Re: Email anon
You might not be scary but you're very convinced of your particular line of conviction. And I imagine that telling you, very nicely, to fuck off when you really wish to construct a better world out of the remnants of what is someone else's piss-poor life or choices, is probably difficult. You said they were all martyrs.
I think, if he were really strapped for cash, you'd know. It's not like you can print money out of nowhere - oh, fuck off, the metaphor is gasping for breath at this point. If you're really out of capacity, either you die (martyr) or you do what you need to, so your head is above water. I think if he's not gasping, he's not half-dead. Still a millionaire.
Or perhaps it's that neither of us have had some old bastard swan into our life, invoke the kind of love that wants to hang on, swan out again, come back again when we've mostly let it go, fuck about a bit and then leave us feeling deeply insecure and as if it's certain that a good thing in life is going to blow itself to pieces when you're not looking. Perhaps it's that?
The effect I expect it will have is a certain amount of exasperation that you don't trust him to tell you when he's out. As I said: exhausting. For you, practically on your knees to try and predict and avert every possible outcome and for him thinking through every likely disaster scenario to try and work out which one you're on. Give yourself a bloody break. Give it a month. Maybe six. Six is a good, solid amount of time. No disaster planning until you hit six months. You can't bleed yourself emotionally dry in six months, so that gives him a decent run at it. Give it six months, of not expecting him to leave you before you start worrying over it. See how six months goes. Try it? Can't be worse than trying to dream up his exits.
I think you'd see him out of cash. You wouldn't need to be told. When a man's practically on his knees, it's evident. You wouldn't have anything left to hide it.
No, I did not want kids. I wanted my wife to stay interested in me, I wanted to go to grown-up dinner parties and have no sticky-fingers on the furniture, I wanted to be the center of attention and I wanted to fuck when and where we liked. Selfish, remember? My definition. Not yours.
Can and have, sweetheart. What would you say to you, right now?