I'm Fighting for Us—Why Aren't You?

I’m fucking done.

Not done with this marriage. Not yet. But done being the only one fucking fighting for it

Done begging.

Done repeating myself.

Done spelling out exactly what I need, just to be ignored, dismissed, or hit with another empty “I’ll do better” that never actually fucking happens.

I sit outside every night, alone, writing about you.

Writing about all the ways the world fucked you over.

Writing about all the reasons why you deserve another chance.

But for what?

Why the fuck am I still fighting to make people see why YOU deserve more chances—when I HAVE ALREADY GIVEN YOU EVERY CHANCE?

How many more times am I supposed to bend over backwards, carry the weight, shoulder the blame, be the fixer, while you sit there doing nothing?

I told you what I needed. Not hinted. Not implied. Not made you guess. I fucking told you.

It’s not a mystery. It’s not a puzzle. It’s not some uncrackable fucking code.

And still—NOTHING.

I started the blog to get this shit out, but let’s be real—I also started it for you.

Because maybe, just maybe, if you could read my words, if you could see my pain laid out in black and white, maybe it would finally sink in.

And you know what you said?

“I just need the link.”

So, I sent it.

Again.

And then I waited.

And waited.

And then I waited some more.

And still—nothing.

Not a fucking word.

I sent you videos. Videos of other men saying the exact same things I’ve been screaming at you for years.

And you watched them.

And still, fucking nothing.

But then you have the audacity to tell me I never want to spend time with you. That I never make an effort. That I don’t even try anymore.

And what do you want to do with your weekend?

FISHING.

You don’t ask me what I’d like to do.

You don’t ask our son if he’d want to go.

You don’t suggest something we can do as a family. The same family you swear I don’t make an effort for.

And when I get mad and say something about it? I’m the asshole.

Of course, I’m the reason why you never ask me to do things.

Because I say no to everything you suggest.

No, I don’t want to go fishing. No, I don’t want to go out to eat.

I used to do those things, yes. But I only tolerated them because I was drinking the entire time.

And that means that I’ve stopped trying?

And you know what? You’re half right.

I did stop trying.

Not because I don’t care.

Not because I don’t love you.

Not because I don’t want this to work.

But because I am fucking done fighting for someone who I don’t feel is fighting as hard for me.

Just because I said no, just because I stopped chasing you, doesn’t mean you were supposed to stop chasing me.

Stop making me feel like I’m wanted more than needed.

Stop trying to make me smile and feel safe and loved.

But you did.

And that right there—that’s what’s ripping my heart right out of my chest