...what it feels like a) to be treated like complete shit, and b) the true meaning of "he's really just not that into you." And it is sickening and very, very painful to realize that someone for whom you still care deeply JUST DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU. I thought long and hard before typing that sentence, mostly because it hurts a lot to see it in print. I need to remember to not take it personally.
I have a big pile of his stuff sitting by my back door that keeps me on the verge of tears and reminds me just how horribly I have been treated and simply put up with it. Can you believe I packed for him --and washed his dirty clothes in the process -- because he wouldn't come home to face the situation? He just didn't come home. We're on Night Four.
This is NOT how love is supposed to be, but I can see now how people end up in emotionally abusive relationships (no, there was not *intentional* abuse in our relationship). I just kept letting him hurt me and disrespect me, because I obviously have no respect for myself. I am a goddamned doormat. As I sit here with my blood pressure through the ceiling and my stomach aching and tears in my eyes, I see it all very clearly, and it sucks major ass for me. I believe that I wrote almost exactly the same thing not so long ago, so obviously the fact that I was being treated like shit didn't matter enough to me.
I can't believe that I kept trying, that I offered to talk so many times, but he either came home drunk or simply avoided me. Or both. What was I thinking by dragging it out??? I guess I was hoping that it would work, that he would change, that something would be different the next day, because I truly love this guy -- for who I *know* he can be, not the person who came home drunk and was rude and acted like a child. Therefore, I did my part in avoiding, too, but for different reasons.
I should have ended it all in August 2005, when we were first dating, when he came home on drugs, or when (on two different occasions) he left pot in the living room and porn in the DVD player, both of which were found by Spencer. Or on any number of the days when he avoided me because it was easier that way. But no, instead I let him move in with us because he was in a bad roommate situation. And I have been enabling and getting my heart stomped on ever since. See earlier posts for specific examples.
Also, I see now that something is seriously wrong with him, and he's avoiding that, too...not sure if it's depression, but it certainly has much to do with the drinking. As someone who over-imbibes on a regular basis myself yet manages to keep my shit together, and knowing many others who do the same, I can see that his issue is not just the booze. Something is making him behave this way. Maybe it's me. Regardless, it's painful and sad and stressful to watch, and even more so to be on the receiving end of the frustration. I would love to see him function as a grown-up and take responsibility for himself, but I'm pretty sure that it's not going to happen soon. I don't have the energy to drown myself in anger any longer by letting him stay in my life the way he is right now.
I wish that he could love himself, mostly, because there's a great guy in there. It's just that the layers on top have gotten so thick that he's going to have to work really hard to cut through them, and it is very apparent that he isn't ready. And this hurts my heart a LOT, for him and me. And for the lawn, which will suffer indeed. I would be willing to be friends when he's healthier. I would be willing to be more, probably, if the situation were different. But, since I doubt that will happen, I will miss forever the way our bodies fit together and the perfect spooning.
When I told Spencer this afternoon that it's just the two of us now, he asked me if I found any drugs or dirty magazines in the closet. Sigh.
My email to a friend this morning:
"Will and I went to dinner on Friday and had a relatively good time. Then we made the mistake of going to the Pub. About a half hour after he went downstairs to play pool, a mutual friend came upstairs and told that I ought to know that Will was down there talking about how happy he is to be free of me, and how now he can chase chicks (Will was much ruder than that, apparently, but I can’t bring myself to type it or I’ll cry). Whether or not he means it is beside the point...I read him the riot act, and went home. He hasn’t been home since. I was meeting some friends at the Pub the next day and saw him but we didn’t speak. Same for Sunday, when I met a friend to watch the Broncos game. I brought Will his phone and toothbrush, but just set them down and walked away. He didn’t make a move to speak to me. One thing he’s not going to do is make it uncomfortable for me to go to the Pub, and I guess he knows that now! I have no idea where he’s been staying or how he’s finding clean clothes....my guess is that he will pick up his stuff when I’m not home, and that we will never speak to each other again."
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