Friday, August 18, 2006

Scars only show when someone talks to you.

If these thoughts are random, forgive me. I've pretty much been sleeping for 30hours straight, only getting up to refill my cranberry juice glass and answer the multitudes of text messages I've recieved. I was off work yesterday and off again today and believe me, these days couldn't come soon enough. Let me explain WHY I needed this mini-vacation sleep-a-thon so badly.

First off, I'm currently up to my eyeballs in debt. Jen hasn't had a job steady enough to start paying me rent and Tommy hasn't totally moved in yet so I can't expect him to shell out cash when he doesn't QUITE live here. So the hole Phoebe left financially hasn't been filled yet and I didn't squirrle away any nuts for winter. I'll be honest. I'm behind in the bills which makes me feel like a failure. And asking my best friend for a loan makes me feel like a toad. She said yes because all people need a little help sometimes but my tail is placed prominantly between my legs at the current time.

Secondly, there's the big fight with my fella that took place in front of LOTS of our employees Wednesday night. He thinks he heard someone say somethign that wasn't true about me and a friend of his and would NOT believe my side of the story. I was BEGGING him to listen and he had no interest. He was cold and cruel and I was heartbroken. His guys took me over to his house because they were on MY SIDE. They wanted things straightened out. He let me in the house but didn't really let me talk. For the record, what he accussed me off, I didn't do. Simple as that. I did, however, throw his cell phone out the door which made him explode like a volcano (it was HIS idea for me to do it). But I found the pieces and put it back together and it works. But then...

...I stopped working. I had a horrible Athsma attack that was brought on by panic. After coming to the conclusion that I wasn't going to breathe on my own, I emerged from the bathroom to find that he had locked up the house and gone to bed. Phoebe was my savior. She came and rescued me, took me to the hospital where I got an IV and an aerosol treatment (they wanted to give me 2...NO WAY!) and then I busted free. I found my car keys in Bill's door waiting for me. I came home, got in to bed, and have been here ever since. But that is not where things between me and my marshmallow would end.

Third, he called at 6:22a yesterday, mere hours after I had been released from the emergency room. It must have hit him that he crossed the line this time. Embarrassed me...and himself...in front of co-workers. Yelled at me. Said horrible things to me. Treated me like I was a worthless nobody. I felt like I was reliving my college relationship. Groveling and begging and showing no signs of dignity or pride. Rumors has it his guys got on him at work for how he treated me. He should have been there with me, eventhough I didn't want him near me because I was in pain emotionaly and physically and held him responsible. But he was at home, sleeping like his life was just perfect.

He said that he called to see if I was alright. I said I wasn't and he said he wasn't either. For once, I just let him feel bad. I didn't worry about hanging up the phone without things resolved because my heart hurts. And it seems to be hurting a lot lately. The only thing he said that made me flinch a little was that he doesn't want to lose me. He said that he was an idiot and recognized how badly I was treated and for absolutly no reason. And I'm glad he knows that...but how many times can I have to patch things up? All I wanted was to go out with him and have fun. And when that went south, all I wanted was 2 minutes to explain how I feel about him an dthe lengths that I will (and do) go. He couldn't give me that either.

Today is 5 months of...whatever this is that we're doing. Anyone close to me knows that it's actually been going on much longer but 5 months is the marker from when we slapped the lable of "dating" on it. So it's 5 months today and I have no idea where we stand. He told me to take time to think, which I've been doing in between sleeping and watching episodes of American Dreams. I know what I want...I want him. I'd give up having kids, getting married again...for him. I know that. THAt is what I want. But is that the best thing to do? Probably not. But he is who I gave my heart to and I just wish he'd treat it a little better.

Sorry for rambling. I'm just in a sad and lonley place and need to vent.

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