Friday, 4 November 2011

Queen of Passive Aggression

We just came back from our third relationship counselling session. I feel rather dull. I had thought it went all right - not quite what we had anticipated but better than the week before when I basically just vented about my fear of being cuckolded (although in retrospect getting out all that bile was actually a quite useful - and I don't know if I would have been able to say it outside a session).

We spent the whole time reading through and discussing some rules for having civilised arguments. For example, not being histrionic, not using words like never and always, not being accusatory but saying how things made us feel rather than telling the other person what they were doing, taking time out before losing one's temper. Nothing controversial. All good. 

Afterward for the second week Virgil expressed dissatisfaction with what had gone on, questioned its value and accused me of dominating the session (less than last week but still...). I felt miserable and still ill. I had had hopes of feeling more together but there's a gulf between us. The conversation seemed to descend rather swiftly into something only slightly civilised, with us both remembering to say I feel rather than You do but not much more. By the time the bus reached our neighborhood I wanted only to skulk off along a dark backstreet on my own. My better self nowhere to be seen. We walked together. 

Waiting next to him to cross the street, I thought briefly about walking in front of a bus, just glancing around to say goodbye and stepping out into Friday night traffic. Then I think, Blimey, that's about the most passive-agressive act imaginable, so I expand the scenario and imagine throwing myself off a cliff backwards. I see his face as he sees me fall and registers that I am beyond his grasp. His shout: Noooo! Me changing my mind but it being too late. Falling into a void.

There, I've made myself smile with my fucking awful rot. But I honestly did think it.

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