… is when you have to hide yourself on the internet from the one person who is supposed to know everything about you.

It’s sad when you’re in your thirties and have to call your elderly mother to drive you to the drug store for ‘cover ups’ because you made one more mistake, again.

When you were told you write on a large sign ‘make no assumptions’, you take it as truth, and then the same thing happens, again, because you made the mistake of believing it.

It’s mental abuse, there’s no question.

It’s been over 24 hours, and he won’t contact me, and I know it.

The only effort he puts in is to feel sorry for himself and his condition (one we share, mind you, being 3000 miles away from EACH OTHER), and attack me out of his own frustrations when he knows, time and time again, that I will take it as if it is, truly, my fault.

It will not be my fault anymore. It’s his fault now.  Because when it’s my fault, I become my own judge and  jury.  And I am far too harsh.

It’s his fault for not trying hard enough. I’m tired of trying and not being “good enough”.  I keep myself alive with a roof over my head and the bills paid with no help.

I am more than good enough.

It’s sad when the fingerless gloves are on, and the rings are off.

and *I* paid for those rings. I bought them with my own money.

Did I mention I’m paying his bills too?

I must have been an idiot.

All for this? All to be abused and accused because I do not live every breathing waking moment suffering? Because I have the initiative to try to find *something else* to do with my life while being forced to wait?

No, instead I suppose I could be mentally abusive as possible, go to sleep like a baby, and wait for someone to come crawling back to me again, not caring that she’s SI because it is some sort of Dostoevski answer to the wedding rings on her left finger, then to turn around and degrade anyone who does this. I guess that’s some sick definition of ‘love’.

And when I’m walking through a store with my mother and she shows me the evidence of her early days, and shows me there is hope, then there has to be hope.

Enough is enough.

If he will not love me, I will.

I have to.