Drifting. Waiting. Inhaling. Exhaling.

I have found it increasingly more difficult to "talk" about "how I feel" lately. I think I've been over-talked. I think I've talked my way into retardation.
Can't I just BE for a minute?
Things that have been rolling around in my head:
What if I am just perpetually unhappy?
What if I stay and it's a mistake?
What if I leave and it's a mistake?
What if I wake up one day, old, alone and filled with regret?
What if none of this shit even matters?!
I wake up, I work, I buy cute clothes online, I drink coffee for lunch, I passive aggressively handle most situations, I lust, I lie, I daydream about disappearing, I eat my words, I long for comfort.
I have reached a point in this road I have put myself on where I suddenly cannot find comfort. In anything. Touch makes me uncomfortable. Talk makes me sick. Booze is something I am expected to not have anymore so it's secretive when I indulge. I want to be intimate with someone, but I just can't seem to bring myself there. I realized that I have to allow myself to enjoy it - and that, I cannot seem to bring myself to do.
Me and my husband are supposed to be going on a date tonight. We are going to go to one of the restaurants we used to go to when things were fun. I'm filled with a heartbreaking sadness today though and I can't seem to shake it. I'm worried it will follow me to dinner. What if I ruin the date? What if he wants to talk about it? Why can't I just disappear? Never look back? Change my name? Burn my possessions?
I keep telling myself that we will be okay. That the old us will rekindle and we'll be happy again. But why hasn't that happened yet?
I feel like I'm damaging myself. Like I'm ruining a part of my heart and once this is all said and done, I won't ever be able to give that to anyone else, let alone myself.
I know the man that I fell in love with is still there - inside this confused, insecure mess of a person I'm now married to. I worry that I've shut that off to him and now I can't find the switch to turn it back on. I feel like a sociopath. I wish I could lock myself in a dark room for a year. I wish I could get very quiet with myself. Relearn who I am. Relearn the things I love about me and fix and/or accept the things I hate about me.
I don't trust myself to make choices anymore. If I was good at choosing, then I shouldn't be in this awful place I'm in now. Right?

Choosing to be an Asshole

I had an epiphany on the way to work.... I think....

For a while now I've been questioning whether or not I'm CHOOSING to be a heartless husk of a human towards my husband as a childish, passive aggressive way of making him "pay" for his wrongdoings.

I don't think I'm choosing anymore. Logically, couldn't one safely say that if you had two choices - to be happy or miserable, you would choose happy? Because it's easier and a lot more fun and fulfilling. Right? Everyone would choose that. So am I just a big asshole? Or am I stuck? I guess now that it's written down it's really not an epiphany.... those get you somewhere. That train of thought just got me no where. Oh well, story of my miserable life lately.

He suggested last night that I get on antidepressants. HA! No thanks, buddy. I don't need a pill to make me happy. I need to find where I left my soul. It makes me incredibly sad that there are no answers to my conundrum. I wish someone could tell me exactly what to do and poof! it'd be fixed. Would I listen though, is the question.

My muse is dead now too. I thought killing it would make it better, but now I just feel even more alone than I did before.

No more inspiration.

No more overflow.

I just want to get through today. And then tomorrow. And then the next day. And then the next.

I painted last night. I made a painting for my parents for their Christmas gift.

I'm pretty sure they will like it. I like it. I would totally hang it in my own home. It's oil pastels on acrylic. I've never used oil pastels until last night. I enjoyed it. I was covered in it by the time I was done. I enjoy it when the project is messy. I like using my hands. I like losing myself in the process.

I also made a scarf for each of my band members. It was difficult choosing which color and type of yarn for them. I think I picked the correct colors though. J's black and it was the easiest yarn to make a scarf with. Just like my friendship with him. So easy. And ironically, I have to go purchase another ball of it today because I didn't have enough of it to make an entire scarf. T's is orange and soft and beautiful. Z's is grey and wasn't easy to make, but it is a very forgiving yarn, so my mistakes aren't visible. Funny, huh? Like I said, I picked the perfect yarn for each. In the middle of each scarf I am leaving a small note to tell them how thankful I am for them and that I love them. I think it's a good gift. Made with love.

Until the next time I'm super pissed, I bid you farewell Mr. Blog.

