Every girl goes through this. "The Suspicion". We hear it all...
"Oh, you are just being paranoid."
"She is just a friend"
"What am I supposed to do, drop all of my friends that are women"
"We just talk about (fill in the blank)"
"I married you didn't I?"
"Just because I had lunch with her does not mean we are having an affair"
"I might as well have an affair, You are always accusing me of it anyway"
"you just think too much"
"fine, I'll just stay home all the time. Will that make you happy?
Sound familiar? Of course it does.
Why wouldn't it? every dipshit we women seem to find says it. I try to think negative sometimes, why deny it? I'm only fooling myself. he makes a few mistakes, cheats a few times, says sorry-everything's peachy. Everything is suppose to fall into place, and we're expected to trust the guy and get over it. What if we can't.
What if i'm still insecure,I begin to toss and turn in bed because I can't fathom the idea of losing him. But I want to say, what good is he? If he doesn't care enough to spare your feelings by not even trying to not look suspicious, who says he hasn't cheated? I've gone over the conversations in my head a million times. I dwell. In pure agony, I dwell. I've decided to throw away the old love letters I found through rummaging in his sent box. What good are they to me? He won't admit it. He'll find every way possible to deny it, to lie, to cheat, to hurt me. I'd be fool to keep the notes, it'll just hinder me in the end. I don't need him.He's pathetic, and fat, and disgusting. He has the nerve to pull that shit, blaming me for what he did. Like it's my obligation to please him enough to make him not want to cheat. It's always been my fault. If it really is? Why doesn't the fucker leave? I am always the one that leaves... he comes back, and I take him back like the dumb bitch I am. I'm over this. I'm tired of reading books like "how to know if your man is cheating", or "breakups 101", fuck this shit. I'm tired of being with what I think is "the right one", I want to go on that fanciful search again, when I don't know if I'll get rejected or not, that maybe he loves me as much as I love him. Adoring over some black haired beauty that barely speaks my language, swooning over his curly locks and gingerly smile. I want that back. I missed the dating years, because I've cooped up in a cage with the hyenas. Always backstabbing me.fuckers. I want home to be where I am. Friends to be within me, love to be lost and found again. I don't mind being single again, it'll take time and getting used to but so does everything. I want to lose weight, and be attractive again. But I hate myself so much that I don't care about looking good or feeling good. I love feeling like shit all the time. I like the idea of being depressed, suddenly colors dampen and my vision of the world seems so bleak and artistic. It's sad that I can only become what I truly am when things are at their darkest.
I'm dead.
I've always lost connections to people and things. When I was younger my mother used to see my painting, rip them off the wall, rip them in front of me and tell me "what the fuck is this? what is this suppose to be? this isn't art, it's bullshit", she'd burn all my black clothes and throw away all my comic books and music. Posters of bands torn off the walls, edges still reside on the corners of my rooms, taped firmly down. Furniture moved, empty bookcase-filled with nothing but children's books like peter rabbit and tall tales. My mother always tells my brother and I, "I miss when you were small, when you were little and you followed me everywhere, you were so cute then...now you treat me like crap." Every christmas was perfect when I was a kid. We never had a tree, all we had was a tiny plastic one that one of my father's co-workers had given to him. It was enveloped in sateen brights wrapped into spheres, circling the tree with gold trimmings and flaked silver. All our presents were always behind the couch. My dad would ring this porcelain bell, it was a signal to us that "santa had left". We'd rush from our rooms, before midnight and open one present. For some reason that present, that first one was more special than the rest. always. no matter what it was. The next morning, I'd wake up before everyone else, and tiredly open the rest, my parents would wait by my doorway and watch me rip them open. They would smile and laugh. My mother would brew my father coffee and my brother would play with his toy car. I don't remember what I got that year. I don't remember a lot of things that happened back then.
My brother was always the good child. He had phenomenal grades, the mind of a 30 year old, and a heart of a saint. Always honest and humble. I was the opposite. When he started high school, he became more dark, anti-social and more defiant. My parents held the leash tight on him, so he moved away at 17. My brother and my father were fighting outside the car, the friend my brother was staying with was a real dick, didn't really care for my brother at all. Used him to burn bridges and for food money. Whilst my brother was exposed further and further into satanic culture. My father screamed for him to get into the car. My brother cried and yelled no. Everyone in the neighborhood heard it. My brother ran to my window, and said "it's okay, it's going to be alright, I'm going to gone a while". He left. I haven;t seen him much since. They aren't friends anymore, I think he was jealous of my brother. He thought our family had it all. Normal is different to everyone I guess. he has a wife now and a kid. The kid isn't his. He could of went to a great college. He had a 4.0 GPA straight throughout high school and middle school. He didn't finish college, it was a community college. He was in special programs since elementary because he was so smart. He's raising a baby girl now, that isn't his.
I feel like I make up scenarios in my head to fill the void in my life, I make up ideas of men that seem so perfect (and are) and then some dipshit comes in between us. This typically happens in all my dreams. Maybe its what I want, I want to be unhappy for the rest of my life. Maybe I need drama. I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. I've been constantly thinking about this one guy, I never liked him before hand until the idea of him liking me sprung up, and suddenly I'm head over heels for him. It's weird. That's how you know you're not in love. You settle for less than best. But for some reason, I feel I'll never have a best.
Not until I know the truth...
