Remember me?
That's what the website asks every time I log in, and it never ceases to make me smirk. Remember me. Isn't that all that we are asking for, just a little recognition, a little sign that we were once here and mattered.
Isn't there a word for when everything feels listless and pointless? Is this ennui? More and more, like an mosquito-bite-itch that won't get better, that goes from a mindless scratch on the skin to a hot painful slice of nail on raw nerve. I keep thinking about killing myself, not because the pain is overwhelming and deep. Not because I want to "show them", to make people sorry about the gaping hole I'd leave and fill them with regret. I don't think, at least, that I have misconceptions about my blessings in life.
I should have a lot to be happy about. I don't live in a war zone, in fear of my life or my body. I don't worry about the safety of my children or whether or not they'll go hungry. I have a job where I am considered valuable, and I live in a city where the environment is clean and the sunshine, this summer, is plentiful. I have a boyfriend, a partner, who comes home and kisses me and loves our dog.
But I still think about it, every day now; wanting a way out, an escape from the "shoulds" of existence. I "should" be more successful. I "should" be a better girlfriend. I "should" have a house or apartment, be able to call good friends, be able to send birthday presents, be able to- so many shoulds, so many be able tos, and when I can't fit under the weight of all of it there is only this exhaustion that's gotten so deep I only laugh now. It's not a nice laugh. Sometimes it's quiet, and only in my head. Yesterday when he told me that I don't initiate sex enough, that I don't do the right things that turn him on....and I could see he was trying to be nice about it, in his way. I could see that it wasn't a petty gesture to be cruel. He's just....it was his point of view, and he didn't have enough consideration left over to even ask himself why I might not be initiating sex as much as I used to. When I tried to give a rationale, though, then he got snippy. Said I was supposed to be asking him how to fix it, not coming up with reasons. And then I just got so tired, and just told him I heard him. What else is there to say? There is always something, somewhere, that I am not doing right. I've done my best these last few weeks but...
I'm running out of the energy to do the things I am supposed to be shoulding, you see. And so I think I want to die.
At first I thought I'd jump out of the window. We're high up enough, I think? But maybe not. We watched a film today and a character does that. She announces to everyone that she'll jump out of a window, and she does it, and then the next five minutes of the film she's screaming in terrible agony while everyone else sort of nudges her. I think I'd better stay away from impulsive gestures. I think if I do this, I need to really be sure and thorough. It's calming to think that there is A Way Out...that I can take control, that I can escape all of the pressure and demands, and sneak out the back into a different place that is only what I need or want.
It's a form of running away, where there isn't even any need to run.
There was this Modern Love article once; a man wrote about his wife who, shortly after they married, suffered a psychotic break and spent a year recovering from deep, deep depression.
"She’d smile. Thoughts of suicide tended to make her smile, like she was a little child being told you can have your ice cream later. It was something to look forward to."
I remember once a therapist asking me why sad, horrible memories made me smile. The question surprised me, because I didn't realize I was doing it. I suppose I thought of all these terrible things were a kind of self-deprecating joke, foisted on me by Life. Isn't it funny, that time I was called a bitch by my parents because I got one B on my report card? Isn't it funny, that I have a brain tumor, that I can't control my libido or even have one, most of the time, driving away the only person who ever consistently cared?
My partner is upset over something small. If I was a stronger person, I'd laugh about it, smile anyway; I'd go diffuse his tension by not having any of my own. I'd absorb more, do more...go out into the living room and be someone more selfless, generous, strong. It's all right, that he's upset over something small. It's his right to have his feelings and express them how he wants, I suppose. He didn't yell, and although I thought we were spending the evening together, maybe it's better we have time apart.
He can be childish sometimes. I love him anyway. I love him for the moments he pushes his glasses up his nose, or has a big smile on and buries his fingers in my dog's fur. I love him for the way he winks at me when he's happy. I love him for how he looks in a suit, and when he's only wearing his watch. I love him for sometimes, in the middle of nothing, he will make an unbelievably accurate call about my emotions or moods.
Most of the time, though, he doesn't notice or see. I've tried to tell him, but I think....I think he couldn't handle the depth of the sadness that can well up inside without any warning. Maybe I need to just smile a little, resign myself- this is who I am, this is as good as I can get, and even with all this, it is not enough.
So maybe I write a few things, make a few plans, and run away. Or take my way out. Maybe it's better to just wrap things up neatly. I'd need to have a plan for the dog. Should save up money so that he doesn't have to pay rent on his own so suddenly. At the very least, I can take steps to minimize the inconvenience it will cause, to him and to others. (I can be thoughtful, sometimes.)
I wish the people I loved most, heard and saw. But I think...it's just too much. I'm too much, and have been, for many years. The best I can do now is try to be quiet, try to slip out the back. Even writing this, ha, what a bullshit excuse and call for attention. I do everything wrong.
I wish I hadn't made the mistakes I had, that the people I loved could withstand me, but they can't. I hate it when they look at me when I lose control, like I'm a monster. I never stop seeing that look on their face once it's there. I never stop seeing myself that way too.
I think that's why I first loved him. Because he only saw the good in me, and for a long while, it felt like that's all there was, like I could actually be this person he thought I was.
Now I just feel like a fraud, an exposed fraud.
I'm just really so very tired of trying. I wish someone saw how hard I am trying.
I hope people can eventually understand that, it wasn't out of anger, I'm just tired.