I’m a Bitch, I’m a Lover, I’m a Child, I’m a Mother…
November 29th, 2001 by Kevin
Whoo. I’ve gone and done it now. D. is pissed.He told me that he was talking to his father about my FU-brain, and being the oversensitive, touchy little snot that I am, I jumped all over him. So he stormed off to bed, angry as can be; and is probably lying there awake right at this very moment, wondering why he stays with such a moody psychopath.
I just don’t get people who have to share everything with their families! I suppose it’s called being \”healthy\” or \”non-dysfunctional\” or whatever, and I guess it’s good to get all those little frustrations and feelings out, but the concept just mystifies me. I still haven’t told my dad about my doctor results, and I probably won’t. Hell, I still haven’t told any of my friends, and they’re much closer to me than my family. I just don’t see the point of sharing bad news with people so that they can worry too. That’s why I do it here on the Net, so that complete strangers can worry. Heh.
I just like to deal with things alone, whether I do a fantastic job of it or not.
So D. started bitching, and finally said, \”Well, I’m having a hard time dealing with all of this, too, you know.\”
I’m not sure how to take that.
The Crappy-Low-Self-Esteem Trance thinks,
Great. Now he’s realized that I’m a fucking physical and emotional wreck, and he’s figured out that he doesn’t want to waste his life with a blind chick. I am going to die alone, I suck, I think I’ll go eat worms.
The Somewhat-More-Reasonable Trance thinks,
He’s just frustrated because I don’t \”share my feelings\”, and he needs an outlet for his concerns.
Crappy-Low-Self-Esteem Trance is currently winning the battle that is being waged in my mind. There are so many questions that I don’t have answers to: Can this relationship survive the insane amount of stress it’s under? Is it fair to me to be with D.? Is he compromising his quality of life and his youth by staying with me? Can I co-exist with anyone without pushing them away and being a cold little bitch? Am I crazy to still wear this ring and think that we’ll still get married? Do I want a Labrador or a Golden Retriever for my seeing eye dog? (ha, ha)
Or am I just being a big drama queen? Should I just accept that the man loves me unconditionally and let him do so? Should I go see a shrink to figure out why I don’t feel worthy of love and affection, a crippling feeling that has certainly grown overwhelming due to recent events? Should I stop fighting him? Do I really want this?
He once told me that it didn’t matter to him whether or not I could ever see, work, or drive again - he would always stay with me. Do I dare to believe that? It doesn’t seem possible. I have enough \”issues\”, without adding disability to the mix. He also once said, \”Would you leave me if the tables were turned?\”
I’m overanalyzing the shit out of this.
For the past six months, I was trying so hard to be \”good\” in every other area of my life, as if it would somehow have make up for all of this extraneous bullshit. As if it would somehow prove that I was still the real Trance and not a blind impostor. I worked out like a dog, I cleaned the house incessantly, I followed a very difficult diet plan religiously, and I was dressed decently with makeup on at all times. The past two weeks, I seriously have not given a shit. That’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. I have laid around this house like a slug, unshowered, until right before D. gets home from work. I have done only minimal housecleaning, and have had laundry piling up in the basement. I have not worked out at all and am getting flabby as hell, and I have eaten poorly - either not at all, or too much. Today I ate nothing until about 4, and then I ate toast and fruit juice(carb city). Tonight I had McDonald’s and Ghirardelli brownies, and now I’m on my fourth beer. I feel like a slothful, slovenly, fat, welfare alcoholic; and I’m not even on welfare.
This is the girl who normally is in the shower three minutes after getting up in the morning, and has eyeliner firmly pencilled on three minutes after that.
I just have no motivation. I just want to sit here, surf the Net, read my Harry Potter books(which are fantastic, by the way), and grow moss. I don’t answer the phone, I certainly don’t call anyone, and it’s getting hard to put on a happy face, even for my son. The poor kid probably thinks I’m such a mope.
I just read this entry, and it looks awful. If I randomly landed on this diary, I would not like this whiny woman who rambles on and on, feeling sorry for herself. I just need to get out of it. I need to get out of my head, out of my problems, out of this house, and be around other people. I think I’m going to call either C. or K. tomorrow, and see if they want to do lunch or something. Sitting here on my ass eating brownies and drinking beer is not going to solve anything.
OK - merciful change of subject.
I am still having a hell of a time with Front Page. This is what I get for not taking any computer classes in college. But then, I suppose any classes I would have taken then would already be obsolete. The classes my stepbrother is taking now will probably be obsolete by the time he gets through them. This is precisely why I never bother to learn software. I feel like it will be zipping of to The Land Of The Archaic and Obsolete by the time I get the hang of it. But I don’t care if Front Page does. I will continue to use it until I’m dead, if I ever figure it out.
Here’s an amusing little schnippet, I am considering it for my new design(which will probably never see the light of day). It’s me, about 12 years ago. I was in high school. Talk about your bad dye jobs… I’m not worried about posting it, because I look NOTHING like that now. No more long hair. I miss my hair. Sigh.
Funny, huh? Total 80’s bangs. I don’t like that it’s not cool to have bangs anymore,because I have a huge alien forehead. Here’s the same pic in color, so that you can get the total bad dye job effect. Cut me some slack, this was like 1989…
I am going to finish my second Harry Potter, and attempt to sleep, if D. has not barricaded the bed.
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