I give up! - It was all for nothing.
RANT TIME: (CAUTION - Raw Emotional Dump Ahead!)
It was ALL a complete and utter waste of time. Three and a half weeks of getting no sleep. Three plus weeks of pushing myself to stay up reading at all hours of the night, to digest all that unrealistic bull shit and nonsense. To read two books about a couple of half developed characters in primal heat for one another; having meaningless sex every 10 pages. Fuck!... the majority of the first 192 pages of the second book (50 Shades Darker) only covered a time span of about 5 fucking days (Friday after work to Tuesday morning), and I swear Ana and Christian must have had sex at least 3 to 5 times each of those days.
I read about more sexual encounters between these two completely unrealistic characters in those first two books than Karen and I have had in the past 8 years of our marriage. And just how many "foil packet" covered condoms does Mr. Grey keep in his deep pockets at any given time? really? I mean, really? OK! we get it. He put on a condom, or she rolled one onto him. Fast Forward to some real story content.
But all of that is beside the point. None of that makes one fucking bit of difference. It doesn't matter that I spent over three weeks torturing my mind and body to read 50 Shades of Grey and 50 Shades Darker. staying up super late on a Sunday night to be able to watch one of the only showings of the first movie on Cable; all so that I could be up to date on the story and movie plot, so that I would be able to discuss it with Karen in preparation of the second movie.
NONE OF THAT MADE ONE "BIT" (Insert string of cursing here) OF DIFFERENCE AT ALL! DOESN'T MATTER, OR COUNT FOR SHIT!
WHY? YOU ASK?
Because just a few hours ago, as a TV ad for the '50 Shades Darker' movie played on TV, Karen tells me "Just and FYI. I have an appointment to see that movie at 4 PM next Sunday."
I wanted to FUCKING scream! I wanted to look her in the face and scream "I HATE YOU!" (a raw emotion which I felt at that moment, but couldn't say it because I wouldn't actually mean it).
I'm not even mad.
I should have known better when I first set out to try to do anything even remotely thoughtful or romantic; or had the impulse to try to plan ahead to do something special with my own wife. Seriously! I should have known better than to give it even a second's thought. I wish I had never even bothered. Things NEVER fucking works out. NEVER!
I should have known better than to think she would have any interest in seeing this movie with ME, her own "husband!" Seriously, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER.
This entire movie, even with the whole Leila psycho woman, and Elena (aka Mrs. Robinson) sub plots, is nothing more than an indulgence of sexual fantasy; and as WE HAVE ALREADY PROVEN, I am the farthest from Karen's mind when it comes to anything intimate or sexual. So, why would she think of me when this movie comes out? No. When it comes to anything that could be considered sexual, or intimate, or even remotely romantic.... I am dead last in Karen's thought process to be considered someone to share that experience with.
So NO. I'm not mad. I'm plain and simply CRUSHED!
But fuck! That's nothing new, is it?
I should have known I would be at the bottom of the list of persons she might want to go see this movie with.
I want my three and a half weeks of lost sleep back! I want my fucking life back! No, that's not accurate. I simply want a fucking life. One where someone, anyone, gives a shit about me. Maybe one where at least a portion of the devotion, loyalty, and desire that I have for the other person is returned in kind.
It's becoming painfully obvious that I will never get that in this relationship.
I can't be mad about that. It's the broken record played over and over again, and if I'm too stupid to keep listening to it over and over, simply because my heart won't let her go, then I deserve the shit that gets dumped and piled on top of me time and time again.
The LOVE of my life doesn't see me in the same way that I see her.
Where I desire her more than the very air I breathe, and want to find any excuse to put her first in every aspect of my life; she does not even desire me in the slightest. I am merely a ghost, a shadow. The background noise that lingers in a passing after thought of something else more important.
I'm numb.
I just don't understand how we got to this point. Apparently, I also don't understand how to change things and fix it. Each time I think I have a way, or dare hope to try, I am crushed and ground ever further into the ashes of my hopes and dreams.
