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I feel like lacking air, like not being here fully. I lack joy, freedom, and unconditional love. I am married. I don’t think he is the love of my life. It hurts so much to say this but sometimes I look at him and feel nothing at all. But then again, I remember my past relationships and boy did I feel a lot. I felt so much I was in constant pain. Which lead to the conclusion that the blame is on me. I am too scared to love, too scared to surrender. And that is why I settled. Although I knew very early on that this is not what I want. But he is safe. He knows me and he loves me for who I am. He knows my family and I know his. We get along although we don’t really share much common interest besides some TV series and movies. It is safe knowing that he won’t live and yet if he does it won’t hurt as much. I know I’m a fool when doing this. I kind of would love to feel that unconditional burning love again but I won’t. I don’t think I can. It just hurts so much. Every inch if my soul, skin, brains, and insides are burning and cramping and I can’t breathe. I don’t know if love is supposed to feel like that but that is the love I know. Now my loving is completely different. Don’t get me wrong. I do love him. Just not in a burning flame and probably not even in the most romantic way. I like cuddling with him and talking with him, but we lack passion and we lack depth. Our conversations are mostly shallow and if they ever are deep, they are in most cases about him. But if we do happen to talk deeply about my matters, he feels distant or gets mad especially if I arise some concerns regarding our relationship. I can’t remember the last time I kissed him with passion or the last time I actually wanted him. Now, when we have sex it feels more out of duty and I feel better pleasing myself. Our sex has also changed. I don’t feel desired or loved in the bedroom. I feel like we have sex only because it belongs to marriage and it must be done in order to be able to say we are a couple. I have never felt to weird estranged of sex. It seems like decades ago when I used to be sexually active. I would love to want him and hate myself for not wanting him. It’s just all these things that have happened have put a wall in between us. Sometimes I am having hard time seeing him as equal and as a man, especially as an equal, sensual, and caring man. I just don’t see it. Sometimes, all I see is a man who can’t get a grip, a man who is selfish and a man who is prone to pursue solely on his own happiness and passion. Someone who doesn’t even know what he wants and if it’s possible to attain. Someone who puts his unrealistic expectations in front of everything no matter how it affects me. I have spent years understanding and compassioning and patiently waiting for him. I know he feels grateful. But that is not enough. I don’t live with gratefulness. I need to proceed. I want my opinions heard to. I also want to be adored. I don’t feel adored. I hate knowing that I’m not his usual type – I’m not a metal head and have silver half shaved head. I know I’m not a natural blonde and can’t sign or know a lot about music. I know I’m not outgoing and very funny. I know he fancies so many other women and pleases himself with the idea of them. I know he no longer gets excited about me. But I know he knows that I still am pretty good and that’s why he stays. I no longer believe he either loves me with all his heart. I believe he thinks he owes me to be together, also he doesn’t want to have yet another divorce. He feels like he owes me for helping him. And I bet he also thinks I know him that well that it would be a real pain in the ass to try to introduce himself to yet another woman.
But, please note, this is not all on him no matter how I make it sound. A lot of it is on me. I have tons of flaws even tough I might conceal them pretty well. I have thousands of fractions and I have massive walls. I am a very private person who is somewhat forced to be present as someone else. I carry a lot of baggage and secrets. Such secrets that absolutely no one would look me in the eyes after revealing them. I am aware that there is not a living soul who would have me with all my skeletons in the closet. My past is my present everyday even though I mask it. I care about my past and I live in my past because I don’t like today. In today I have some things that I enjoy but for most of them I don’t. Most of my days I spent in a mist. I look at thing through grey light mist. When I see things I don’t like, I just look away and add another layer of mist. If sunshine ever hits the mist I and the mist evaporates, I nearly panic when I am forced to confront all those things I buried under the mist. From behind the misty vail you would fine me. Me when I was free and determined. Me who my friends and family consider light of the day. Me how had massive sex appeal and confidence. Me who had energy to care about other people than only my husband and sometimes me. That is the real me I think. Then I see a mirror. A mirror from which I can see myself. Although that reflection is not me. That image in the mirror is my shadow. My hallow shadow I drag around. Shadow with fragile impressions, lines and gestures with foggy and glassy eyes that don’t give anything away. One could try to reach me but would fail. One could try to grab me but couldn’t hold on. The other me no longer exists. There is only the shadow me. Shadow me doesn’t feel and can’t be felt. Shadow me is as much of a shadow to anyone else as it is to me, shadows don’t really exist, they are just images of darkness and opposites of sun.
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