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Is it normal to go into an existentialist crisis after a miscarriage?

To wonder about who you are and what really is life and whether you mean a lot to God or simply nothing?

To have your heart beat so fast that you start wondering how far is your finish line anyway?

To physically be so exhausted that you wonder how bad could a paralysis be?

To be ashamed of how easy it is for you to doubt everything you ever believed in?

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Walk away if you want to.

There is a brand of shame and humiliation you feel when your husband tells you to pack your bags and leave.

I don’t know of a married woman who hasn’t heard it. Mostly it’s said in a burst of anger, during or after some everyday fight. It’s not to be translated into action. That’s hardly the expectation. It’s just a bunch of angry words.just an empty threat.

Husband, I know you love me and you always mean well. But when you say this you kill me. Kill my selfrespect, kill my ego. You know I don’t have nowhere to go. So in that moment I feel so frustrated and it is only out of that sheer frustration that I start regressing. I start wrapping up the argument. I mean even without the protruding belly, I couldn’t have braved the world on my own. What will I do with a child?… So while before I could throw a tantrum and go stay at a friend’s now I feel humiliated and ashamed and frustrated and belittle-d

So if you want the woman you married and not some undignified, sorry excuse for a person, don’t say this again. It takes away from who I am, the woman you love.

Frustrations

There are a many. A great many.

But nothing can be more frustrating than unrequited love, I tell you.

I remember a time when husband pined after me. Saw me with I-want-to-Fuck-you-bad-eyes and had his heart broken by many a cruel demands for space. I was ruthless like that.

Four years later, post a marriage of two years and a baby on it’s way I guess I have lost it. Whatever that bloody “it” was. He wants food and fresh clothes in the morning. I want conversations and sex. He wants me to give him space. I want his hands all over me. It doesn’t help that he’s filled up oh so nicely and still smells so good.

So yeah, this unrequited love business is the cruellest ever, for sure.

arkh – i’m gonna be a cliche

It upsets me and then I get over it and then when I feel I am all over it, I find out surprisingly that I am actually still not over it.

People at work think I’m having an affair. People have thought that previously as well. Not the first time. This time they have been thinking this for the past one year. What is different this time is that its with someone I genuinly care about. The person in question happens to be much (much) older than me, married with 2 kids, he happens to be one of the most decent people I know. I love him, adore him and respect him. However I hate how it has become this weird uncomfortable thing when it shouldnt be. He’s very respected, being in a senior management position, which makes me often feel that it might have to do with jealousy as well… either way i hate how this is such a thing! it frustrates me and annoys me! There are times when I am stepping out to grab a bite and I feel like I am more concious about who I am telling this seemingly innocous news to. Fortunately both him and I are married to people who are self- assured and dont give much heed to such nonsense .. still its a pain and a half.

 

Makes me wonder how sad everyone around me really is. Its been a year since I have been friend’s with him and people havent gotten bored with it yet, amazing really!

and no, this is being published without a proofread hence the hundred mistakes i must have made. i apologize.

Waiting to dance for you…

I want to dance for you, hazel-eyed boy. My gift to you.

I want to see you, looking at me, dancing for you. My gift to me.

You complimented me on my eyes once. You said the real dancing happens there. You laughed when I told you what anatomy of yours was the queen ballerina.

So when you are away and I am feeling your away-ness a tad too much, thats what  I miss the most. Dancing for you. Your eyes on me. The perfect cock-tail of love and lust in your eyes. Sheer joy, for me.

You know that I know that thats exactly what you do when you hold my gaze a millisecond longer than you would otherwise.

You are married and I am happily married. So whats with this behaviour? You are making me do things I am not liking. I know that you know that I know exactly how you make me do that. How you make me ask you for cigarettes when I have a half pack lying in my bag. How you make me go to your side of the floor and make me linger on the stairs with the hope that we’ll walk past each other. You make me wear a little more make-up then I would otherwise. You are making me do all those things which I had gladly left behind, a lifetime back.

