Our Hero Thus Far

[greenstorm]

This is gonna be a freewrite in a shaky emotional state, so a bunch of self-indulgent spewing.


Last night I was looking forward to going to karaoke, but by the time I got home I was just too tired and so I went to bed instead. I was probably on bed by 9, and asleep by 9:30.

Bob went to karaoke. That was great, he's been super restless and whatever since he hasn't been working, he needs to get out of the house and be more social than I do, especially when I *am* working.

Some stuff happened, and I ended up expecting him home at 12:30, he wasn't home, I called him, he said he'd be home by 1:30, didn't call, got home by 2.

I have a little auto-timer in my head that goees off when changes are supposed to happen around me and I'm sleeping - when someone's supposed to enter a room I'm in, when an alarm is supposed to go off, that sort of thing. I wake up, I wait for the thing to happen, I go back to sleep.

There were some really bad nights when I was with Kynnin. I've written about them before at great length, and so I'll skim over it right now. Essentially there were a bunch of nights he as just *way later* than he said he'd be- once leaving Jan and I standing in a park at midnight for two hours, that was the first; many times after that as well but none as extreme. I was very dependent on him, and it was likely his way of making space.

It left big scars in me, or maybe the scars were just redrawn in relationship-shape from the days when my parents would be half an hour to an hour late to pick us kids up from school.

In any case, I don't really have a problem with someone calling and saying they'll be late. I don't even really have a problem with someone just being late to something during the daytime. At night though, when I'm in bed expecting someone to come home and slip in with me around a certain time, I don't have much time tolerance without a phone call. I freak out. It hurts me something crazy- and I do mean crazy. Late at night my defenses are low, my sanity filters are off, I'm vulnerable to myself.

So last night it happened twice in a row. I can chase it in circles a whole lot- no malice, just bad judgement on people's parts, blah. I remember it hasn't happened for awhile, last time was last fall. I'd said then that I'd never let a relationship last where that happened again at all often- and a couple of times a year isn't often.

Bob and I are moving apart. That'll fix this, because there'll have to be a little more communication around evenings, and when there isn't communication the default will assert itself-- we don't sleep together. It won't fix *me*, though, and this terrible horrible feeling.

Now, I could get over this. It would involve getting someone to be deliberately random about when they're coming home, feeling the pain come, sitting through it, and still being alive. I'd need to do that over and over, and the edge would fade.

I thought I had got over it, because there were a couple of occasions where something like this happened over the spring and summer and they didn't bother me. Now everything is tense, though, and I can't do it anymore.

I can't let go of it to start to get over it, though. I can't get over the self-righteousness in my head. The voice says, if someone's going to be fucking late they should fucking call.

This writing is all just so much garbage. I'm not *over* last night, I'm not done with it, and the free-floating angst is trying to attach itself to something so I can avoid letting it go and getting on with my day. This morning work was cancelled, I tried to go get my learner's license, but guess what? I have the wrong ID, they need something other than is listed on the webpage. Fair enough. So the skytrain breaks down and a fifteen-minute round-trip takes an hour, and I end up walking home. Bah.

Angus was running late for work, and I ran into him by the skytrain station. I got a hug, and a passer-by yells lucky!, I'm not sure if to him or to me. But it's not lucky to get me - I'm broken - and it's not lucky for me to have all these loving tolerant people in my life, because it means I never *need* to sort out my shit, they put up with it. I mean, that's crazy talk, of course I'm lucky to have these people, but every emotional intimacy I have right now is leaking bitter and blood.

When I get home from the attempt at the test, I come in here and start posting. After a few minutes Bob wakes up and wanders in, squinting sleepily. He says, 'you're home?'. I say, 'yeah, I told you that before, I guess you weren't awake, now leave me for a bit, I need some space' *bitch snap crackle*.

And now I've come to the end of what I have to say and I'm stalling, just still writing, because I don't want to go out there and face him. I don't know if I'm hurt or angry or what. I don't know what I am at all except volatile. Volatile and totally nonfunctional at deep-level interpersonal today. Bah.

Okay. Time to go in and do this.

Comments

[khamura.livejournal.com]

"I can't let go of it to start to get over it, though. I can't get over the self-righteousness in my head. The voice says, if someone's going to be fucking late they should fucking call."

And that's the part where you need to make sure that you state, to yourself and the voice in your head, that no matter how late someone is, they deserve a hug and a welcome -- after, this is true, you scold them for not at least giving you a call. But hey, no one deserve to be thought of as running late with malice aforethought.

[eva00.livejournal.com]

I understand, I think. I get very, very nervous when someone is later than expected coming home, and this translates into anger at them for making me nervous.