“lets leave no words unspoken.”
at this point, ive tried everything to accept my boyfriend will be making twice what i make, as hell be transitioning into his new job tomorrow. ive tried running away from home so i can blast music and go on my clarity drives, ive tried the plain-and-simple method of “just talking it out.” ive acted out like a child, ive ranted to my circle of support.
nothing is working. its a travesty, really – with congratulations flying all around him from our friends, family, the only person left bitter is me and maybe i just resent him for that.
i had expected to grow together, but that doesnt seem to be the case either way because one job change. and theres a sudden looming air of superiority (at least how i picture it; so far no one else feels this way) and i dont even know what to say to him anymore, about anything.
its ridiculous maybe, wanting to break up with someone because theyre suddenly making more money than you, that you no longer feel satisfied because this isnt what you pictured for yourself.
today my boyfriend took me to our nearby shopping plaza (mostly for errands but also ended up staying for lunch). he feels the resentment from me and i tell him im trying, i just cant be happy and maybe im just a selfish bitch for not being satisfied with anything in my life lately.
i called it “our last supper” – not because were ending, but i get this gut feeling that everything is about to change, the second his hourly worth is higher than mine, when he subconsciously transitions into the finance fuckboy we all know and love to hate.
i dont want him to be like his dad, controlling his mom to the point where she barely speaks. i dont want to be like my aunt, whos hid in the garage from her husband – a doctor, even – because she was fucking terrified and money equals power.
im convinced hes going to change (with the money and the power), and i dont want him to change.
“our last supper” – the only bit of normalcy that i have left to cling onto, our last time between us where we are equals.
no words left unspoken – because i told him this after two valiums and two glasses of champagne, sobbing in my red balenciaga sunglasses in the french restaurant at the farmers market portion.
“and save regrets for the broken.”
and i keep wondering if ill regret it, if i just moved out today, cut ties and ran away indefinitely this time. if ill regret not letting him in, for all the resentment i hold for him, for the self-pity i shower myself in.
its getting harder and harder for him to love because im a difficult bitch. and i know im hurting him, being vengeful even by building my wall up all because of a stupid fucking job and some more money on his part.
so heres what ill do, in the words of a day to remembers “all i want”; “to keep your hopes up high and your head down low.”
of course, emo music is the mood – throwback to the 2010s era, a day to remember, bring me the horizon, and pierce the veil on a loop.
im not doing too well lately – and it shows. and if you didnt know that im drowning (both in the literal sense, but also figurative as i drown my emotions out with pills), the music playlist as of late should show you all.
so ill continue listening to my emo playlists, cry in public from the distress and pain of just simply existing, try to play nice with my boyfriend who has done nothing except try to better himself.
maybe i can try the same, to better myself so i have other things to think about besides the fact hes better than me. just not today, crying has completely obliterated my energy.
GFY, fleur (in the red balenciagas)
id like to think im self-sufficient, despite reckless shopping on stupid expensive shit while on klonopin and the occasional treat for myself (maybe more often than most). think $100 supreme t-shirts and mini mini jacquemus joke bags that cant even fit my keys.
i make enough to support myself even though my credit card bills through the roof right now, but if i just learned how to reign in the excessive shopping i think id be able to be in a “better financial place.”
maybe the shopping has truly become an addiction, just something to fill the void in my heart because my life always feels like theres a missing chunk. the idea of a package arriving and having something to look forward to, the ownership aspect of possessing pretty things to display and show off becomes your means of moving forward, deal with the pain in the ass we call life. sometimes its hard planning for a future when you dont really have a direction.
its all so superficial, but i need it (for my wellbeing). maybe in a world thats painted by material objects and possessions, im just the byproduct of a consumer-driven, hierarchy-obsessed society.
so really, who can truly blame me?
everyone is always looking for “more.” and enough never really feels like “enough.”
theres so much pride in appearance, the vanity of it all – in clothes, designer accessories; in having your eyebrows threaded, the arched shape i like maintained; in perfectly manicured nails that scream, “im fucking put together” (my version of self-care, in its purest form).
and theres pride in my career – being validated for doing a good job from my higher ups, recognition showcased with a recent raise and five additional vacation days per year after my latest performance review. being able to support myself, the freedom to afford the things i want (kind of).
at least there was pride in my career.
im not sure why everything in my life has to translate to a competition – who holds the better stories with the biggest “wow” factor, whos the skinniest or the prettiest, whos more successful with the most income, making the most of the time theyre given.
and i know im supposed to be happy for my boyfriend and his new sparkling job offer. hes been struggling for years and ive tried (from the depth of my core) to be supportive. he had clawed his way out of university, fought his way through a severely underpaid job with barely any benefits and no overtime pay. and finally, he found a job that suddenly would pay him double the amount im paid (including my raise). six-digit salary, and im completely fucking shook.
makes one feel inferior, no?
i want to be happy for him, but its so fucking difficult to be, knowing this tremendous change would make him somehow superior to me. i dont want him to think less of me and id rather be the one to leave than be the one left.
