How many is too many? How long do I have to hurt, and wonder and speculate? How long, until I can take a computer to tune it, and not come across the ass-hole? How long, till I can take a computer to tune it, and not cause hurt feelings, and questions about my motivations?
January, after the New Years weekend anyway, was a fantastic month for us. We laughed, we smiled, we loved and cuddled, I was feeling better, we were doing better. We started a dance class together, we’ve been going out every week, we’ve been sharing and talking and playing at lunchtime, planning our trip to Jamaica, meeting Steve and Lynn for the first time, at least in person; what a fantastic month it was, if you’d asked me in September, October, November, even into December how long it would take to feel like this, I’d have said a year.
Too bad for me, too bad for us. Every couple of weeks, regular as clockwork, there he is again. Worse, it’s not the random uncontrollable popping up and being ignored; no, there are conversations, phone calls, IM’s and God knows what all going on.
There are times, when I want to explode. How many times do we have to go back to the merry-go-round? How many times am I expected to be understanding and empathetic and all that crap? How many times must I rationalize, must I tolerate this?
At least twelve, apparently, because we’re still together, still talking. Still planning trips, planning our redecorating, planning our lives together. Still sleeping in the same bed, in the same house, I relented and didn’t have her go away for a week.
Maybe this time will be different, after all, for the first time I actually saw her say never again. For the first time, I made her say it (via IM), while I watched over her shoulder. For the first time, she’s telling me “He’s blocked, removed from the Pogo lists, he can’t IM or see where I am…”
It’s been five months now, since I realized there was something going on. Five months of repeated, reiterated and restated promises broken. Trust is something that is precious, and valuable, and the unfortunate truth is that having learned very thoroughly to be distrustful and suspicious, I can’t seem to turn it off. I need to check into the shop, and have new valve-work installed, so I can shut down the flood of jealous, angry feelings that overtake me at times. The unfortunate truth is also that even when not looking, the lies were continuing, so the feelings were actually justified, and the suspicions correct.
So, here we are. Again. Going to work, and wondering. Calling now and then, wondering. Coming home, wondering. Going to drill, to class, next week to scouts, and wondering.
It’s the Tenth of February as I write this, so we’re now on day eight all over again. I’m hoping against hope, that this time, we get past about two weeks. This time, can it be real? This time, are the words more than empty phrases?
I hope so, I pray so, with all my heart and soul and being. Because, I’m scared, I’m terrified, that I’m getting too close to the most I can deal with. And I really, really don’t want to go there.