So, it wasn't a cold; I managed to come down with tonsillitis. I like when that happens- when I happen to be a lot more sick than I previously thought.
Anyway, it's time to get a little personal. I have the Othello Complex. Don't look it up. I'll explain.
I have a fantastic fiance. He makes me happier than anyone ever has and anyone ever could.
For those of us who haven't kept up with Shakespearean tragedies, let me explain the basic premise of Othello: The Moor of Venice. Before anyone believes I'm racist, a moor is someone from Morocco/Africa. Othello is a black man.
So, there's this dude, Othello, who is general of the Cyprus army. He falls in love with this chick named Desdemona who defies her father and elopes with Othello. Meanwhile, there's this evil guy named Iago who just wants to fuck everyone's day up- he begins to tell Othello that Desdemona is cheating on him and through tricks and deceit, as well as twisting appearance with reality, Othello believes him. Then shit gets real. (I know, completely informal. However, I'm not going to go all English major up in here. I'm also not going to ruin the ending in case this stupid synopsis made anyone want to read the play.)
The Othello Complex is "morbid jealousy." It's literally believing that your partner or spouse is cheating on you with little or no proof. People with this disorder tend to chain random occurrences together in order to justify that their partner is cheating on them. Yeah, totally sucks.
This weekend, I was sleeping and I was woken up by the sound of a vibrating phone. It was my fiance turning his phone on. I was pretty convinced he was texting another girl while I was sleeping. (His phone is usually off when we're together unless we go out.) I figured he probably had missed texts from his other girlfriend and was checking them while I was sleeping. Unfortunately, before I could find out his mom knocked on the door and asked for his help. I still pretended to be asleep.
We didn't have sex before we went to bed last night., which was already weighing on my mind. (He was probably getting it elsewhere and had no need for it from me) Granted, we had sex three times already that weekend. (Saturday- Monday).
He went to probation, I got in the shower. Going through my clothes that his mom had done for me (because I was sick and she wanted me to rest.) I found a pair of underwear that weren't mind. Granted, they weren't sexy underwear like a thong or something; it was a pair of worn yellow fruit of the loom underwear. I was done.
He got back from probation and I confronted him only about the underwear. He said chances are they were his mom's and told me to put them in the laundry basket in the hallway. He knew something was up even though I kept telling him I was fine. Eventually I came out and asked him what he was doing on his phone so early in the morning. "I was going to fill out papers for probation. My mom knocked on the door and then I realized I was too tired and laid back down." I asked him why we didn't have sex that night. "I was tired. We watched two movies and it was almost two in the morning. I had to get up at nine to be at probation. I didn't see you initiating anything. You know I would never turn you down, but I'm not the only one who has to initiate sex."
In therapy a couple weeks ago, my therapist and I talked about making sure to only rely on facts and not make inferences or judgments based on things what we think to be true. Again, I had interpreted the situation instead of relying on factual information. The thing about my brain. It will always turn a situation in a negative light. If presented with enough random occurrences, I have trained myself to string together the thoughts intricately in order to prove my worst fears. This is something I really need to work on.
Luckily, my fiance understands. "I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at some of your behaviors. It's something that we're going to work through." Thank goodness for him. Sometimes I don't want to be around myself.
It's weird finding someone who wants to work with me through my shit.
No comments:
Post a Comment