say nothing at all.
hence my lack of blogging for the last week and a half or so.
I'm angry. I'm frustrated. I really don't like the way things are panning out.
I'm scared this isn't going to get better...
and, unfortunately, I'm almost at the point of not giving a fuck.
it's getting dangerous. I know it is because I don't even feel like talking about it, anymore. my rantings, ventings and ravings are my outlet. when I don't care enough to do that...
well, its nearing the point of not caring at all. the emotional shut-off valve.
if my words aren't being heard. my requests going unanswered. my pleas and concerns temporarily placated, but not resolved...eventually I'm going to stop trying.
we've entered the days of long walks...alone. phones on vibrate. lacking eye contact.
there's a pattern. one I'm not fond of. it's bad. I say I'm hurt. there's sympathy. its better. its bad again.
frankly, I'm getting tired of it. last night I told him (again) that I DO NOT ENJOY conflict. it IS NOT a release for me. I DON'T DO make-up sex...or make-up anything else, for that matter.
being impolite doesn't make me feel better about myself the next day. "having it out" only makes me not want to have "it" at all.
he doesn't believe me when I say he goes looking for trouble. that when he's frustrated he picks on me until the inevitable fight occurs...then he feels better.
I don't.
he better start believing me. he needs to listen.
I told him I'm not in the business of trying to change people. the choice is his how he wants to behave...but then the choice is mine whether or not I'm willing to live my life that way.
I've done the drama thing. sometimes by my choosing (bad relationship that lasted way too long) and for 15 years NOT of my choosing. I grew up in a household where the so-called adults had little or no emotional control. fits were common. displaced anger. unhealthy communication. I spent the first half of my life wishing I could leave.
I'm a big girl, now. If I have to...
I'll leave.
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