Marriage.

I think I am ruining my marriage.

I don’t know how to be a wife. Hell, scrap that. I don’t know how to be a decent human in a relationship.

I think I have pushed things to the limits and I don’t know how to bring anything together. And it makes it worse because there is a severe lack of communication, or even the will to communicate. Because I always ruin everything. And I don’t know how I am ruining it because I am not told what I am doing wrong.

I know I am doing things wrong, though.

I just don’t know how to fix it.

Last year I thought marriage is hard. This year I wish I was in my shoes from last year.

 

Sisters

Everybody says your sister is supposed to be your best friend. I think that is a load of tosh.

I love my sister. Of course. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. I just want the best for her and I want her to do well and be successful.

But we don’t get along very well, my sister and I.

I know she looks up to me. I am not being arrogant here. What I say to her really matters, she listens to my advice and tries to follow it. I see her following in my footsteps and she would never admit it in a million years but I know it.

She turns to me when she needs help, and nowadays, what with being married and living far away and having a tonne of new responsibilities and a job, I cannot always be there for her, I know she feels the bite of that.

Being a sister is being in a complicated relationship. Many sisters have it easy, they get along and find it so easy to express emotions to each other. My sister and I don’t. We never tell each other we love each other. But we show it in the way we begrudgingly make each other a cup of tea. Or in the way my sister tidies up the room we used to share when she knows I am coming home. Or in the way I will give her my jacket even though we quarrel abominably about giving each other our clothes.

My sister and I tell each other we hate each other. But I don’t hate her. She annoys me greatly and I know I annoy her like hell too but we don’t hate each other.

I might give my sister a cup of tea and she will smile at me and say, ‘I hate you.’

As children we got along relatively well. We played lots of imaginary games together and devoured the same books. I wouldn’t say we were inspired by the same people. In our early teens we had similar tastes in dress and music, but hers took a darker turn. We are similar, but also very very different. How can that be possible? I don’t know. People say we look nothing like each other. Together we can be quite

My sister is struggling in the early throes of adulthood. She can’t relinquish the child within her and she wears adulthood like an uncomfortable gown that her mother forced her to wear. She is unconfident and hesitant, but oh so desperate to be where she thinks she ought to be.

Her aspirations are low, much like mine were at that age. Her associates are weaklings whose words are louder than their actions, and she projects their opinions disguised as her own. And it breaks my heart when she does that because she thinks she is so right and everybody else is so wrong and she is just mindlessly crashing through life and one day, like me, she will wake up with so many regrets.

Silly little girl.

But I know my sister. She can be feisty and fiery. She can be confident. She just doesn’t know how. And she is spaced out and needs a lot of prompting. She will come to me to prod her every step of the way in everything that she does. She needs to be handheld and it is frustrating, given that she is nineteen years old.

But I love her.

A secret part of me might be jealous of her. I don’t know why. I certainly wouldn’t want to be her, but I might be a little jealous of what she could become. Maybe? I don’t know.

I am an insecure person. I push myself and push myself to my furthest limits because I don’t want anybody to surpass me. I am in competition with everybody, even my husband. Some would say it is unhealthy. Who knows.

Do you have a sister? What is your relationship with her like?

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Physical Relief

Had a terribly busy week. I was travelling since Saturday, when I drove two hours to go to a party, where I burned 600 calories dancing, according to my fitness tracker. I then drove to the in-laws’, where I stayed for the next three days to get to work. I walked to work daily and it took a good forty minutes, and helped my mother move house, worked till 2am  preparing lesson plans and studying for my first assignment.

On Thursday I went to work as usual, carrying a pile of heavy books.

‘Want to add more to that pile, Mrs Sparrow?’ one of the teachers muttered as he walked past, then offered to help but I declined. After work I went to my mum’s and slipped on my stilettos, then my brother dropped me off to the train station and we had a massive argument because he can be an arrogant overly sensitive jerk sometimes, and he refuses to listen to me and he kept speeding on second because I told him to put the car in third gear, even though it was a HIRED car, and he has never had practise driving while I have had a good year and a half on my belt. He is so stubborn it is maddening.

I got out of the car in tears, and caught the train to Birmingham where I went to the loos to slap makeup on my face for another party, this time more sophisticated and in a restaurant.

Then I caught another train all the way back home to my husband.

