Listening to pandora working at midnight.  Such sad songs.

Thinking about how hard this must be for him and feeling what he must be feeling.  Feeling stupid pity for myself that I have to be the one to lead him through how to be a good man to me.

How hard it must be for him still- to try so hard.  Every day, to try and give and give.  Trying to better himself as a man.  Trying to prove himself as a husband.  And then to be told every day- at something stupid, something small, that he’s fucking up.  I say it nicely.  But there’s no other interpretation than he’s fucking up.  And he takes it well.  He makes a defensive ridiculous excuse.  I tell him that’s lame.  Minutes go by.  He digests.  He apologizes, he feels it.  It’s progress.  But it so fucking hurts.

He is doing so much.  And all I fucking do is bring him down.  I don’t really ONLY bring him down.  I build him up and support him and love him and hold him high.  But these days when there’s some stupid bullshit every day and all I do is berate him, it feels so bad.  I feel SO BAD so… mean – for pointing out this bullshit when he is working so hard to improve himself at the level of his soul.

I could be totally being snowed over- he could not be doing anything but watching tv and jacking off every night and I really couldn’t be sure.

But it seems like he is trying, and that’s all that I have, is my perceptions.  I believe that he is.  Because I’m too nice maybe.  I know the changes I experience in him are real.  And I love what I’m experiencing with him… 80% of the time.  Maybe 90.

But then every day, lately, every day- there’s been something.  Usually something small-ish, but still.  I have to “point it out.”  To NAG.  To let him know that wasn’t kind.  That I”m not being unreasonable.  To want him to just be honest with me.  To be present in the moment.  To not start talking about the weather when I move his hand to inside my bra in the kitchen.  To just tell me if my positive attitude about his apartment is hurtful.  To communicate with me.  To just… live, be, in his body, in the moment.  To turn off talks about the radio connector, the weather, just to enjoy ME.

I have to point these things out.

It hurts to do that to him.  I do it because I care, because I do want for better for both of us together.  I do it for myself, for him, for “us.”  But it is stupid, it feels awful sometimes, and it hurts.

Then we cry.

Then I worry that I’m being unreasonable.

I’m not.  I’m not.  I’m not, right?

I can expect him to be intimate with me without talking about random conversational things right?  Of course I can.  Yet pointing it out – and other things- telling him to JUST TELL ME… how much can I nag without breaking and feeling like *I* am the problem.

I fear abandonment.

I fear lies.

I don’t let these fears come out.  He knows they’re there, I sure know they’re there.  But living in fear isn’t a way to do it- so I know they’re there, and they come out when I feel no other option than to essentially nag.  I wish he didn’t push me to nagging.  I wish he could just hold my breast and enjoy my body and be there.  Be with ME.  Feel my breast in his hand, feel my lips in his, feel my body pressed against his, leaning into him, melting into him.  But it doesn’t come to him that way all the time.

Sometimes it does.  Or maybe those times he just is cognizant of the other random thoughts but suppresses the urge to speak about them.  I just want him to be with me.  To enjoy me.  To love me for me, to enjoy my body, my physical presence and availability to him.  I want him to want me.

It hurts me to always be the one.

To be the one pointing out deficiencies.

I tell him the things I appreciate more than I point out the things that hurt me, that are lacking or unhelpful to a healthy relationship.

But it all hurts.  It hurts to think I’m the one beating him down.  I don’t really want to be the one beating him down, but if I don’t, there’s no progress… then he’ll think it’s okay to talk about tomorrows outdoor temperature while fondling me sexually.  Then I’ll be quietly mad instead of communicating.  But who really wins?  No one?  Both of us, just later?  I’m not sure.

I’m really upset.  Just tired.  Always these little things.  So many steps forward every day almost.  And yet, the little steps back hurt so badly.

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