Why I was awake last night, but somehow slept through a car alarm that went off five times.

2002-04-29 - 5:04 p.m.

First of all...this is likely my most personal entry yet and likely shouldn't be put up on the internet at all, but I will. Why? Because yesterday the world did not turn into Yellow Submarine.

So the boyfriend was moping around all weekend, and I know it's the sex thing (lack thereof: when he's stressed his sex drive increases, when I'm stressed my sex drive decreases), and I ask him, on-and-off throughout the day yesterday, "What's wrong? You okay?" Even though I know what it is...I just want him to answer the question, want to hear him say it.

But all I get is: "sigh...nothing's wrong. I'm just tired, I guess."

And of course, after three years, I -know- he's -never- "sigh...just tired, I guess." So I always follow up with, "You sure?"

And I get the honestly most sad, melancholic, please-help-me-because-nobody-else-will "Yep. I'm sure. sigh."

My boyfriend is 6'5" and 280lbs.

So I go back to doing the dishes, or watching tv, or writing (hooray!). Until the next time when I have to ask if he's okay.

Then, and let me tell you, after three years, I know this is coming...it almost always happens this way, and I have no idea why he likes it to happen this way, but anyway...Then, we're in bed. Early, because he has to get up early for his new work term that started today. I'm kinda tired, in part from the stress of the day before, more because I just am and sometimes love the idea of sleeping 20 hours out of a day just because I can. He rolls over, looks at me with his gorgeous eyes and says:

"well...sigh...I guess maybe...it's just that..." and suddenly it's Talk Time. He's concerned that maybe I don't love him like I used to, and that he's not getting as much sex as he'd like, or even as is normal, that we seem to be more like best friends lately instead of lovers...

And throughout it all, I'm just wanting to point out that he had all day to tell me this, that there's no point in showing concern to him if every time it'll be "guerrila emotional councelling." He gets to choose the time we discuss these things, and almost always it's at a time where if I decide I can't deal I have to be a little hurtful to escape (I could turn my back to him and start snoring, I can leave the bedroom and not come back until he's asleep...), which would mean, of course, another two or three days of the "sigh-what's-wrong-honey-nothing-just-tired-i-guess."

And my mind is going a billion miles a minute but I'm not able to speak, to give my side, in part because I might hurt him, and in part because he's right: to some extent he hasn't been talking with me lately. My armour's up, and though I'll talk for hours about important stuff, none of it is about what I'm feeling, or who I am. And I agree with him, but that I'm still reeling from being a part of the crowd on Saturday.

And he growls, "I know, it's frustrating," and I want to suddenly smack him, but instead I ask, if it's frustrating for him, imagine how I feel? But my voice was a little shrill and he shushed me and said I know, I know...maybe he was expecting me to get angry, which I was, and he's not ready to deal with that.

And then I realise that -he- counts as "people" to some extent, too...he requires me to be on my defensive as well for some reason. And that concerns me a lot, because aside from the cat, who's aggressively antisocial and only gives me attention because he hates it when I read, I don't have anyone that I can be myself with...and that's kind of upsetting, isn't it? And it's not that I don't love my boyfriend...I do, more than I can describe...but it's just that he counts as people sometimes, too.

Then I tried to explain all this, to let him know how I know it isn't normal to want to huddle under a blanket for days, with just my face poking out soi I can see the cat when he deigns to make an appearance, to let him know that I can work through it, that I'm sorry sometimes, but sometimes I'm not, and my words sound like everyone I've ever listened to when they were upset and I've told them that they were okay, while at the same time thinking they weren't seeing clearly because they were depressed. I'm saying these things and they sound so false to me, but I still feel them and then my mind is going a billuion miles a minute again and I stop being so articulate.

He asked me if I wanted councelling. I've urged -so many- people into councelling, and every one of them has gotten better to some degree or another, so long as they had a good therapist. But, aside from once when I was in grade seven and my mom wanted me to see one because I was missing school (I'd 'be sick' three or four days out of five at one point), and again, she asked me to see one for a session when I came out to her, I have never had a therapist, or a psychologist, or a psychiatrist.

And I agreed with the boyfriend that yeah, I should see one, and made plans vague enough that I know that if I can pull myself by the bootstraps yet again, the whole therapist idea will drift into the background again and I won't have to worry about the idea until next winter, at least.

So the conversation ended, sort of, and I lay awake for hours, just mad that once again, he'd forced the talk on me at his time, under his conditions, and just once I'd like to not have to struggle for every little bit of openness from him.

Just like he does with me.

And I'm not entirely pleased with how whiny I've been lately. I must stop that. I promise to myself that I will look for beautiful things daily.

Today's beautiful thing: the cat was asleep.

Hey, that was easy. I can get the hang of this, no problem.

Cheers,

The Magus

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