I hadn’t seen him for a good three days while I was at work. The minute I set eyes on him, waiting by the exit doors with hands in his pockets, my heels aching from my stilettos, and my shoulders heavy with bags, a wave of fatigue washed over me and I sank into his fresh perfume scent and the cold of his heavy leather jacket.

I don’t understand this phenomenon.

It was as though the mere sight of him took my stress away and my body began to really feel the duress I put it under. As though my brain subconsciously knew it didn’t have to hold on anymore because he was there and he could take care of me.

My throat felt scratchy and as he took my bags from me, lifting them as though they weighed nothing, my head started to pound, and tears prickled the back of my eyes. I hugged him for ages before I got in the car, just letting the feeling of home wash over me.

I had never experienced anything like this. A second ago on the train I had been perfectly fine!

All day today I have been in bed feeling ridiculously lousy.

 

 

Gossip

Don’t talk about people.

I don’t like it. I really don’t like it. I don’t like knowing anything about anybody unless they have told me themselves, or they would be okay with me knowing it. Anything else is just nasty and I really could not care less.

Why do people feel the need to gossip? Also, why do they defend themselves by saying it is not gossip, just facts, when in actual fact it is gossip. Gossip is anything you say about somebody else without their knowledge that might hurt said person.

And that stuff is hurtful.

I would be hurt and angry and annoyed if somebody was discussing my private life with somebody else.

It’s none of their business.

I hate gossip.

It makes me very very depressed.

It’s also hard when a member of your family is partaking in it and they get very emotional/upset when you point it out and defend themselves by lecturing me about ‘self-righteousness’ and listing all the reasons why it is ok to talk about what they talked about. I don’t want to hurt or offend anybody in my family.

I just really REALLY don’t care about that information. I don’t want to talk about it or why its okay to talk about it. It is not okay. It is not our life. It is somebody else’s life. I don’t give a flying rat’s bottom what other people do with their lives. I can’t stress this enough. I don’t care so much that I will cry if I hear any more information I don’t need to. It is clutter for my brain.

Can’t we talk about something else, instead of other people’s lives? Why must we speculate on why they do things? Especially when we know nothing of their lives.

It is not important, really. It makes my insides feel rotten.

*sigh*

*roars internally*

I am pissed off at my husband because he is a grown ass man who doesn’t know how to take care of himself and HE IS PISSING ME OFF BECAUSE WHAT TWENTY FIVE YEAR OLD MAN DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO FRY AN EGG.

It is not like he gets along fine.

He does not. He will starve (literally) or eat packets of crisps. Every single day. For weeks.

Why am I bothering to be angry.

Then he has the audacity to be mad at me for getting mad because I care.

Why do I bother caring. Why am I so angry about this.

WHY AM I SO FURIOUS.

I mean, alright, you don’t know how to cook and nor do you care for cooking, that’s fine. It isn’t for everybody. BUT CRISPS!? REALLY!? At least buy salad or a healthy takeaway. At the very least. Or even instant noodles with frozen veggies thrown in. Or a healthy ready-made microwave meal.

Also, why do mothers encourage such ridiculous behaviour. Or excuse it and laugh it off or get offended when I mention how ridiculous it is. OFFENDED? REALLY? I refuse to worry about what he is EATING when he is away from me. He is not TWO.

JEEZ LOUISE.

Also I NEED MY OWN PLACE THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS I HAVE NO MARRIAGE PRIVACY AND EVERYBODY IS ALL UP IN MY BUSINESS AND I AM SO FRIGGIN MAD I COULD KILL A MAN AND ROAST HIM.

There. That’s out of my system.

Ugh. I love that guy to a thousand pieces but sometimes, honestly. I will probably regret this fury later. Or maybe laugh about it in a few years. I hope I can laugh about it. That would be fantastic.

Cupcakes and Frowns

I haven’t got a story anymore and I am exhausted.

Well, no, I do have a story. But it is shredded to pieces and I am too tired and emotionally drained to pick anything up. Also my heart feels like a heavy sack that is sinking low into my abdomen and it is making me feel sick.

So I am eating cupcakes to mask the pain only the cupcakes make the pain worse. There are vanilla ones with a vanilla buttercream frosting, topped with strawberries and blueberries. There are chocolate ones which came out beautifully glossy, with a sheen of chocolate icing. And a sprinkling of chocolate curls.

