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Musings of a Mad Woman

 

I’m in a lot of pain.


The man I married keeps finding ways to tell me that I stress him out. That I ruin his days. That I’m a pain in his head. According to him, I give him headaches. I make him feel unhappy, defensive, and inadequate.

Today he asked me, “Who is encouraging me?”
This man I spend hours talking to—about his work, his worries, his dreams. I try to lift him without sounding prescriptive or patronizing. Yet, I’m somehow still unloving and discouraging.

There’s a tightness in my chest. My head hurts. I want to cry, but even that doesn’t bring relief.
Sometimes, I try to think of sex, to distract myself. But with who? Who wants to sleep with a married, lonely, unattractive woman?
I can’t remember the last time a good-looking man even tried to talk to me. Online or offline.
I’ve lost my game. But I think I can get it back. Maybe.

I got off the phone today, crying. Heartbroken. Shattered.
I immediately searched for something to numb the ache. Something—anything.
I scrolled through my phone hoping someone, anyone, would be available to talk. But there was no one.
I even thought, prostitutes. Male prostitutes. I’ve heard they sometimes just listen.
But what if they catfish me and rob me?

Dating apps feel like too much work. And I’m not even interested in men like that.
What I want is a beautiful escape: a great conversation and a really good fuck—with no strings and no struggle.
But then again, I don’t want a broke man either.
God—what even is this?

How did I get to the point where someone makes me feel so low?
So beneath myself?

I’ve always had self-esteem issues, but this... this is a new low.
I’ve thought about dying more in this marriage than ever before in my life.
But then I think of my kids.
Before them, it was my parents and the hope of who I could become that kept me alive.

Did I make a mistake marrying this man?
I want this to work. I really do. But it’s clear he thinks so little of me.

I don’t know how to shrink myself.
But I feel like I have to.
Maybe if I try harder, he’ll love me better.
But right now, I just want to disappear.

Nothing I do ever feels like it’s enough.
So really—what’s the fucking point?

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