I have felt rather numb today. It has been a very long day.
Every weekend seems long to me. We went and picked up a few things from the grocery store this morning, came home and had lunch and he has pretty much been asleep since.
Finally we went to bed. I felt alone there. So here I sit. My ideal sleeping arrangements have always been nude and spooning someone. That’s what I did in my 1st marriage for 24 years. This one has no interest in spooning, and I don’t like to be naked in front of him.
I wish I could get in his head. I wish I could know why the sex stopped. I only began gaining some weight (and I wasn’t little when he met me) AFTER he stopped initiating sex. Besides, he has gained a lot too and I still want him. I never thought either of us were shallow that way.
This whole thing is the reason why I can’t sleep nude the way I did all my life. I am ashamed of the wrinkles and the rolls. I have spent 30 some odd years being ashamed of me. Hating who I am and trying to hide myself as much as possible. I despise sleeping with clothing on because it makes me feel constrained yet I do because I don’t want to subject him to my fat rolls and my sagging boobs.
At 47 I am coming to terms with living a life where I am never again going to be touched in a womanly way. Never playing grabb-ass again. No more hugs where the hands go down my waist to caress my bottom.
During the week we’re only really together after we get off work and that only leaves a little while before we go to bed, so I can handle weekdays. Oh but the weekends. I am in the house with him for 2 days.
My sadness with our situation is never more than a hairs breadth from my mind, yet he can go right on as if we‘re the happiest couple in the world. He has not touched me in almost 2.5 years. Before you ask, “Have you told him how much this hurts you?” Yes. Loudly and clearly many times over these 5 years I have told him. I dragged him to a shrink with me and after one visit he said, “I think that helped. I don’t think we need to go back.”
I am 47 years old. My self esteem wasn’t one you would be proud of to begin with, but when I think how my husband of only 5 years doesn’t want me, that’s a tremendously hard slap across my face. There was no sign what-so-ever that he felt this way. He moved in and those first weeks it was hot and heavy on a daily basis. About the 8-9th month, it all went away.
A year ago we even discussed divorce. He never once put up a fight. All he would say was if that is what you want to do then I don’t blame you. Never once tried to talk me out of it. He won’t even try to get back in the habit.
That’s what the books and the shrinks suggest; just do it and the feeling will come back. Yes we have been to doctors as well. It boils down to, for whatever reason he has no interest in sex and evidently my sex life ended as well without anyone even asking me.
I am 47, beginning to go through the peri-menopausal stage, and horney as hell most of the time.
My first husband went through periods where he used me for a punching bag. That hurt, yeah, but this hurts just as bad. To not be wanted. To feel so ugly that he won’t even have sex with me. He swears it has nothing to do with me, but who can believe that? Where there is no real explanation what is one supposed to think. Most women would think the same way I do.
I hate what all this has done to me. I have become a bitter, angry person. I don’t look at him and see love and peace and home. I see someone who got stuck with me and really doesn’t want to be here but for whatever reason won’t leave.
I’m married so I can’t date and go out and just forget things for a while, but I can’t get any kind of relationship like that at home either. Hopelessness – it adds to my feelings of hopelessness.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Split Second Memories
A memory passed in front of my eyes today. It was as real as the poison ivy on my legs.
My mind has not visited there in a long, long time. I have just about trained it to not go in that direction. Seems that area of my past causes bumps and bruises and other assorted boo-boos.
It was a wonderful memory for a moment, until that split second when your mind jumps back off the track to nowhere and you remember that it was only a memory.
It smelled wonderful; tasted delicious. It was just wonderful to every one of my senses.
Some have written that we should not be sad about what we've lost, but happy that we ever had it to begin with. That little ditty, along with the saying, "Abscence makes the heart grow fonder", I think is bulllshit.
My mind has not visited there in a long, long time. I have just about trained it to not go in that direction. Seems that area of my past causes bumps and bruises and other assorted boo-boos.
It was a wonderful memory for a moment, until that split second when your mind jumps back off the track to nowhere and you remember that it was only a memory.
It smelled wonderful; tasted delicious. It was just wonderful to every one of my senses.
Some have written that we should not be sad about what we've lost, but happy that we ever had it to begin with. That little ditty, along with the saying, "Abscence makes the heart grow fonder", I think is bulllshit.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Dental Phobia
I cannot ever remember NOT being afraid to go to the dentist. When I was a kid I used to hope we would have a wreck on our way so I wouldn’t have to go.
My dentist growing up was so mean. The room he did the work in was tiny and had one door leading to the lobby and another door leading to the back area. He would walk in and close both doors and I can remember my stomach feel like it was shrinking.
He always hurt me. Every filling, everything he did hurt. Now keep in mind growing up I was not allowed to cry at home. There was (still is) something about crying that would set my mother off. She would get very angry and yell and scream and tell me how big a baby I was for crying “about every little thing”, whether it be a bee sting or a boyfriend lost. I learned very young not to cry.
At this dentist, who I will refer to as Dr. Satan, if I cried he would hold his hand over my mouth and pinch my nose closed and tell me that when I stopped crying he would let me breathe again. Now when I say I was crying, what I mean is that little snuff snuff you get when you’re crying and trying not to. I never cried in such a way that I couldn’t hold my mouth open for him, nor did I make any noises other than the snuff snuff, still he would hold my breath every time.
Once, after my mother and I got back in the car, I told my mother what he did. Her response was, “You better be glad I didn’t know you were back there showing your ass or I would have come back there and whipped you”. I never mentioned it again.