I'm so tired of crying myself to sleep at night. So tired of feeling so all alone. So tired of having my hopes lifted by the beautiful sound of her voice, the occasional hug and morning kiss; only to have that be the fullest extent of her affection towards me. I'm just so tired of feeling angry with her when she tells me she loves me, because I feel so much hatred for myself and my existence feeling that any love being offered to me is always limited and conditional.
I'm just so tired, period. Tired of living.
I will NEVER leave the woman I love, and would be devastated beyond my ability to even imagine if she ever left me.
I just don't know what to do. I can't live, and I can't die. I just exist in a constant state of hellish purgatory What sin did I commit to end up here?.
- 11:45 PM ADDITION -
(I'm laughing right now. But it is a sad, self loathing, pathetic laugh. The kind of laugh that comes from a person that is truly broken, beyond help, or even logical comprehension.)
I sit here a broken "man." What I feel right now hurts so bad. I am crying so hard I feel like I could vomit the bile from my wrenching stomach. The words I have typed gushing from frustration and lonely heart ache. Desperation, and fueled by the stupidity of my refusal to accept the defeat of my love for her.
I hate myself. Knowing that I will wake tomorrow, and choose to love. That I will not so much as utter a word of any of this to her, and instead swallow it like a sour poison that I know will not kill me, but leave me feeling bitter and sick inside.
I can't help myself but to love her with every fiber of my being. So, I vomit my pain here, so as to not spoil her excitement to go see this movie with (I don't even have a clue who she is going to see it with).... ___________ ? Probably the "fab 5. The girls plus Matty. Sure, take the gay guy to a movie about unbridled passion between a fucked up guy and am annoying naive girl.
In spite of the agonizing hurt I now feel; I'll peel back the armour, and tear down the wall I have built around my heart, and I'll expose the most tender and vulnerable part of my self to her... knowing full well that maybe even before the very next ay is through, she will pierce it yet again, and most likely stomp it in the ashes of the last pyre my spirit was torched upon.
I can't help it. My love for Karen Chambers Mullen is that strong, and I refuse to let it go; no matter how much I already know it means I will be hurt again and again. Anymore, I can't even explain why. I just do. So, I deserve my pain, because for some idiotic reason, I still cling by the quick of my fingernails, that it will someday get better. that somehow it will change. That one day, it will not hurt anymore.
It was ALL a complete and utter waste of time. Three and a half weeks of getting no sleep. Three plus weeks of pushing myself to stay up reading at all hours of the night, to digest all that unrealistic bull shit and nonsense. To read two books about a couple of half developed characters in primal heat for one another; having meaningless sex every 10 pages. Fuck!... the majority of the first 192 pages of the second book (50 Shades Darker) only covered a time span of about 5 fucking days (Friday after work to Tuesday morning), and I swear Ana and Christian must have had sex at least 3 to 5 times each of those days.
I read about more sexual encounters between these two completely unrealistic characters in those first two books than Karen and I have had in the past 8 years of our marriage. And just how many "foil packet" covered condoms does Mr. Grey keep in his deep pockets at any given time? really? I mean, really? OK! we get it. He put on a condom, or she rolled one onto him. Fast Forward to some real story content.
But all of that is beside the point. None of that makes one fucking bit of difference. It doesn't matter that I spent over three weeks torturing my mind and body to read 50 Shades of Grey and 50 Shades Darker. staying up super late on a Sunday night to be able to watch one of the only showings of the first movie on Cable; all so that I could be up to date on the story and movie plot, so that I would be able to discuss it with Karen in preparation of the second movie.
NONE OF THAT MADE ONE "BIT" (Insert string of cursing here) OF DIFFERENCE AT ALL! DOESN'T MATTER, OR COUNT FOR SHIT!
WHY? YOU ASK?
Because just a few hours ago, as a TV ad for the '50 Shades Darker' movie played on TV, Karen tells me "Just and FYI. I have an appointment to see that movie at 4 PM next Sunday."
I wanted to FUCKING scream! I wanted to look her in the face and scream "I HATE YOU!" (a raw emotion which I felt at that moment, but couldn't say it because I wouldn't actually mean it).
I'm not even mad.
I should have known better when I first set out to try to do anything even remotely thoughtful or romantic; or had the impulse to try to plan ahead to do something special with my own wife. Seriously! I should have known better than to give it even a second's thought. I wish I had never even bothered. Things NEVER fucking works out. NEVER!
