And then, true to the ancient pattern, (history, wow, it repeats itself!) I'll hear at some point in the future on a day where boyfriend is feeling nervous, about how he does all kinds of WONDERFUL things for me and how ungrateful I am. How I'm act like a spoiled child, and don't do anything in return, and so on, and so on. It got pretty verbally ugly this morning, people. The f-word got involved. There were pure insults, which in my mind brings us down to the level of just fighting, not even arguing. This is a level I loathe to arrive at. I do not want to be in a relationship where this kind of thing happens. I recall that before the whole thing took a swan-dive over the edge this morning, I said I didn't feel like having a nervous conversation at 7am as I was waking up... but on it went, right. over. the. edge, and off to crazytown.
This, in itself, is a whole other can of worms... the getting nervous and taking it out on others thing. He was supposed to be seeing someone to help him learn to deal with his nervous energy... except he's been "meaning to call them" for like, the past 5 months? Priorities here become more obvious as time goes on, I'd say. Boyfriend has hours and hours extra to give to work for free on the weekends, but picking up the phone for a few minutes during the week to book an appointment with a professional who may be able to help him deal with his anger issues, potentially helping to salvage a relationship before it implodes due to the intolerable nature of these outbursts? Second priority, it seems.
Hell, I suppose if improving this problem were really a concern to him, he could have even used a few of those hours donated on the weekend to his employer to read a little self-help material instead... but I don't think that's happened either.
Anyways, according to how things shook down this morning, it's me who has a problem, and I can leave if I want. Oh yeah, and it's also my fault, apparently.
I don't even know how to explain the kind of pain and internal conflict I'm feeling as a result of this morning, this thing that ever so slowly, just keeps building on itself. I know that each time this sort of thing happens, it hurts me more and more, because the more I see it, the more it looks like something that is just a pattern, that shows no signs of going away, no signs of changing. I am utterly unequipped to deal with it, which I suppose logically would mean I should be considering not dealing with it anymore. And if Boyfriends efforts to contact the professional who could help him, or even to try and be a little more attentive to the problem in general are any indication... he doesn't want to deal with it either.
What's sad is that there is so much good, and wonderful heart, and delight attached to this person I love, who just happens to have this unfortunate f-ing-creepy-little-nervous-accountant-tumor. And I know now that in the end, it's the accountant or me who'll have to go.
Today's fight got rolling along because I didn't want to share a box of oatmeal. Which he bought. Which makes it his. Isn't me NOT eating his oatmeal more generous in fact, than me EATING his oatmeal? If I were to eat his oatmeal... wouldn't that make me the kind of person I'm accused of being right now, which is a "taker"?
Moving along, according to the creepy-accountant, I was fine to take HIS beer the other night (this was in fact beer that he had said he would pay for & that I did not have to pay for which we both knew we would be drinking later on a visit to his sister.)
Let me remind you before we go any further that I am in a place I would never choose to be in were I solo. I am here bearing that place and all the stupid games it plays with my sense of self and esteem out of love for someone who has a crazy (and very biased) accountant living in their head. I am the one who makes dinner most frequently. I am the one who does most of the housecleaning, and more of the grocery shopping. I often assist crazy-accountant-in-the-head-person by moving his dirty laundry along through the washer and dryer. I don't like ironing shirts, and I sometimes even iron his while I'm ironing the ones I wear to work. I pay for my groceries, my travel, my cosmetics, my clothes. I pay for everything I need or want, and I NEVER EVER ask boyfriend to pay for something for me, because I'm just fine paying my own way. When it comes to shared groceries, more often than not, I'm eating about 4 tenths, and crazy-accountant-in-the-head-person eats about 6 tenths, though I always pay for half. Ditto for consumption of non-food items in the house (he is mildly wasteful.) I'm *happy* to pay my own way because it's simple and responsible and there is nooo risk of someone feeling taken advantage of. But, when I'm offered something, and I check that the person is SURE they want to give it to me and they say yes... one would think it would be safe to accept right? HAHA! I should really learn my lesson on this one! One must always check first for any signs of a malignant crazy-accountant-tumor lurking within the giver.
The fact is we've had a fight over oatmeal and beer. How very very lame. Clearly the larger issue isn't being addressed correctly, and I'm not sure that it ever will be. If I have a problem sharing with my partner sometimes, it's because I am mildly territorial about certain things, but much more-so because I know there is a creepy little accountant that works away in that head of his, only accepting CERTAIN currencies of gesture or purchase to do the books. The books are fixed, and in this way it will always look as though I am the taker to him.
History. Repeats. Itself.
People. Rarely. Change.
These are two lessons I think I need to learn. I am, at this point, a hair's width from giving up on all that is great and wonderful with him, because when this happens this is just as equally terrible, and while feeling nice is nice, feeling terrible is well... to be avoided. And feeling terrible in a situation where you are already away from all other familiar comforts of home results in a very special, very alone kind of sorrow. Loved ones should not repeatedly make eachother feel terrible, because that is not what exemplifies the act of "being loving".
In the meantime, while I try to figure out if I've got any try left in me, I've decided to stop taking *anything*. Even if it is offered, it obviously can't be trusted.
In fact, it's a whole other issue, but not accepting things offered (again part of the 'history') has lead in the past to crazy-accountant-in-the-head-person feeling shunned or something. Like I don't want what they have to give or whatever. This may even have been the very illogical starting point with the whole "no I don't want to share your oatmeal with you" this morning. Maybe the accountant has rage that there is no currency to use for leverage later, I don't know. But I've gotten sick of it before, and said that I don't want to share anything because of this "problem". Love, and groceries CAN be mutually exclusive. It's nicer when they aren't, but really if there seems to be a problem stemming from a BOX OF FRIKKIN OATMEAL, it seems to me that the love should stay, and the sharing of groceries should be put on hold.
Which is where we are at at 7:30 on this most lovely of mornings.