love has a price tag

You can’t buy my love, you know. Yet every time you think you are showing me you love me by spending money on things I don’t need, I am reminded that you are broken. Lessons learned from your childhood, that love and hugs could be replaced by ‘things’. It doesn’t matter you have spent most of your life with me. It’s a lesson you will not learn.  It doesn’t matter how many times I tell you, I do not want things that cost money. I have only ever wanted your time.

Remembering those dates that mean something to me, would mean far more than the expensive bracelet you bought me to cover all of the upcoming holidays, so you would be ‘covered’ and not have to fight with me over forgetting. It is a reminder and acknowledgement every time I look at it, that I am not worth your time. You can make time for everyone else and include their events into your life, except me.

You take me for granted. You assume that I will always forgive you because I always have. I learned a long time ago that my sadness or anger does not alter what you do. My positive reinforcement of any little thing you do that could be construed as good or positive, does not work. Nothing works because you place no value on maintaining our relationship. Part of that is from your childhood, I know. So I have made generous allowances for it.

I want you to make dinner for the kids when I am sick. I want you to ask me if I want a cup of coffee when you make yourself one. I want you to volunteer going on a walk with me when I take the dogs into the woods. I want you to notice that my gardening rubber boots are old and cracked; they leak and have needed to be replaced for 2 years. If I came downstairs to discover you had bought me a new pair, it would make me cry.

Instead you buy this expensive bracelet. Yes, it’s beautiful. And we fought about it for over a week. I was adamant I did not want it. It didn’t matter that it was an amazing deal. I would have rather you paid the minimum payment on all of my credit cards if you were desperate to spend money. I neither needed or wanted the bracelet. I would have even preferred you buy a new garage door opener, since I am the only one who struggles opening the door manually.

I just don’t understand why you want to buy something useless and meaningless which I tell you I don’t want as opposed to functional and needed. You can’t buy my love. I hate when you spend money on frivolous things. I am tired of being ignored yet because this is your way of trying to make amends with me, I understand what you are doing. It doesn’t make it any easier for me to accept, especially when I know you will throw this back at me sometime in the future. You will say how you “had” to buy it for me because I was angry you forgot my birthday, our anniversary, valentines day, Christmas, our kids birthdays…whatever.

Nothing you buy me in advance of when you need to remember something, makes up for the fact that you will not remember, on the day you should.

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6 Responses to love has a price tag

  1. dragonfly918 says:

    Wow. This guy is a fucking asshole. He’s hateful and not worth an iota of your regard, whatever his childhood was like. He insists on staying an asshole. I know people who’ve been abused and they choose to be better people and appreciate what love they do have in their lives. He makes a choice every day to be hateful and make you suffer for his childhood trauma. He doesn’t love you and is using you only for his own narcissistic needs.

    My own husband is a self-involved man-child, and I couldn’t stand it any more. I don’t know how you can live with being less important than a garage door every day.

  2. dievca says:

    I am sorry that you are hurt, frustrated and tired. i cannot offer a solution other than sending good thoughts, good karma and perhaps a cup of coffee from the canteen at the next hockey game. Let me know which rink..

  3. Why do some men think it’s the apology (or gift) that’s the solution. It’s simple, just do what we need you to do and the monetary crap won’t matter

    • rougedmount says:

      part of me thinks its a genetic disposition. caveman memory of “i bring u meat, you eat meat, all good, grunt” have to be taught girls like the little things..we count the little things…

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