I had not heard from Patrick in two days. Since we speak 3-5x a day either by phone, TeamSpeak or IM, this was obviously highly unusual. Phone calls, IMs and txt messages went unanswered.
He proceeds to IM me a few hours ago, detailing his disapparence. He, allegedly, went drinking last night (alone), got intoxicated to the point he could not drive. He called a taxi. A taxi never showed up (allegedly). He then proceeded to DRIVE home. Going a few short blocks, he pulled his car over when the police apparently showed up. He was then arrested for “public intoxication” and sent to detox for 18 hours.
Um, yah.
He called me and I told him I furious — furious enough to not comment about this little escapade. A few hours later he IM’s me to tell me he’s sorry he’s hurt me, and he wants my support and love. “For what?” I ask. “To be there for me an all.” I retorted with this:
If you want to be with me, You have to get your shit together and I don’t mean just the drinking.
I love you Patrick, a lot, but I can’t sit idly by watching you make a train wreck of your life.
And this can’t be a flip comment, you’ve seriously got to think about what you want from me, your life, our relationship. And I’ll support you 100 percent on anything you want to do with your life, no matter what but I can’t support you while you deconstrcut yourself and our relationship.
He said he’s “thinking.”
I see.
Month: March 2004
Room in his basement
Ben and I have been playing phone tag for the last month or so, which is amusing trying to keep time tables straight as he is in Belgium and I’m in the US. I called him back tonight to chat because I wanted to talk to someone who made me laugh and if it’s anyone, it’s him.
I’m really upset I won’t get to meet him in France in a few months — something he and I were both looking forward to do. Unfortunately, he’s taking his finals during the week I’ll be there where as he had the week off when my trip was first arranged for the previous week. We’re now talking about meeting sometime in the summer, if ach gets me those tickets for the Reading Festival AS PROMISED or if Ben decides to take a trip to Canada and I’ll meet him there.
He’s completely disquieted about my relationship with Patrick and he doesn’t understand why I’m still seeing him. Maybe it’s a Euro vs American thing? Dunno, but he’s concerned about me, as long as I send him jelly belly jellybeans and Peeps.
I’m kidding.
I’m concerned as well, and the situation isn’t getting any easier. Having conversations with Patrick is like pulling teeth from a chicken. I was feeling particularly romantic today and I called him to tell him I missed him. Dumped me to vm. Called again several hours later and got dumped to VM again. Patrick called back and I was excited and happy, and I told him I missed him. “Why do you miss me?” he asked. Which, totally ruined the moment. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. He refuses to absolutely talk about his feelings with me at all and every conversation we have sounds like a business meeting. There is no romance and it bothers the living shit out of me. I’ve told Patrick this, this isn’t a new story. But I don’t get IT — if you love me then what the fuck is the difficulty in telling me that you do?
Because to Patrick, it’s “too painful to tell you.”
This is 180 degrees from the Patrick I started talking to back in November. I wrote this late december and he called me that day after he read it to tell me how much it meant to him. How crappy his ex-relationships were and how sensuality, love and meaning had gotten tossed out the window. How much he NEEDED, WANTED and DESIRED everything I wrote. We were on the same plane, finally. I was on the same plane as someone and it was going to work!
When did things start going downhill? Shortly before my last trip out there. Sex became mechanical and featureless. He kept harping on my stupid blow jobs — because yes, they are just that great. I swear to god, I’m never putting my mouth on another penis again. Ever. Because that is what sex was reduced to on the last trip – me giving blowjobs and okay sex. Not the great VAVOOM that it was two months prior. I’m supposed to take into consideration that his work and personal life were in an uproar, he was sick (as was I), but damnit, you have not seen me in two months! I don’t fucking get the 180 degree flip as for months you did nothing but tell me how you missed me, wanted me, loved me etc.
And now nothing.
Ben and I have had this long running joke for the last few years about saying “fuck you” to the world, giving up school, moving to the South of France and bearing giant amazonian children (he’s 6’7). When I came back from Denver all bummed and was talking to Ben about the trip, he was also equally remorse about his personal life. One of us had said, “We should have just chucked everything away and gone to the South of France.”
