Magic

I know what he smells like. I know how soft and thick his hair is. I know how smooth his skin feels on his face, and how rough when I run my fingers in the other direction. I know how fast his stubble grows, and where his bald patches are. I know how long his eye lashes are and how his deep brown eyes look when he’s excited. 

But I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who he’s with. I don’t know what he’s been doing or what’s been on his mind. I don’t know if he ever thinks of me. I don’t know if he’s aware of how I hurt, as if my chest has been hollowed out. Empty, yet heavy. I don’t know if he’s happy. I don’t know if I want him to be…

I’d give anything just to run my hands through his hair tonight; breathe him in; wrap my arms around him and slowly plant kisses across his big shoulders and down his back. I’d hold on so tight.

Why can’t he just feel the same?

I wonder if he knows I still think he’s magic. I wonder if one day I won’t.

How do you love?

This isn’t how I love – quietly, from a distance.

I love by waking up beside you in the middle of the night and immediately pulling you close. By running my hands over your body in appreciation of every part of you. By rubbing your feet with mine under the covers, because I know it makes you smile. By making all my best plans with you, by saving my spare time for you, by sitting peacefully beside you in the evening then staying up far too late listening to your thoughts in the darkness, always learning something new, in awe of how your mind works. I tell you about every little part of my day that you might find the smallest amusement or intrigue in. I place my entire body on top of yours and wrap myself around you, accidentally tangle you in my hair and breathe you in. I hold your hand, I eat with you, I share with you, I think of you, I endeavor to understand you. My fingers trace your tattoos, my lips trace your collar bone.

I can’t love you over the phone. I can’t give you all of me in one night. What do you want me for, if it’s not my love? There is better company, more beauty, less complicated minds for you – but no deeper love. That is what I offer, why am I here if you don’t want it?
It’s not enough for me to be your Saturday night. I want to be there for it all – and you don’t have the time to let me.
How can you say you miss me then shoot me down?
How can you say you love me and go days choosing not to contact me at all?
How is this enough for you now?
All these promises of next week, next year, one day… they keep me rooted here. How long until you have the time for the way I love?

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Red eyes, blue heart

So I haven’t posted in a few days, kind of trying to stop being so negative but honestly I’m not exactly feeling positive just yet so that means just kind of keeping my feelings inside. And sleeping at every given opportunity… which leads to a lot of nightmares, fyi!

I have actually had a rather busy week which was good cause every distraction is welcome! But I was mentally exhausted by Friday night and cried about four times in the cinema… twice before the movie even started. I feel like keeping busy should be helping me to move on and switch off my brain but it’s still always working overtime in the background. It’s like on the outside I look fine, and I’m functioning and I’m smiling but inside I’m being eaten alive by the seven dwarves: Doubt, Self-loathing, Loneliness, Misery, Malaise, Rage and Despair. (BTW if anyone is interested, I saw Straight Outta Compton in the cinema – amazing! Go see it!)

The thing is, it’s really hard moving forward when I don’t know what I’m advancing to anymore. I wasn’t exactly happy before I met him. Even as a child I remember being sad, lonely, lost, nervous, self conscious and feeling like I was waiting for something to happen. This feeling of waiting just became more and more overwhelming the older I got and I tried to abate it with drugs and alcohol (which of course does not work). Then all of a sudden I fell for him and that was it – it had happened. I was now as happy and confident and downright euphoric as I had been lost and lonely for all those years. Don’t get me wrong I still had bad days, and weeks… and due to a multitude of things 2015 was a bad year but in general I was happy. I was happy with myself, with my life, with my relationship, my routine. I was a happy person, I wasn’t waiting for something anymore, I was living it, it was happening.

So now I can’t take comfort in the idea that “oh you were happy before him you’ll be happy again!” because I genuinely wasn’t. But even then I had the hope that whatever it was I was waiting on (I had no idea at the time that it would be him) would come. Now… it’s come and gone. What if I have peaked? What if that was it? What if it isn’t all OK in the end? What if we just tell ourselves that so we don’t all fucking top ourselves when we have our hearts crushed beyond repair? What if I’m nothing special and I don’t deserve shit (that none of us deserve shit), it’s all just pot luck and circumstance and this is the card I’ve been dealt and there’s nothing that I, or anyone else, or the universe can do about it?

I’m keeping busy, I’m focusing on other things, I’m doing the things I’m supposed to do but I’m not happy – just distracted. My eyes are still full of tears every single day even when I’m smiling, and my thoughts are still fucking full of him.

