This is probably how people discover their repressed sexualities.
On my way to work today I got to thinking about what I would really love right now. Our baby just made a year and I’m as unattached to them as I am to their father. I would have no qualms with not having custody.
So what I would really love is a secluded cliff glass house overlooking water, where I would get to live by myself, and have the kids visit every weekend. I would have a fully stocked bar and a succession of paid athletic lovers (male and female) whenever I’m in the mood for it.
This is the place I escape to whenever the bullshit that is marriage, motherhood and wifehood threatens to bury me in its mundanity and drudgery.
It has taken a third posting on Craig’s List for me to acknowledge that I need to deal with issues before they get out of hand. I keep posting ads for casual encounters and never follow through because surprise, surprise, I feel guilty about attempting to cheat even though I haven’t had sex with my husband in months.
So I’m almost halfway through with my first pregnancy and this complicates matters a bit. I worry about the safety of the child even though I know I would take maximum precaution to ensure both our safety.
Yes, I have tried communicating, it hasn’t worked. My husband seems to be suffering a type of erectile dysfunction owing to the fact that he’s depressed about not having a job in almost a decade. Unfortunately, life has to go on.
We do have sex occasionally when I badger him relentlessly, which is how I got pregnant but his heart is not into it and the pity fuck leaves me feeling even worse than I was before we had sex. Masturbation just doesn’t do it for me anymore.
Our first anniversary came and went with no incident. So did Valentine’s day. I understand that he has no income to treat me but I also know that writing a note doesn’t cost money. He just isn’t into anything anymore and has sunk into a severe kind of depression that even I can’t help him out of. He won’t see a professional about it.
And so it is that a year and three months into our ill advised marriage, it is on its deathbed. I know that the child will not fix it, I am mainly having her for my own selfish reasons that led me into the marriage in the first place, which were that I didn’t want to enter my 30s single and childless. Now I am attached, turning 30 in three months and about to have a child but also the most miserable wife on earth who keeps refining her CL casual as until she can pluck the courage to step out of the marriage for the sexual fulfillment that is sorely missing at home.
As expected, it’s barely three weeks into the marriage and I’m already looking for an escape route.
There was no honeymoon to break the routine, because we couldn’t afford it, but knowledge of this hasn’t stopped me from resenting my husband.
I desperately needed a break, a change of scenery, being in this tiny, hot apartment is driving me crazy. So, yes, marriage is nothing to write home about. So far it looks like it’s just more housework and more responsibilities.
I wish I could find my zest for life again.
I barely recognise myself anymore. My dress sense, hobbies, friends and pastimes have drastically changed from what they were before I got into this relationship. I’m always planning to take time off to be by myself and never going through with it.
I saw an old picture of myself and was startled. It was like looking at a total stranger. I no longer have the accessories I had in the picture, or the smile or take pictures anymore, to begin with. I wonder how I’m going to reconnect with myself.
I feel numb and my days pass mundanely, like I’m a piece of lint floating about aimlessly. My dreams have been put on hold. My hobbies lie forgotten and neglected. My friends are no longer in touch because they got tired of trying to get together and failing. And to think that I did all this to myself.
I’m going back home next week to think and just sit with my parents and siblings and enjoy a meal without any anxiety.
Just got measured for my gown. Love the fabric.
Fiancé too drunk to get it up.
I miss an old flame.
He just arrived in a country thousands of miles away.
I turned down a chance to spend the weekend with him to quench my unmet needs.
I guess even monsters have consciences.
Lately I’m so sad and angry, I fear I may burst into tears at the wedding or the days leading to it. Because it’s already not going the way I would want it because it’s being arranged by the groom’s family, I’m letting them do whatever they like.
I really don’t care about any of it, as long as I get through the day in one piece. I got to think about it and almost wept anticipating how cruel and inconsiderate my fiancé can be. I was picturing my gown (which is almost the only thing I have any say over) and could already imagine him disparaging me for choosing a gown that requires a train bearer if it got in the way.
I can’t remember the last time he touched me. I fear that I may cheat in a senseless silly meaningless moment. I don’t think I would regret it. I crave a man’s attention more than I crave cigarettes even though it’s only been three days without cigarettes. Go figure.
Nevertheless, the planning goes on, less than four months to go now. I’m calm on the outside but would bolt given half a chance. I just want to get through with it. I figure things can’t possibly get any worse than they already are.
As if being terrified of the marriage itself is not enough, I now have to deal with friends who suddenly aren’t as supportive as I had expected. Female drama.
I asked an old friend to be bridesmaid and she said no straight up. She probably took the growing apart that’s been happening personally. My peace offering was thrown back in my face.
In retrospect, I’m glad we don’t have to be awkward with each other all day on a day that’s supposed to be the happiest day of my life and truth be told, I was hesitant to include her from the get go because I know how competitive she is but still, I didn’t count on her being this petty.
What I have learnt from the numerous weddings I’ve attended though is that the show goes on. Whether your father boycotts or your grandma, the vows still get said and two people get married. It’s a relief. When she’s ready, she’ll tell me what that was all about. If she doesn’t, I’m not going to get into that. Life is hard enough as it is.