Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Saturday, 12 May 2012

Casino Royale

There is a truth that I know about gambling in any organised way: you don't win in the long run.  The winners are always the people in charge of the organisation, that's why they have the organisation.  Probability works in favour of the people who hold the machines and the means of gambling - you, as a punter, may win in the short term but ultimately you're locked in a zero-sum game.  It's like the laws of thermodynamics: you can't win; you can't break even and you can't quit.

A week ago I posted a short, but highly self-serving, negative rant that I was failing to talk to Tilly properly and was likely making things worse.  I deleted it because I always seem to be saying stuff like that and it was getting a bit too maudlin and self-serving.  I've said before that I get a bit carried away with the self-pity.  Besides, I do know that other people have their own problems and I was hoping that I could be someone that would provide support rather than taking it for a change.

Things seemed to be better.

Today... well, not even today, just a few hours ago - I was shown just how much of that is fragile and beyond my control.

I've had a few niggles this past week, silly little things: Tilly losing her keys all the time and having to use mine, making it hard for me to get in on an evening, or just leaving her key in the lock and locking the door, making it pointless for me to have a key.  There's been the stacking up of washing and clothes in general, the cooking stuff that isn't even moved to the sink or the worktops that aren't wiped after use, the lack of hoovering, the snow-drifts of rubbish overflowing bins that I end up emptying every evening and morning - that kind of thing.  This is my job, it is my role, and I chose that.  I even managed to raise the key issue and avoid a massive confrontation - or so I thought.

Tilly opened up today.  She said that I was constantly snitting at her, news to me, and that I'm doing it so much and so often that she simply assumes anything I say is a snipe at her.  This was to justify her angry response to a genuine question of mine, assuming she had told me something I had forgotten (which she hadn't, it turned out, she hadn't told me at all, so my request was reasonable, just ill-timed).  She's also sick of doing things for other people and getting nothing in return.  She doesn't know what she's not getting but whatever it is is making her feel down and angry.  She hates the fact that I am angry all the time (news to me) and that she is waiting for the next time I 'flash my eyes' at her or respond shortly to her (she pointed out this happens "all the time", which was news to me).  I'm not getting any better, she reminded me, and she is sick of dealing with my shit.

I should point out that we haven't talked about "my shit" for a very long time, at least since my last therapy session in April, so just under a month.

She's sick of not being able to relax, of waiting for me to have my next crisis and then to retreat into myself again.  I had a bad mood last Sunday and I told her, rather than have her guess, and this just made her notice it all the more, making it irritate her even more.  She's sick of me diffusing things with humour - something that she was once attracted to but now finds incredibly irritating, goading and patronising.  She's sick of my work related stress, of the amounts that I have to do and the fact that we don't have enough money to do everything we need to do.  She stressed that this was not my fault but hers.

Right.

Thing is, her accusations are correct.  She's not being unreasonable (maybe a little unpredictable and harsh) and everything she says is spot on.  The last few days, apparently, have been really good but this has only served to heighten her anxiety about when it's all going to end.  And, as she said, now she's said all this I'm bound to collapse/blow up/be a block of wood in the next few days because that's what I do in these situations.  She can't even talk to me about stuff, she has apparently tried three times in the last week and I brushed her off, for fear of me going into one of my "moods".

And she's dead right.

And I have no answers.

In the ensuing discussion she told me off about being short with the children, whilst being irritable and short with them herself and winding them up, and also told me off for misinterpreting her words about a third child.  She knows that my delay in talking about it is a polite way to say "no" and she didn't really want to bring it up, but felt compelled to in order to explain how she felt.  Obviously she got that wrong because I ended up getting all serious about it.  It's not her fault she deadpanned a suicide threat, it's mine for not seeing it as a joke and laughing along.  She's conscious that I just pick up on random bits and use that to reinforce my feeling that a third child is not a good idea, which is my fault no matter how much she protested otherwise.

And now I'm talking too much again.  I was going to try and post something creative.  I think I just need to get my shit done for work.  Beyond that though, I only really see three potential avenues open to me, which I shan't ennumerate here because that would make me as bad as I paint Tilly.

No comments:

Post a Comment

All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!