Praying For Hope

"Happy Birthday to me."

As usual, we went no where and did nothing. As usual, we stayed at home and stared at the television, while he patted the dog and I pet the cat. As usual, we barely said anything to one another. It was just another miserable day made more miserable by his lack of concern for me on the day of my birth.

"Happy Birthday to me."

As far as he was concerned my birthday was officially over, when I said I didn't want a gift and when he handed me his card, a card that was as empty with sentiment, as his heart is for the love of me. No cake, no candles, no presents, and no party, the way he made me feel on my birthday made me wish I was never born.

"Happy Birthday to me."

Yet, I was wrong to expect him to give to me what I wanted, needed, and should have given to myself. I was wrong to be so needy and dependent upon him. Instead of expecting him to care, I should have not expected anything from him and been surprised if he had treated my birthday, as the special occasion that I had hoped he would, the same special way that I treat his birthday.

"I still can't believe he didn't buy me anything for my birthday."

Still, not of that metaphysical mindset, where I needed to go and sometimes disappear to save myself, still hurt by his insensitivity, how could he do that to me? How could he take me so literal? Why didn't he ignore what I had said and not only understood that I was upset but also why I was upset?

"Maybe he's hiding something in his truck. I have to take the trash out anyway. I'll take a walk by his truck bed and take a peek inside."

Yeah, sure, he's a thoughtless and insensitive man, but he's not mean and stupid. Why didn't he buy me something to celebrate my birthday anyway, even though I told him I didn't want anything? Surely, it wasn't the gift, it was the thought and he wasn't even thinking of me and thinking of how I'd feel not being remembered by him on my special day, my birthday.

"Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday to me."

I needed and he needed to show me that he cared enough about me to not only understand that I was hurting but also to know that by buying me a birthday gift, the emotional connection of receiving a gift from my lover would have lifted me out of my funky doldrums. The hurt that I felt with him not acknowledging my birthday would have been less if he had slapped me. I cried for days, I was so upset and he didn't even ask me what was wrong.

"It must be that time of the month," I heard him say under his breath, when he left the living room to get himself another beer, without even asking me if I wanted anything.

"I hate my birthday. I wish I were dead."

Even though I said that in the privacy of my room, I didn't mean it. My birthday is my favorite day of the year. It means more to me than Christmas. Born July 26th, I'm a Leo. And I don't wish I'm dead. I'm glad I'm alive. Really, I should have a problem.

"What if I were sick or blind or crippled or homeless?"

Only, it was obvious that he no longer cared. Now that my one special day, my birthday, was over, he was already out the door and on his way to work. I felt so empty and so alone. Used and abused, I didn't feel loved.

"Bye. Love you. Be careful," I said standing on the front door stoop with my arms wrapped around me, so much in the way that he used to wrap his arms around me. Not nearly the same, wrapping my arms around myself wasn't nearly the same feeling of having his arms wrapped around me.

"Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock."

It's funny how I never heard the clock, until I was alone. Now without him here, I was alone and already feeling lonely with him running from me to seek his familiar and comfortable shelter at work. He said he had to get in early. Missing my usual routine, he didn't even take the time to have a cup of coffee with me.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast? Then, you'll be skipping lunch, too. You can't go without eating all day, Bill. Bill? Where'd he go? He left for work without saying good-bye."

Even though I had a job to go to, too, it was just a job. My job wasn't a place where I ran to from the reality of my thoughts and used as an escape from my life. There was nowhere for me to hide from the truth that he doesn't love me anymore.

"I'm leaving early today. I have a doctor's, dentist or hair appointment, I think. Actually, Bill left me today."

Unable to let me go before, he'd shower me with kisses and tell me he loved me and would miss me all day, while he was at work. Now, looking right through me, as he backed his truck out of the driveway, he didn't even see me waving my good-bye.

"Bye Bill. Take care. Drive safe. Love you. Call me."

Had I been standing in the driveway, he would have backed over me. I wish I was so independent and self-sufficient that I didn't need the love of another. Correction, it's just me whose love he doesn't need.

"I should have known then that I couldn't make him love me, if he doesn't. I couldn't make his heart feel something it won't." Only, too blinded by love to see, I didn't know any of that until later.