"I can't live like this anymore, let's go to counseling."

Le sigh.
That's what my husband said to me last night.
YOU CAN'T LIVE LIKE THIS FOR MUCH LONGER?!?!? IT'S BEEN TWO WEEKS YOU SONOFABITCH.
I'm not ready for counseling. He isn't ready to hear all of the things I want to say to him.
I'm so tired of everyone assuming that I should feel better by now. I'm completely justified to my feelings. No one knows what it's like to be married to him and no one knows ALL of the shit. No one but me, and unfortunately, now you.
Sometimes I feel like maybe I don't want it to work out. Sometimes I feel like I've punished myself enough and I should just leave. Sometimes I secretly wish he'll self destruct and ruin it for me so I am not stuck doing the dirty work. I'm a selfish motherfucker, aren't I?
I'm leaving the state this weekend with a girlfriend. I'm just going a few hours away to a small concert. I know I'll pay for it when I get back. He'll feel terrible about me being away from him for that long. He'll wonder who I cheated on him with. He'll wonder how much I had to drink. He'll wonder and wonder and wonder.
I want to be a free bird for just a minute. I want and probably need to remember what it's like to have no one to share anything with. I need to remember what it's like to be lonely BY CHOICE. Maybe then I would appreciate my relationship. Or maybe I wouldn't.... What if it didn't work? What if it made me realize how much happier I was when I was alone? Was I happier? I can't remember anymore...
Everything is so damn unclear these days. Blurred. Gross. I'm a vile person to be around. I'm negative and cynical. Angry and puffy eyed.
I wish he would leave me alone for just a few minutes though. Even when I'm not around him, I still feel him. I also feel like the world's biggest asshole for saying that.
He's such a good guy, he really is. He loves me so fucking much, too. He tells me every day. This morning he asked me to pray for us and I told him I didn't want to. He told me to pray for us, again. So I started and he stopped me because he could tell I was only doing it because he was making me. He doesn't get it. I'm pissed at God. I can't pray right now. I'm mad at life, I'm mad at the tunnels and roads I have taken to get me in this place because when I was taking those turns and twists, I REALLY thought them out and prayed for guidance and here I am. Alone. Sad. Angry. Unable to move.
He wants me to be happy again.
So do I love, so do I.

Small pieces of warmth

As part of mine and my husband's journey to get back to where we started, we've been advised to try date night a couple of times a month.
Last night was our first date night. Sober date night.
We went to dinner and then the movie theatre.
He wore my favorite shirt on him and has grown his beard out a little because he knows I like it like that.
While at dinner I found myself looking at the giant aquarium in the restaurant, letting my eyes blur and my mind wander. I knew that if he asked what I was thinking about, I could easily tell him I was just looking at the fish. I sat there and stared at that damn thing for what seemed like hours, and I think, looking back to yesterday, really attempting to not have any feelings. It's not like I was TRYING to be distant, but something inside of me keeps telling me to keep those guards on duty, to keep my mote full, my bridge drawn.
At the movie he told me to put my arm in his. I did. Then he looked at me. He looked at me and I thought for maybe a second he was looking at me like he used to. Like I was the thing he was in love with again, just for a second. Although I very well could have been imagining it. When he looked at me like that though... I felt a small warmth, just for a second, towards him. Maybe there is still something left? I don't know yet, because I can't feel anything very often right now, but what if that small amount of heat I felt last night means there are still a few embers left to work with? I am still trying to decide if it was heat, or pity... sadly. I do feel pity for him right now. He's a mess. He misses me. He's lonely. He's confused and scared. But those feelings he has only make me more angry because no one felt pity for me for the last two years while I felt all of those things (no one meaning, my husband.) He was too drunk to notice. How do I let that go? I have no tools, no knowledge of this terrain.
I know the only way I will be able to get back to where we want to be in our marriage, I'm going to have to make an conscious decision to let him back in. It's a terrifying thought.... It's a scary, raw, open wound.... I'm not ready to let my guard down yet and that is so hard to explain to him.
Maybe I'm indulging in my own pathetic sorrow? Is that what I am doing?
I was driving down the road today and a vision of me ten years from now was allowed to cross into my consciousness. I let myself go into the thought, dreamily, and I saw.... I saw him.
A long, complicated, drawn out romance. A friendship that has been put through the wringer. A broken heart. Regrets. Secrets. Passion. Understanding. Longing.
That's all I have for today. So far.

