The words “turning point” bounce around my brain but I know they’re meaningless. How many times before have I claimed I’d have enough, I’d leave if this keeps up, I’d met my limit.
I have. I’ve smacked into my limit, hurtled into the wall behind it and somehow talked myself into moving my limit further down the line.
Sorry for being so obtuse. I’ve been reading my HS diaryland and marveling at hour obtuse I managed to be–even I have no idea what I was talking about.
I’m talking about sex.
And it isn’t so much the not having of it, although that sucks. And it isn’t so much that we were on the couch last night and just as I was REALLY getting into it, he failed to take off. And it isn’t so much that he was stressed and self-pitying about it, moping and professing “I’m sorry” rather than enjoying making out or, ahem, finishing the job some other way…
Okay, it’s a lot that last one.
But it’s not just last night, although after months of conversations and small improvements last night really fucking stung.
Deep down, I’ve known it was like this for a long time. Deep down, I knew it was unacceptable. I knew I’d have to choose between this wonderful, sweet, caring guy and a happy sex life. I knew that what we had wasn’t normal and his lack of willingness to fix it wasn’t normal. But I thought I could deal with it. I thought it would get better.
But yesterday morning, before we had another one of our incidents, I was reading some stupid romance novel and fighting back tears because I knew he wouldn’t even be able to express himself sexually like the stupid, type-A, tortured bad-boy from the stupid cliche book. Because the day before, I’d talked with my best friend and she’d assured me that sex was important, that if I fixed this sex thing I should hold onto my BF forever because he’s perfect for me.
So, yesterday morning, I was wondering how long I should give him to get his act together, because I think he’s finally trying. And I settled on the end of the year, but that meant I’d have to break up with him at the end of the year if things haven’t improved. And that’s not what I want.
He’s my partner, my best friend, the person who knows everything about me and shares all my inside jokes. And I know no one will ever treat me better than he does. He’s always looking out for me, always happy to see me, always affectionate. We share many hobbies and interests and he puts up with my irritating food allergies and back problems. We have a whole world together, jokes we’ve built on things we’ve watched or played, a routine of going to Trader Joes on Friday and my favorite coffee shop on Saturday morning.
And then there are the practical reasons. How will I afford rent on my own by next year? Every time I think my job will pick up, I end up making about the same–nowhere near enough to pay for half the rent here. Will I find a place on my own? Can I really afford to buy my own Internet, pay all the bills myself? Who will assemble new furniture? Who gets the TV, the pots and pans, the stuffed animals we share? I’ve got his amazon account on my kindle. We share Netflix. And if I move out on my own, who will have breakfast with me every morning and dinner with me every night? Who will meet me for smoothies in the middle of the afternoon? Who will travel with me?
With him, I feel safe. I know he will take care of me, whatever happens. But am I talking about money or security or both? Those things never concerned me in college… but now that I’m in the real world and failing to live up to my potential in the job market, failing to rake in the dough with screenwriting, it seems much more important.
If I was supporting myself, if I was making $50k/year, would I still feel like this?
It’s been five and a half years. It’s hard to imagine a life without him, a life on my own. I couldn’t support myself financially, not yet. I’d barely support myself emotionally. I don’t exactly have a ton of friends, and most of them aren’t emotional conversation kind of people.
I really hope he gets his act together and fixes this. He seemed motivated last night, but he usually complains about how little doctors do as if he can find the solution somewhere on Web MD. And, honestly, at this point I’ve had it with waiting. Sex is important. And I’m a sexual person. Is the end of the year a good compromise? I don’t like thinking about it. I don’t like imagining the idea of the ultimatum failing. I don’t like the possibility where I leave. It’s like breaking up with part of myself, the part that believed I’d be with him forever. And that part has been alive a very long time.
But that best friend of mine walked away from her BF of 7 years and she’s been happier since.
I’m confused. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do here.