Thanks for the Flowers

(What is happening?! Every time I try to talk to him about how much that poke hurt, he figures out ways to redirect the conversation. He has all of these reasons (they feel like excuses though) the poke happened, and he says I’m making a big deal out of nothing. If that’s true, why do I feel something is still wrong…off…not right? Maybe I am being dramatic, but I’m so confused! The poke is secondary now, I care more about the fact I can’t TALK ABOUT THE POKE. I NEED TO TALK ABOUT THE POKE! Not only the poke, but allllll of the pokes. But how? I can see now that I’ve been ignorant to them. There have been hundreds, thousands! of pokes that I didn’t even know were happening. It’s like we’re in a hospital room and needles have been in waiting. In my confusion, I looked. I observed. I tried over and over to understand myself so I could avoid these pokes. I can see now that they are happening every day. I really don’t think he means to hurt me, but he is. He’s held on to these needles for a long time. I’m willing to help him see them. If he can’t acknowledge them, what will happen?)

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Flowers.

Well, he’s trying.

Flowers.

Hm. These smell good I guess. Okay, he’s in a good mood, maybe I’ll try to talk to him.

Flowers.

Hm. That didn’t go well. At least he didn’t poke me. Why am I in my head again? He did listen, didn’t he?

Poke.

No, not another poke! What. Okay, I’m going to sit down with him and really have a talk. I’ve talked to all of my friends and they say I have to be strong. He’s not being nice and it’s not fair. But they also said they can relate, and it’s kind of normal. They all had similar stories, and one of them didn’t even think his pokes were a big deal. Am I making this more than it is? It felt really good to talk to them about it. Okay, I just have to keep trying. I’ll catch him when he’s in a good mood, not busy, and we’ll talk.

Flowers.

Ah, okay, he’s trying at least.

Flowers.

Okay, cool. Pretty. Don’t really care. Would really like to talk about the pokes. What’s his mood? Is this a good time?

Flowers.

Pretty.

Flowers.

Hm. Maybe I am making a big deal.

Flowers.

Wow, our new house is awesome. I can’t wait to decorate.

Flowers.

Oh, the baby room will be this one.

Flowers.

What was I worked up about? And he did hear me out last time. I mean, he avoided taking ownership and told me about work and how busy he is, but at least he let me talk and told me he loves me. That’s something.

Poke.

Damn! That’s what I was worked up about! That hurt. A lot of crying. This hasn’t happened in a while, though, and I know he doesn’t mean to hurt me. All my friends empathize with me, but tell me it’s normal. I mean, are any relationships perfect? Why do I think mine should be perfect? I have a great house, future, why do I keep wanting more? Just be content.

Flowers.

Nice. My soul is dying, but at least I have flowers to look at.

Flowers.

It’s all a game. Why does he get me these? Does he actually love me? Do I love him? But yay, they’re pretty! I’ll put them on the kitchen table.

Flowers.

I’m withering with my flowers. Sitting. Watching. Lifeless. Wow, slow death. At least I’m with my flowers.

Poke.

Ignore.

Poke.

Eh, hm.. I can poke too? I can play this game.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

A death by a thousand pokes.