We both agreed we should have.
[pfp] search and destroy
Lots of people have been asking me, “how was Denver??” and the most I could tell them was, “great!” or “good!”
But no descriptions or adjectives to describe what was going down.
Why did I, the prolific of them all, clam up?
Especially when it comes to the uber personal crap, which is my forte.
Because here is the deal, shit in Denver wasn’t all that great. Some days it was downright awful. Lots of things were going on: Patrick and I were both sick. One of his bosses had just left Denver the morning I arrived and kept him on a tight leash all week He quit his main job due to personal stress and conflict of interest half way through my trip. My hormones were on fire from the BC. Things were terrible at some points and okay in others.
As I was explaining to darkdepths tonight, the problem with voicing what happened that week on LJ has it’s ramifications, because even if I prefaced with the background I just told you and then told you the facts of what went down, people would be calling for blood — his blood. You, my dear readers as my friends, would be asking why the hell was I still with this man?
Now, before you get panties in a twist, he didn’t beat me, abuse me, cheat on me, rape me, or any other horrible things. He didn’t drink while I was there nor did he do anything that would warrant a lynching. But I also knew, as it were with how we hear stories, save for a minute few, none of you have met Patrick. So even if after all that I had to say and I defended him, I would sound like I needed to be thrown on Ricki Lake or else I was just fooling myself.
Patrick and I talked about what went down before I left. I voiced my concerns and he agreed that I was right and he understood where I was coming from, but that didn’t take away from what had happened. All my defense modes were on and as of right now, I have zero idea where this relationship is heading. I still don’t feel like the problems have been resolved (to me) though he feels differently, he really wants this to continue.
This isn’t really about love anymore, but about if we have what it takes to make it work. The problem (or not) about this is that I know where Patrick is coming from. I understand why he does the things he does and why he sometimes treats me like I’m an object and not a person. I understand from his past why he is emotionally closed and unable to communicate his feelings. I’ve expressed that to him and I also realise that a good relationship takes time and effort from both parties but it’s highly unlikely in this case when we are 1100 miles away and the only time we have together is destroyed because of other issues rising.
But as darkdepths pointed out so wisely, it’s not a matter of him merely understanding what I’m saying but he needs to change several things about his tune if he wants to keep me. But I also know that things have to cool down a bit, work is still crazy and he has an old friend of his (male) in town staying with him. So, we’ll see.
There you have it.
Can Lisa ever be happy?
My brother and I were sitting on opposite couches last night discussing the fate of our lives. It seemed that for every few good steps we take forward, we get pushed back another five. When the topic turned to relationships, he started cracking walnuts and I felt like it was some kind of sign.
On my way home from Denver, I flew through MLPS. A young couple with a child were in the seats next to me, with me taking the aisle seat (preference for leg room). The overhead bulkhead was closed and I thought perhaps they had already filled it with stuff as I needed a place for my messenger bag. But when I popped it open to verify, it was empty. After placing my bag up in the bulk hold, I noticed the father (presumedly) struggling with bags at his feet. I asked if he’d like for me to place that stuff in the bulkhead for him. He was quite rude while declining, and I just shrugged as I sat down. During the trip, the child was quiet and when it started to whimper a bit, the mother started breast feeding him.
I was a bit taken aback by the whole experience, especially since they apparently felt uncomfortable around me. The father and I kept jostling to not touch each other during the 1.5 hour flight. I kept to myself, leaning towards to the aisle with my book and my legs on the far left side. Megan and I were lolly gagging around the luggage carousel when I noticed the mother staring at me. I have no idea why she was so intent in me, but apparently one good deed for the day was enough to warrant the evil eye.
My brother and I were watching About A Boy last night as we talked. Our conversation stilted while we watched what was happening on screen and then would rev up again. I felt like I’m living in a glass jar. Being watched and scrutinized by those around me. I’m falling between cracks I never thought possible.
