this is a fucking nightmare.
He moved in. On the first night, he gave me a speech that went "Our relationship has to change. We're just housemates. I don't love you." and continued in a similar 'Wow, man, stick a nail through that bludgeon - I might just get the point' vein. He likes to share meals and sit in the room I'm sitting in while he reads his comics etc but he also visibly cringes if I'm physically within a metre of him. I have cried every night he's been here. This is not me. I don't know why I've done this to myself. Or why he's done this to me - why, WHY the FUCK has he moved in here? Is it because up until now, he's been the arsehole, but if I say (shortly after he moves in) "I need you to go. This isn't working and I need you to get out of my flat" that makes me the bad guy and him the victim? Or is it that he really thinks I'm such a soft touch that I will be able to let it all go and let him stay here, on cheap rent and running around the place like he owns it?
I worry about the thought processes that led me to this decision. Before, I've always had somehwere to go when he's acted like a cunt and hurt me. Before, I've had a chance to get over it, sort my head out, move on. And - ultimately - forgive him, and have some kind of friendship with him. What am I trying to do to myself? Am I hoping I can get over him, by forcing myself to live with the reality of how little he actually cares, how much he actually seems to enjoy hurting me, day by day?
That was probably it. But it was a bad idea. Less than a week in and I already know - I want him out. I need him out. I need to take my life back, start looking for someone who might actually give a shit.
What the fuck?
How do I get out of this?
Monday, May 30, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Inevitability
I almost feel more comfortable with the fact that nobody reads this now. I want to get thoughts out of my head but I don't really want anyone to hear them.
Anyway. So. The guy I spoke about in my last post? He's moving in to my flat. In three days' time.
I had to go away for almost a month - lovely holiday and not-so-lovely work stuff. We'd talked, briefly, about him renting my spare room. He, and we, decided that that could work.
Before I went away, he told me he loved me. That no-one had ever known him like I know him. That the thought of me in India tore him to shreds. The idea of me not being near was more than he could bear. We talked a lot about 'what we are' and decided that we didn't know, we couldn't know, we'd have to just see how things went.
I went to Cornwall. And I went to India. And when I got back, he didn't want to talk. And he got drunk and said stuff like "you know how to handle a hard-on. That's all there is to you and that's all you are to me". And then he apologised and said he didn't remember saying it and that it wasn't true. And I let it go.
He's. Moving. In. To. My. Flat. In. Three. Days.
And it's clear, from other things he's said since, that if it wasn't true it was a close approximation of something that is.
It would be easy, and childish, to blame this all on him. To say that HE is the one that has changed his mind, moved the goalposts, and so on. But I know. I've always known - from the moment I suggested it to the moment I closed the door on his room, containing the furniture that I've bought and I've put together, while he's been out doing something less boring instead. Him moving in here is necessary.
I know he doesn't want me, but I still cling to some ridiculous hope. But living together, with him taking, taking, taking and me giving, giving, giving...him bringing other people here, taking me for granted in a way I can't forgive or ignore, it's what's needed. It's what's needed for me to get it through my skull that he's using me, he doesn't want or love me and he never ever will. There's more. But my fingers can't keep up with my brain right now.
Anyway. So. The guy I spoke about in my last post? He's moving in to my flat. In three days' time.
I had to go away for almost a month - lovely holiday and not-so-lovely work stuff. We'd talked, briefly, about him renting my spare room. He, and we, decided that that could work.
Before I went away, he told me he loved me. That no-one had ever known him like I know him. That the thought of me in India tore him to shreds. The idea of me not being near was more than he could bear. We talked a lot about 'what we are' and decided that we didn't know, we couldn't know, we'd have to just see how things went.
I went to Cornwall. And I went to India. And when I got back, he didn't want to talk. And he got drunk and said stuff like "you know how to handle a hard-on. That's all there is to you and that's all you are to me". And then he apologised and said he didn't remember saying it and that it wasn't true. And I let it go.
He's. Moving. In. To. My. Flat. In. Three. Days.
And it's clear, from other things he's said since, that if it wasn't true it was a close approximation of something that is.
It would be easy, and childish, to blame this all on him. To say that HE is the one that has changed his mind, moved the goalposts, and so on. But I know. I've always known - from the moment I suggested it to the moment I closed the door on his room, containing the furniture that I've bought and I've put together, while he's been out doing something less boring instead. Him moving in here is necessary.
I know he doesn't want me, but I still cling to some ridiculous hope. But living together, with him taking, taking, taking and me giving, giving, giving...him bringing other people here, taking me for granted in a way I can't forgive or ignore, it's what's needed. It's what's needed for me to get it through my skull that he's using me, he doesn't want or love me and he never ever will. There's more. But my fingers can't keep up with my brain right now.