If I call him at work, I get his message box. When I did get him on the phone, he always sounded rushed, impatient, and nearly annoyed that I had called. He said he was busy. He said he had a lot of work to do. He always blamed his inability to even talk to me on the phone, even for just a few minutes, on the stresses of his job. Only, whenever I met him at his workplace for lunch, smiling and relaxed and joking with his co-workers, he always looked so happy to be there, happier to be at work than to be home with me. It's obvious to me now that his work was his salvation and his retreat and not the stressful prison that he had painted it to be.

"Please leave a message at the sound of the tone or press six, six, six for more options."

Except for the occasional hand jobs and blowjobs that he expected I'd give him, we haven't had sex in more than a year and I told him that I miss the intimacy of being made to feel special. It wasn't like that in the beginning. We couldn't get enough of one another; he couldn't get enough of me. Now, when I'm done taking care of him sexually, he just rolls over and falls to sleep.

"Hey, what about me? It's my turn. I'm horny, too. Can't you even give me a pity fuck? How about a wet kiss goodnight, a slap on the ass, and a thank you for the blowjob?"

I wanted to say all of that, but I never did. I didn't think I had to tell him. How could he be so selfish? It hurt just to think those negative thoughts, that he didn't give a care enough about me to give a care about my emotional and sexual needs. I was too hurt to voice the reality of them and to give them credence by saying them to him. I was embarrassed that he was even like that and when my co-workers joked with me about all the affection I must be receiving from my new hunk of a boyfriend, I was hurt and angry all over again.

"I'm so horny. I'm so lonely. I'm so restless and bored that I could scream. Sorry, I just did and I don't feel any better."

Frustrated and horny, I miss his touch. I miss him holding me. I miss him kissing me. Yet, it wasn't so much about the sex, as it was more about the affection and the attentiveness or his lack of affection and attentiveness to me. Where he made me feel unique and desirable before, now that the fireworks are over, he makes me feel ordinary and invisible now.

"Gees, Bill, you almost knocked me over and you stepped on my foot. Didn't you see me standing there holding this gun pointed at your head?"

I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed that I gave him so much of my heart and that it wasn't appreciated and reciprocated. I can't help but feel like a fool. I feel foolish for the loving things that I said and the loving things that I did. Only, one doesn't make for a love relationship; it takes two. A sucker for love alright, I am that, a sucker.

"Speaking of being a sucker, maybe I should go see a fortune teller."

It's obvious to me now that he's gone that I no longer lit up his life. Extraneous to his existence, it's still mind boggling for me to think that it's over and that he's never walking through my door again. When he was with me, he looked right through me, as if I'm not even there in the room with him. I gave up trying to engage him in conversation. What's the use?

If he talked to me at all, he only talked about his job or about sports. Never wanting to talk about me, I can't remember the last time he paid me a compliment. How many times have I voiced the same issues over and again? At first I thought, he just doesn't get it. Now, finally, I get it. Now, I know, he just doesn't care.

"I can't make you love me, if you don't. You can't make your heart feel something it won't."

I wish I never heard that song because it's driving me mad by constantly popping in my heard, as if being shaken by the reality of him not loving me. Now, with the melody and lyrics put to the sadness of being rejected and unloved, his lack of feelings for me makes me wish that I had never met him.

"Maybe, if I put on Bill's old AC/DC tape that will clear my head of Bonnie Raitt."

With him holding the remote control and controlling what I watched and when I watched it, I can see the parallel in the way he controlled my life. Constantly and continually flipping through the channels, so much like our daily decisions, without asking for my input, we'd sit there staring at the television, as if we were two inmates in the recreation room of a mental hospital. He gave his dog more attention and his dog showed me more affection.

"Yeah, I am going to miss that dog more than I will him."

Distant and cold, never asking me anything about my day, I figured by his sudden disinterest in me, that there had to be another woman.

"Is there someone else?"

He told me there was no one else and I believed him. Then, in reassuring me that there was not another woman, he expanded upon it.

"Why go out for hamburger when you have steak at home," he quoted a line attributed to the late Paul Newman.