I know that you replay that one night in your head again and again, wondering how it could have turned out and how in the world did it turn out the way it did. I know that you know that I do the same…

I also know that while here I am sitting here sounding like I am complaining, we both know that I am not. You know that I am not the one who looks away first.

But what you might not know is that either way, I want you to stop cause thats the only way i’ll stop.

 

The ‘Perfect Couple’ Fallacy

There is something about the way people look at me and Husband with those eyes that make me die a little everytime, everyday. “Those eyes” which see a good looking couple, who love eachother and look so fucking good together and are successful and have their own 5 bedroom house and wonder how it can work so fucking perfectly for some people. Envy, in other words. Its sickening. It makes me hate my life which I normally, otherwise on non-hormonal days, love. Its especially sickening on days like today when the bed has that damp it-just-rained feeling and the AC is blowing this wonderful air and I am looking perfect and he is not looking at me, killing my self-esteem by the second.

I wonder if there are other married women who while changing their clothes get disappointed when their husbands are not sneaking glances at them. I wonder how many women out there lie about the number of times they have sex. Is there anyone who feels like a fraud when laughing loudly on dirty jokes knowing how the dirtiest thing in their lives is the one day old panties hanging behind the bathroom door?

Husband why do you not want to have sex with me? Why after just a year of our marriage its become a once a week thing? Is it normal? Why do people assume its happening more often than that then? Sometimes we go without it for a fortnight. Do people count the non-sex days like I do?

Husband do you know that men generally find me desirable. I might not be beautiful but I am hot and you know it. Have you seen my bikini-ready body closely? Do you know how sexually active I am atleast if not in reality than in my thoughts? Do you care? I know you love me but then why doesnt that translate here? Isnt that a contradiction in itself?

Bang me like you picked me up from a street corner some day. Let me beg for mercy and not stop still. Laugh an evil laugh if you want but fucking fuck me a little more often, please?

When I look at him…

…I feel at home. Warm and fuzzy inside.

At the age that I am, and I mean it in terms of the experiences that I have had more than the years that I have lived, one realizes how vain human beings are to think they are capable of godly, immortal feelings of “Love”. You realize how life is just about getting to breathe that next breath, and take that next step which takes you one-step closer from point ‘a’ to point ‘b’. Nothing more, nothing less. I have somehow managed to reign in my wants and desires and realized that.. and then furher make peace with it.

So when I look at him all I feel is this nice, warm fuzzy feeling inside me and I am okay with it. Thankful to God, for taking me through the winding roads and wrong turns, as they brought me home.

I didnt think I would have wanted this until recently.

Every closet seems to be so inviting. The board room tables seem to be staring at me, teasing me, about how unused they are. The print room with its constant buzzing could muffle so many moans.

And if you are already in that frame of mind and you are made to go away on a company trip for “team building” to a romantic get-away, when you are already suffering from post-menstrual horniess then you are up for some rather testing times.

I dont know if it was me but while I will openly admit that there is not even a single cute guy in my entire office building, which bytheway houses around a 1000 people, as a geneeral rule however it was very amusing to find two guys extremely attractive. OUT-OF-THE-BLUE. Suddenly!

I kid you not when I say there were times when I seriously considered jumping one of them.

Anyway nice to know that forgeting the darned/ loved engagement ring is not easy no matter what hormone levels you might reach. It didnt go anywhere apart from me dishing out some sexy moves and grinding one of them, mentally and not literally, on the dance floor .

Wow! I have grown up.

a few hours later

…So even after writing an angry post, I sat in the room huffing and puffing. A little while later hubby crawls into bed and I pick up my sheets and pillow, stomping my feet, grumbling and leave the room, obviously banging the door behind me.

Called a few people and then after an hour came back to my room. Fucking mosquitoes everywhere. I tried to sleep and then the genious idea of waking him up occured to me.

long story short. I screamed. He listened. We cuddled. We had sex!

not that bad, eh?

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