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, 18 October 2014

Compassion

I'd say "isn't it odd" about compassion being two
women, but, actually, perhaps it isn't.
One thing I would never have expected to be called is 'compassionate'. There have been attempts to be compassionate to myself on this very blog (look for the posts on compassionate letters here and here for example) and they haven't fared terribly well. Indeed, one may be forgiven for thinking that I hated myself and am incapable of compassion. Certainly, I have always doubted I have that compassionate flair within me as I don't really know what it is from my childhood - hence the thoughts that I may well be autistic. It is, therefore, somewhat surprising to be called compassionate by three separate people in two separate places in short order.



Hell-fire. If I could dress like this for the
day I wouldn't mind so much.
Okay, not that short an order as two of these instances took place on the blog of Rhiannon (lovely selfies there at the moment, by the by, and I confess to being jealous of that bracelet) around the 14 October and the other took place on a forum about Sexless Marriages earlier today. However, in each case I am shocked to discover that people found what I said compassionate. Of course, positive feedback forms a loop and so I have tried even harder.

At the moment I have a cold, nothing too terrible, but enough to give me a massive headache and make my nose run all night. Joy. It has also meant a day in pyjamas, not something that I normally do, and feeling rubbish without getting the mountain of work built up from the week done.

And why is there a mountain of work? Simple. I'm lazy and I've been incredibly angry since about Wednesday.

Ah me.






On Wednesday evening I was perusing one of my posts on this Sexless Marriage place as someone had dug it up from the depths of September and was bugged by the list of times that Tilly and I had been intimate physically. Something wasn't adding up. Feeling generally put out, mainly due to a headache and reading about GamerGate idiocy, I looked up some texts on the way to work in the morning. Yeah, Tilly and I did not have sex between August 2010 and April 2013. That would be the August that she told me that she only had sex to stop me moaning about it being two years, you can imagine how that still makes me feel, and the April where things went well enough but I found it hard to complete the process with just Tilly. I'd been feeling guilty about that again, but this... well, it sort of explains why. She and I hadn't had meaningful sex since before she fell pregnant with our eldest in August 2007. We were married in August 2008 and next had sex, three times, to conceive our youngest in September 2009 - violent and mechanical sex in which it was all about having another child with very little discussion or, well, anything.

And if I could only work out how much she wants paid
and in what currency...
Tilly has been clear - she only really wants to talk about sex when she's "in the mood" but I have no idea when, or if, she's in the mood and, when she is, we don't talk much. In that April session (2013) that seemed to go so well we did not talk at any point during or afterwards about sex. Whenever I've brought up sex since 2008 I have been accused of 'going on about it' and told to 'bring it up again when I'm in the mood'. I have forwarded articles, never more than one a month, on various aspects and views of sexuality in a rather desperate attempt to work out what makes Tilly tick and what she might agree with. And so, realising that I'd made such a large error in my timings annoyed me.

Another reason I was upset was because of what else was going on at that time. In July 2011 Tilly had to confront that I was an active cross-dresser. It had already been 11 months. And it would be another twenty before we did again. She blamed me, throughout my own therapy that followed (and hers) for everything that was wrong in our relationship. Because I was depressed I believed her. I got a document from her that I shared with my own therapist entitled "What is wrong with our relationship" that I had been urged to get given my own cluelessness. I remember that I disagreed with most of what was said in it and that my therapist essentially told me that it didn't matter if I agreed or not, that was what my wife thought.

I'd have taken this, you know, happily.
So I worked at it. With predictable results. Tilly kept saying that she had to shut herself emotionally because of how I had behaved and how much I had hurt her over the years by being emotionally unavailable. Perhaps if I took some care over my appearance, my smell, my routines... I had done all the housework since Tilly became pregnant with our eldest in 2007 by the time 2013 rolled around and I started to have had enough. Tilly used to put any plates or cutlery back to be washed if there was so much as a smudge on them. She'd belittle the hoovering that I did and claim that she did everything anyway. I got the pet out, the pet we were supposed to share, every evening for an hour, dropping to half an hour as my depression got worse and the situation at work deteriorated. And Tilly would tell me, in the document to my therapist as well, that I didn't do enough around the house or engage with her. And she'd tell me how I was the master of the Grand Gesture but rubbish at doing things regularly or because they needed doing.

In April, after another conversation, she texted me about having sex. And, for a short time in 2013, things seemed to be on the up. I dropped taking out the pet to every other night, Tilly took over washing the pots a little more and stopped being hypercritical of what I did. But she accused me of being like a teenager in my expectations of a relationship, told me I was emotionally illiterate. Granted, I agreed, I parroted the phrases back at her. Who was I to argue? She supported me in other ways.

She called me her third child.


And it all came crashing in on Thursday morning on the way to work, listening to the Pet Shop Boys in the car. How she had called off the sex in May 2013, when I got the job, because of the stress of moving. "We'll do it again after we move" she promised. And, after we'd moved, things did not improve. Once again I did not do enough around the house, but by now I had thrown in the towel on the pet. Tilly had said that the reason she had been so mean was because she was punishing me for my lack of doing anything with our eldest when she was born. The baby I wasn't allowed to hold or comfort or play with or read to for very long due to Tilly's paranoia. I wasn't doing enough to help Tilly out. And she was being crawled all over every minute of the day and night. Another excuse for the lack of sex, even after I took over co-sleeping duties with the Boy, has been "I've been crawled all over all the time, I don't fancy it again from you" or "I just don't want to be touched for a bit". She hates me rubbing any part of her body for any reason because it makes her feel sick.

And, on Thursday morning, I realised it all at once and it made me very upset.

It's been Tilly's birthday and I wanted to make sure that some distance was put between that and my bringing these things up, or else I would be accused of deliberately sabotaging her happiness (and not for the first time). So, when I was being frown-y and angry on Thursday evening I was careful to keep mumbling about work deadlines. Tilly then played a blinder - "Well, this does happen every year about this time. Would it be best if I just steered clear from you for a bit, or else it'll become about me like it always does even when it's nothing to do with me."

And, just like that, I was shot down. Again.

On Friday it was just the thumping headache and the dull realisation that I had been beaten again. We watched a DVD together (Pan's Labyrinth as it happens) and I noticed that Tilly was avoiding being hugged or touching even though we were sat together on the sofa. I went to bed early, at her urging, and she followed me... some three hours later.

Today, spending all day in pyjamas and hating myself for it, she expressed mock-surprise that I was still in them. "Do you disgust yourself?" she asked jocularly. I replied honestly. "Oh," she said. She has also been at pains to be affectionate and helpful all day, which has been nice, but is notable for the fact that she hasn't had to touch me in any way. Very easy to be affectionate when there's no pressure, I suppose.

Okay, this is rambley and long and self-indulgent, I shall bring it to a close.

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