My birthday is coming up and I’ll be turning 32. I’m feeling the pressure of not having consumed enough or done enough by my early 30s. I should have my masters by now! I should be married! I should have kids! I should be doing a hundred and one different things and not worrying about whether or not a group project is being completed or if my grades will be good enough. I feel like I can’t relate to anyone in my age bracket and especially to women who are all walking that normality line that I’ve swerved so damn far from.
Everyone keeps asking me how Denver went. My monosyllabic answer of “Good!” or “Great!” seems to not fulfills their demands. I’m not sure what to say because in the end, I still have no answers to my questions. So perhaps I’ll start with what I perceive to be the truth and take it from there.
If you were not aware, Patrick had (has) three jobs. He own(ed)s part of a local company in Denver and does contract work for two others. I knew that while this was to be *my* vacation, for him, it was to be a hellish week of work. He was/is currently in flux with the local company, with him quitting the company half-way through my trip. One of his bosses for the contract work showed up prior to my arrival and left the morning I arrived.
He kept Patrick on a tight leash, calling at all hours of the day and night to get things completed. Many “dates” we had were broken by us driving to downtown Denver to work on shit at the colo, many plans disintegrated because his work schedule. Coupled with both of us being sick as dogs, tensions were high. Verbal fisticuffing ran rampart. It was terrible.
Verbal fisticuffing is the term I use when Patrick starts pushing my buttons, making smartass comments that only ignite me to push HIS buttons and make comments. This gets nasty really quick. There were no holds barred accounts where I let both guns fly. This was not the sound of a “happy couple” at all, rather, of people who could barely tolerate each other. It was distressing.
I grew tired of this game quick, opting to keep my mouth shut when he started which only defused him, which was the point. I was beginning to feel like an object, not a person. I whittled away the hours while he worked suffering on the couch with the illness that would not go away. After he would get done with work, he would spend a few hours playing video games on his PC. He would occasionally check up on me and make sure I had things I needed and that I was still breathing, but I did not feel like I was being comforted enough. Like something was missing, and I never really knew what it was.
The sex was interesting. Taking into account the stress from work, being sick and other shit going on, I didn’t care about those things. I wanted the sex to be as hot and passionate as it was the last time we were together. It wasn’t. Perhaps I’m rare, but despite all the emotional bullshit he was going through, I wanted him to treat me like he did before and he didn’t. I was getting tired (and bored) of always initiating it. And it wasn’t that he was not affectionate or showed affection to me, he did, but when it came to the actual act, it was always ME who had to take charge. Always, always always. Then the issues came up. According to him, his exes were dead lays. No imagination, passion or interest other than things vanilla. Things had to be done a specific way at specific times, heaven forbid that anything deviate from that pattern. Me? I’m not like that. By a long shot. And I tried. Tried to make him feel loved, wanted and needed. I introduced new things, taking baby steps. Nothing seemed to work as sex always ended with me on top.
Always.
[PFP]
Lots been going on I haven’t discussed with anyone or on lj during my week here.
He hasn’t been drinking, save for a few beers on Friday and I’ll report more when I get home on Monday.
Don’t worry, I’m not in danger. I’m fine.
Really.
[patrick-free post]
I’ve noticed when the shit hits the fan, I don’t talk about it on LJ. I seem to be arch typical of most LJ’s out there.
Patrick is an alcoholic.
I’ve been suspicious about this for awhile. Talked to my mom about it and one other person recently.
Patrick and I were on the phone till 6:30am talking about it this morning. It started out with my litany of reasons why I was nervous about the whole probability of moving to Denver. His drinking was number 4. I told him that under no circumstances could I be with someone who uses alcohol as a crutch. I told him I cannot conceive of uprooting my life yet again and moving 1100 miles to be with someone where I WILL get sucked into the whole “taking care of” mode and watch not only my life but myself and HIS life go spiraling out of control even more so. He said he respected that decision and he wanted me to run far away as fast as I can if I feel this strongly about it.
I’m still going to Denver on Friday, this is serious shit that needs be talked about face to face, not at 6:30am on the phone.
Not sure what I’m going to do yet or what we are going to do yet.
We’ll just leave it at that.