I should have known better than to think she would have any interest in seeing this movie with ME, her own "husband!" Seriously, I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER.
This entire movie, even with the whole Leila psycho woman, and Elena (aka Mrs. Robinson) sub plots, is nothing more than an indulgence of sexual fantasy; and as WE HAVE ALREADY PROVEN, I am the farthest from Karen's mind when it comes to anything intimate or sexual. So, why would she think of me when this movie comes out? No. When it comes to anything that could be considered sexual, or intimate, or even remotely romantic.... I am dead last in Karen's thought process to be considered someone to share that experience with.
So NO. I'm not mad. I'm plain and simply CRUSHED!
But fuck! That's nothing new, is it?
I should have known I would be at the bottom of the list of persons she might want to go see this movie with.
I want my three and a half weeks of lost sleep back! I want my fucking life back! No, that's not accurate. I simply want a fucking life. One where someone, anyone, gives a shit about me. Maybe one where at least a portion of the devotion, loyalty, and desire that I have for the other person is returned in kind.
It's becoming painfully obvious that I will never get that in this relationship.
I can't be mad about that. It's the broken record played over and over again, and if I'm too stupid to keep listening to it over and over, simply because my heart won't let her go, then I deserve the shit that gets dumped and piled on top of me time and time again.
The LOVE of my life doesn't see me in the same way that I see her.
Where I desire her more than the very air I breathe, and want to find any excuse to put her first in every aspect of my life; she does not even desire me in the slightest. I am merely a ghost, a shadow. The background noise that lingers in a passing after thought of something else more important.
I'm numb.
I just don't understand how we got to this point. Apparently, I also don't understand how to change things and fix it. Each time I think I have a way, or dare hope to try, I am crushed and ground ever further into the ashes of my hopes and dreams.
I'm so tired of crying myself to sleep at night. So tired of feeling so all alone. So tired of having my hopes lifted by the beautiful sound of her voice, the occasional hug and morning kiss; only to have that be the fullest extent of her affection towards me. I'm just so tired of feeling angry with her when she tells me she loves me, because I feel so much hatred for myself and my existence feeling that any love being offered to me is always limited and conditional.
I'm just so tired, period. Tired of living.
I will NEVER leave the woman I love, and would be devastated beyond my ability to even imagine if she ever left me.
I just don't know what to do. I can't live, and I can't die. I just exist in a constant state of hellish purgatory What sin did I commit to end up here?.
- 11:45 PM ADDITION -
(I'm laughing right now. But it is a sad, self loathing, pathetic laugh. The kind of laugh that comes from a person that is truly broken, beyond help, or even logical comprehension.)
I sit here a broken "man." What I feel right now hurts so bad. I am crying so hard I feel like I could vomit the bile from my wrenching stomach. The words I have typed gushing from frustration and lonely heart ache. Desperation, and fueled by the stupidity of my refusal to accept the defeat of my love for her.
I hate myself. Knowing that I will wake tomorrow, and choose to love. That I will not so much as utter a word of any of this to her, and instead swallow it like a sour poison that I know will not kill me, but leave me feeling bitter and sick inside.
I can't help myself but to love her with every fiber of my being. So, I vomit my pain here, so as to not spoil her excitement to go see this movie with (I don't even have a clue who she is going to see it with).... ___________ ? Probably the "fab 5. The girls plus Matty. Sure, take the gay guy to a movie about unbridled passion between a fucked up guy and am annoying naive girl.
In spite of the agonizing hurt I now feel; I'll peel back the armour, and tear down the wall I have built around my heart, and I'll expose the most tender and vulnerable part of my self to her... knowing full well that maybe even before the very next ay is through, she will pierce it yet again, and most likely stomp it in the ashes of the last pyre my spirit was torched upon.
I can't help it. My love for Karen Chambers Mullen is that strong, and I refuse to let it go; no matter how much I already know it means I will be hurt again and again. Anymore, I can't even explain why. I just do. So, I deserve my pain, because for some idiotic reason, I still cling by the quick of my fingernails, that it will someday get better. that somehow it will change. That one day, it will not hurt anymore.