"What? Did he just say what I think he said? Are you kidding me? You've got some fucking nerve," I wanted to say and should have said, but I was tired of fighting with him. Feeling pathetic and needy, I was done with begging for his attention and affection.

I don't know if he thought he was being funny or cute or somehow complimenting me by comparing me to a piece of higher quality meat over ground beef, but his comment fell short of his intended target. If anything, his comment made me angry that he thought he was showing his cow of a woman the respect she needed by not cheating on her. The image of his analogy made me want to get up in his face and "Moo!"

"Moooooooo!"

What about sexually satisfying me? What about my emotional and sexual needs? Hello? What about me? Why is it always about you? Between giving you hand jobs and blowjobs, you're always horny and you're always so frustrated, well, what about fucking me, literally and figuratively?

"Why go out for hamburger when you have steak at home? I'll tell you why, asshole, because your steak is frozen. You've never taken the time to remove me from the freezer and defrost me. Now, look at me. Alone, crying, and wanting to eat everything all at once, I have freezer burn on my ass from the imagined cold touch of you," I wanted to say but, for fear that he'd go to the nearest tavern and pickup a hamburger with all the fixings, I never had the courage to confront him in that way.

"Want fries with that tasty burger," I imagined John Travolta asking him in the character of Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction. I imagined my ex-significant other, William, ordering a royale with cheese and leaving me for another woman.

It would have been better if I could have blamed his lack of desire for me on another woman. At least then, I'd have an enemy to fight. She would have given me someone to hate. At least, if he had fallen for another woman, I could have confronted her. I could have dealt with his love for another more easily than having to deal with his total disrespect and disregard for me. It hurts more when you don't know what happened to make him not love you anymore.

"I can't make him love me if you don't. I can't make his heart feel something it won't," Bonnie Raitt's words relentlessly continued to haunt me. I wish I never heard her damn song. I can't remove it from my head.

Yeah, I can't make you love me, if you don't, and if you won't. Maybe by loving myself, I'll find someone else, who will love me in the way that I deserve to be loved and in the way that I can love another.

"Goddamn it, why aren't you attracted to me? Now that we have a history together, I'm still the same person you met five years ago, only better. I love you. Why don't you love me?"

Finally, I had the courage to confront him and tell him how I felt. I articulated everything. I was proud of myself for not forgetting anything and having the courage to mention all my concerns, even him not reciprocating the sexual pleasure to me that I so freely gave him. I thought by clearing the air, things would be different, better. I thought with a clean slate, we'd have a fresh start. Who knows, maybe we'd even make it all legal and get married?

"I still love you," he said. "I'm just not in love with you. Sorry, but I'm not attracted to you anymore."

"Still love me, but not in love with me? Not attracted to me? Tell that to your sister. I'm your fucking girlfriend. Asshole!"

"See? You're too negative," he said.

"Negative? Negativity has nothing to do with how I feel about you and how you don't feel about me. If I'm negative, it's because you ignore me. I'm hurt. We don't do anything. We don't go anywhere. We don't have sex and you can't even talk to me. What the fuck? Who wouldn't be negative in that kind of nothing relationship? And you didn't even think enough about me to buy me anything for my birthday!"

"If it's such a nothing relationship," he said, "then, why would you want me to stay with you?" He looked at me and smiled. "You said you didn't want anything for your birthday."

"I was hurt and angry when I said I didn't want anything for my birthday. Besides, since when do you do anything that I want?"

He had a point about the relationship though. Why would I want him to stay? Yeah, I still love him, but he doesn't do anything for me to make me love him. So, why do I love him? I'd need years of therapy to answer that question.

Only, what he said, "If it's such a nothing relationship, then, why would you want me to stay with you," was like being splashed in the face with a glass of cold water, when just waking up from sleep. You're right. I don't want you to stay.

"Get out! Go! Leave! I don't want someone who doesn't love me. I deserve better than you. Just go. Now!"

Oh, yeah, what he said woke me up alright, only it still hurts to be unloved, not attracted to, and rejected. After wasting five years of cooking and cleaning for him, while working my job, I feel so alone and so empty. Used and abused, I couldn't help but feel taken advantage of by the rejection of him.

