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strawburygrl feels
strawburygrl feels
She said:
"The reason I was so pissy with you the other night is because it felt like you weren't respecting my wishes to be silent for awhile.� I feel like you think it's okay for you not to respond to email or log in to chat when you don't want to, but that it's not okay for me to do the same.� I hate being picked at.� I also hate being made to feel like I am married to you.�� I don't want pressure, I don't want drama, I don't want seriousness, or heaviness.� I don't think I am cut out to be serious with more than one person at a time.�� And I think that instead of plunging onward, that taking a few steps back is better for me. After a lot of thought, I think I jumped in too quick and on the surface, we seemed to have a lot in common, when in reality, I think we are very much dissimilar.� I'm not saying it's a bad thing...I'm just saying.� And you and {HUSBAND} have a lot going on right now, as do {DH} and I, so I just don't think it's good to put any expectations or pressure on any of us.� I sent {HUSBAND} a copy of the email I sent to you so that he would know what was going on and so that he could also hate me if he wanted to.� By the way...I set up an ecard to be mailed to you both on Tuesday, but I wrote it a couple weeks ago.� You can choose to read it or not.� It's kinda dumb anyway."
I say:
The thing is, deep down where it counts is where we have stuff in common. Our family and personal histories. Our emotions. Our mental states. Our responses to things.
It's on the surface where we are different. We don't have the same sense of humor and we don't like the same foods. I you take those things as personal affronts.
A 4-line email with one sentence about how you hurt my feelings and another sentence pointing out you haven't said you loved me recently is not picking at you. It's honesty and a request for further details.
You demand honesty and then freak out when I'm honest with you about how you've hurt me. You freak out when I'm not logged into chat enough, and then accuse me of being too serious and treating our relationship like a marriage.
We have holes and wounds in our souls, and were unexpected to find that coming together filled them so well. And yet you let surface things like eCard humor and unappreciated food outweigh the things that run deep.
You don't deserve to know how you've hurt me. You don't deserve to know how deeply you forced your way into my life, and now you've torn yourself out again, and left me with an insignificant band-aid for a little boo-boo. You don't deserve to know how ridiculously conflicted all of your arguments with me are. I don't deserve to be accused of analyzing you by noticing that between breaths you manage to completely contradict yourself between statements. I don't deserve to be abandoned on my birthday because you thought it was best for me. You don't deserve to know how much I was willing to put up with just to make sure you had one person in your life who would do anything, take anything, go anywhere, just to make sure you had a safe place to escape your husband, an ear to listen to your rants about him, a shoulder to cry on about him.
These wounds have been here all my life. They are a lifetime accumulation. And instead of filling them, now you've created a new one. Congratulations.
I survived the other ones. What does it matter that this time I have no support group in place to catch me other than my husband? Richard sure as fuck didn't care when he abandoned me. Mike didn't give a fuck. Ross didn't give a fuck. It's laughable to think that my father did. Did my mother? I never asked. But after abandoning me, she was gone for over a year, so she couldn't have felt too guilty I'm guessing. And it was our father she tried to smooth things over with in order to come back, not us.
And now you. It's a short, but significant line. You've all grabbed so much and stomped it to oblivion before you left, that I feel like a ghost. A shell. You could try and touch me and you'd just fall out the other side. But why would you try and touch me?
Please just fuck off. I'm going to regret every word of this in the morning. I'm going to be moaning and crying for you in an hour. I'm going to be begging you to change your mind the second I'm back from Wisconsin next week.
So do me a favor. Turn your back for good. Because obviously you don't give a shit about me. Which means you don't deserve me. So don't pretend like you do. Don't change your mind. Don't try and worm your way back in. And don't let me try to do the same.
I'm finally ready to admit that I'd rather just never have another friend or someone new to care about in my life, rather than have my feelings tromped all to hell and back again. Everyone, it's *not* worth it. It's really, really not.
Oh, and you don't deserve to know any of this. So I'm not sending it to you. And if you find this fucking diary, what the fuck were you doing snooping on someone you don't want to be serious about? Turn around, back out the door, and never mention this to anyone. Least of all me. I'm going to be shedding enough tears over you in the next week. I don't want to be prompted to re-examine this shit all over again when you stumble in here.
