Expectations.

I made you dinner again. It’s sitting uneaten on the stove waiting for you to come home. I know you’re not going to eat it. But making dinner every night is something normal and it keeps me busy. I even do all the dishes now.

 

I know you’re not going to eat it, why do I still make you dinner?

You did find a therapist, but he isn’t accepting any new patients. You said you tried calling six different people. But none of them pick up. I wonder if we’re ever going to find the one that you’re looking for. I don’t think so. Do you really think that this is going to work? I hope so. I hope we find the one that will let us heal. 

A friend told me to not have expectations because when you have expectations you hold that person accountable. You’ll get disappointed at the end if that person doesn’t do what you wanted them to do. 

But then another friend told me that having expectations isn’t a bad thing. You’re holding yourself to a higher standard. She said it’s like not valuing yourself. It’s okay to prepare to the worst. But expecting the worst for yourself is not healthy thinking.

But what do I think?

Not having expectations makes everything numb out. Everything to hurt less. But I still get the prickle of tears and the sinking of my heart. I want to have hope, but everyday we go on like this, I feel like we’re never going to get out.

I heard the garage open. You’re home.

You glanced at me before you went into the bathroom. Then you left to go sit in your office. 

The door to the office is closed all the way. I poked my head in.

What?

Welcome home.

Hello.

Do you want the food I made?

No. 

Okay.

I packed you dinner into tupperware. It sits on top of the other one you didn’t eat last night.

Silence.

I really hate this. But this is my punishment.  

 

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