#del personal

“My girlfriend and I have so much stuff to pack.” You go out every weekend and buy Lego sets, books, dice blind boxes, clothes, and random shit from thrift stores. This doesn’t even touch on the things you hoarded before this. This is a YOU problem.

“I’m having trouble affording my part of the bills.” See above. Also you make almost two times what I do.

“There’s so many home repairs I have to make.” Well those repairs are accumulated from years of you saying you were going to fix those things and then never doing them. Also, I’ve been offering to help/do it this entire time.

“Yeah but now I have to do my own grocery shopping and cook my own meals so I don’t have the time.” Oh, okay. So all those years of me doing all the grocery shopping, cooking, laundry, kitchen cleaning, dog walking, and half the yard work to free you up to do those repairs you never did, that didn’t count I guess. Your only other responsibility in the house was cleaning the bathroom, which you do maybe four times a year.

“My girlfriend isn’t helping as much as I think she should.” That’s a you problem. Also I’ve been scrubbing this house from top to bottom in preparation for the move. Your girlfriend does more around the house than you do. Literally all you’ve done is rent out a storage space and start filling it, and that was after weeks of nagging.

I’m so sick of this shit. I’m so sick of doing everything to keep this goddamn house running when he doesn’t contribute anything but his paycheck. I make 2/3 what he does and I’m paying roughly the same he is. At the end of the month, he has money left over for fun. I don’t.

I’m still cooking his meals. For a decade now I’ve begged him to help me out in the kitchen. He always says he will, makes a half-hearted attempt, and then “forgets” until the next time my frustration boils over. I make the same dishes he likes, over and over, most of which I cannot eat, and then when I try something new for myself he critiques it.

Apparently my gumbo was “meh,” and “had too many veggies,” and “you know I don’t really like seafood.” Great.

Like dude go eat the boring burritos made with just chicken, salsa, and spices I threw into the crock pot. Which I have to fucking assemble for you because you can’t wrap a goddamn burrito yourself.

He said he’d get on the ladder and stain the parts of the deck I couldn’t reach. That was over a month ago. Not done. He said he’d clean the gutters. Not done. He’d learn to cook. Nope. He’d help out in the kitchen. I guess he empties the trash once a week or so. Usually after I ask him. And if I don’t notice, he points it out so I can acknowledge his effort. But he’s got no energy because he’s depressed. Like… dude, you think I’m doing great? You think I’m not hopping from hobby to hobby to squeeze every last drop of serotonin I can so I can keep going? You think I’m not feeling like a fucking failure? You think I don’t resent the fact that I can never experience sex and romance the way “normal” people do? Be for real.

The other day he said I initiated the divorce, and ohhhhh no I didn’t let him get away with that. HE initiated and I went along with it (which sums up the entirety of our relationship: I go along with what he wants because it’s easier). I dragged my ass up to Maine to stay in a hotel room all week and pack his lunches and cook his dinners so he could take a bladesmithing class without having to fend for himself food-wise or miss our dog. And he had the gall to say he thought I’d put in more of an effort to rekindle things (i.e. sex). Meanwhile literally the day before he said a guy cooking a meal is the most romantic thing he can do for his girl. And yet, I cook for him all the time with no reciprocation, and that’s just the status quo.

I made his meals, gave him back rubs, did his laundry, and waited on him hand and foot so he could feel as cherished as my aroace ass could manage. I loved him in my own way. And yeah, I put out a couple times a week. But it wasn’t enough. So when’s it my turn? When do I get to feel taken care of? Cherished? He didn’t so much as make me a goddamn sandwich for the first time until like 7 years into our relationship, when I had septum surgery. And he still managed to leave the paper between the slices of cheese.

And now I have to handle the paperwork for his divorce attorney for him. I’m trying to drop the rope and he won’t fucking let me.

I can’t believe I put up with this for so long. I’m so incredibly angry at myself for convincing myself I was happy for all these years.

Having a bad night.

My ex is finally getting the ball rolling on the divorce. I imagine I’ll be served a court summons in the next few weeks. In the meantime, he’s dating a new girl, and I’m jealous. Not of her. I was checked out of this marriage emotionally long before we admitted it. But hearing him talk about the way he bends over backwards for her, when he never did for me… it hurts. So he’ll read a book she recommends, but when I recommended that exact same series years ago he couldn’t be less interested. He’ll watch shoujo anime with her, but I couldn’t even get him to watch My Hero Academia when I knew he’d like it. He refused to watch until one of his work buddies recommended it. He’s talking about learning to cook so she doesn’t have to concern herself with cooking him meals that she can’t eat due to dietary restrictions. And here I am - still cooking his FUCKING meals that I can’t eat due to dietary restrictions.

I wasted a decade of my life on this man. A decade of not seeing friends because if I wasn’t around to make every last meal, he wouldn’t fucking get up and feed himself. A decade of only watching what he wanted to watch, doing what he wanted to do, going where he wanted to go. Making myself small so I could fit into the corner of his life he’d set aside for me. 90% of my presence in our shared house is confined to a single bedroom, a side table next to the couch, and a corner of the basement. The other two bedrooms, the living room, the garage, and the rest of the basement are his. We’ve been over for more than six months and I’m still keeping myself shrunk down. I’m trying to grow and I’m STUCK.

I took care of him to the best of my ability even when I was bedridden with debilitating headaches. Even when my back was messed up badly enough that standing for more than 10 minutes was agony. Even when my anxiety was so bad I was locking myself in the bedroom every morning to have a panic cry. And none of that was enough. Because it all comes down to one thing: sex. I tried so hard to want sex the way he does, the way allosexual people do. Even when I wasn’t in the mood, I still tried to take care of him a couple times a week. I want to want it. I HATE that I don’t get to properly experience it. And still, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.

I’m still glad I’m single. Now I’m free to do all the little things I used to do to, for lack of a better term, romance myself. I can buy myself little treats and take myself out on dates and pamper myself with the occasional at home spa day - all things my ex said he wasn’t comfortable with me doing for myself because he should be doing them for me (and then never fucking would).

But… right now I don’t want to do them for myself. I’m so tired. I poured so much of myself into trying to make this marriage work, and it was never reciprocated. I’m pretty sure I’ve asked this in another self-putting divorce vent post, but when’s it my turn? I spent eleven years taking care of someone else. When is someone going to take care of me?