I’m a talker…a person who needs to talk, to have conversations, to be heard and to hear.
My husband isn’t. He is a sweep it under the rug, change the conversation, ‘Hey I’ll make you laugh’ kind of guy. I let him be the person he wanted, I accepted it and the path he led me down. It was a journey filled with conversations about work, cattle and kids…we, our relationship was never going to be a talking point. I saw where his path, his decisions took us, and I refuse to follow again. I refuse to have talks about kids and not about me…my feelings, my wants, my needs.
He can’t keep changing the subject and hoping it goes away. ‘The whore’ is here in my life, and he can’t just keep covering her with a tablecloth and thinking I’ll finally accept her as a side table in my living room. I still see her thunder thighs sticking out from the cloth when I walk by, and unless the ceiling fan is on high I can smell whore wafting through my house. There are some things you can’t sweep under the rug, and wish away.
I want to stand in the middle of my house and scream at him to talk to me.
“Talk to me!!! Talk until your voice is gone, your throat is dry and you have no rational thoughts left in your head!! And then? If I need to talk some more you’d better get a drink, suck on a mint and talk some more!!”
He has to say something…