Here’s more shame, humiliation, embarrassment, and loneliness. And I think this one is even longer than part one. Sorry, loves.
… continued from here …
I guess on some level, there is love between my husband and me. But I am not in love with this man. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t think I ever was. In my [foolish] youth, I wanted someone so badly that I convinced myself he was the right guy for me… that I was in love. But it was all in my imagination. What also kills me is that I think my mother knew. [Smart lady, my mom.] She asked me, when he proposed, if I truly loved him or just the idea of him. She was spot-on. But I was too stupid, foolish, scared, deluded (take your pick) to see it.
My husband has moments of total dicketry. He can be an ass for no reason. I can be a bitch, so I can’t really call him out on that. But sometimes, he makes me feel so small. Like, Ant-Man sized. Minus any superpowers.
He’s not a good listener. He’s always somewhere else, often not taking his eyes off his phone or the tv. He never offers support of any kind—not verbally or physically. I get, ‘yeah’ and ‘I don’t know’ and other such useless and non-comforting responses. I don’t expect answers or solutions. I just want someone to care. I’m sure on some level he does care, but not enough to truly hear me.
But this support I long for—I don’t even want it from him. I sure as fuck don’t want a hug from him [not that he offers]. Don’t touch me. Oh, I want hugs. Lots and lots of hugs. But not from him. I want to be touched, but not by him. I need that kind of connection, but it doesn’t exist with him. Maybe it did once… maybe a little. But now, the thought of sex with him is unappealing. I’d rather be on my own. Or, you know, with someone who’s madly in love with me and I him.
But I am trapped. I won’t put my kids through a divorce. I don’t have a job so I can’t support myself. And, come on, it’s too late for me anyway. I’m not going to find someone… the right someone. I’m not going to fall in love, and no one is going to fall in love with me.
It’s where I want to live. I want to run away and stay there forever. It hurts me that it’s impossible. It hurts so much. The one thing I wanted more than anything else in my life—love. I’ll never have it. I often wonder, then, what’s the point in going on?
I’m not in love. I’m not happy.
I used to think that I was the reacher, but I’ve come to see, despite my general lack of confidence, that I am actually the settler.
Ted and Robin theorize that in every relationship, one person is a “reacher”, and one is a “settler”, who settles for the less attractive partner.
—Wikipedia, How I Met Your Mother, “Jenkins”
And by less attractive, I don’t just mean physically. Here’s where the weird dose of confidence I don’t really grasp comes in. I hope it doesn’t come across as conceited or egotistical.
I am more beautiful than he is handsome.
I am smarter than he is (though he is quite smart).
I am more selfless and he is more selfish.
I am more romantic than he is. I am romantic and he is not.
I am more passionate than he is.
I am cool and he is… less cool.
I know… look at that… I found positive things to say about myself. Ironically, that positivity makes me feel worse. As the settler, if that’s what I am, I’ve failed myself. Why didn’t I hold out for the right man? I know why… because I was afraid I’d never find him… so I settled for what I could get. Mistake. Big mistake.
I want to fall in love. I want romance. I want sweetness. I want intelligence. I want humor. I want trust. I want passion. Lots of passion. I want generosity. I want tall. I want abs.
I hope he shows up in my dreams tonight. Tall, dark, and with sexy abs.
p.s.— I wonder if this gives everyone a deeper understanding of me and what my life is like. I don’t know, but I still feel ashamed. And I’m still dreaming about true love. Not sure why, though. I know deep down that’s all it will ever be for me… a dream.
©2019 what sandra thinks