“i think were too close for comfort / so dont rock the boat, dont calm the storm.”
all i ever wanted in a relationship was to be equals. and we had that – similar in pay, similar and shared sensitivity amongst our inner circle. the shared anxiety of wanting to be better and im doubtful he can relate now since he got his fucking wish, of making six figures – that because of that, i feel less than than him, and im no longer comfortable with him.
were not equals anymore. and growing up in a world painted by competition, i cant stop comparing myself to others, not even someone whos supposed to be my “partner” or whatever.
were not equals anymore – the scale has tipped (in his favor), the balance fucked and offset, and i lose once again.
the equilibrium is off as is (even though he starts his new job in two weeks). id rather be alone than be with someone who looks down on me.
and i dont know what this holds for me, what it means for us, and where i stand in this relationship. my bets are that everything between us is doomed to fail (but maybe its my inner pessimist speaking).
so just leave a message after the tone.
so i currently have covid. apparently, its the gift that keeps on giving, as ive graciously given covid to all my roommates (theyll thank me for the following months of immunity after this all passes).
covid – miserable? yes.
quarantine – lonely? yes.
reason why i got covid – worth it? yes.
ive (tried) to be the type of person who “doesnt shit where they eat,” my mind automatically painting neutral situations as either black or white, categorizing people as good or bad – defined boundaries, a fine line between two polar opposites (minding my own fucking business in hopes of you minding yours too).
but the happenings tell a different story.
“dont shit where you eat,” they say.
yet im the girl who hooked up with her roommate and best friend, all wrapped into one.
he said he wouldnt date me – and i said “ok.” he said to hook up with other guys, as if i should prove that im non-committal to him – and i said “ok.” vulnerability refuses to unravel, and feelings are left unspoken. and all i can say is, “ok” – for the fear of knowing, the fear of fear itself.
at some point, the walls come caving in, crumpling like paper mache; the line is blurred, and theres no escape from the undeniable reality – the chemistry being the most obvious, rejection a coping mechanism for the both of us. he said he wouldnt date me – well today, hes still my roommate but hes also officially been my boyfriend since then.
i guess with risk there comes reward (or vice versa?). i won the lottery with who i chose to be with. no awkward introductions, or act of approval from the friends whos opinions i value so much – they already know you and i do too (the perks of dating someone in your close-knit friend group).
so how my relationship started – i shat where i ate, and in return, i received a boyfriend, one whos reserved in his emotions at times, but shows his love in actions, checking on me to make sure im okay (because we all know i love attention).
and sometimes i wonder how we got to this place – a place of comfort, safety, and trust. i wonder where time has gone, as we continue to live in this streamline modern historic home with our two roommates (another couple), this place weve called home for almost two years. i wonder where time is going, what to expect as naturally, i always picture the worst case scenario.
and then i wonder if ive changed, if im still that self-sabotaging, manipulative bitch that the ghosts of my past claim i am (was?). i wonder if i just continue hurting person after person (why does everyone like playing the victim?), half-assed promises thrown out the window and words piercing like glass shards. i wonder whether the calm in you can balance the anger in me. i wonder if you deserve a category of “be better” that i cant offer.
and i wonder what life would be like if i were with someone who didnt let me blast “sincerely, kentrell” on drives together, the songs we skip when listening to the album by ourselves the same as one another, as if our brains communicate telepathically (“sad boy never happy again,” our little inside joke). i wonder what life would be like if i werent with someone as patient as ive needed, someone who makes me coffee each morning, someone who force feeds me gatorade as im slurring, plastered and shitfaced, to soothe my morning hangover (or hold my hair as i puke and holding my cup of ice cubes for me, if all else fails).
am i worthy? thats yet to be determined.
“dont shit where you eat,” i say.
i say that to my boyfriend whos ever-present eagerness to meet new people shines through as he started befriending his coworkers, seeing them on a more personal level i wasnt able to relate to.
i judged him even, for befriending his coworkers, looking down on them from my trash throne. maybe i was angry (jealous even) – to want something you dont have, to have people you can actually be honest with at work instead of pasting on a fake mask. maybe my competitive side always needs to be the center of attention, my ego tended to and nurtured.
work and personal life – two separate matters and two separate worlds, the overlap of the venn diagram blank for all the emotional, private aspects that shouldnt cross over into the professional realm.
it took one week – a business trip in vegas, a few days without the comfort of my roommates, boyfriend, home. one week – a slowly changing perspective, stories told over copious amounts of alcohol, a line thats losing its definition, fading gradually.
it took me almost three years to realize – i dont hate my coworkers. even the ones i thought i disliked, and im still trying to understand – their unspoken traumas, their loneliness in this large world and billions of souls.
it took me three years to realize that the people around me are more similar to me than i would have ever assumed on a surface-level. the self-described “geriatric man whos bedtime is 10 pm sharp” coworker (shes closer to my age by the way) recognizes the anxiety and the darkness too, and were both still learning how to deal with it.
and tales told over a bottle of “demon slayer” sake at the bougie japanese fusion restaurant we were treated out to, secrets unravel – psychic readings that have your future written out in stone, the edibles experience at some live action new york event with vanishing faces, people disappearing as the light strobes, (really trippy i hear), the golf tournament after popping some shrooms chocolate. not work appropriate conversation, id think, but those taboo talks speak deeper than the exterior “professional” shell we put on. its real.
so anyways, i guess that makes me the hypocrite, queen of mixing emotions into every situation, a chaotic worldwind. center of attention, self-declared queen of who belongs and who needs to get the fuck out – its all been needs, not wants, and sometimes were cornered in our mind, forced to pick a side before the whole story is revealed.
if theres any takeaway, i judge too soon. i expect the worst out of people most of all, as not all intentions are as pure as they may seem initially. im trying to not see everyone as evil.
but overall im grateful – to get to know my colleagues and work relationships for what they are, who they are on the other side, without the fake “happy colleague” mask or business casual attire – just some drinks, slots, and clubbing in a funny but fascinating “professional development” stance. worth it, even if i got covid as a result.
it would have been sad not to see that side – who we are underneath the mask.
“dont shit where you eat,” they say.
but sometimes honesty can come as a relief – youre not alone. and people see you for who you truly are, and maybe thats ok.