Bitching about Rob

I've been unusually energetic today thanks to coffee. I haven't had it for about a week or so because my anxiety has been acting up. I don't notice it during the day as much, but then at night, I'm trying to go to sleep and suddenly I get a case of the Fear.

Robert has been on my mind and I keep wanting to purge it somehow. Maybe this will help. I actually made a couple of posts on a support sub on that site that starts with an R... that did help a bit, to clarify my thoughts and kind of put my grievances in order. It's supposed to eventually work up to the issues with his family, and his mom in particular, but I will get to that when I'm ready.

Basically, I can't believe how much I dwell on our relationship. My perceived failures, my resentments over him, the ways I wish I could have done things differently. It's been almost four years since we broke up and I've never let go. I never thought I would be in this position. It must have really hit me in the pride, because when I think about it rationally, I can see that our relationship was almost too immature as a whole to work towards the kind of real partnership that I want, but then I can't let go of wishing I had done more to work it out.

I really wanted to stick it out. When we finally ended it, my head was so far up my own rear that I can't blame him for the way he saw me. When we broke up it was said to be mutual but really he did that thing where he passively checked out because he didn't want to be the one to break up with me. I guess that is a credit to my empathy and some quality of having a lick of sense, because I fell in line, sucked it up, and went along with the "we both tried our best" thing.

I think we broke up because I was wildly out of control, mental health-wise, and when he saw that side of me, it just turned him off for good. Like I said, I really can't blame him for that. So I guess what I can do is admit that it hurt. I felt that it confirmed my fears: that I really am that unlovable, unreachable, not worth the bother. I really don't think I've played games with people, so it's not like I was testing his love for me... I just couldn't manage my life. Whatever energy I had left, I tried to give it to him, but it was just window dressing. I don't know if that's a good metaphor. The amount of energy I had, which I tried in my own way to funnel toward our relationship, was like window dressing on an empty house. So in that way, it is true that you can't love other people--can't connect with them in the way they deserve--without loving yourself.

There are other factors that complicate my narrative of being a loser who completely fails at her own life. When we had a chance to work things out--before we lived together--there were times that he didn't support me when I needed him. I gave him support when he needed it, but he really didn't do the same for me. Not everything needs to be equal, but I guess that is one way that I felt let down by him.

Put it this way: he was allowed to have a panic attack, come to me for help, and then sweep it under the rug later. But heaven forbid if I had a bad day, let alone did the same. Something I think about often is the feeling of contempt I felt from him the first time I did have a freakout while we were dating. I know that I can lose my temper, but it wasn't like that... I knew I was having a panic attack, I calmly removed myself from others when it happened, and when I told him in private, I believe he really had contempt for me. Writing this, I think that I thought if I could communicate better, he would grow to have patience for me. I give myself a really hard time for being a poor communicator. But I'm probably no worse than the average bear if someone is willing to meet me halfway.

I think I'm going to quit writing but I want to get out one more gripe. In the story of where we went wrong, I always orbit around the time that we moved in together.

First of all, I played myself because I said that I didn't want to move in with someone unless we were engaged. LOL. Then one day he told me about a fabulous house for rent that his friends were leaving. Can you even believe how stupid I was? This is honestly one of the main mistakes of my life. But, being a little more kind to myself, I guess I was choosing to take a risk for the usual reasons... love and real estate.

The move was maybe ominous from the start. I know this isn't the end of the world, but it continues to irk me. It was like a little bee on a flower crying out to me to be cautious before I walked into a bear's cave, but I ignored it. He kind of made the move all about him. We both had places to vacate and business to attend to, but you wouldn't know that from our conversations. His stress levels rose. I helped him manage that. I don't mind helping a partner... but I guess it goes down a bad road when, as I can see now, I helped him but resented him at the same time. I helped him pack. I helped him sort out his house. I helped him sort out issues with his roommates. I bought and delivered moving boxes and tape! That embarasses me now. Of course, I helped him move... I was one of the last people in the house, sweeping, cleaning, and hauling junk (from all three stories). I helped smooth thingss over with his roommates, bickering about who would pay for what, final bills, etc. I helped to book and pick up the Uhaul, pack it up, trips back and forth loading out and loading in, the whole nine yards. My house was much smaller, but I did that pretty much all on my own... I think he helped me with a trip or maybe two. He never thanked me or acknowledged the way that I basically managed his whole move for him. If I ever brought it up, in passing, he'd get mad at me.


2018-03-13, 8:22 p.m.

Pre., Nex.

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