From a child onward, until about 3 years ago, I would get diarrhea and be sick on my stomach weeks in advance of a dental appointment. About three years ago I began getting nitrous when they have work to do. That in addition to the kind understanding dentist I go to, has helped me tremendously.
I had to go this week to get prep work done for a crown. When they walked me back from the lobby, I could tell they were rushed. The dentist came and got me himself rather than the assistant who usually done that. He sat me down and immediately began giving me injections. They had ALWAYS started the gas before the injections, but he didn’t even mention the gas this time. It is written on the outside of my file that I use nitrous, but they never mentioned it, and I felt since they were rushing they must be behind and I didn’t want to inconvenience them.
I will never do that again! I am usually not a pussy when it comes to pain or much of anything really. I am not a scaredy-cat by nature. I am a former cop. When I would go after work I would lie there in my uniform complete with a S&W 40 on my hip and tears would fall down my face. It is something I cannot control. The nitrous however made it tolerable without tears.
This visit was horrible. I laid there for over 2 hours, shaking so hard the chair and tray and everything else shook too. When they were doing the molds, the assistant pressing them in place was shaking from my body shaking. I felt panic coming up in my throat several times and felt I would suffocate. Somewhere inside me I went back to my Lamaze from 26 years ago. It took a great deal of effort (and that is a huge understatement) but I didn’t make them let me up like my brain and body was screaming at me to do.
I have paid for that little bravo since Tuesday. My stomach has been torn up, I have had a headache off and on this entire time, and my back has throbbed. (The back pain is from lying in the uncomfortable and awkward position for so long.. I have 24-7 back pain from two blown discs, but it is manageable – this has been close to not being.)
I will ask for my gas from now on. That is the last time I will allow myself to suffer because I think the fact that they are running behind is more important than my comfort. Hell, I pay extra to receive nitrous that my insurance won’t touch. They say it is “unnecessary”. I know the lady has to sit right there with me the entire time I am receiving it whereas if I am not she can flitter between rooms and get more work done. Tough shit – I’m paying for it. If it is a problem they should not offer it.
I am also making it a point to not listen to the voices that continue to remind me what a big cry baby I am.
Fuck you very much Dr. Satan.
I cannot ever remember NOT being afraid to go to the dentist. When I was a kid I used to hope we would have a wreck on our way so I wouldn’t have to go.
My dentist growing up was so mean. The room he did the work in was tiny and had one door leading to the lobby and another door leading to the back area. He would walk in and close both doors and I can remember my stomach feel like it was shrinking.
He always hurt me. Every filling, everything he did hurt. Now keep in mind growing up I was not allowed to cry at home. There was (still is) something about crying that would set my mother off. She would get very angry and yell and scream and tell me how big a baby I was for crying “about every little thing”, whether it be a bee sting or a boyfriend lost. I learned very young not to cry.
At this dentist, who I will refer to as Dr. Satan, if I cried he would hold his hand over my mouth and pinch my nose closed and tell me that when I stopped crying he would let me breathe again. Now when I say I was crying, what I mean is that little snuff snuff you get when you’re crying and trying not to. I never cried in such a way that I couldn’t hold my mouth open for him, nor did I make any noises other than the snuff snuff, still he would hold my breath every time.
Once, after my mother and I got back in the car, I told my mother what he did. Her response was, “You better be glad I didn’t know you were back there showing your ass or I would have come back there and whipped you”. I never mentioned it again.
From a child onward, until about 3 years ago, I would get diarrhea and be sick on my stomach weeks in advance of a dental appointment. About three years ago I began getting nitrous when they have work to do. That in addition to the kind understanding dentist I go to, has helped me tremendously.
I had to go this week to get prep work done for a crown. When they walked me back from the lobby, I could tell they were rushed. The dentist came and got me himself rather than the assistant who usually done that. He sat me down and immediately began giving me injections. They had ALWAYS started the gas before the injections, but he didn’t even mention the gas this time. It is written on the outside of my file that I use nitrous, but they never mentioned it, and I felt since they were rushing they must be behind and I didn’t want to inconvenience them.
I will never do that again! I am usually not a pussy when it comes to pain or much of anything really. I am not a scaredy-cat by nature. I am a former cop. When I would go after work I would lie there in my uniform complete with a S&W 40 on my hip and tears would fall down my face. It is something I cannot control. The nitrous however made it tolerable without tears.
This visit was horrible. I laid there for over 2 hours, shaking so hard the chair and tray and everything else shook too. When they were doing the molds, the assistant pressing them in place was shaking from my body shaking. I felt panic coming up in my throat several times and felt I would suffocate. Somewhere inside me I went back to my Lamaze from 26 years ago. It took a great deal of effort (and that is a huge understatement) but I didn’t make them let me up like my brain and body was screaming at me to do.
I have paid for that little bravo since Tuesday. My stomach has been torn up, I have had a headache off and on this entire time, and my back has throbbed. (The back pain is from lying in the uncomfortable and awkward position for so long.. I have 24-7 back pain from two blown discs, but it is manageable – this has been close to not being.)
I will ask for my gas from now on. That is the last time I will allow myself to suffer because I think the fact that they are running behind is more important than my comfort. Hell, I pay extra to receive nitrous that my insurance won’t touch. They say it is “unnecessary”. I know the lady has to sit right there with me the entire time I am receiving it whereas if I am not she can flitter between rooms and get more work done. Tough shit – I’m paying for it. If it is a problem they should not offer it.
I am also making it a point to not listen to the voices that continue to remind me what a big cry baby I am.
Fuck you very much Dr. Satan.
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