I swear I'm not a lunatic.... I swear?

Maybe if I wrote to you, dear blog, more than every six months, my blogs wouldn't be such a dramatic roller coaster. So much happens in life.... and here I am.

My husband is an alcoholic and narcotic addict. He's in intensive outpatient treatment currently. He is only doing this because he knew I was about to leave him. He is taking his sobriety out on me. He blames me. He expects too much from me. I am an empty husk of a human.

 He's been sober now for just over a week. It came to head two weeks ago. I came home from work and told him, as straight forward as I could, that his abuse issues are ruining our marriage. He decided to look into treatment and here we are. A little over a week. One day at a time.

He doesn't understand why I'm not jumping for joy. He assumed if he went to treatment and cleaned up, he would get his old Nikki back. It's funny, really.... I would LOVE to have the old Nikki back. I miss her too, you selfish asshole. I can't, unfortunately, just flip a switch and be happy and light again. If I could, don't you think I would? It's not the case though.
I'm fucking pissed off.
I'm tired.
I don't trust.
I feel more alone than I've ever felt in my life.
I am disappointed in him.
I am disappointed in myself.
I want to run away.
I want to be in love.
I want my soul back.

This is truly the only place I can come and be completely honest (silly, I know, since it is a public forum, but hey, if you are bored enough to read my bullshit, then you're the one with the problems, not me.) I wish I could tell him exactly what I think of him. It's not just that he broke a thousand promises to me when he vowed to be my husband. I didn't JUST start dreaming of my life THAT DAY. I've been dreaming about my life and my future since the minute I could.

Now, almost 30 years later, I feel stripped of that indulgence. Stripped of who I thought I was. Stripped of my pride, my strength, my drive, my ego, my..... self. I bounce back and forth from feeling absolutely nothing, to feeling so many horrible things simultaneously. There's a constant conversation going on in my head during those times, and I can't get everyone to shut up long enough for me to pick through them and sort them out. It's like everyone is yelling at once, butting in line, inpatient for their turn to talk.

I can be mad all I want, because no one can take my anger away from me, but when I get right down to the quick, to the bare bone, I know I'm actually angry with me. I made this disgusting bed and now I'm lying in it. And lying in it, in the verbal sense of the word.

It's the only thing I can control these days, my words/actions/other life. I'm living another part of mine devoid of him. It's really the only thing keeping me grounded.... or keeping me in denial maybe. I want to feel. I must feel SOMETHING or I'll question my own existence. Isn't it better to feel than not to feel? Isn't that the exact definition of living? To feel? I decided, in hindsight, subconsciously, to continue living my life regardless of if he keeps up with it or not. I moved forward. I found pleasure in small things that I am clinging on to with an alligator's strength. No one can take these things away from me, no one. Without them I will fade away into a dust. A non-feeling, non-existing, liar. I will allow myself this indulgence because it's the only one I have left.

For the first time in I can't recall, I felt something.... I wish I could put it into words. Desired? True passion? Openness? I can't put my finger on it. A glimmer of a memory from my youth. It was palpable, a true presence.  I acknowledged it instantly and like a drug, craved more. Screamed for more! It was life giving, truly quenching.

It is my muse. A thing I can manipulate if I want to, but I choose not to for fear of causing pain, although I think if I am to be completely honest here in this place, the pain is now unavoidable. It's brought out the poet inside of me. I'm selfishly drinking it up, large gulps. I can write again. I am writing again. Songs are pouring out of me at the same speed in which I am drinking from my fountain of muse.

One day, many years from now, I hope to read this particular entry and laugh at how silly and young I once was. For today though, these words are what is written on my heart. Keep them safe, Blog.

It's Monday. It's cold. I'm getting old.

Hello Blog. Hopefully you haven't been too lonely without me.
To catch you up - I'm not pregnant yet. At least I don't think I am. My body is freaking out. Last week at the doctor's office my doc told me that I'm not ovulating. This week, I am now 10 days late for my period. After the doc told me that, I didn't want to take a pregnancy test because I don't want to tease myself, but this is getting ridiculous. I plan on buying one today. Depending on the outcome, I'll keep you posted (no pun intended.)

