I tried to sleep, I really did. But it wasn't working. I hate laying around with my mind on overtime.
Today I publicly bitched for the first time (to V and Iz) about Ponge and I. I've never done that. I'm scared to even think about it, to write about it. I'm scared for problems to exist & matter. I'm eating Dreamery Chocolate Peanut Butter Chunk, the only ice cream in the universe I actually really like. Fuck it. Winter time is for being fat. And miserable, apparently.
So this public bitching is a big step for me. I have so much invested in this relationship working, being perfect, being happy all the time. The VISA shit, my mom legally responsible for any deficits he gets into, the marriage celebrations in Senegal and in the USA, being forced to choose between Ponge and V/having an open relationship/rampant queerness and wanting reassurance that I made the right decision (that everything I gave up was worth it), life plans, whatever. That's a lot of goddamn pressure, I'm scared to even mention any kind of problems to my own fucking brain let alone to discuss them with friends ( I'm not really sure V wanted to hear about it, but she was very suggestive with solutions). It's dumb. People bitch about their partners all of the time. But I couldn't.
Basically there is ongoing shit that I don't like and can't seem to solve. Today it was tripping me out real bad but Ponge was just watching TV and I didn't know how to interrupt that. I wanted to talk to him, but I didn't want to deliver that line..hey, can we talk? Yes the matters were serious but...we had said about 20 words to each other since he got home & the first words out of his mouth were commenting on how the dinner I made smells bad. Then he got mad at me for "having an attitude" because of what he said. I think he meant it in a light-hearted manner (I had made fish) but it still bugged me and then my being bugged bugged him and there you have it.
So I was tripping on all this shit and all the while we are sitting there in silence staring at the fucking TV. We really need to declare a no TV week around here. God forbid we should have a conversation or play in the bedroom or go for a walk or whatever. It's like everything we ever do that isn't sitting around the house watching TV is initiated by me, and usually with some amount of poking and prodding. Once in a great fucking while he will start a real conversation, or even more rarely, suggest we go somewhere.
I HATE that. I'm sick of feeling like his fucking mom. The Ponge I married went out with his friends all the time, went to see them every day. It never occured to me that he just wouldn't make any friends up here, that he would be SO difficult to drag any place. I fucking hate it. He and I have had this conversation SO many times. He always says, he likes to do what he likes to do (sit around the house watching TV) and I like to do what I like to do and that's that. But damn, wouldn't it be nice if he used his brain to come up with things to do EVER? He never suggests going to the movies, or a coffee shop to read, or out to eat, or anything at all. Sometimes he agrees to do these things, but it is ALWAYS me that mentions something to do--with the one exception of when Molly invited him to her party and he asked if I wanted to go.
I don't see any solution, I really don't. I have to prod him into everything. It's even worse when it comes to doing things with more than just he and I.
The other thing is that lately we have nothing to talk about (well, except for this, but this just reached a boiling point today where I accepted that it was bothering me as much as it does). Like we are out to dinner or in our house and we don't say anything. Conversation is this thing we have to try to create. It's fucking boring. Conversation with your partner shouldn't be something that takes effort to pull off, it should be a central strength of the relationship. It should just happen.
We are so different, and the differences are fuckin shit up.
Lastly, the last two times we started to make out, play, massage, etc., I didn't want to have sex. That is, I was willing to be his plugging hole if he wanted to get off but I wasn't really into it. Since I wasn't into it, he didn't want to fuck. But then he didn't want to keep playing either. When I play with him it's not to get him turned on so we can fuck and be done. I play because I like the actions of playing, I want to make him feel good, I like to touch his skin, I like to be touched back. When he goes from all over to zero because he's realized we aren't going to fuck it pisses me off. Is playing just a means to an end or what?
Personally, I'd rather use my Elite 7X to get an orgasm. No matter how hard I try, a dick pumping away in me does not get me to orgasm. Never has, probaly never will. However, happy vibratey clitoral play does, without any penetration whatsoever. The problem is that Ponge, when we play with said toy, wants to be all in control of the thing. And since my body is not his body, he has no idea about what to do. Faster orgasm (orgasm at all, actually) requires a timely and varied response to sensation and I really don't think I can teach that to someone else...maybe shouting play by play commands, but I am all caught up in worrying about his stupid male ego. Every command is like, hey, you're doing that wrong.
