pounding. I don’t know what to do.
Still it comes
We lay wrapped in each other’s arms. Holding on like we’re afraid we’ll drift apart should we let go. And still, while in this lover’s embrace My Demon comes. “You know she’s going to him after this, right?” It’s morning, foggy sunlight flashes through the corner of the cellular blinds. My alarm won’t chirp from my iPhone for another 28 minutes. Yet here we are embraced so tightly, so in love. We’re like teenaged runaways or something. “You feel nice.” She says groggily with a smile on her face. “You feel better.” I reply, and I mean it. It feels really good to me right now. Her running her hands across my “tighty whities” that hold in my engorged penis. She flicks her fingers across my bare chest and for a moment, I think I’ve possibly never been happier. Then, when she sighs and says she better get moving, even though the alarm is still a millennia away from sounding, He comes in quickly to take her place. “Hurry, hurry, love.” He sneers, “Must get to work to se (Redacted).” At least it wasn’t out loud this time. It’s only in my head. My twisted, murky, unhappy, lonely, dome shaped head. What a terrible, terrible place to be. And that’s where I sit this morning. After a good night, laughter, cuddling, responsible adult conversation, financial matters attended to, I sit here in the am thinking the one person I love and truly loves me is off to see her lover. The only solace I can find in this moment is that I’m not looking for more pain and I’m not verbalizing this “stuff”. Perhaps I’ve actually learned something from emotional regulation. I was able to see her off safely this morn. I too am dressed and ready for the day. Yet here I sit typing about the distress in my cranium. Poor me, wah, wah. Fuck you Demon, fuck you BPD. Go to work, asshat, make money, come home get drunk, make love. It could all be so easy to do, if I didn’t have this giant Demon inside of me unwilling to “let it go”. She made mistakes, I made mistakes. We’re together building our, rebuilding our future. Won’t you just be happy, please?
She was tall, seemingly like an Amazon next to the petite brunette to her right. She had long reddish hair with blonde streaks, but not like you’d do yourself at home. This was professional, probably expensive. Her nails, long, manicured, and painted like a burgundy Merlot. I’d never seen her before that moment. And now I’ll never forget her. She spoke with a quiet grace, except when she mentioned her kids. When she spoke of them the soulful softness in her gaze grew proud and adamant. She has all girls, just like me. She’d lived in Wisconsin and Illinois, just like me. On her left hand was a diamond that sparkled when she covered her rosey lips to laugh at my quip. A wedding band, also just like me. I couldn’t take my eyes of her, I confessed my devotion, how she was the most beautiful person in the room. I asked her to run away with me, we could go anywhere, do anything. The world was ours, if she was mine. She smiled as she laughed. What about Charlie and your wife?” She purred. ”Who?” I said looking into her deep green eyes. ”Charlie, my husband and your wife(redacted).” Damn, I thought to myself, I know Charlie. He’s a friend of a friend, and married to the woman who was my soul mate. Soul mate, not a term I believed in until now. The desert air was thin as I continued to embarrass myself. ”Look, I’ve never met anyone like you.” Her eyes now the size of cue-balls staring at me in disbelief. ”I don’t mean to be so forward, I’m not normally like this but you are amazing, we have so much in common. It’s fate.” I said this as I held her hand in mine. She smiled like she was embarrassed and appreciative at the same time. She started to shake her head, ready to break another little piece of my heart with her ninth or 10 no. Then Charlie walked into the cold garage we stood in through the side door. He smiled, he stared, he knew what he had. She was loved, by two men at that moment. One knew everything about her, every secret, every joy, and every sorrow. Only one could have her, the one who gave his name. I never had a bad word to say about Charlie, not then and not now. I’m also not the type to envy what someone else has, but I do now. Goodbye Amy, I hope to see you again. On my arm or in my dreams. I’ll never forget you.
"Reptiles in Love"
"Men are from Mars.."
"The Five Love Languages"
I’ve done all of these and more to try and be a better man, a better husband. Despite your numerous affairs, your unwillingness to see a therapist on your own. Unwilling to address the mental imbalances in your ancestry. I’ve stayed and committed to making this work.
So when I express an issue, an issue that is essentially a trigger, and you basically respond with a five word sentence summed up as it’s my problem..well basically I want to strangle you. Fucking squeeze your scrawny neck until the veins in your neck turn black and your face blue. Squeeze so hard my fingers intertwine with only minor flesh between my knuckles.
Instead if this homicidal action I’ll just go to the office restroom and speak the mantra (shout out to Chris Rock) I’ve had to take since deciding to “stay the course”.
"Fuck you, Drama. Fuck your hopes, fuck your dreams, the better jobs in warmer climates. Fuck you. You have to give, even when you don’t want to. Even when you are the one hurt, sad, sick. You aren’t allowed to have BPD. Keep that shit to yourself. She don’t care about it and isn’t tolerant of it, so better just swallow it don’t and GIVE. G-I-V-E until it hurts. Then give some more cause it’s never E-fucking-nough.
Now let’s go back out there and try to make this woman happy.
"What’s wrong, you seem distant?" She said will a curled under lip. Her concern and care awkward and obvious. "I’m fine," I not so much hissed, as whispered. She walked out into the cold, I stared back into the mirror, seemingly far, far away from the reflection before me. What’s wrong with me, I don’t know what’s coming over me, but I am distant and I don’t want to be. Old pain? Check. Good weekend? Check. "Ok, time to be an emo asshole." Says my Demon. BPD is a mother fucker. I can’t concentrate, I don’t want to go to DBT tonight, I just want to lay down and be alone. I can’t seem to unfurrow my eyebrows. I’m squinting in anger and annoyance at everything and nothing at the same time. Why is it like this? When will it go away? I’m fucking listening to Sade, in hopes of her joy and sorrow, pain and triumph will make me forget my own. This is just weird, and stupid, and getting old. Just let me go. Let me be. I’m tired of being "distant" for no reason.
Who are you
I don’t enjoy playing the tough, the bad guy. I’ve always thought myself a bad guy, but I’m not. I just want good thing for me and my family. I’m willing to work hard for it and it has gotten me pretty far. I also believe in doing what you say you’re going to do and that a deal is a deal. If you say you’re going to do this thing then damn it man, do it. Otherwise the side of me that comes out is not going to be one you like. Problem is, I won’t like it either. It makes my heart race, my temples throb, and my face sullen. Don’t let me down,man. I don’t want to go there.
The space between us makes me want to eject. The tone, the static, the general sense of uneasy coupled with your seething underside. It’s just too much. I feel like we are teetering on the edge of a cliff. Falling off means you forsake our relationship, again. He is there below to catch your fall. While I spend the night telling you not to jump. Not because it will kill you, but because it will kill me. Cause it will.
If I had a gun I would use it. I’d rather harm me before you can do so again. It’s not the past haunting me today, it’s a possible future.