This Isn't How I Was Supposed To Be...

I totally agree still with everything I wrote last month- I just can't remeber writing any of it; which isn't so bizarre when you consider I was probably off my guts drunk as per usual. So now why? Why am I writing today?

Pissed again. Ha ha. In the last few weeks I've stopped ging to uni. I can't handle going. I hate it so much. It's not that I hate learning. I even enjoy the lectures when I'm there- but I hate the assignments- the pressure of sitting down and doing them. I hate the fact that I'll never get a job out of this; that I'll be stuck in this welfare life for the rest of my life. Most of all I fear that I'll lose everything I love.

How I wish this was just a phase that I'll get over; this place where I'm stuck. I'm afraid this really is my life- one that I'm doomed to live because of some bad choices I've made along the way.

This isn't how I was supposed to be. I know that to be true. It's like my failings are the things I feared most would happen and by imagining them to be true I sort of prophesised them into reality- and now they are true. I am the hopeless person I never wanted to be; the person I know I would loathe if I met them on the street.

Maybe I'm not my Mother's daughter afterall. I'm not strong like she is; in fact I'm so vulnerable to shit it makes me feel sorry for myself. I can't even cope with the small shit anymore- that everyday shit that everybody gets and deals with and then get on with their lives.

How hopeless I feel at the moment, creeping around the house so my Hubby won't hear me getting another beer or putting the empty ones in a plastic bag for recycling. It's twelve twenty am. I should be in bed and not sitting here drinking still; not when I have to get my Son to school in the morning. I'm so sneaky I'm hiding the drink beside me and even tossing up whether or not to leave my Hubby on the couch when I go to bed so he won't have to know what time I went to bed either.

I know this isn't ordinary behaviour. Just like I know the fight we had last week wasn't right either. I've explained elsewhere that I don't believe that I was in the wrong with anything that happened with Alistair on the couch- my Hubby just won't believe me that's all. I could accept that I suppose- unless my head gets in the way of his fists. I've had a headache for two days and the spot behind my ear is still tender to touch. No matter what he 'thought' I did I didn't deserve that.

We haven't spoken about it. We won't until the next time we fight and that's how it is.

Chug chug chug.

I see why my Mother worries about me- I really do- and I know it's in my power to change things. But at the same time I can't get out of this shit; I'm swimming in it. It's like that old joke where the Devil says that the tea break is over and it's back to standing on your head in shit for all of eternity. At least I'd be accustomed to hell becasue that's how I live my life.

Another thing at the moment is the 'lift' thing again; meaning that I had to pick my Hubby and his pushbike up when I was cooking dinner and it shit me off. I know why I go any way; in case he comes off the bike and splits his head open and is killed; that's why I go and pick him up. But it's not right that he expects me to go at the drop of a hat. I know I sound like a whinger but when I am doing something- and I do the same things at the same time everyday- and he Knows that- he should realise that I won't want to drop everything just to go to his beck and call.

Especially when if I ask him to do something he puts me off or won't do it at all; and I don't mean I want everything my own way but a bit of give and take would be nice sometimes. He only ever thinks of his immediate needs; like getting home and eating his dinner- while I think more of my emotional needs- like him caring if I have an orgasm or not(which might only happen once a fortnight where he'll bother trying) or scratching my back supposedly so I will feel loved and cared for.

Because I've told him how much I need to be feel loved and special- and trying to finger my arse just doesn't cut it.

They're my needs- and they're rarely met.

Aha! A win of sorts! He's just gotten up to go to bed and didn't notice the beer on the floor beside me- and so(hopefully) thinks I've stopped drinknig for the night. If I wanted to I could even drink the other beer as well and he'd never even know.

There is one other big thing that has happened but I won't write it in becasue I worry that someone I know might actually read about it one day. At least I'll know what I mean when I reread this paragraph. I'm not sure how I really feel about it; except a bid odd about the situation. I'm not sure if I'll ever come to terms with the repercussions that might ensue.

Hopefully all will be well; even if I'm not.