Monday, Mar. 07, 2016 @ 1:41 pm
My weight. My heart.
I get up in the morning, streaks of salt crystallized on my face. I look in the mirror and see a ghost. I step on the scale. 118.8.
I did it, last night. I did it. And it was a mistake. I should have waited until after my appointment with Carly on Tuesday. But I was frustrated and lost control of myself and told him the truth: I don't like it when you touch me.
It was awful. It was like shooting him in the side with an arrow. A bullet tearing through his body. And in response my heart constricted like a straitjacket, and I began to hyperventilate.
I asked him about our 10 year anniversary. About how it came and went unceremoniously. He said that he had plans, but we fought the week before so he cancelled them.
I asked why he hadn't proposed yet. He said that he has been waiting for me to open up to him. That he's done everything he can in this relationship but that I am not fully there. He said that every time we fight it takes him months to recover. That he never got to the point of being ready to ask.
I asked him how long he was planning on letting things carry on like this.
He had no answer.
And then he said, Well, I just saved us a step. Divorce.
I start to talk in one long run on sentence:
You wanted me to open up, to bring everything to the table, so I did. I just told you what was wrong. That I made an appointment with Carly to talk about it, and that it's scary for me to have this happening to me, and that I knew by telling you that it would hurt you but I couldn't keep living like this. I can't keep living in this relationship like this, without us actively trying to fix it. We aren't actively trying, so I don't understand what we are doing. And now you're angry at what I said, which make me not want to open up to you more, so now we're really stuck.
There is silence for many minutes.
What are you thinking? I ask him across the pitch black living room.
How the fuck I'm supposed to afford to live in this city alone.