This blog was supposed to be the place where I just pour my heart out without worrying that I was inconveniencing people because, well, if you get sick of it you can just stop reading (you lucky ducks) whereas if I’m talking to an actual human being it’s a wee bit harder for them to just slowly walk away while I’m mid-rant. But with a few regular readers and knowing that a couple friends read my shit too, I’m now even worrying about leaving my feelings here! But I have to do something with them ’cause carrying them about all day is so fucking tiring. They’re heavy – writing this, in a strange way, is kind of like putting them down for a little while.

I don’t even have a point with this post; I’m not able to round it up to any general consensus or humorous conclusion. My head is fucked, my eyes are red, my body is heavy and every time I dream I can still feel just as much heartache as when I’m conscious. There’s still no relief and it’s hard pretending that it’s getting better and there’s only so long people can sympathise with you for and I feel like a fucking dick.

Now I’m going to watch Celebrity Big Brother (my very, very guilty pleasure). At least I’m not as big a dick as that Teen Mom Farah chick, ugh she’s insufferable! Sorry to anyone who’s sick and tired of me being sick and tired…

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P.S. He liked one of my Instagram pictures. Like, what the fuck?! GET OUT OF MY LIFE YOU DEVIL

Ignorance is bliss

I read a post earlier on Ash in search of… (ashinsearchof.wordpress.com) about having good days and bad days when it comes to getting over somebody. I can relate 110% and today is one of my bad days.

After what felt like an eternity in work I finally came home to crawl into bed… For 4 hours. Productive, eh? Reading that post was a comfort in a way, to know that I’m not alone. But solitude, or the lack thereof, has nothing to do with loneliness, and so I’m still so damn lonely without my best friend – no matter how many other heartbroken souls I connect with (and I feel for every single one of them).

I panic when I think about him. About him being happy without me, thanking himself for making the decision to leave me, feeling like a weight has been lifted… Was I really that hard to live with? That hard to love? He loved me before, what changed? Did he get to know me so well and just realise I’m not that great? That I’m downright bad? Why did he tell me he still loves me ‘so fucking much’ even after the break up? Was it a mistake to fight so hard for him? Now he’s probably walking around like King Dick knowing a girl like me will do anything for him, even when he constantly reminds her of every bad thing she’s ever done until she hates herself. I doubt he’ll find anyone else who loves him/is stupid enough to put up with that. Then again, I can’t imagine him doing it to anyone other than me. He’ll find somebody better, who never makes mistakes, never bruises his fragile ego…

But I bet the sex will be boring as shit.

He text me again yesterday. A photo of his daughter playing with the birthday present I’d sent her. I simply replied with ‘thanks for the photo’ but in reality I wasn’t thankful at all. It was like (yet another) dagger in stomach. A photo of the happy life I’m no longer a part of. A photo of my could-have-been. I find his communication cruel and have to remind myself (and all my friends and family who want to kill him, figuratively speaking) that he’s not really a bad person, he just doesn’t know what he’s doing to me. I’ve made the same mistake before, of not understanding how my seemingly innocent actions can hurt somebody who loves me. At least I could blame it on youth, he on the other hand is almost 30. He’ll understand one day, maybe when somebody breaks his heart.

I have the urge to run. Not in the cardio sense (things aren’t that bad!) – but to move abroad, surround myself with new places, new faces, new opportunities, NO memories. I don’t want him to contact me. I don’t want to know anything about his life without me. I don’t want to bump into him, his family, his friends. I don’t want to hear on the grapevine that he’s got a new girlfriend. I don’t even want to think about it let alone have to acknowledge it. I want to forget about how it feels to be with him, and how heavy it feels to be without him. After all, ignorance is bliss. And if I take myself away, maybe I can convince myself that I made it easy for him to move on because you know, out of sight – or in my case, out of country – out of mind… Maybe I can pretend that by going away I let him forget what we had, that I made it easy for him to move on out of choice, and that if I’d stuck around, maybe, he might have seen me one day and missed me, even only for a moment. If I stay I’m forced to face up to reality, and I just can’t see any silver lining in that right now. Ignorance is bliss (or slightly less painful, at least).

Despite my moaning I do think I’m slowly getting better, or maybe just better at distracting myself. But that’s still progress, right? Like ash in search of said, there’s good days and bad days. Maybe tomorrow will be a good day and I’ll stop comfort eating all the bread. Seriously I ate like an entire bakery today…

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Aftermath


Oh my god.

The thirst. The headache. The fatigue. I am so hungover. First time I’ve been drunk in months and as I suspected, getting pissed still doesn’t solve anything. Prosecco, beer, cocktails, tequila… Get out of my body you demons.

