Sunday, March 29, 2015

shame not bravery...

When people tell me I was SO BRAVE for leaving him, I laugh to myself....sadly.  
It wasn't bravery, it was fucking survival.  I couldn't live another day under the same roof with him.  Not when I knew the truth finally.
I didn't feel like I had a choice.
I had to leave.  
Leave or die.

And even after I left, there were a few months that I didn't care whether I lived or died.  I took insanely crazy risks.   I'm ashamed to admit that I took huge risks with my life.  Stupid ones, because I was in so much pain.

•driving drunk, not just tipsy but drunk. 

•speeding and driving recklessly at high speeds 75mph+, while drinking.  

•mixing HIGH doses morphine and large amounts of alcohol.

•cutting myself as deep as I was able, making sure I drew blood...and a lot of it. 

•walking in areas of downtown Portland late at night that were considered dangerous.

I didn't care anymore.  I almost wanted something horrible to happen to me so I didn't have to face another day.   
I wanted him to mourn me, to feel just an ounce of the pain I suffered.  

The only problem?  He didn't care(anymore).  He didn't see our separation as a mistake.  

He never showed up at my apartment begging me to come back to him, not once.  
He never came after me.

In the end, I wasn't even important enough to chase after, let alone fight for.  

Sunday, March 8, 2015

deal breaker...

He said he wanted to fight for me, wanted us to be together.  That he loved me.  

But when I said I needed him to show me love.  That I couldn't go through years again without sex, without intimacy, without affection.  I couldn't live in a platonic marriage.  

I guess that was the deal breaker for him because he then offered to sleep on the couch.  Which just tells me, he has nothing to give me.  Absolutely nothing.  

I guess it's better to know now.  Then go years barely having sex.  I can't do it anymore.  I just can't.  

And clearly showing me affection, being intimate with me, having sex with me, just isn't something he wants to do with me, his wife.  Not at all.  

It just must be fucking horrible for him to touch me.  

Saturday, March 7, 2015

I am done.  

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

human touch...

I'm only human.  
I need a person's touch.   I crave it.  Yours.  

To feel someone's hand stroke over my hip, a loving caress down my cheek.  

Humans need that contact.   It's a universal fact.  Without human contact, the wiring in our brains start to fall apart.  Short out?

It's been so long, that when you reach out to touch me, it hurts.  It fucking hurts now to feel your touch.  

(It's so fucked up and I don't understand how you can go thru life without someone's(my) touch.  Or are you getting someone's touch?  Just not mine?)