Gaslit & Running Out of Time.

"I won't push and I won't pull; I'll just stay here like I should."

Photo by Hailey Oldfield on Unsplash

It's been so long since I've written anything, at all (besides notes in the corners of my marble notenook about the planetary degrees, astronomy, and lunar cycles).

Tonight I read something so raw and honest here on Medium — a relic of P.S. I Love You that made me feel, well…that maybe my overthinking tendency isn't always burden, well, at least not everywhere. Although if I am being raw an honest, I blame myself.

The page it seems so open, there is too much space
Enough to fill but I’m not full of things to say
As pride is hurled at paper it can’t fill the blank.

I know— it's so obvious.
Enough to solve the problem here.
I know the system isn't working right.
You know as well as I—deserve’s too strong a word to write.

Now I want to crack a PBR bottle in my fridge. Because here's the funny truth about betrayal and deception—when you look back, it all adds up. You could have been thoughtful and honest and mature; confronted the issue before it actually became what was chosen (but not by you and me).

But I too, could have just been direct. Maybe I never was. After all, my idealistic approach toward love and especially you — ran through my veins like a strong dose of duty and purpose like I had never experienced in the ghosts of relationships past.

There’s only so much I can do.
The rest, I guess, is up to you.

So what the hell am I blaming myself for, again?

Oh yea, because I can't pinpoint the moment that the energy shifted. How did I not see it fall through my fingers? I'm a Virgo, after all. Always investigating like an amateur journalist-detective; seeking out psychological undertones in between what's said and what is not.

Is it possible I was looking underneath the wrong rock this entire time?

"What should we do with this," you asked. "Burn it?" The morning after we exchanged vows.

Or was it when we stopped taking trips? Stopped making love? God Damnit, I blame myself for all the time that passed without my telling you to your face how much it all fucking hurt.

And not what I imagined 3 years into marriage.
As you pulled away, I learned to bend backward. Sideways. Over and Over.

My back fucking HURTS now.
I need words.
I need a two-way conversation. I don't want to stay up late and drink while you stare at your phone, making plans to buy a porsche on reddit (wtf) when we agreed to try for a baby.

So do I save this like a draft, like the rest of all the drafts?