DionRabouin.com (sort of)

He’s Yelling, She’s Crying

He’s yelling, she’s crying. Again. About something different this time, but really it’s the same thing. It’s the same fight they’ve been having for years, just reincarnated into something different, bigger and sadder. He resents her for crying and she him for yelling at her. She tries to tell him this, but he doesn’t listen. Somehow she can’t make the words come out right and all he wishes she’d do is just tell him how she feels.

He’s sick of it. He’s sick of the games, sick of never understanding why she can’t just say what she wants instead of engaging in these irrational romps that force him to guess what she’s feeling and send her into a torrential outburst of tears when he guesses wrong. He’s not a fucking mind reader, you know.

So she chokes out words like “mean,” “asshole” and “inconsiderate.” She doesn’t mean them, but she’s hurt and wants him to empathize and this is the only way she knows how. He shuts down. He’s not mean, inconsiderate or an asshole and never has been. All he’s ever wanted is to make her happy and everything he’s ever done has been for her. All he wants is for her to be happy, but she never is, she’s always just this veritable mess of tears and snark.

So he yells. He yells to get his point across, he yells because it’s the only way he can communicate loud enough for her to actually pay attention. But she’s not paying attention. All she hears is the volume, none of the content actually makes it to her eardrums, it’s all just static. Loud unpleasant static and she really wishes he would just stop. He’s frustrated because he loves her; he loves her more than words could ever say, yet for some reason she wants everything in words. She wants everything in perfect, meticulous little words that satisfy her insatiable desire for validation. Validation of her, her body, her face, her hair, her eyes, her ass, her calves, her ankles. She wants validation of their love, their relationship, their existence, their every second of being with one another and nothing he says is ever quite good enough.

So she cries. She cries because he doesn’t get it. She cries because she wonders if he ever will. He doesn’t know how she feels. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. If he cared he wouldn’t yell, he wouldn’t yell at her when she’s this vulnerable. He never understands, and he never takes the time to try to understand. He just yells and makes everything about him. She cries because she wishes he could understand and she wishes he could see himself. She wishes he could feel what she felt and hurt how she hurts, but no matter how many times she tries to relate it to him the words never come out right. She wants to know how he feels and how he could possibly make her feel this way, but she never can. He never opens up and says how he feels so she has to guess. So she’s frustrated, she’s frustrated and tired. She’s tired of doing everything for their relationship and having to drag him with her. She’s tired of being the only one who cares and she’s exhausted from caring. She doesn’t want to care anymore and that is confusing enough without the sordid display of constant antipathy she’s always met with.

So she cries. And he yells. And they fight the same stupid fight they’ve been fighting for years. They fight about girls and boys and looks and gestures and thoughts and a lack thereof. They fight about seats and pillows and laundry and socks left under the bed. They fight about phone calls and text messages and voicemails and emails and myspace and facebook and AIM and pokes and tweets and wall posts. They fight about exercise and shapes and shape and food and shopping and diet soda. Sometimes she yells and sometimes he shoves and sometimes she locks herself in the bathroom and refuses to come out. Sometimes she promises she won’t cry, she swears to herself that not a one more tear will stain her perfect face, that she will not shed another ounce of liquid in the name of his inconsolable vitriol. Sometimes he ignores her and doesn’t call her back and sometimes she walks out and slams the door. Sometimes he punches holes in the wall and she breaks the fine china. Sometimes he puts his head in his hands and she pretends not to care. Sometimes there’s something new to fight about. And sometimes there’s nothing new at all.

But mostly, he’s yelling, she’s crying. Again. About the same thing. But somehow, in a method neither of them has really thought about, it’s different.


One Response

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  1. Nicky said, on December 6, 2012 at 5:16 pm

    Thank you. This gave me some validation that I’m not crazy with whats going on in my relationship. I want to show this to my boyfriend.

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