Ranting

I have to ask forgiveness right now. This might be nasty, it might be awful, it will get ugly before it's done. But if I don't get this all off my chest, I think I might just have that nuclear meltdown that's been threatening to happen for years. It's directed at one person, who will probably never make it here, but I don't care.

YES I SCREWED UP. There. Are you happy to see that? Hear it? Know I know it? I'm not stupid, or delusional. I know I messed things up. And I know it's completely juvenile to say "You started it." But you did. And I guess you were more adept at making up for screw ups, because you did the best you could. But the point is, you still screwed up. No one had ever hurt me that badly. You cheated on me, with my best friend, while we were newlyweds. Your excuse was you weren't getting what you needed at home. I had barely had time to adjust to being a wife. I did nothing wrong EXCEPT agree to let YOUR BEST FRIEND stay with us. In our bachelor apartment. On our couch. Two feet from our bed.

I wasn't a kinky girl back then. I hadn't had a lot of experience with guys. Ok, that's a bit of a lie. I had slept with a lot of guys. But it was all straightforward. Certainly nothing to write to Penthouse about - well, except that one threesome. But I wasn't an exhibitionist. Fucking with someone on the couch two feet away made me intensely uncomfortable. But you refused to throw him out. Sure, you moved him to the closet, but he was still there.

By the time he left, our sex life had suffered, and you had gone and done things behind my back that made me sick. You twisted something inside of me. And sure, maybe it was my responsibility to untwist it. Maybe I should have gone to therapy. Maybe I should have forgotten about it. I even watched the damn tape with the three of you because I didn't want to be a "poor sport". Like that's what it was - a sport. Something fun to do just for the hell of it. Fuck how it made me feel, fuck how it made me look.

I wasn't like her. I wasn't an exhibitionist. I wasn't a whore for the taking. I didn't do stuff like bring guys home to be with me while you watched. I know that's what you want - but it's not me. I talk a good game. I write a better one. But it's not, at my core, who I am. You took all that I wasn't and used it against me. And you continue to do so. Only now it's open to include everything about who I am, and what I'm not.

You continuously hurt me, with your sarcastic laughs, with your blank stares, with your indifference. You don't hesitate to tell me you don't give a shit about me. And you know what? I know that. I know you're only around still to help with mom. And because you don't have to pay rent. It's a (practically) free ride for you. People told me that - some of whom are those you consider friends. They told me you'd never leave as long as the ride continues. I never wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe that somewhere inside, you didn't want to leave because you still love me and you believe in us.

But you don't. You don't support me in anything I do. You want to keep me fat and unhealthy. I don't know why. I do everything possible to make you happy - except the one thing you desperately want from me. You want me to get rid of everyone that even remotely came between us. You want me to ditch all my friends from Northwest. You want me to ditch all my old club friends - June, Josh, Meaghan, Bhavna, Lisa, Brad, Amy, Jenn, Todd, Ariel, Eric, etc. But Josh especially. Because you feel threatened. Because of something you found WHILE SNOOPING. Funny how you thought that *I* deserved what I found when I snooped. But me writing that letter - just plain horrible of me. When its' the same damn thing. Only, here's the only thing I can think of. You're worried it's real, because, in reality, so were your conversations with Michele. So if YOURS were real, who's to say this letter wasn't right?

Nothing I do makes you proud. Do you know how discouraging it is knowing that you accomplished something major and yet the person you pledged to spend the rest of your life with isn't proud of you for doing it? Or being halfway to a goal, and getting no encouragement at all, because YOU don't like my choice of schools? Because somewhere in your mind, I'm still young enough to give a shit about having an affair? What you don't realize is that it's not the physical shit that's going to do that - it's the emotional abuse you put me through. I could probably resign myself to falling in love with my gay best friend. Sure, there'd be no sex, but I can guarantee he'd make it known to me if he was proud of me, he'd listen to my problems and care about what I'm going through. He'd hold me when I cry, he'd be behind me, supporting me.

Sex - while important to me -I can do without. You really want to know why I don't want sex with you? Because no woman in love wants to have sex with someone who just wants her body. I don't have sex with men who can't stand me. And you just don't get that. I'm not 20 anymore. Sex needs to mean something to me. And when I have it with you - I know it's just because you're horny and I'm an available body that you want. Our hearts an minds don't connect anymore because you've shut yours down and shut me out.

