Gone Girl/Freedom is Expensive Because it's Worth it/Rambling Post

I heard it was a great thriller and all that slush.
I pirated it of course and sat down to watch. David Fincher's directing makes it palatable even if Affleck is wooden at times.
Then it happens.
Affleck spits golden truth. He says something along the lines of realizing "she will never love you unconditionally".
The film could've done far more with showing the emotional warfare and female-instigated emotional brutality of women in marriage after the ceremony and when even the woman who swore she never wanted kids now wants to have one to save the relationship....but the film waxes on, of course, about being "the cool girl" and how the struggle to meet a man's desires is so complex (yet in reality it is simply, don't bitch, be pleasant, have sex, and stay hot-ish).....that's the first of many seemingly wanting to be risque identity-waivering conundrums the film's writing suffers through while he watch and then are to be distracted by well-intentioned but ill-suited actors for various parts.

That flash of reality though, I almost sat up in bed having heard it.
"She will never love you unconditionally".

The other flash of reality is when homegirl calls in the long-lurking, long-beta-suffering.....ex-boyfriend who she loathes but will manipulate when she needs him.

Be it Hollywood or not, it spits some moments of truth.
It's good to keep your pulse on the social construct from time to time.
But not TV.
Fuck TV.
----

I feel an old familiar ennui settle into my person.
I don't even feel like enjoying the hunt anymore.
It's been nearly two months since I stepped out on my girlfriend.
That's a lot of fidelity for your humble narrator.

The cold reality of the relationship I am in has set in firmly and coldly and fully.
There is no peace.
If I refuse to fight she will hate me and find another guy to fight with.
If I fight with her I am being untrue to myself and I am poorly suited to fake caring about things because I have a fucking dick.
The real option, "C", is that I will slowly but surely emotionally withdraw from the minefield that grows by the day and will plot my escape under the cover of late nights out, pressing her to shriek at me more and then finally I will vacate.

You think your girlfriend is a bitch?
Hahahaha.
Wait until she has a legally binding contract and/or a child with you which is another, even more leaden, steel-beamed girder joining you to her and this progeny.
Just wait good sir.

Times like this, times like her emotional tantrums....I simply thank whatever passes for divinity in the cosmos, I thank whatever unscripted chance sequence of occurrences and quasi-decisions....that I'm no longer married and that I don't have children.
Fuck. All. That. Noise.
--


I wake up on my mattress for which I don't have a box spring.
Why is it on the floor?
Because everything I own fits in my small car and I like it that way.
I've always suspected others carried burning, battery acid resentment inside because that's how I'd feel if I was trapped.
I didn't feel resentment when the reality of marriage hit me.....but Goddamn did I feel misery.
I was insufferable.
I drank constantly.
I couldn't sleep.
I had Cynicism like that episode of South Park.
Food literally lost its taste to me.



I can't say it was all bad...but once the shine dulls.....man....I'd have traded every memory we ever enjoyed together to walk away from it.

I stop and I look at my current relationship.
It's coming up on 9 months.
I have been mind fucked.
And...I mean I have been mind fucked hard.
I have stopped leaving when she angers me.
I have actually tried to acknowledge her feelings and offer solutions.
I have become an entirely different man.

" The red pill has always been a bitter pill to swallow; but then, it's the worst tasting medicine that tends to save your life."

You would think this would prevent arguments, yet, there is always more.
The discontent at best never actually subsides. It simply hits pause.
I have been slipping.
I haven't been working my talk muscles and flirting with girls only  occasionally. 
My drinking has been problematic and of the binge variety, a clear suggestion that I am unhappy as my drinking has always been symptomatic.

We were hanging out with a friend of hers.
She smiled more in 5 minutes of talking to him and gesticulated more wildly than she had in several days with me.

I felt cold fire rage and ice and murder atomize and implode inside of my chest.
I did what I always do which is behave the opposite of how I'm feeling because no man lets his woman know publicly or in front of another man that he is wounded.

He leaves and I take the bait. I tell her I'm upset and we talk about it. She shuts down because she knows she's in the wrong and she never wants to talk and never does what she expects me to do when the shoe's on the other foot and she's in the wrong.
There is no satisfaction.
There is no catharsis.
I see the matrix again.
I'm am the absence of surprised.
I am irritated and annoyed but I am not surprised. 

I sleep like shit and I train like shit the next morning/pay the price in the gym.
I come back over the next night and she gives me the cold shoulder and answers one word at a time and says nothing unless I ask questions.

She makes a smart remark and I kiss her on the top of the head and fucking leave because fuck that noise.
My  mojo's gotten fucked up.
Too much feminine energy. Too much of the extremes.
Either grinding it out at the gym or grinding it out with her emotionally and I'm cut to the quick.

I make myself dinner and I enjoy the solitude of not having to talk about feelings or tailor my communication to her.
After paying for the ******** earlier this month I'm broke as hell and thought dinner is nowhere near the healthy bare minimum I normally observe, a day or two of poor diet won't kill me.
There's a roof over my head, my stomach feels full. I will survive until I wake and grind out another session at the gym.

Battles are fought to be won but know that this war is never over gentlemen.

Good luck and happy hunting.
        - Yrs. in Christ