That lover

I'm thinking about that lover today. The one that was everything to me for so long. The one I would have given my heart to had I not been so afraid of others.

I haven't talked to this lover in months. The last time we talked was around my birthday, two months ago today. Perhaps that is where this sudden nostalgia is coming from. I read something about this person today. Back in college. I smiled when I read it, not even a smile of evilness or a smile of secret happiness over their plight of dropping out and finding nothing that satisfies them.

I smiled because I was glad that they are back in school. But sadness overwhelmed me quickly thereafter. My best friend - my one - is back in school and I had to read about it to find out. No talking about it, no helping make that decision.

My ex-lover is in a relationship now too. I wonder if this new person satisfies mine in the way I did. I wonder if " the new" makes my lover shake in ecstasy. I wonder if my lover thinks of me at all. If I am ever on the forefront of their mind. I wonder if I mean as much to my lover as they mean to me, still.

Its hardly ever like this now. I am content and happy, mostly, with the life I chose to live. With the person I chose to spend my life with. But sometimes the days are harder than others; sometimes I miss my ex more than I have ever missed anything or anyone in life. Sometimes I wish I could take back the last 10 months and just be with this person.

The story may not be over. But I made my choice. I will always wonder what could have been. Could I have been truly happy? Could I have made them truly happy? Could we have lived, just the two of us, committed, for the rest of our lives, or would my ex stray, not being satisfied with only me?

Only one person knows of this. Only one person knows of me and my ex. But no one will ever fathom quite the way it was. I miss our life then so much, so often. But things are different now.

And honestly, I am happy. The memories aren't so poignant anymore. And I live my life with Chris, however many lies fill it, knowing he is mine. My only.

"August to February"

It came up again last night. The fact that he worked from "August to February" while I am working now. It did not go over well. Of course. What was he thinking? So I laid into him. I just cannot take that. It angers me so much.

How dare he say that. How dare he act like what I am doing right now is anywhere near to what he is doing. And all my explaining, and my yelling gets me nowhere.

Telling him I work 50 hours a week, telling him I get one day off a week since February, does nothing. I exploded in a fit of memories. The sad thing, or maybe the good thing, is that these memories no longer pain me. They no longer hurt me, or make me cry. They are now just facts. Just moments of my life that I can no longer get back. Just facts.

The memory I happened to remind him of last night was being a young newlywed, and home every night faithfully, and cooking and cooking and cooking. I made the most deluxe, gourmet, delicious meals I could. All sorts of chicken dishes, experiments with potatoes, noodles, steak. I was truly the most perfect housewife. The classic housewife.

How many nights were there - I lost track - where I would spend hours cooking and perfecting, and he would not show up? So often. I would eat by myself, barely able to taste these delicious meals, in front of the TV.

So last night, we lay in bed, and I chastised him for ten minutes straight, telling him it was not the same. Me working my ass off? Not the same at all. I work, I am working. I am not out smoking crack. I am not getting high. I am working every minute I say I am working. And all that money I get? I bring it home. I bring it home and attempt to pay portions of bills before I even allow myself the slightest gratification of buying something for myself.

And what did he do? I'm sure he knows. But to remind him - he invested in drugs first. He invested in his physical and mental high before he realized he had no money left to pay the bills. And we were forced again to ask for help. And I went through another month of stress, wondering how in the world we would pay rent.

Sacrificing myself - telling him that sure, we could eat macaroni every day. Sure, Ramen noodles. In order to save money. And all along, we never really had to do that. All along, he was an addict.

After the fight last night, or, more accurately, I once again went on and on at him, we lay there in silence. I longed to touch him. I wanted to feel his skin under my fingers, to feel him there. But I kept myself full of pride. I didn't allow myself the satisfaction of feeling him. He was naughty. He needed to be punished.

Maybe I was the one who was punished after that outburst. He said one thing the entire time, and I don't even remember what it was. Even after I was done with my verbal assaults, he lay there in silence. I know he was awake. He went to the bathroom afterwards. I felt bad. But not bad enough.