You don't care when I cry - and that's fine. Most of the time I do it without you around anyway. Just admit - you don't love me anymore. We can't even be friends. And then go. Because it's killing me to have you here with this attitude. I want to be happy. Somehow. And I know you want that too.

If you're waiting for me to admit that I've had an affair - you're not going to hear it. There are days I want to say that I have, just so you'll leave. Because you're not here for us - you're not here to make things work. You're here to destroy me. Because you're vindictive. You read into everything I do as being against you. It's not meant that way. It's just how your mind is working. And it has to stop, because it's not healthy for you.

I don't want you to die. I don't want to die. But it's funny. The changes I'm making in my life, you can't accept. And if I happen to fall off the wagon for anything, you're right there to judge me. As if you're saying "See? I knew you couldn't do it." Before you, with Kevin, I ate fast food a lot. And now I do with you too. So of course it's going to take a long time to break bad habits. But I'm at least trying. You, you really don't want to bother. And when I do try, you do nothing but put me down.

I work two jobs to try and bring in enough money. Even when i was working full time, I still worked two jobs. I'm going to the gym - I'm taking my pills. I quit smoking. I am going to school. I am  TRYING to make a life. You don't want to have one - you don't want a future. We have nothing put aside for the future. We have no insurance. We have NOTHING. And I'm not satisfied with that anymore. And if you are, maybe you should leave.

No, not maybe. You should leave. You'll be happier without me. Find some young broad who doesn't care about a future. She'll screw your brains out seven ways from Sunday and do every kinky thing you want. And I'll go on. I'll cry over you, miss you like crazy, lose my weight, finish my certificate, get a better job, be healthier than I have in years and find someone to have a baby with.

Because I want one. I want yours. But you've made it quite clear how you feel about that. And that's ok. I'll find someone. I don't have to love them with all my heart to be a parent with them. Hell, might even go artificial. I have a good family. They'll help me. I've got great friends. They'll help me. Because THEY love me.

And you no longer do.

There's still so much inside me that needs to come out on this. But I just can't find it in there. So instead, I'll say this.

I'm sorry. For every time I made you feel like you weren't good enough to spend time with. For every time I chose to be out of the house instead of with you. For every time I kept a secret, or lied to spare myself the fight.

I'm sorry for every time I told the truth and you didn't believe me. I'm sorry for thinking some things weren't a big deal, when they obviously were to you. For the double standards I had when it came to our money, our actions, our friends. For leaving you with the responsibilities of the house while I partied.

I'm sorry for not having children by now, and for laying the responsibility for that at your feet. I'm sorry for waiting for you to take care of me, and I'm sorry it's taken me this long to take care of myself.

I'm sorry for every time I've turned an argument around and put it on you. I'm sorry I made you feel inadequate in the sex department. I'm sorry I haven't told you until this rant what the issue is. But since you'll never read it, and since you've proven you can't sit down and have an adult conversation with me, I'm sorry you'll never know.

I'm sorry you feel I don't support you enough. I'm sorry you feel that I'm just using you. I'm sorry for us growing apart. For the fact you feel our values aren't the same anymore.

I'm sorry you can't support me on anything I want to do, whether it's a trip to see Gowan, or my schooling. Or even reading anything I write that I ASK you to read, not what you find through snooping. And I'm sorry for all the times I've snooped in your phone. I'm sorry for any conclusions I've jumped to.

I'm sorry for not appreciating what you used to do around the house, especially now that you hardly do shit. And I'm sorry for the little catty remarks I have to make sometimes or else I'll explode into little tiny pieces of nuclear waste.

Above all, I'm sorry for wasting so many years of your life. I should have left you when I found out about Tami. Then we wouldn't be here, in this spot, wondering how to get out of this mess intact.

We can't. I know I'll be destroyed. And yes, I might be happier without you around. This you - but my memory still holds on to who you used to be. And I've been miserable since I chased him away. I know it's my fault.

And for that most of all, for turning you into this suspicious, nasty, catty, sarcastic, unfeeling shell of a man, I cannot apologize enough.

I hope one day we can both forgive me for that.

I have to stop this - my left arm is numb and my jaw is killing me from clenching while writing. The tension I carry is getting to me. Something has to give.