It was a fun night. I wore my new shoes that cost a bomb (that I can’t walk in) and I spent ages doing my make up (just to get come onto by a homeless man hoping for a place to stay for the night – score!). I hadn’t been to a club for a long time and it was great to have a dance, but it was so dark and smoky that I was lost and disorientated 80% of the time. And has anyone ever noticed how clubs are fucking full of people? All kinds of people, but noticeably with a high ratio of dickheads. I think for every girl wearing a crop top there was a guy trying out the beard trend. I don’t know… I’m just grumpy and intolerant of other human beings lately.

I was with an interesting mix of friends. One who’s married and perfectly (and I mean perfectly) happy; One who admits that marriage is actually really hard work a lot of the time and one who has been single for about a year. And it was great that we all had different things to talk about, different points of view, different problems – it really cheered me up for a while! But when my friend (who’s lovely husband kindly waited up til 2am to take us all home) told me it was time to leave, my heart sank. I didn’t want to go home to an empty bed; I just wanted to stay in the dark, obnoxious club with all the other dickheads where the music was too loud to think or feel anything other than mild confusion and ‘I love this song!’.

I was drunk and tired and wanted to cry the minute we stepped outside. I had a little silent weep in the back of the car on the way home with my phone in my hand, his number on the screen. I text the friend we had just left home to ask her to say something, anything, to stop me from calling him (I didn’t want the others to notice I was upset in case I turned into a hysterical mess in front of our chauffeur), but she was already passed out…

I somehow found the strength not to do it. I say strength, I think it was actually just fear of rejection. Once I got into bed I passed out as quickly as my friend had and woke up at 8am with a mouth like the Sahara desert and a heavy heart. I miss him. I miss our little house. I miss our bed. I miss touching the face of somebody who knew me so well and accepted me, for a time… But what has me so upset this morning is that all the times he’s been drunk (he drinks a lot since the split) and gone home alone (he’s living with his mum so I doubt he’s taking any one night stands back with him), he hasn’t been so sad and lonely to miss me. There has been no drunken calls or texts and I can’t imagine that at any point he has sat with his phone in his hand with my number on the screen wondering if he should call. Because why wouldn’t he? What would be stopping him? He knows I’d take him back in a heartbeat. He just doesn’t miss me. Doesn’t want me. Simple as that.

When it’s so simple whys it so hard to accept?

At least I learned that getting drunk isn’t the answer. And at the grand old age of 24, I am too old for clubs. Fuck. I need a hug and a bacon sandwich.

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Hobbies include napping and daydreaming…

My list of hobbies/favourite things used to look more like this:

  1. Eating in fancy restaurants
  2. Visiting the museum
  3. Shopping
  4. Frequent trips to Paris
  5. Nights in with wine & cheese
  6. Trips to the zoo
  7. Watching UFC
  8. Going for sushi
  9. Star gazing
  10. Dreaming about my future…

Since the break up I’m struggling to find joy in any of these things. See, we were so in love with each other and seemingly so compatible that all of my favourite things and all of his favourite things became our favourite things! He was even my favourite shopping companion! Can you believe that? How lucky I was to find a man who enjoyed shopping ?

I’m mad at myself for letting him become so integral to things that were once mine. Sushi for example. It’s been my favourite food since the first time I had it on holiday when I was around 12 years old. Sakura in Belfast is my favourite restaurant and I used to go once a week (when I could afford it – thank you, student loan). He had never tried sushi before he met me but of course, he loved it (who doesn’t?) and then we visited Sakura almost weekly. It just doesn’t seem as fun to go without him. There’s nobody else who won’t judge me/be mildly disgusted at how much I eat (not even an exaggeration).

We both have a passion for food and fine dining and our favourite way to spend a night together was with wine, cheese and charcuterie. I have a friend who I can do this with but it’s impossible not to think of him at the same time.

I desperately wanted to text him the other night to remind him about the Perseid meteor shower (astronomy was another interest of ours) and I’ve had to forget all about my trip to Paris in October because despite the fact that I’ve been going frequently from age 13 and was lucky enough to spend a year living there (alone), since he surprised me one Christmas with a trip for the two of us, even Paris became ours. 

I’ve been in Paris with many, many different people. Family, friends, ex boyfriends… But no matter how much they loved it (and some of them didn’t), nobody ever seemed to belong there just as much as I did. Paris was fundamentally mine. But the minute he climbed the steps out of a metro station on rue St. Germain, he fell in love. He adored everything I showed him, everywhere I took him. He didn’t tire of the metro or even the bum living outside our hotel who had a habit of walking around with his trousers around his ankles. He wasn’t put off by the rats on our midnight walk by the Seine and he didn’t even curse the staircase leading to Sacre Coeur. We had the most perfect holiday and despite all my time spent there sans mon amant, my best memories of Paris are from that trip. After looking at the city with love in his eyes he told me ‘I feel like I know you better now’. It was SO fucking romantic!