I'm tired of waiting for him to love me. I tired of trying to find love. I'm tired of never being worthy of someone's love, appreciation, and respect. I'm tired.

I told him that the only time he tells me that he loves me is when I tell him that I love him. Then, as if an echo that makes me feel as empty as the expansiveness between two uninhabited mountaintops, he responds, "I love you, too." I think it'd be more meaningful if he had just said, "ditto."

"Ditto! Ditto! Ditto!"

I told him that he doesn't even touch me. And even after I said that, I was expecting him to give me a hug that always culminated with a kiss, before him reaching down his big hands and cupping my ass and before feeling my tits with me feeling his cock. I could use a little groping right about now. Instead, he sat on the couch with one eye to the television, until I turned it off. Then, he looked at me, as if he was mad that I turned off his only window of escape from me and from my nagging and annoying voice.

"I can't do this anymore, Elizabeth. Everything is an argument. I just want to sit here and vegetate. I'm tired from work and this relationship is too much like work. I don't have the energy to deal with whatever it is you think you need from me. I'm tired of arguing with you. Obviously, I'm not the right person for you. Obviously, I don't give you what you need."

Asshole, I thought and "Fuck you," I said. "I don't need anything from you," I said storming upstairs to my room and slamming the door so hard hoping to slam him out of my life and out of my heart, but he was still there in my mind and in my heart.

Still trying to salvage something that was already dead, I told him we don't go anywhere and we don't do anything. He said there was never any extra money for entertainment. Yet, he always found a few dollars to meet his friends at the bar, attend a ballgame or to buy another tool or something for his precious truck. In the way that he loves his truck, he made me want to get a Ford logo tattooed on my ass. Maybe then he'd cherish my tattooed ass, as much as he shines the chrome of his F-150.

"How do you like me now that I got my ass tattooed with a Ford F-150 logo?"

"Liz, the neighbors can see you. Pull your pants up, please."

Perhaps, had I allowed him to talk first, had I allowed him to tell me how he felt, I wouldn't feel so torpedoed by his confession. Only, he never speaks, until I start the conversation that always turns into an argument. He caught me by surprise when he said, "I love you, but I'm not in love with you. I'm not attracted to you anymore."

What do I say to that? No matter what I said, how can I say anything to fix that? What? You love me but you're not in love with me? You're not attracted to me? When did all that happen? How could you not love me? Where was I when you suddenly lost the attraction for me? I'm still the same woman you met and fell in love with five years ago, only better. I betcha if I got down on my knees right now, unzipped you, pulled out your prick, and began sucking on your cock, you'd be plenty attracted to me.

"I love you, Liz. Stroke me faster while sucking my cock."

He told me I was too negative. Negative? And who are you to tell me that I'm negative. You're certainly not Mr. Positive with your woe is me, down on my luck attitude all the time.

"I can't catch a break. I've been playing the same lottery numbers for 25-years and all I ever win is a free ticket."

The only thing you're positive about is yourself, your dog, and your damn truck. You care more about your dog and your truck than you do about me. I'm down on the list somewhere after the dog, his beloved truck, his job, the Bowflex, the recliner, the pinball machine, and the big screen TV.

"Psst, Liz, you forgot to put beer on the list of those things that I deem more important than you. Beer would be my number one choice."

He told me I was too combative, ready to argue and that I even enjoyed the combative spirit of the argument too much. Yeah, well, anything to get you to talk to me, only, just as I can't force the attraction, I can't make him love me, if he doesn't.

Unable to afford the mortgage of my house without his financial support, I put an ad in the paper for a roommate, when he left. I figured it'd take a month of two to find someone. With the bad economy and everyone displaced from their foreclosed homes, even tenants, it took a day.

"Hi, can I help you? You're here about the roommate ad? Wow. It just hit the paper this morning."

I had imagined, fantasized actually, that some young stud, a college kid, agreeing to live with me. Giving in to the fantasy, as a release of the years of sexual tension I felt from living with Bill, I imagined all the flirting I'd do to seduce my tenant over this long, hot summer, ala Mrs. Robinson in the Graduate with Dustin Hoffman. With the pool out back, I imagined sunning topless or taking a swim in the moonlight naked with the pretense that I didn't know he was there watching.