Sometimes I've had it. I feel totally and utterly at the end of my ropes. There is nothing left to say there is no way to communicate the feelings pulsing through my brain and heart and legs and checks and fingers... there is nothing left but emotional tension. That's what self-help sites call it. "Emotional Tension". I don't know what that means. But I know what it feels like. I can feel it stretching across my chest, in my arms and legs... pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. And there's nothing left. There are only my finger nails dragging over my arms... pushing into my skin, removing thin layers of epidermis because I am word-lover, a word-treasurer... a word-person... who is running out of words and there are only feelings left. And my arm flies out and I'm punching my arm. I have left bruises on my skin. I have left HUGE bruises on my arm.
The funny thing is, I can't actually cut myself. There are issues that feel so desperate, so hopeless... so unbearable, I want to release myself... I need a moment of relief. But I cannot cut myself. Blood is too extreme.
Out of control.
Desperate.
But useless even to myself.
I'm not looking for attention. I just want... solutions. Help. Somewhat to rid myself of all the tension building, building, building...
But who would get it?
My sister is studying to be a psychologist. I once brought it up to her, and she said, "That's not good. Stop."
Hmm... Useful.
I don't know.
I'm usually so happy. bubbly. Positive. I like being that person. Giggles... hyperactive. Feeling wonderful and proud of myself and my choices. Why does that go away? Why do I have to do back to this place where the only way I can deal is if there is a thumping physical pain in the background? Focus on the feeling... hot tension unravels and I can do what it takes to feel better. I can apologize, or ask for what I need or tell them what I'm thinking. But only if my arms are covered in red lines, drawn from my fingernails.
Am I too messed up to have kids? To be married?
I don't feel ready for life, and yet it's my responsibility to carry the emotional weight of my marriage.
They say that women bring 90% of the emotional intimacy and men bring 10%. Conversely, men bring 90% of the sexual intimacy and women bring 10%. At the moment... I have 100% of the sexual tension and 0% of the actual release, and I'm carrying the emotional weight of 85%.
Why is this so hard?
Where's the romance?
The desire?
Where's the magic?
We never really had it after he moved to Guam. But we had it once... Why did it have to go away?
Marriage is not a walk in the park.
It's almost worth it sometimes, though. There are moments that I'm ok and happy and he's doing a good job of making me feel alright.
But then there are some whoppers of horror. And depression.
And that's when my chicken-shit soul wants to slice neat red lines into my skin.
But I can't.