I tried masturbating in front of him once when we were playing, but he interfered just as I was about to orgasm & he fucked up the 'gasm. After a bit I shooed his hand away and tried to gain it back but it was too late. Since gasms are so new to me and so rare, they are really precious things and I was pissed about him fucking that up. Why does he get to get off every time but I have to put up with mediocre sex? It's great for him, he has a dick. My type of sex is not his type of sex. He still thinks it's all about intense penetration and going fast and pushing hard on the clit and sometimes it is, but most times subtle changes in pressure is all it takes. How the hell do you teach that?
I've tried to explain in the past, and I will try again. But I've been sexually frustrated for years and I'm tired of it. If I can just get myself off, what the hell do I want sex for? I like playing, and sometimes I like the sex although I don't cum. I frequently have sex just to get him off, sometimes just to get him off of me because I'm sick of playing but I want him to be pleasured. Well what about my pleasure? Why should I worry all the time about his ego and his wants? He frequently tells me how good I was, how great it was. I greet this commentary with a wry smile or silence or a love pat. He never asks how it was for me.
He confuses my groans of discomfort with groans of pleasure, and that is my fault because I'm so eager to help him get off (sometimes just so the sex, which I'd lost interest in, will be over) that I'll put up with a certain discomfort. Or just when he is going nice and slow he changes his pattern, or if I am making actual pleasure noises he always takes that as a sign for deeper faster harder more. We need to talk about sex, I need to vocalize this shit. But the fucker never asks me anything at all. He acts just like a man. All goddamned horny, all confused and hurt if you get turned off.
Sometimes I don't want to lay next to him a certain way or touch him because I know he's going to get all over me more intensely than I want him to. Why can't he just fucking play without needing to fuck as the climax? Fucking can be sweet, but it can also be perfunctory or too sweaty and slobbery. Sometimes I like a quick nasty fuck. But our sexual agendas are frequently out of sync. When he is over-eager like that and I'm already not in the mood, it only turns me off more. It's like I lose respect for him and his just seems like this uncontrolled slobbering lusty stranger.
....so I discussed these things in much less detail with V and Iz. I'm sick of keeping shit in, I'm sick of being scared of my own feelings. I'm sick of being afraid of saying things in front of my "friends." Why should I feel so fucking uncomfortable? And how do I really expect to feel comfy any time soon if I don't stop being so private, unreachable; if I don't start putting myself out there and conversing about things besides random bullshit, politics, my job search, whatev.
And I'M FUCKING QUEER. I wish we weren't married. I wish we could just be a couple voluntarily living together. The pressure of this shit is just too much, fuck I'm just barely 24. We knew each other, what, 7 months before we got married? This May will be our 2 year anniversary. I fucking hate the INS. Fuck you, racist colonialist elitist bullshit empire. Fuck you fuck you fuck you.
I've been scared shitless about this from the beginning, I've had doubts from the beginning, I've wondered what the fuck I'm doing for two years now. Not that I don't love him, I absolutely do. I just have some serious questions about how well our lifestyles really fit together. If we never do anything together and we don't talk about much and the sex isn't doin it for me...well, let's just say that in other circumstances I might "break up" with Ponge, at least temporarily. But in marriage you don't "break up," you get a divorce. And you have to tell all those people that came to your wedding party, everyone that gave you presents and money. And you have to sort things out legally (can we even get a divorce here or does it have to be in Senegal?). And you probably don't want to be sharing a one-bedroom apartment and be jobless (hey I am practical too, don't kill me for mentioning practicalities).
There, I fuckin said it. I've been thinking about discussing how Ponge feels the marriage is going, because I am not happy right now and I think there are some really key things that aren't going well and I want to discuss this crap before we start just fighting or giving each other the silent treatment. I fucking said it. Feels good.
Now, it's entirely possible that things can be fixed or adjusted or whatever and that all this shit is just a hurdle in the road. But I can't pretend any longer that it isn't there or isn't really a problem and I'm running out of patience.
I saw an ad for anti-stretch mark cream today and all I could think was thank god there is no child tied up in this.