It’s almost June. I got taken aback when I came to visit my blog; I didn’t even recognize the blue sidebar or recall when I changed it. I had to reset my password because I couldn’t recall it. Basically, it’s been a while.
Not that this is unusual, and typical rather: I’m not feeling very good these days. The stress of having to get so many things done in a finite amount of time has caused me to do poorly in almost everything.
I’m also probably in the midst of a breakup. I don’t think D and I can continue going the way we are; things have rarely worked out for us and not much has changed over the course of a year and a half regardless of the number of times both of us have said we’d make an effort. I don’t think effort can make two people compatible.
My health has also suddenly gotten worse. Age has arrived. The timing for failing health is never great, but the timing just isn’t great.
I came on here presumably to get really down and specific on everything, but I’m going to have to get to know my blog again (if I even consider writing in here again soon due to time constraints).
Btw, listening to music through headphones hurts my ears, even at a low level. Earphones are fine, but not headphones. The sound is too close to my ears. Maybe I just haven’t listened to music in a very long time either… it’s been all radio, NPR, KCRW, KPCC, podcasts. Just streamed through the speakers. Headphones feel so invasive.
I’m sifting through playlists on Spotify and all of these artists are unknown to me. I don’t recognize any of the songs or their names. I haven’t really listened to music for about two years.
Over the course of my relationship I’ve grown to hate life and people. Not necessarily as a direct cause of, just over the same period of time. Maybe related/maybe not.
I no longer “go out” and do things. My life is supremely boring. And it’s depressing. I always imagined a partner would be someone who could help me live, help me go outside, help build me up in exchange for those same things. But I’m not living. I’m miserable and stuck indoors with someone that doesn’t think we should go out and live, or someone that doesn’t want to live. I don’t know. But it’s hard to imagine that I managed to achieve the exact opposite of the thing I wanted most.
And so I think of all the things I want to do, have wanted to do, and have not done over these past few months… and how I’ll have to do them alone. But I suppose a picnic of 1 is better than no picnic at all. And I suppose going hiking alone is better than not hiking at all.
What astounds me is how my support system just disappeared the moment I got a partner. My friends continue to do things, go places, hang out. And the invitations stopped coming. Now I’m afraid to go out. By myself. Or with friends. It’s like having to rebuild yourself all over again.
After a doctor’s visit yesterday morning I decided to go to Long Beach. I miss Long Beach a lot. And rarely go. D thinks it’s “too far.” But I went. Headed to the movie theater. Just like I used to do. And it was entertaining. But as per usual, I wanted to do something with D, not alone. I called him, in a jovial mood, and asked if he would like to do something with me. I gave him options, alternatives. And the answer was a resounding, “No.” He said I expect him to say yes or do all the things I want to do… but we never do anything. I started crying after hanging up on him. I pretended to look at my phone, scrolling mindlessly, until I could get the tears to stop. Then I got in my car, drove home, and slept.
At some point yesterday, I told D it wasn’t working out. This relationship doesn’t make me feel good. He got angry (as per usual) and eventually he punched a painting on the wall he made me in 2014 (one of the few gifts he’s given me), and grabbed it from the wall and split it apart. The wood split everywhere, creating bloody splinters on his arm and hands.
It’s not the first time he’s thrown, broken, or torn something. There’s been coffee cup on the wall, pulling my clothes from the closet in which one of my most prized dresses was torn, the hole on the bedroom wall, and recently, throwing a bucket of water on me (twice) when I was too depressed to move from my cradled position on the floor.
But maybe it’s me. I have a bad habit of bringing out the worst in people.