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brokenbones-singsongs · 4 years

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If I am being entirely honest, I don’t want to be married. I don’t want to feel like I am tied to someone. I don’t want to share my things. I don’t want to have to take care of someone else. I don’t want to sleep in the same bed as someone. I don’t want to feel bad for never wanting to have sex. I don’t want kisses. I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want to go on trips together. I don’t want any of it. It damn near kills me that every time I look at my wedding dress I have to think about how much I want to forget that day. I want to forget wondering where my husband and my friends were when I was inside dancing. I want to forget that nothing worked out from the very start. That my best friend walked away from me and so many of the people I wanted there the most couldn’t make it. I want to forget that I didn’t get to walk down the aisle to the song I dreamed of for years. I can’t remember what the sanctuary looked like. I don’t remember the vows he said to me and I don’t remember what I wrote. We didn’t get to take communion and I barely got to speak to anyone. I was tired and frustrated and sick and I just wanted to go home. I’v spent an entire year waiting on things that won’t happen. Wanting more of what I can’t have. The simple fact of the matter is that we are two very different people and the things that matter most to me don’t matter to him at all. He doesn’t see the beauty in the smallest of things. He doesn’t understand how important safety and security are to me. He doesn’t understand why things are so hard for me and why home is so important. Everything I do is a problem. I have too many feelings. I have too many things. I care about too much. I’m too possessive of my things. I don’t look at it all as “ours” because I know that without the money I bring home we’d both be homeless, hungry, carless, phoneless, insuranceless, and whatever elseless. We can’t go on dates together because I can’t afford to do everything on my own. I can’t suggest a weekend to do halloween things with friends without hearing him mutter something about “more money” as if it’s not money I worked for to begin with. I can’t exist without hearing something about how I haven’t touched him or I never sleep with him. I hate myself. I hate how I look. I am not comfortable. I don’t like taking my clothes off. Sex is inconvenient and irritating. It’s messy, it’s sticky, and the gratification doesn’t outweigh the frustration. It doesn’t make me feel loved. It’s not intimate to me. It’s nice for five minutes and then I have to get up and take care of myself so I don’t get an infection or something stupid and then I go to sleep like nothing ever happened. The bed isn’t big enough to share and he wakes me up every hour or so with moving and shaking and weird ass noises and I’m never fully rested. He’s messy and he destroys the bathroom and leaves things in odd places and doesn’t care that it bothers me. He leaves me to do practically everything on my own. I manage the plans. I keep track of the calendar. I know when the bills are due. I make all of the calls. I keep track of groceries and cleaning tasks and everything in between. He has no understanding of my want for more. For better. For not settling. I grew up in a broken home. I grew up in a place where things were broken so often that none of the dishes matched. Nothing was ever really new. A lot of our things were hand-me-downs from somewhere else. We couldn’t always get the name brand cereals and poptarts. Simple things like toaster strudels and christmas tree cakes were a special treat. I remember eating eggos and peanut butter sandwiches for days and weeks at a time. Most of our clothes came from walmart. We only got to have one pair of shoes at a time. We were limited to how much we could eat or drink because groceries were so expensive. We always shared a room with someone. In fact, we shared everything. I never got to play sports because it cost money. I spent so much of middle and high school conscious of how much things were, missing out on trips of a lifetime because we just didn’t have the money. And no, it wasn’t always that way and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that life was the way it was. But I want to be able to open my cabinets and have my things match. I like that my cookie sheets are still silver. My silverware still matches. I like that nothing sticks to my pots and all of my measuring cups are still living on their little rings. My oven mitts aren’t stained and don’t have holes. My picture frames match my blankets that match the couch that matches the tables and chairs. I have a full set of Pyrex measuring cups and none of my coffee mugs are chipped. I have SO MANY shoes and they match all of my outfits. I have running shoes and work shoes and black heels and nude heels and blue heels and silver and gold heels. I have keds and converse and vans I have white shoes and pink shoes and blue shoes and red shoes too. I have dresses for every occasion and new, expensive clothes. Clothes that have stood the test of time. Clothes that I used to walk by the storefronts and say “maybe someday.” I have these things and I am proud of these things. I have worked and worked hard for these things. I saved and I was diligent and I never wanted to settle. I didn’t settle. I wanted more so I worked for it. I wanted to see the world outside of NC so I did. I took my happy self to Seattle and Alaska and California. I saw mountains and valleys and waterfalls that I once dreamed of. I’ve made far away friends and served strangers in cities that feel like home in a past life. I walked across bridges and saw musicals and sang way too loud in restaurants with my best friend. I’ve ran along shorelines and sat on the edges of cliffs because those are the things that matter the most to me.

I always thought this was what I wanted. To be married and in a pretty house with the love of my life with all the tiny things I’ve procured from the world around me. Quiet evenings curled up on the couch. Books and movies and dinner and lights wrapped around the rails on the back porch. Fireplaces and fuzzy blankets. Coffee at 9:00pm because I can. I’m realizing now that I still want those things, but I want them without the pressure of pleasing someone else. I like being alone. I like doing what I want. I like coming and going and not feeling obligated to sometimes snuggle or let someone kiss me. I like not having someone try to get me to take my clothes off when I’m half asleep. I like making a pot of coffee for one person. I like doing things without wondering if I’m going to be questioned about the money I spent later. I like only having semi one-sided conversations with the cat and listening to the music I enjoy in every room Alexa can reach without knowing I’m the only one who likes it. I’ve never done well with respecting people simply because they’re a man and that’s what they need. I never have understood the inherent NEED for sex and how it’s the driving force of everything and how it’s somehow a problem that I just don’t care for it. I don’t understand why I should have to give more than he should just because I have it. I deliberately chose the things I did because I wanted more, why can’t he choose more too? Why does everything have to revolve around how long he can sit in front of his computer and call people cocksuckers and hope he gets money out of it? Why isn’t his real job more important? Why does he settle for so little? Why doesn’t he do everything he can to be better? Why doesn’t he have the same drive that I do? Why is everything “just the way it is?” to him? Why doesn’t he see doctors or workout more or talk to someone, or something to fix the things that make his life harder? Nothing is “just how it is.” If you want it to be better, fix it. Why am I not allowed to wonder here his money goes? Why do I have to be made to feel guilty for expecting him to give as much as I do? I don’t think I should have to do without when I alone have the means for more. If I have the ability to do a little extra, why can’t I? The bills are paid, we’re not starving, why should I feel bad about going out of town or buying that new set of makeup brushes or the sweater I fell in love with? Why do I get the “well you ARE married now...” lectures whenever I say I would like to do my own laundry and clean up my own messes and let him worry about his things? Why is it a problem I don’t fucking want to be a mother? I just am really not happy. I’m not. But I made a promise and I took a vow and I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to break another person. I’ve broken so many before and still haven’t forgiven myself for it. I just also know I can’t live like this forever. It isn’t fair to either of us. It isn’t and I can’t keep locking myself in the closet and literally crying myself to sleep every evening after work only to emerge like some gremlin and pretend nothing happened. I just....can’t.

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