I like being with people. I like having fun. Real fun, not destructive reckless fun. And I don’t care if food is involved or not. I just like being with people and talking to them, and learning from them and sharing with them. I don’t even care what it is we are doing, as long as I get to do something. I rarely turn down an opportunity to do something if it’s offered and I’m able to do it (unless DH is involved, that’s another story). I’ll go see movies I have no interest in seeing as long as it’s with a friend I’d like to see. I’ll go for dinner to a restaurant where I don’t like the cuisine if it means I can socialize with someone new. I’ve created my own networking group under the guise of a business venture, but I think my real purpose for doing this was to find a new social network that I can draw on for meeting my need to connect with others.
I think that’s why I got so into Twitter and have been connecting and sharing with people who are practically strangers. It’s why I’m here writing, trying to connect with others. To share my life with someone.
And maybe it’s a way to distract myself from how disconnected DH and I are. But it’s so complicated I don’t want to deal with it. Or I haven’t wanted to deal with it. Over the last day or two, I’ve realized more and more how his issues with social anxiety and/or anxiety in general have impacted me and my eating issues over the past decade. It’s happened slowly, almost barely perceptible. But now, here I am with a husband who will barely leave the house, and when he is home, all he does is stay by himself. He comes by and gives me a smile and a kiss just enough for me to not be able to say that he ignores me. Every day it gets a little worse.
I’m sure he’s not totally to blame, I know I have faults here too and maybe I’m not being very fair by not sharing more with him. But I barely know how I’m feeling sometimes or why I’m feeling. And I always feel like he’s on his way to be somewhere else so he’s not really listening.
Our conversations were good when we were both drinking. We’d share more, talk more. But I don’t want to have to drink to enjoy his company. It’s been something I’ve been frustrated about for a long long time. And somewhere along the line, I just gave up. Once in a while I get upset enough, but ultimately, I just give up.
Unless I’m ready to make a drastic decision or ultimatum, nothing will change. I think I’m scared that that is what is ahead. I’m scared that he won’t want to make it work. That if I offer the choice of counselling or for him to go live his solitary life by himself so that I can be free to live, that he will choose to leave us. Where does that leave me? I really truley believe in till death do us part. But I’m not happy. And I have an extra 60 pounds or so to show for it. Not that it is all related, but the more I think about it, the more I can’t help but think that maybe this is the root issue.
I am a social person. I want to be with others and have a good time. I’m not free to go and do that when I’m living with someone who I can’t share that with. Sure, I can go out whenever I want (usually), but it means I have to ASK DH to take care of his own daughter. And lately his anxiety over watching her makes me seem like the bad guy because how can I ask him to do that when I should know how anxious he gets watching her now. And if I do go out, and don’t come back with at least a very large bottle of wine, he gets upset. It’s his ‘reward’ …. for ‘babysiting’ his daughter.
As much as I try to seperate how he makes me feel from going out and having a good time, it’s never that simple, and things seem to be getting worse.
I love him, I do. I meant till-death-do-us-part. But how much unhappiness do I put up with? For the sake of not hurting my family? For the most part, we live a fine life and don’t usually argue. But as I work more on my issues, the less I’m able to take his lack of ability to work on his. Just taking a pill won’t make the problems go away. But I know I can’t push him into therapy.
I’m tired. I look around the house, and see all the things that need to get done, and don’t want to do any of it. Don’t want to take care of myself. What is the point? for who? We rarely have company anymore, because it’s all on me if we do, I have to get groceries, plan the meal/food, prep it, clean the house, invite them, entertain them. For what? If we ever get invited back somewhere, it’s unlikely he’ll want to go, or he’ll find an excuse to get out of it.
And the same is probably true of me, my weight and my health. Who cares? We don’t go out, he apparently finds me attractive regardless, doesn’t seem to care if I’m healthy or not. Isn’t supporting me to help me lose weight because if I want to go to the gym, it means he has to watch her.
But it’s different now. Now I have a daughter and I need to care about it for her. I need to be healthy for her. I need to be able to carry her, run around with her, play with her, enjoy her.
This will get harder before it gets easier, won’t it?