Pushing Limits

I am a masochist.

This isn't really news to anyone who knows me. But today I realised something. I'd always considered a masochist to be someone who enjoys pain. Sexually I do. I have a very violent sex life and I love it. But I also seem to hurt myself without realising it. I constantly decide to embark on large projects or events, knowing full well that it'll fail or that I'll be stressed and harassed for weeks. I'm a complete klutz, always walking into things. I'm pretty sure I scratch myself in my sleep. And today I realised another little habit that I think I've known about for a while, but have probably been in denial about. Something to do with N.

Now at this point my beloved GKL would likely point out that everything to do with N displays my masochism. She's probably right. I let our previous turns together drag on far too long, hurting myself in the process, because I didn't want to let go. I do stupid things like invite him to parties, or Humanities Balls, knowing that even though it's fairly important to me, he's an antisocial git and will say no. I know he'll say no, I know it'll upset me, and yet I continue to ask.

The limits I mentioned pushing in the title are to do with N (unsurprisingly) and the weekends we spend together. We don't meet up every weekend, for various reasons. My social life and him being the aforementioned antisocial git are the main reasons. But we meet on average every fortnight. I miss him between these times, and I suppose he misses me in his own way, so I like the weekends we are together to be as long as possible. From as early as we can manage on the Friday to as late as possible on the Sunday. This is all the time I get with N and I want it to last.

When he comes to Stoke we don't usually have any problems. We curl up in my bed, watching movies, sleeping, eating, playing around, and generally enjoying each other's company. When I go to him in Leyland, things are a little different. For the first few hours he's all over me. Attentive, loving, sweet, kind, delicious. On the Saturday he'll play on his computer while I sit on his bed knitting, or reading, or working. And that's ok, because he'll turn to me every ten minutes or so to check I'm ok, or to ask if I want anything, or to rub my feet. And every so often he'll leave the computer and we'll curl up on the bed and watch something on tv, or a movie, or just snuggle and play around.

At around 9 or 10 on the Saturday night we hit The Limit. This is the point where he starts to lose interest. That sounds harsh, but I think it's just that he's worked out the missing me part and is being distracted by too much of his own stuff. His computer games, or his books, or his forums. And antisocial N comes out again. I know he doesn't mind me being there, but his turning to me to check I'm ok becomes less frequent. He becomes less likely to turn and kiss me, or climb on the bed and snuggle with me.

By the Sunday lunch time I'm sat on the bed feeling neglected and hurting and wondering if he's gone off me. Even though I KNOW he hasn't and that he's just passed his limit for consecutive company hours, it still hurts.

N has many flaws and I love him despite them, but sometimes I don't get why I insist on doing this to myself. Yes, I want to spend as much time with him as I can. But surely a short but sweet weekend that ends on Saturday evening would be better than a full weekend that ends with me sad and scared and worried? I know this. Logically I know this, and yet I'm still sat on N's bed while he plays his games and hasn't looked at me in an hour.

Earlier I was "playing" alone on his bed, thinking (fool!) that he'd notice and like it and come play with me. Wrong! On a Friday or a Saturday it would have worked. But how dare I expect my boyfriend to be interested in me on a Sunday. That's way past The Limit. Foolish girl. All that happened was, about ten minutes after I'd finished and sat up, he asked me if I'd enjoyed that. I could have slapped him.

I know the solution. I could get up and get dressed and go home now, four hours earlier than planned. Or next time I could catch the last train home on the Saturday night. But I won't, because I don't know how long it'll be til I see him again and I want every second of him that I can get. And because I'm a fool. A hopelessly devoted, masochistic fool.