Too scared to read this over…

I’m feeling a bit defeated by my life in general at the moment.  Everything feels out of control; or should I say out of ‘my’ control.  I am getting very little pleasure from my life just now, everything feels a bit of a struggle; health, job, relationship, home, family, friends etc.  All of it is in a bit of a mess and I don’t know how to fix any of it and I’m all out of options.  I’m not as physically active or as healthy as I’d like to be, whether its the lipoedema or fibromyalgia slowing me down; I don’t know.  All I know is I am totally alone with all my shit, I have no friends, my family are spread out or estranged  and my husband is so wrapped up in his own neurosis I can’t get any help from him.  I feel totally conflicted in every aspect of my life.  I hate my job but can’t think of what else I’d like to do; I want to be everything and nothing.  The house is getting me down, it needs stuff doing to it, not necessarily the big stuff just the little everyday tidying and cleaning but I just can’t be bothered.  I’ve been doing it for years, cleaning, hoovering etc. but its like a relentless bogeyman; keeps coming back, it never fucking ends.  I can’t even write today as my mind is full of stuff.  I’m unhappy, unfulfilled, unloved, undeserving, under-appreciated, unworthy.  I’m sick of pretending, sick of saying the right thing, sick of being understanding, sick of putting others before me, sick of people taking the piss, sick of fucking everything and everyone…

I am 52 years old and I don’t know if I have ever really been in love, or have ever felt truly loved.  I’ve been infatuated, besotted, been in love with the idea of being in love but I don’t think I’ve ever been in love.  I tell my husband I love him but I don’t know anymore if that is true.  I don’t know if it ever has been.  We’ve been together for 15 years; we started out as friends and it sort of developed.  I am jealous when I hear others talk about their husbands being ‘the love of their life’, I think I always wanted that but somehow it doesn’t seem to have materialised.   My husband tells me he loves me, he tells me I’m his best (and only) friend, the only person in the world who understands him; but is he all that for me.  There is no doubt he is my best friend, but only because there is no competition, since moving to Birmingham 20 years ago I’ve never really found a group of friends.  I only see one other person and that is usually 2-3 times a year.  Does he understand me; sometimes yes. Does he understand what I want; maybe.  Does he understand what I need; no, fuck NO!!!  I want to feel special, I want to feel loved, I want his undivided attention, I want him to know why I’m upset, I want him to be the strong one every now and then.  I want him to take care of ME! I want him to take an interest in my life, my desires, my needs.  I want him to do things  for me, things he finds difficult, because he knows how much pleasure they will give me.  I want him to look at me, properly and see the woman beneath the fat, beneath the hard, shouty exterior, beneath the aches and pains, beneath the pretence and  realise I am just a scared. little girl.  Scared to love him anymore while he still holds me at arms length because I’m scared of getting hurt, scared of giving anymore until I get something in return.  Something that takes him out of his comfort zone, something that proves to me he is scared to but he is willing to push through the fear because together we can be strong.  Fuck sake, I’m starting to sound like a romantic novel….

Basically, I want him to love me how I want to be loved…without compromise, without fear, without shame, without his fucking anxieties getting the better of him.  I want him to realise that sometimes he has to put the effort in, sometimes even though he doesn’t feel good, happy, or in the mood… he just has to fucking do it.  Do you realise in 15 years of being together he has never booked a table to take me for a meal, dressed up for the hell of it, surprised me with a weekend away, bought me a ridiculously expensive or infantile gift, surprised me at work by turning up to take me to lunch, brought me breakfast in bed, offered me a foot rub or back massage for the sheer hell of it.  I could go on but in all honesty I don’t think it would make any difference.  I have said all this to him in the past and it doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference.  Occasionally I shout, scream, cry, go quiet and eventually let it go, move on and start another day until I feel worn down by my neglect again.  I know I am not the most beautiful woman in the world, nor am I the most loving and I don’t think I automatically deserve these things just for being, but every day I try really hard, to be patient and understanding of his anxieties, his OCD, his agoraphobia; I take care of him by making sure he eats well, has clean clothes and a comfortable house.  I do not make excessive monetary or DIY demands; I just want a little bit of attention.  I want to know that he loves me and is willing to show it without having to ‘take a bullet for me’.

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