Turns out I’m way more of an intuitive bitch than I originally thought. But that’s neither here nor there.
PS, for my faithful readers. If you’re looking for a feel-good, sunshine-and-rainbows, ride-off-into-the-sunset kind of post, I suggest you move on.
So I’m pissed the fuck off.
More pissed off, in fact, than I can even remember ever being in my entire life.
And there are a few reasons for that. But let me start at the beginning.
Kazander and I finally had that talk about me giving a baby to Ford and Chevy. And I don’t want to get into the details, but it turns out that this whole thing is a lose-lose situation. No matter what, someone would get hurt. And I’m talking really, really hurt.
And, armed with that knowledge, I made a decision. I decided that kazander was more important to me than Ford and Chevy. And, if I absolutely had to choose (which, as it turns out, I do have to do) I would rather hurt the two of them than the man I’ve devoted my life to.
It hurt way, way more than I thought it would, to realize that I wouldn’t be able to give such a gift to someone. This was my only chance to give something like this, just as it’s likely their only chance at parenthood. Realizing that there was no feasible way to achieve this particular dream of mine, regardless of the reasons why I wanted it, regardless of the fucking lifetime that made such a thing my dream in the first place, hurt like hell. It hurt so much, there were a few moments where I actually thought I would start crying during our conversation.
But, fuck that. Tears wouldn’t help a single damn person here, and would do nothing but make kazander feel like a dick for feeling the way he feels. There’s no way he could ever understand my feelings on this, and even if there was, it doesn’t change his reasons. The bottom line is that I had a choice. I could either cause lifelong pain to Ford and Chevy, or I could cause lifelong pain to kazander. I made my decision, and there is not a single person but myself responsible for that decision.
And I won’t apologize for that decision, either. Have I done the right thing? Maybe not. Probably not.
Absolutely fucking not.
But have I done the best for my relationship (soon-to-be marriage) and my current family? Yes I have. And, as the primary decision-maker in my family, I won’t apologize for putting them before others, even if those others need my help more. I don’t doubt my decision in the slightest, and will sleep well with my choice. One day, I may have to account for this decision, but even then, I will stand proud and tell my Maker that I put my family first. I’m very okay with that.
I’m even prepared to crush and devastate Ford and Chevy with the news. Kazander won’t be able to handle that particular conversation, and therefore will not be present when I tell them that I won’t be giving them a child. But that’s okay. Even in the best-case scenario, I knew I’d be handling this issue alone (please, do you honestly think kazander would be the least bit supportive through such a pregnancy, other than to make sure I’m doing okay? And Ford and Chevy work full-time and live half an hour away. I knew I’d be alone, regardless of which way this went.) I’m not particularly looking forward to that conversation, but I know I will survive it, and so will they. I still have faith that God can work miracles if He wants to, and if He decides that these two should have a child, it’ll happen.
Still, it was a surprise to find out just how badly it hurt to realize that I won’t be able to do this.
And I can’t blame kazander for the way he feels. I really can’t. But there were some things that just sent me over the edge, and put me in a very dark place. A pack of cigarettes and a liter of cheap Riesling haven’t done a damn thing to help that, either.
First of all, the decision itself hurt like a bitch. But this decision was made mere minutes into a conversation that ended up lasting 3 hours. It hurt, but I knew that showing kazander that pain would do neither of us any good, and I was more than capable of handling my emotions. He felt the need to keep explaining his reasons, because he recognized the selfishness of them, and doubted himself even as he voiced them, and I recognized his need, and turned my emotions off until he could finish his piece. I would react to my decision later, when he wasn’t there to be hurt by my reaction.
However, a series of other things happened toward the end of our conversation that shattered my control and made me want to take a sledge hammer to anything and everything within reach.
Including people. Including (and especially) kazander.
The first thing that happened, and the thing that sent me right to the edge, was the fact that kazander blatantly refused for days to give me even a glimpse of his feelings. Without such input, I (it’s my own fault, I know) reverted to my instinctual habit of control, and made my own decision.
And had my heart pretty set on that decision, as a matter of fact. But, while I really, really want to beat the ever-loving, motherfucking shit out of him for keeping quiet when he knew he should’ve said something, I know that’s just the way he is.
