I’ve been under a lot of stress, and there is more looming on the future.
In the past two months, I have gotten engaged, sold my house, move in with my future husband, work has dramatically increased my workload, and I took a “vacation” that included a grand total of 30 hours driving and very little downtime. This in addition to having a falling out with my mother and my brother getting married.
My brother getting married is a mess all around. From his not seeming to want to or being excited about it at all; my father said he sounded less excited about getting married than he did when he got a new truck. Along with the jerk around of 2 months notice to get plans together to be there to support him (Vegas, on a holiday weekend) to being told a month later it was canceled, to being told two weeks after the event originally was going to happen that the cancelation wasn’t a cancelation but being uninvited as they went ahead and did it anyway.
Never mind that I question my relationship. My accepting the proposal was contingent on his working on some very big issues we had. In the first two weeks, there was progress. But then it all he had increased family and work stress, in addition to my moving in that added to his stress… Oh and he is trying to plan and renovate our home… Things got worse.
Between my being away, then his being away, we were apart for roughly ten days. The evening he got back he needed to decompress – very understandable. The next night he had made plans – to spend with someone else. It hurt, that we had been apart and in the first 48 hours we spent maybe an hour together. It was nice that he invited me out the next evening because after the event he enjoys (and knows I do not) was something he knows I do enjoy. Only the first event ran long, so the second was canceled. Following that he took several hours that I wanted to do other things to get my opinion, and thus have minor disagreements related to the reno.
Part of things getting worse is that communication has devolved. We can’t talk about anything deep or emotional without things getting ugly. I don’t feel understood, or loved. I don’t feel that my needs are met. And bringing up my needs just ends the same – with loud and hurt words where things get shut down and can’t continue. My feelings, values, and needs don’t seem to matter.
To be fair, I’ve been binge watching Handmaiden’s Tale. The subject matter is not surprising since I read the book last year. But it is very triggery for many reasons. Especially the second season, which diverges from and expands upon the source material. My consumption of media always colors my view and experiences.
So I have to wonder. How much is stress, is normal adjustments considering the situation I have made for myself, or if I’m just depressed. I’m tired of crying or being on the verge of for what seems like months. I’m tired of feeling unappreciated, undervalued, and just a shell of a person. I feel like I can only give or do what is expected and the rest of me needs to be buried as it isn’t wanted.
I question if I am so miserable, why do I stay? Why did I sell my house, that I owned? The answer to the latter was that, while I was not ready to do so it was needed to meet other goals and to meet the deadline he requested/expects. The former? Because there are many positives. Because it is better than being alone or being single. Because we do work together in many ways that benefit us both, that we both enjoy.
A part of me realizes how life finds a way. I’ve been unhappy and found happiness a few times before. That I’m not that unique or special and have found similar good matches numerous times, it isn’t that hard although it may take time.
Things circle in my head. Should I talk to someone? Should I ask the doctor to increase my antidepressant dosage? I can’t talk to my friends because they just tell me to get out. But I have a sense of pride, of duty, of guilt that there are needs being met and that some of the goals are things I want and it is easier to achieve them together with this partner.
I know my partner doesn’t like things being “out there.” He is exceedingly private, even from his family. But this is a tiny spot that I don’t think anyone but spambot visit. It isn’t hidden with passwords or via directory, so it could get out. But he knows I write about him, vaguely, elsewhere; he knows I have friends that read it which makes him uncomfortable. So this isn’t a one-off. I try to be conscious of what I put into the universe, into the public sphere. But this, this has grown beyond what I can carry internally. Yet I don’t want to hear it from friends. I don’t want them asking, “but are you happy?” “Why don’t you break up?”
I choose this. For many reasons. And I hate myself for that because of many other reasons.