Tuesday, 11 October 2011

The Pits

I give up on writing well but I still want to write. When the boundaries of your life turn fluid (and not in a good way), a diary will always inject a little solidity into the proceedings. The feeling of agency, even if it's just an illusion.

If a self-pitying wailing meltdown is not to your taste, look away now. If you want to see someone at the end of their tether and acting like a baby, read on. I'm not proud.

Fuck me, I am just sick of being bad at everything I do. That's the bottom line. I just want to be good at something for a change. I am full of dread, of fear, of doubt. Indecision and lack of confidence keep me drifting. I don't know what to do. I really don't know what to do. I feel like a big sad failure. My job, my relationship, my home, my life. All wrong. All doomed. Can someone just supply me with another one? I feel that anything would be better than this limbo. Life begins at 40. Does it? Well, I'm 40 and it all feels like it's coming to an end. I'm even losing my mental capacity. I'm absolutely positive that I can't think straight anymore. I can't learn things, remember things. Find me something easy to do, unchallenging. Maybe there'll be something on the other side but everything's got to go to shit first.

Miraculously I am still at home, mending, healing and making a constitution for a new relationship to move forward with. Talking and cuddling, not eating much yet, or sleeping. Virgil slept so badly last night he woke me at 5am. Then my worries took over and I couldn't sleep. Now he's asleep and I'm on the sofa, beside myself again. I'm worried. How can I rise to the challenge of my relationship when I'm such a fucking failure right now? Where are the reserves of composure, patience, security, faith in myself? How can I have an open relationship when I don't even want to leave the house to go on a date with anyone? I don't feel sexy, just tearful and like a sad freak.

In order to not get jealous, you have to know that there is not a finite supply of love and affection. There does seem to be a finite supply of sex, however. The fact is that Virgil wants to prioritise sex with other people over sex with me (he doesn't seem to want sex that often - so if he has sex with someone else, say, every week will he ever feel like having sex with me?). He will go to Waitrose and shop for sophisticated food to seduce other women with but he offers me takeaways, doesn't shop and doesn't let me initiate sex. These are things that we are talking about. We both know that we have to solve these tensions... but it's always me being jealous or insecure or wanting of more sex or shouting, raging, being hurtful and accusing him of not being into sex...

Part of me wants to just slink away right now, with my tail between my legs, and never be seen again by anyone. My mum would put me up for a while while I put myself back together and then I could go and live far away.

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