And you can’t be mad at a dog for being a dog. Besides, I know that the decision is still mine, and my anger is rooted in my own decision to deny myself this thing I want. While he certainly didn’t help this situation, it’s not his fault, and I can’t blame him for that.
The first thing that actually pushed me over the edge was the comment he made, saying that I was a fool to believe I’d be able to give up a kid made from my egg and grown in my uterus.
There’s no reason to get into why that is just such utter fucking bullshit, because none of you, my faithful readers, will be able to understand it, either. And, unfortunately, I’m just not capable of explaining it. All I will say is that I’ve had the exact same conversation countless times before, with countless people throughout my life, from the age of 17, when I was weak and allowed others to influence a decision that should’ve been mine alone. And every single one of them (save 1; my dad, from whom I’ve inherited my emotional constipation) has said that exact same thing. And every single time throughout my adult life, I’ve had to deal with controlling my temper (another swell gift from my dad) while I listen to someone tell me they know me better than I do.
But even with that comment, I was capable of clawing my way back to the safe side of the edge. There’s no way he could know why that bothered me so much. We don’t talk about my past much, and I’ve never sat down and explained what happened then, and the fallout resulting from it. He can’t be held responsible for something he wasn’t even aware of. Despite the fact that we’ve lived together and have a family together, despite the fact that he’s my fucking sub and really doesn’t have the right to authoritatively tell me I’m wrong about my own fucking self, and that “he knows best,” I know I can’t blame him. The whole situation has him on edge, and he’s not the best at communicating in the first place. His misguided, ignorant, obnoxious, arrogant-as-fuck attempts to play devil’s advocate are just that, and if I were to react to such a statement, it would do nothing but hurt him.
He may put his emotions before logic and step way the fuck out of line in his attempt to explain why he thinks this is a bad idea, but I hold myself to a higher standard, and refuse to punish him for something that he stupidly thinks a) I haven’t already considered in great depth and detail, and haven’t already been faced with, and b) will sway me to his way of thinking.
The bottom line is that his comment pissed me the fucking hell off for reasons no one has ever been able to understand, and for reasons that I don’t care to try to explain here. This post will already be long enough. But I could understand why he thought that way. While it was a disappointment to realize that he’s just like everyone else, while it hurt like hell to realize he understood me, my mind, my heart, my soul, much less than I thought he did, I maintained control.
Tears would help no one. Anger would help no one. Losing my temper would help no one.
But then came the comment that absolutely shattered my self-control.
I’d already told him that I’d made my decision, that he and the spawn came first, and that I wasn’t going to do something that would hurt him so deeply. But when he asked if I was upset, I couldn’t lie. I told him I was, but flashed him a reassuring smile and said I’d get over it. I thought that would be the end.
He surprised me again, with the words, “this isn’t something you’re going to throw back in my face in six months, is it?”
And, at hearing those words, I damn near threw my empty wine bottle at him (I was a 1st-round-draft pick in softball two years in a row. I wouldn’t have missed, and he wouldn’t have survived unscathed. And fucking hell, that was an attractive thought), along with the wine glass, the computer, fuck, even the computer desk.
Even now, two hours later, my nerves still itch. I’m sitting next to a wall, and want more than anything to put my fist through it. It’s a massive testament to my willpower and self-control that the house is still standing.
Really, I’m rather proud of myself. Ten years ago, the bitch would’ve burned. And I would’ve danced, completely uncaring about the consequences of my actions.
Does he really know me that little? After all these years, after the countless sacrifices I’ve made for the sake of us(hey babe, remember that time I put your concerns and fears before my own desire to help a gay couple who needed me?), after the countless times I’ve proven myself – my love, my fidelity, my loyalty– to him, does he still think that little of me? Did he really, after all this time, after all I’ve done, think me capable of that kind of petty mind game?
Am I just another “fucking bitch” to him?
Just because other women have been unkind? Just because he feels selfish and unkind and doubtful about his own decisions?
At least my rage manifested as tears, and for once I was grateful that the person I’d given my heart to knew so little about me. He assumed I was crying because I was sad, disappointed that I couldn’t be a surrogate. He had no idea that I was crying and trembling because I wanted to throw him through the living-room window. He didn’t know how hard I was fighting that urge, and that the battle inside me, coupled with the disappointment and residual frustration (and yes, rage) from earlier in our conversation, was exhausting me to the point of tears.