Well, cupcakes are delicious and delicious things are good for you – within a respectable limit, of course.

Listen up, folks. Adulting is about dealing with your problems and communicating with those who are important to you, also not being afraid of confrontation. I am terrified of confrontation.

But, Mr Damian, I have plenty to talk to you about and I will talk to you about it. I will. I must. I can’t not.

 

On Suspicion and Trust

I don’t trust people because when I do make that mistake I am usually disappointed.

Maybe it is that I don’t know who to trust, and can’t suss out a person well enough before I make the mistake of trusting them. Or maybe it is just that I have not yet met a decent person who I can fully trust yet.

Once a personal secret exits my mouth, I know it is no longer in my hands. I have no control over the dung tornado that might take place and I cannot handle not being in control of my own personal business.

So I am suspicious of everybody and I trust a minuscule amount of people.

I don’t even trust certain young ladies who I have known for nigh on sixteen years now.

Also, side thought, wow. I can say I have known somebody for sixteen years. Can you believe that? It wasn’t so long ago that I myself had only been walking this planet for sixteen years. Where have six years gone!?

I am not sure why this is. I have certainly been betrayed in the past. I have moved around quite a lot and lived in three different countries because of my father’s line of work. Also I find it disconcerting when I have confided in somebody for them to constantly bring up my private business when they have no business doing that. It is ill mannered and downright rude. Also it makes me realise that they are petty people who cannot behave like adults even though they have been for quite some time.

Do you have problems trusting a lot of people?

My issue with trust has meant that I have more acquaintances than friends, because I am afraid of divulging too much information about myself. Also, in this city that I live in, news gets around surprisingly fast. The other day a stranger walked up to me and knew my name and asked me how did it feel to be married so young and was my marriage doing okay?

I didn’t know this busybody of a woman. Nor did I care to. Also I have been married two years now (almost three) and it is getting SO DAMN TIRING hearing people I don’t know very well asking the same old question over and over again.

‘How is married life?’

That question puts my teeth on edge and makes me want to scream. It makes me so irrationally angry!

‘Sorry, do I know you?’ I said to the lady, as politely as I could. Apparently her husband’s cousin works with me, and she used to be my mother in law’s neighbour. Well, I told her it was fine then excused myself and walked on.

You see? People are nosy and not to be trusted. I mean, if she knows me, could she not have introduced herself and spoken about something else? Also, I see her at work now and all she does is ask nosy questions about my marriage and when I am planning on having kids and whether or not I have had any problems yet.

Well. It is not all salt and vinegar. There are some very lovely, loyal, trustworthy people about who I can completely trust and who would never ever betray that trust. And they are certainly worth holding on to.

All Families have Problems

Here is a fact: All families have problems.

The problem is, though, that problem is that I think I am emotionally – I am full of emotions. Things affect me more than they should, and I somehow become burdened with all my family’s problems and I can’t solve them but they just pile up in my brain and suddenly it is like the world is ending.

An emotional sponge, as it were. A hole in which all the bad feelings trickle into like shower water in a drain. And it just eats away at my system. Munch munch munch.

My mum says I am making it sound worse than it is. But to me it is worse. Than it is. My stomach constricts horrendously and I feel like I want to vomit my organs out. I get anxiety when men raise their voices. I don’t know why. It makes me terrified. I think it has something to do with the past abuse.

Also when my father used to have temper tantrums back in the day and throw things. He has curbed that. And is still trying to. He is only a human with weaknesses as we all are. But whenever a man raises his voice I am suddenly trapped and frightened.

Like today my husband yelled at his brother. I never hear my husband shout. He does not shout at me. He is only ever kind to me. Unless he is angry, in which case he is silent towards me. But today he shouted and I felt horrible even though he wasn’t shouting at me.

But the fact remains that all families have problems. And it isn’t always so bleak but it feels that way with mine. I feel very little happiness. From them. And I try to pour loads in but the end result is shrugging indifference. And bad moods hang around. And some people are unfair and there is very little compromise and it is just one person holding it all together and people don’t know how to communicate.

Some families are dysfunctional. I don’t think mine is. But they do fight a lot. And horrible words are flung around like nobody’s business.

But.

All families have problems.

It is normal.

 

 

Right?

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