I smoke cigarettes & I don’t eat & I lament.

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I smoke cigarettes and I don’t eat and I lament.  I started smoking again because in a strange way it is something I can control, a decision I made, in a life that feels out of control.  It is the last night before my mother comes into town and my fiancé is not home, is late, from work.  For every sound of a car, the dog goes to the gate, expecting it to be him.

It is too hot to sit outside, but I sit outside anyway because I can smoke.

Today I told Fiancé I hated him-very politely-because he “likes” someone else.  (See previous post: “I lost a piece of him”).

He is the only person I know to take that in stride.

Today I thought about breaking up with him,

Today he got scared.  That I would leave him.

We talk and we talk and we talk and we come to no conclusions.  Neither side wants to give up anything, so we are at an impasse.

Therefore, I shove my feelings deep down inside and hope they will go away.

This creates a river of distance between us, with everything in between poisoned.

I read Lena Dunham’s book “Not That Kind of Girl” and feel that we have similar writing voice.  Or, maybe, I just hope we do.  I can relate to it because I have fucked a lot of guys I wish I hadn’t and because I have dated a lot of jerks.  This seems to be what the book is about so far, that, and being raped.  Which I don’t feel I can relate to, but I know that every other girl I know can.  Maybe I have just been too slutty in the past, I think.  I do like sex and lots of it, and also (In the past) with lots of people.  Now, however, I do not think I can even date someone else besides fiancé, even if he can.  I message the OKC guy I am talking to (the main one) and tell him “I am not built for poly, but would love to be friends.”  And that I am shutting down my profile for this reason, but give him my phone number in case he wants to contact me.  He doesn’t.  So far.  This is too bad, I think.  He was a nice guy.

Fiancé keeps bringing up Bladerunner (the original, as the sequel isn’t out until October), and the scene where Rachel makes a comment about someone (maybe Decker) having a picture of another woman hanging on the wall, “That’s not right,” she says, “She should be enough for him.”  Fiancé comments about how “dated” this ideology is and I partially agree with this.  I mean, I don’’t want to be someone’s whole world in which they have no one or nothing else, but I also think my love should be enough for him.  Poly theory has never spoken to me in the way it has to him, the idea that love is infinite and you shouldn’t just have to love one person romantically.  I disagree in the sense that something is lost, a specialness, when you romantically love more than one person.  Not that fiancé loves the other girl, but you get my point. 

I go to the psychiatrist and she seem to rely on my own self-knowledge, so I prescribe to up my Wellbutrin to 450 mg, which I think is the max dose. And to see her again in a month.  We were supposed to be lowering the meds today, as planned previously, in preparation for me to try to get pregnant.  But I do not have a job, or money, therefore, no trying to get pregnant yet.  The idea of having a child feels so far away from me, now.

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Misadventures with the Soon-to-be Mother-in-Law

I chose overdosing on my mother vs. overdosing on my soon-to-be mother in law.
It is like choosing to ingest rat poison over drinking Drano.

“We have to go over every detail of the wedding today,” my mother says.
“Really?” I say. “Really, every detail?”
Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE wedding planning. I fucking love it. The planning, the organizing, the lists-all are right up my OSD (ish) ally.
However, I avoid “going over every detail” of the wedding with my mother like the plague.

LIKE THE PLAGUE.

Instead, I watch five movies in one day and constantly check my cell for texts/OKCupid for messages. However, no one is texting, not even my fiance, because it is Fourth of July and they all have lives.

I am still depressed.
Obviously.

My fiance took his kids to his parent’s, who live in a Lake house in No-where, TN.
We just got back from their place the week before last.
I chose overdosing on my mother vs. overdosing on my soon-to-be mother in law.
It is like choosing to ingest rat poison over drinking Drano.
[That reminds me of the movie “Heathers” right now and I put that on my list to continue the binge- watching. Corn nuts. Yeah!]

Last time I was at the soon-to-be parents-in-law’s house, his mother criticized everything. EVERYTHING.

My fiance wants it to be like a vacation when we go there, but it is more like a psych ward.  (And I should know, I have been in the psych ward three times, but that’s another story. Or several stories).

So, one night we decide to cook dinner for everyone, just me and him. Except mom-in-law can’t leave the kitchen because then she wouldn’t be able to control everything.
Anyway, my fiance wants me to cut the green peppers in long strips, so I do.

(And, yes, this is minor thing, but sometimes, its the minor things that just push you over the edge.)

So, his mother does not say, “thank you for cooking,” instead she says (knowing I cut the veggies), “these bell peppers are cut too large.”
That is the first thing she says about the meal.

WHO THE FUCK CARES, LADY?

Just break them into smaller pieces on your plate and say “thank you.”   That is what normal people do. My mother said, later, you should just say back something like “Oh, soon-to-be mother in law, you are right, I like how you cut yours better.”

WTF.

If I wanted to be a fake bitch, then maybe.

Later, I tell fiance that she is this way and he’s basically like “I know.” But very supportive and sweet. Because that is how he is. Almost perfect. And at least there’s that.