So, this is a new one I am faced with–after almost 8 years with this man, he has suddenly decided he cannot have sex with me anymore as it will kill me. He came up with that, not me, given yeah, sure sex caused a lot of these problems, but if you think about the rate of incident vs practice–that is not the conclusion I would have come up with at all.

I know, a bunch of you would be thrilled to get such a sentencing but for me it is not going to work. Like not at all going to work. He tells me he says he will never leave me, but he certainly will not fuck me again. I know, right, such sweet nothings, how could I not stayforlife?

Knowing him as I do, this is a complete surprise given both heart incidents we have endured had us having sex almost within days of my departure from the hospital, but only suddenly he fears for my death. All I want to do is be normal and after thousands of times–man he gets pissed if it’s been only a few days. But after thousands of times he thinks changing it all up will somehow end up better for my lifespan. And here I am thinking treating me like I am a gross invalid is going to ruin any esteem I do have and make me want to be dead a lot faster.

My responses to him immediately were, okay, well I am not 95 and you still need sex (shit, I do too) so if it’s not going to be me, let me let you go. At various points in the conversation he admitted to not wanting to leave me at times over the past few years because he didn’t want to leave me to fend for myself all alone and it would be cruel to do. So I am once again realizing I should never be married and because I am sick and its implications to life span and cost. I never had any business marrying anyone with student debt and medical debt as I have. Certainly less business marrying with the precarious health, absolutely. Someone grossly wealthy would have maybe been able to handle it, but nobody with any real money would be with me, because people with money make better decisions than that. I ran into a few over the years but they definitely all had better sense than to be with me in any real sense. I was never offended because again, I am rational and have common sense and would never have guilted anyone into shit. But now I know I should have just said no to save both parties potential grief and realized none of that was for me. I told him a million times I want nothing from him. I really don’t. He hasn’t given me his whole life or taken enough time from mine to have me rationally be able to stake any claim into his earnings. I would never dare sue for any support because to be entirely honest–up until recently we have both been like so broke I just could never take from someone who didn’t set out to hurt me on purpose.

So now I cannot have children. I cannot buy a house. I will be a financial hole. And now I am not even worth having sex with, so that’s pretty outstanding. What is the point of living, I ask? What is the point of any of it if I cannot even pretend to be normal at all? Ain’t much of one, have to admit and now I am like hmm. I want to skydive so bad. I could do it and lie. I might die, sure, I might not but at least I flew once like a bird. I just want to once, and these all might be signs that it’s finally time.

My crimes here and I will warn you as well–refrain from being honest with people close to you on statistics or numbers. Do not tell them shit except in very loose terms because the minute the know you are dying, well, you are just as good as dead in their eyes. Future thoughts evaporate and as far as I know—he doesn’t see life with me beyond a few months or a year, but a year seems to be pushing it in his head. He looks at me like I am already gone. Sure, it’s depressing but I have seen those looks more than once before.

He claimed to be able to predict every bad thing that happens, and though he’s accurate about some shit, wouldn’t it be nice if he predicted I would be okay and we would be able to do, oh I dunno, FUCKING ANYTHING normal people do? A wedding is not something I will ever get, I know that, but there are small points of pretending I have been able to do without throwing the whole towel in, right?

I guess not. We went from mostly every day to I guess never again. The only real point of time and physical connection we had he has now removed from our story and I guess I am nothing but–a sack of organs waiting to die.

I know, the drama, but the core of truth in there is still the truth.