Oh, and hey! Fun sidenote: he didn’t even know my opinion on having more kids of our own. Super. Just fucking super.
But again, I was pretty proud of myself. I listened to some music, stared absently at my computer screen (I was pretending to proofread a novel I’d written the first half of. Oh, and another fun sidenote: I asked him to read it, to tell me what he thought. I asked him to do it about a year ago. He’s read the four pages), and got enough of a hold on my temper that I felt safe enough to move without breaking shit.
Something that has always made me feel better when I’m upset or troubled is to take a hot shower. I get in, turn the water up as hot as it will go, and just stand there, letting it burn as it runs down my body. Those who have bothered themselves to notice say I look like I need to go to the hospital for 1st- and 2nd- degree burns when I get out.
But it actually doesn’t hurt; not the way I think other people feel it. To me, it feels the same as if I was standing out in the middle of the desert, in the middle of July, on the hottest day of the year. I can close my eyes and just escape, I can let go of the control, I can give myself permission to acknowledge my pain for a moment before locking it back up, I can let loose all the hurt and anger and loneliness and rage.
And God, I needed that tonight. Kazander said he was going to bed, and I jumped at the opportunity to get that release. He said he’d meet me in bed, turned the water on for me, and I closed the bathroom door and got in the shower.
And it pains me to admit, even though I know I’m anonymous here, that I absolutely lost it. I sobbed like a little girl. I collapsed into a crumpled heap, curling into the fetal position as I let go of everything I’d held in. I felt overwhelmed with loneliness, completely devastated at the knowledge that the man I’m going to marry, the man who has trusted me to beat him and break him and push his limits, doesn’t know me at all, and likely never will.
I felt a familiar hole opening up in the center of my abdomen, and I desperately wrapped my arms tightly around my body as I lied there on the floor of my shower, terrified that if I stopped holding my arms there, the hole would widen and tear me apart. Things I hadn’t felt in a decade or more came flooding back with reckless abandon, and for once, I was powerless to stop them.
And, for a moment anyway, I hated myself for it. How could I – I, who was strong and powerful and invincible in every aspect of my life – allow a few words from one man affect me so deeply? I, who lived through and proudly wear the scars of a short lifetime of terror, humiliation, and pain? I, who conquered my fears, who accomplished the impossible, who succeeded in giving myself a new life?
I, the superhero. I, the untouchable. I, the unbreakable.
I was reduced to nothing but a pathetic, sobbing, hysterical little girl. Years of work, of pride, of success ripped away by one clueless, ignorant man who didn’t even know he’d cut so deeply.
But, after a few moments of hysterics, I remembered who I am. I do not wallow in misery. I do not lie in a fetal position on the floor. That may have been someone else, long ago, but certainly not me. Not today.
I took a few deep breaths, pulled myself together, and staggered to my feet. The stinging heat was gone from the water now, so I quickly washed my face and turned off the water.
And in the sudden silence, I heard, from outside the door, a window being pulled shut.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking cunt fuck.
He hadn’t gone to bed. Instead, he’d stayed awake, stayed out in the living room, able to hear everything. And I felt more violated in that moment than I ever had before. My moment of despair, which was meant to be only mine, had been heard. Intruded upon. My private fleeting depression had not been private.
I had a moment of despairing loneliness, of vulnerability, of inconsolable pain. And that moment was meant to be mine alone.
I have no idea what I’m going to do or how I’m going to handle this, and the way I feel now. Perhaps it’s my own foolishness for expecting him to be at the same level I am. Perhaps I should’ve expected something like this. Perhaps he really doesn’t love me as much as I think he does (why else would I have to literally strong-arm him into marrying me?).
Perhaps I’m just expecting too much from him. Perhaps it’s my own fault for not pushing him to learn more about some of the darker events that have colored my life. Or perhaps this is a sign that things, as they are now, aren’t meant to be. I can’t deny that there have been other, similar signs, and I can’t deny the possibility that my rose-colored glasses may have caused me to overlook something that should’ve been a red flag years ago.
Or maybe I’m just still in that dark place, and need a day or two to get my head straight once again. Obviously I can’t make any sort of real decisions until I regain full control of myself, and I’m just not there yet. I’m an arrogant bitch, but I’m not arrogant enough to foolishly think I’m capable of much rational thought at the moment.
But once I have a clear head again, there’s a hell of a lot I need to think about.