To be honest, I can’t really regret it. Sharing all of ourselves with each other was the big love that I’ve always wanted. Friends seemed envious of how well we spent our time together and he made the simplest of things so romantic. He came into my life like a perfect storm and made a mess of me with all this happiness I struggle so much to hold on to. I don’t want to give up my favourite things but for the time being it hurts me to do them without him.

I hope the day comes where the memories make me smile rather than cry but in the mean time I need to make some new memories for myself. This is inconvenient when you’re as lazy and introverted as I am so for now my hobbies mainly include napping at every given opportunity, daydreaming that he realises his mistake and begs me to take him back and blogging about it, I guess!

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Going solo

I NEED a holiday.

Not want, need. I need to get away from all the things that remind me of everything I’ve lost this year (much more than just a relationship, but we’ll not get into that). I need to get away from my parents (I’m sorry – I love you both dearly but living at home again is trying, to say the least!). And I need to get away from people who know me. Deleting my Facebook account only made people more interested in my business, asking what’s wrong, where I’ve been, is everything ok… They mean well, of course. They just can’t take a fucking hint.

However, any travel companions I would have considered all have holidays booked already and no extra cash or time off work to book another trip with lonely old me. Thing is, I actually used to love travelling on my own! Quietly people watching in the airport, wondering who’s watching me back, drinking a cup of coffee, reading vogue, trying to give off to others the air of being an international jet setter. Oh, you’re travelling with a friend? Excited for your trip? How cute… I’m just flying to Paris for business, no big deal *glamorous hair flick* (these are just my inner dialogues btw, I’m not really that much of a dick). Before the break up I was already contemplating taking a solo city break while he was off partying with his friends in Ibiza. But of course now that going solo is imposed upon me, it isn’t so appealing anymore. It was different when you knew there would be two arms waiting to wrap themselves around you when you came home. That somebody would be missing you, excited to hear about your trip.

I’m in two minds about it (as I am about almost everything due to my paradoxical nature). Will holidaying alone break me once more? Will it be an overwhelming realisation of how alone I am and how much I miss my lover, my best friend? Will I be too anxious to even enjoy myself? Or is it just what I need to give me back a sense of autonomy? To prove to myself that I can do this alone, I will thrive without him, even just to prove to him what a bad ass, boss bitch he lost (this is how I imagine myself, strutting around cosmopolitan cities toute seule)?

My brain says it’s the smart thing to do, but that little depressed devil on my shoulder says I shouldn’t risk it. Honestly, I have a similar debate over so many things everyday and that little voice gets it’s way far too often. I have a huge list of things I know I should be doing to be happier, healthier, more successful, but I always put it off until tomorrow and, as it goes, tomorrow is yet to come. I’ve been told I give great advice but I certainly can’t take it. I could be a professional hypocrite (that has to be a job, right? I mean the Kardashians get paid for doing less).

It seems my heart and mind are constantly at war with each other. However, while my poor heart is on the mend I suppose it’s time I put this brain to use (it used to be quite good, from what I remember).

So does anybody know how to get cheap flights to Vegas?

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Faking it

He text me yesterday. ‘How are you?’

A million thoughts rushed through my mind, naturally. Sadly, it’s probably meaningless. I desperately want to believe that he misses me but personal experience tells me that in reality he probably just wants to be friends. Which is heartbreaking.

His ability to make small talk with me surely means that he isn’t hurting and it devastates me to think that this is what we’ve been reduced to. After all that passion, all that lust and all that love, we end up making fucking small talk.

It took me a long time to figure out how to reply (I didn’t want to appear immature by ignoring him). My first reaction was ‘are you fucking serious?’ We lived together for two years, he knows me well enough to know exactly ‘how I am’. My second thought was to reply honestly… I have always been honest with him. He was my best friend, the person I shared my deepest feelings with. But that doesn’t seem right anymore – to give him that honesty; to bare my soul to him. I also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much I’m still struggling without him. I refuse to massage his ego any more (the first strength I’ve shown in a long time). So that left me with one option, something I’d never done with him before – fake it.

I lied. I said I was ok, I kept things as brief as possible and ended the conversation as soon as possible. As difficult as it was I knew it was for the best. Honesty hasn’t done me any favours lately, so maybe I should be faking it more often? I’m sure my poor, loyal friends would welcome a break from my melancholy! If I could plaster a smile on my face and stop spending so much time in bed my parents wouldn’t be so worried…

‘Fake it ’til you make it’.

What do you think? Do I stand up tall, hold my head high and tell the world I’m A-OK? It’s a nice idea. Or is there a bravery in not pretending? In admitting that yes, I’m wounded, I’m struggling, but I’m living.

I’m just gonna play it safe and resort to some retail therapy while I figure it out.

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