Last night Noah finally talked about his areas of insecurity. It makes me feel like perhaps I shouldn't have put the trampoline in the exact location I did. There is a really lot of "But I thought you wanted..." in my marriage. That's not good.
No matter how much I am hurting, I want Noah. Noah sees me in a way no one else does. He wants me more than anyone else ever has, and I don't mean just for sex. Noah lies to me because he wants to be perfect for me and he's afraid he's not. He's afraid to tell me he isn't. Oversimplifying, but true. I think that's never ok. You have to tell me the truth, for better or worse.
No one promised me more better than worse. Mostly it has been more better than worse.
I told my therapist yesterday that I don't fit in groups. She tried to argue with me until I leaned forward and intently told her, "If I left Noah tomorrow and all of a sudden I was single and poor I would find dozens of groups that would take me with open arms. As a married, rich, seemingly heterosexual, who looks the way I do and acts the way I do with the trauma history I have... No. I don't fit into groups. She closed her mouth and nodded. She told me she can see my point. My therapist also took a new job. She will only have hours on Thursday or Friday nights. Thursday's Sarah is going to be taking a class and it's Noah's night off. Not to mention that I don't think I want to fight rush hour traffic to Oakland. And having therapy on Friday night would wreck the whole fucking weekend. I cry enough. I guess this means I am going to be between-therapists. Shit. Perfect timing.
It feels like petulant whining for me to be upset. I have such a comfortable, easy life right now I shouldn't whine so much about anything that is going wrong. How can it be that bad? I feel really weird about the fact that I still have loud, messy poor people problems. The way I throw temper tantrums feels low class to me. I have only witnessed the "public" faces of homes with more money. I can't act like them. I can't produce children who act like them. I can't even have a middle class attitude about infidelity. I want to go jump off a bridge. I'm so melodramatic. It's all so very intense. I can't have "normal" "acceptable" feelings. I don't feel angry and upset. I feel like (and do) cut up large swaths of my body.
What exactly are people supposed to do with anger? I've never been able to figure this out. You're allowed to feel anger you just aren't allowed to show it. How the fuck does that work? I don't think other people get as angry as me.
Side note: the dry cleaners who got their window broken at the General Strike? $620. I feel thrilled that I did that. The family who owns the business almost cried. The building management was going to make them pay it. Do you know why I did it? Because I really want to break windows and it is only the thinnest veneer of control I have over that urge. I can't feel angry with whoever broke the windows. I understand.
I just honestly think I am smarter and more willing to think about long-term consequences than him. (I know it was a him because J.P. Massar watched the kid do it.) I understand ignorance. I think that people should be working a lot harder to learn about different points of view. I know it is hard. I struggle with feeling safe being myself around other points of view. I start to feel like I meld in and disappear. Until I do something Wrong and I feel ostracized.
I don't go dance because there are too many people who won't look me in the eye. I feel unwelcome. I'm not mad about it. I'm resigned. This has been my whole life. I understand. I'm not someone that people want to look in the eye. It's ok.
It's approaching the end of funny colored hair time. The bleach is destroying it. Yesterday I cut off several inches in the front at a funny angle with wisps every which way because I couldn't comb the knot out. I should probably straighten my hair cut a bit today. In front of a mirror this time. It's time to stop bleaching and let it grow. I'm also at the perfect point in my cycle to kind of want to shave my head so I will have a weird reason to hide at home again for a long time. That's the kind of thing I want to do and I don't want to deal with the social consequences of doing. Boy howdy do you get comments when you shave your head as a girl. I'm trying to decide how short I am willing to go this time. I have a lumpy head. I went down to nothing when I was seventeen. Not long after my father killed himself. So
thirteen years ago I shaved my head and like a year ago my hair was nearly to my waist. If I ever want long hair again it will be a long, slow slog. Like, when I'm fifty. We'll see.
My heart hurts.