Lucky me, that I find my day full enough of discomfort to write two posts in one. More than likely this is going to sound like crazy, illogical ramblings, since I do find myself fall victim to my feminine irrationality from time to time. Who knows. I guess that’s up for you to decide.
For some reason, saying “my boyfriend” just makes me feel that much worse. It’s such a childish term, if I think about it too much. But “male partner” or “significant other” just sound too formal or too official. So bear with me.
When I started dating him, one of the highlights was that I thought I had found someone like me, more or less. Well, like me in a way no one else was. At least, no one I could find. I’ve never been interested in smoking, drugs, or alcohol like most people seem to be to some degree. Perhaps it has something to do with my past, how it has affected my family. I honestly couldn’t tell you. But something twists and turns deep down when I think about myself getting drunk or high. The same applies to him. He once told me that he hated “changing states,” I think is how he put it. He doesn’t like the feeling being drunk or high gets him — so obviously, he’s been both before where he is familiar with what it’s like. That is enough to get me nervous, as crazy as that is. Like I said, I don’t know exactly why.
But him saying that brought me some sort of relief. Finally, I thought, I had found someone who maybe could stay sober with me when my friends got drunk, who could sit awkwardly in the corner and watch all the stupid people do stupid things and avoid regret at all costs. That last part sounds unhealthy, and it is, but that’s how I am. I’m not saying it’s right, or justifying it. Just stating. I’m working on it.
Anyway, he’s got this idea in his head that he is a slave to his family, and that whatever his father or older sibling ask of him, he is to do without question — because that’s how it’s always been. However, for someone who prided himself on letting people know he was anti-rules in high school, who consistently tells me to “fuck everyone else,” knowing that he refuses to refuse his brothers or his father makes me quite uncomfortable.
And one thing his oldest brother makes him do is drink. And he does.
Last night, he was invited to play Mario Kart at his brother’s house: drunken Mario Kart. And, of course, he participated, without any objection, despite everything he has told me. And it makes my stomach turn, my throat close. He did the same thing in Florida. He went out of his way to tell me that he would never do something for me that made him uncomfortable, and yet he does it consistently for others, like our mutual friend and his family members. While I understand family members more than the others, he makes no effort to change. He admitted to me that it was hypocritical, but he didn’t care.
What am I supposed to do with that? Should I be this upset? Should I let it get to me so much?
Obviously the question is no. But I can’t help it. I can’t help it. And he doesn’t care. Because although he’s unwilling to change for anyone, he still does, but only for certain people in similar situations.
It just makes me want to do terrible, passive aggressive things, as immature as that sounds. But I do. I’ve never wanted to so badly in my life. But I can’t. I’m trying so hard not to. Because I can’t be wrong. I’m always wrong. I can’t be wrong anymore. There has to be a valid point I can make, an argument I can definitely win.
God, I am pathetic.