Things have been pretty decent on the home front. Ryan and I are dealing with life. His back surgery will be soon hopefully. He's pretty debilitated right now from pain. It's been a pretty rough time to be honest. Obviously for him, but also for me in a very different way. It's very hard to see someone you love hurting like that. We'll get though it, I know we will. And we will be stronger because of it when it's over. THIS is why people say marriage is hard. Well, one of the reasons. I realized the other day that all the crap I went though in my past relationships was nothing compared to this. THIS is real. THIS is hard. THIS is what puts callouses one your hands and bags under your eyes. I'm much stronger than I've ever given myself credit for, even thought I don't feel very strong right now. I made a promise to Ryan on our wedding day in my vows to "be strong for us, even when things seem too heavy." I'm testing that vow right now. Hello grey hairs.

My birthday is next Saturday. I'm having a small party to celebrate it. I'll be 29. The last year of my 20's. It's amazing how fast time has gone by. I still think back to my bartending days and it feels like it was just a few years ago.... it wasn't. I'm not too freaked out by the idea of being 29. 30, however, is pretty terrifying. Hopefully I'll handle that year with grace, but for now, I'm still in my 20's damnit.
I've also been taking art classes and have rekindled my love for creating with my hands.

 

It's a revitalizing activity. I once again, can only thank my husband for his never-faltering support and encouragement. He is the one that pushed me to do this and he sings my praises when I bring home a new piece. He acted like I just recreated The Lord's Supper with this last one. I really lucked out finding him. He's a gem.

 

I've also been playing in band! We had our first gig this weekend. It went decent... it could have been better. Needless to say, I have blisters on my blisters on my fingertips. Ouch! I deserve every second of pain though. I shouldn't have neglected my guitar playing like I have. This is what I get. My band members are incredible people with huge hearts and likeminded creativity. It's an honor and a blessing to play with them.

 

Once again, thank you for listening blog. You're always the best listener.

 

 

Hey, it's cool, have another.

Barf.
Sometimes I just can't stand this gross life thing. When you're a kid, everything is awesome, your worst part of your day, ironically now, is the nap your mother has to force you to take.
Then BOOM. Adult.
Death.
Death of friends.
Death of family.
The realization that you will soon have to watch your mom and dad get super old and die. That YOU will die. I will die.
When did I sign up for this bullshit? I don't recall ever being asked.
So, as you read in my last post, my husband and I decided to get off birth control and try to get pregnant. I was worried that I wouldn't be a good mother. I am worried I won't be a good mother.
I am at a cross roads.
My husband is an alcoholic.
Personally, I can deal with it. I HAVE been dealing with it for years now and, in my opinion, fairly well. I plan on dealing with it, sadly, for a long time.
Which brings me back to the statement about getting signed up for this crap? Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I didn't sign up for being married to an alcoholic. I knew damn well what I was getting into. What I'm saying is who am I to go signing someone else up for this?
Do I really give up my dream of having a family because my husband can't control himself? Is that where I've landed?
It's not fair. It just isn't. My heart is breaking. For me, for my mom and dad who want a grandbaby so badly, for my husband who I fear, will realize he decided a long time ago to be selfish when it's too late.... I wish someone could just tell me what to do. Tell me the future. Tell me that I wouldn't have been a good mom anyway and that this is the best route anyway.
No one's talking though. It's just me and my thoughts, biting my bottom lip so I don't cry.
And it's too bad that the only outlet I feel won't judge me is a fucking blog.
It's not that I don't have anyone to talk to about it, because I do. It's embarrassing, and that sucks to say. How could I be embarrassed of this man? He's the greatest man I've ever met besides my own father. He treats me with respect. He loves me so fiercely, so thoroughly. He lives for me. He provides for me. He makes me laugh. He makes me feel beautiful. He doesn't judge me. He builds me up. He is strong for me.
But he doesn't love me as much as he loves his booze. And that my friend, is a statement that cuts me to the very core. It's an insult. I'm jealous OF A BOTTLE. How the fuck did I get HERE?
Sigh.
Thanks for listening.