I want him to have a taste, just a taste, of what it is like to be in my shoes. What it was like. Did he never think about his wife at home, crying? Staring out at the window at every car passing by, wondering where her husband was? No. He didn't think of that. And I want him to understand how it was for me. I want him to see, to feel, how it was in my shoes.

But he never will. Will I always be like this towards him? Because while I am no longer sad about the past, I am full of anger. Full of anger and more substantially, hate.

Friends in the city

We went out with friends this weekend, Saturday night. We went to a family-style Italian restaurant in the city. It was my best friend, and one of my close friends and their boyfriends.

It was a good time, which surprised me kind of. It was intimate, and Chris is usually a shy person which comes off as quite snobby. However, perhaps due to the camaraderie within the group, he opened up quite quickly. It was nice actually.

It was nice to be with friends, calm and normal people, and not be fighting. There is something about being with your friends and your husband. I feel so close to him. He's mine. No one else's. And there is something about having that soul next to you, knowing their there.

Taking a bite out of their food, sharing drinks. It is so hard to put words to, but having that intimate connection with someone. I loved it. I love it. I could feel him with me, and loved having him there.

We went for a nice walk after that, late in the dark, and then made love. It was one of the best love-making times we have had. He is such a passionate lover. He is full of consideration. He has always been like that. Making sure I am satisfied, making sure things are perfect for me too. It is a little disconcerting - but it is sweet.

With each day, I can forgive a little more. I can be patient a little more. I can love a little more.

NA

Chris tried out a new NA meeting on Tuesday this week. Since he is now ordered to attend two a week, he tried a different one that he has never been too. He called frantic, late, looking for the church name. He only arrived two minutes late, and called to tell me that he was not going in - he was late.


I said that was stupid, drove 1/2 an hour, and get in there. He called ten minutes later and told me it sucked. He said no one came and greeted him, no one was friendly, and it was stupid. He left.

I had mixed feelings about this. He only gave it ten minutes! I said that to him, but apparently his other group was extremely friendly and greeted and included him right away.

I do not want him to be uncomfortable or feel like an outsider, but sometimes you have to tough things out at first and it will get better. Life is not always some warm cushy place. And since he has to go to two a week from now on, he is going to have to be a little more persistent in sticking with a place.

He attended another one last night. He stayed through this whole one. We only talked about it for a little but he seemed to enjoy this one more.

It's hard to have him leave two times a week now. It's hard to trust that's where he is. I'm used to him leaving or being gone so often that all trust has vanished.

Money Problems

The world without the internet is a sad thing, isn't it? I am at my parents house, on my sister's computer, wishing I could do this at home, on my own computer.

We had a fight this morning. Over something that should not have blown up so huge. I'm sure the neighbors think we are sorrily married.

He went to the casino on Friday. With my permission, not blessings. He told me he was only taking out $30, perhaps $40. However, I asked today what he took out and we were coming back from a bike ride, such good athletes, and he was silent. I knew what that meant. That he knew I'd be mad. He told me he took out $80. He needed gas, he needed money for gambling.

I was upset. I didn't quite blow up, but I said he didn't say $80. He said he told me he was taking fifty out for the casino and twenty for gas. Shocker. I never heard such a thing.

It's not like I think he's buying crack with it, but it is the principal. Can you not tell the truth for one second in your life? Stop giving excuses. You were wrong. It is not your money to throw away. We need to save, we need to pay our bills, we need to eat.

It escalated miserably. I slammed the house door as hard as possible and he rammed my mom's bike across the grass until it hurtled to the ground. The anger went up and he called me names and said fuck you, and I told him I wanted a divorce and I meant it.

It went on for at least twenty minutes, till I managed to get in the shower. I got a new tattoo the night before, and did my best to keep it from getting pounded as I leaned against the tile, crying incessantly. It was a loud crying, one of those where you can't keep the noises that come with it inside.

All because he took out too much money.