Pay your way in pain

Another night alone on the couch is almost too much to face. Every night, the same thing, me and my computers, burner phones, iPads, the TV on, my drink arm’s reach away. All my screens to keep me company. I sold my place in the city and built a house way out in the woods so I wouldn’t have to deal with other people, the neighbors… but my brother is here and he’s a total dick. Why did I invite a controlling bulldozer who is just like my father to live with me? The Devil we know, I suppose. I’m an apple that didn’t fall far from that tree, I guess, although I’m more covert than my bro. I had my husband. That was a comfort but now he’s dead and instead of writing about that to process my grief I’m here writing about a woman I’ve never really met who hates me. Fearful-Avoidant Attachment style or some shit.

I did that when he was alive, too. I mean, I felt I had my reasons for ignoring him, my mounting resentments. We were poly so pretty often he’d be heading out to go meet someone. He still worked in the city so would spend a lot of time away. He’s the extravert in the relationship. While he was crushing being poly, I was not really taking advantage, which is why I felt justified spending all my time on my hobbies even when he was around. I’d go back to my den and disassociate from all the problems we were having in our relationship.

What are relationships if not just a never ending series of problems? Isn’t that pretty much all they are? Hell is other people (shout out to Sartre and M Hamburgler!), just a constant negotiation between our own wants, desires and truths and other people’s estimation of what they think we should be doing differently, which usually amounts to them sitting on some kind of moral high ground looking down at us with no real perspective on what life looks like from where we’re standing, while completely ignoring or obfuscating their own wanton behavior.

Yeah, so husband was my first real relationship, my first real attempt at relating deeply and it was a fucking chore, I will tell you that. I did try. I did grow some, but I still don’t know if it was worth it, especially after I put all that work in and here I am alone again, fixating on fantasies just like before. I know she finds that disturbing, because she sees all this stuff I’m writing and there’s nothing in it about him. He's dead and I'm just like, hey baby now that he's out of the way how about you and me? That’s why she thinks maybe I killed him or even just made him up entirely, like my other characters and stories. That’s fine. I never try to clear up misunderstandings, I encourage them. It’s more fun to let her go conclusion hopping, the darker the better. It’s better for my writing, too. That’s why she’s my muse.