"I'm really tired."
"But what's wrong?"
"It's a long day, and I'm tired, and I don't want to talk."
"I worked 3 different places today. I'm tired. Please don't keep pushing me."
"I don't understand why you always act like that."
"I'm just fucking tired, and I don't want to fucking talk."
"See? You act like I'm the one who's crazy, but then when you get to the middle of the week, you get all pissed off that you're working so much, and you take it out on me."
"I'm just asking you to let me be. I want to take a bath and go to bed. It's been a long day."
"See? You have to blame me for everything! Everything is my fucking fault!"
By the time we'd finished with this exchange, I was so overwrought, and he was yelling, and I was yelling. I locked myself in the bathroom to get away from him. I really, really was just so tired, and I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to fight with him about how I have to over-work to compensate for his unemployment. I was too tired for that...but he wanted to fight about it.
Everything is his fucking fault. He's right. I do a great job of ignoring it and trudging along through my life, but really, truly, seriously...it is his fucking fault. I don't want to split my time between three jobs and four jobs and a thousand freelance gigs. I don't want to be tired all the time. I don't want to take up his slack...but the bills have to be paid.
For a long time, I'd think that his unwillingness or inability to get and keep a job wasn't a very satisfying reason to leave him...it frustrates me that he won't work, and it frustrates me to have to work more than my share even though he's an able-bodied, intelligent young man...but asking him to leave won't make a difference. I won't be able to stop working a jot if he leaves, as all the same bills still have to be paid.
Things have changed, though...it's not pleasant just to have him around. It is becoming more and more unbearable to come home to him, as he's more and more likely to be pissed off at me. I feel like my house is his lair, his filthy, shitty lair. At this point, if I decide to ask him to leave, I'll at least have some peace when I get home. I could clean my house and keep it clean. It would be quiet, and I could be alone.
I hang on for the few, sweet moments that pass between us...but they are very fucking few these days, and I am very fucking tired. This life has gone on for too long.