That Weekend


There are so many thought strands going through my head tonight that I don’t even know how to start to unravel and process them. There are things I want to say, but they can’t all be woven into the same post, and I am scared that if I do not note down the ideas then they will disappear.

I’m doing what I have been told, I’m using writing as a form of therapy. I’m getting it out there instead of letting it fester in my wonky top box.

I’ve been thinking about the weekend my person and I met. I’ve been wondering how I managed to get through it when he broke my heart about five hours after we met. ‘There is not enough of a spark’. Those words cut like a knife and shredded any hope leaving the previous 4 months I had spent falling love in tatters.

I’m sure some of you know that feeling, that hopeless, sick to the bottom of your stomach feeling. Perhaps it is a little worse for someone like me with anxiety but I think the underlying feelings of loss and heartache are pretty much the same for us all.

It was hard to try to smile and be normal when I felt anything but. I felt like I had lost everything, that I had lost him, because I knew there was no way anything was going to be the same in our relationship.

I tried to hide it and say that it was ok, this was what I expected and I guess it was, but I wasn’t ok, I was hurting. There is this moment when you want someone to see past the outside and look straight to the inside. Everyone says that is what counts, but it isn’t, or at least it has never been for me anyway.

I found Sunday the hardest day that weekend. I was emotionally exhausted because at night I would play every detail of our friendship over in my head and wonder how I had got things so terribly wrong. How had I even let myself get into this situation. I also knew that in a few hours I was going to have to say goodbye to this person for possibly the last time. I tried to hide it, but I think he knew.

I am one of those people who wears a mask. I will pretend that everything is all right but when I am alone, that is when I am at my most vulnerable.

I wish sometimes that the people who hurt us could experience just an ounce of that pain so that they could understand that everything cannot return to normal all at once.


Why didn’t you?


Wednesday night was not a great night for me, I woke up at 4.30 am and despite begging myself, the darkness and indeed the universe to let me sleep, it would not.

I’m not a stranger to this no sleeping lark , it happens a lot when you have a brain that will not give you peace when it has nothing else to keep it occupied.

Thursday morning I had another counselling session and putting the lack of sleep along with the events of the day before I knew it was not going to be an easy one. On this occasion I lifted the box of tissues myself and moved them to my lap in readiness.

Counselling is a stark realisation of all the things that you know about yourself but keep a secret from everyone else, mainly because you do not want to admit them. Sometimes the truth can hurt and on occasions (more than a few believe me) it has made my eyes leak.

I told my counsellor I had been unable to sleep and she asked me what my usual outlet was and I said writing. She then asked why I had not got up and written about the things that were simmering inside my wonky top box and I had no answer, so I simply said ‘I don’t know’.

Why did I not get up and write? I suppose at that time of the morning I was thinking that in just a few hours I was going to have to get up for work. I was thinking that I know how emotional I can get on very little sleep and I was hoping that I would fall asleep eventually. I didn’t, I lay awake getting more and more frustrated until the alarm went off at 7 am. So basically, I should have just got up and fucking written.

It seems so logical when it comes from someone else, but unfortunately at 4.30 am I was anything but logical, or rational for that matter.

I used to care what people thought about my writing. I used to worry about what people would say or how they would perceive me, but these days I seem to care less, mainly because I realise how good it is for my mental health. Keeping things bottled up is not good.

When I started this second round of counselling I was not sure I was going to find it helpful, I felt like I was wasting peoples time, but I’m learning to realise that I am not. Being unable to love or even like myself is having a knock on effect on every part of my life.

The counsellor read me some statements on Thursday and told me that I pretty much ticked all the boxes regarding the subject matter it referred to. It scared me. She said I need to change and start putting myself first instead of everyone else and I agree, I’ve taken a back seat in my own life for far too long, but I don’t know how to change.

I suppose this is something I will have to learn and take one day at a time.

My counsellor holds no punches and they connect, but it is exactly what I need, so I am grateful for it and to her.

While I do not think I can be cured, I still have hope that I can be better.

The truth will out

Let’s go back a month. It’s only around 4 weeks, but it feels like it’s been a lifetime.

After my person visited it was clear that there were stronger feelings for me than there were for him. I accepted this, although it was hard. I again wondered why I was not good enough for someone.

With us both knowing what the other had been through I thought that trust and truth were a given in our friendship. He asked me once that there be no secrets between us and I asked him not to lie.

Around the the middle to the end of August I felt there was a change in our relationship. Small things didn’t add up and our nights became shorter. I asked him if he had met someone and he said no, at times becoming almost aggrieved that I would ask. Every time he reassured me and I asked that if he met someone else to let me know, he promised he would.

I began to question myself, worrying there was something wrong with me because I could not believe him. So much so I asked for a second round of counselling. I thought if I couldn’t learn to accept myself then I was never going to believe anyone else could either.

I was truthful, I did say that if he met someone else that I did not know if I could continue on with the friendship. He didn’t seem to understand that the hardest thing can sometimes be watching someone you love loving someone else.

He lied to me. I found out by pure chance one day that he had been in a relationship for two months and had not told me. I felt like I had been stabbed, but I also felt vindicated, I had been right all along and it wasn’t all in my head like he had tried to make me believe.

His reason for lying was that he did not want to lose the friendship and because I had mentioned before that I didn’t think I would be able to carry on. In some ways I could understand that, I had been in similar situations before, but I struggled with why it always had to be me who made adjustments, had to change. The truth is though that once your trust has been betrayed by someone you believed in, it is hard to gain it back. You begin to feel everything is a lie and you question all the little details of the friendship.

This is something he does not seem to understand.

Most days I feel that I need to walk away, but for some reason I don’t. I want to save the friendship, but at what cost to myself. When do you say enough is enough and realise that the thing that you thought was making you happy no longer is.

Only I can answer these questions, I know this. Right now I feel that he no longer wants me to be a part of his life, already he makes choices to shorten or cancel our time to spend with his new girlfriend. I can understand this too, but coming from someone who ended a friendship with his best friend because of the same kind of thing it feels a little hypocritical, as does him telling me this friendship is important to him. He told me the only way to he could make up for all the lies was to prove it means something, at the minute all he is doing is proving it means very little.

I want my heart to stop hurting.

One day at a time…

Broken heart

I know there is stuff in between that and this. Stuff that I have not yet got around to writing about. I’m working myself towards it, taking one day at a time.

I’m trying to be normal. Trying to pretend that everything is normal, but it isn’t. Everything has changed from where it was to where it is now and my heart is trying to play catch up with my head and failing miserably.

I smile and laugh, but when I am alone I pull off the mask. I’m tired, my heart hurts and I just want it all to stop.

My brain will not be quiet, it torments me when I try to sleep, and also when I am awake.

My lips will move and I will tell you I am fine, but the voice inside my head screams that you have broken me. You broke me when I thought you were healing me.


How do you go on

How do you go on when your life has been turned upside down and things you thought you knew were a lie.

I’m struggling to come to terms with everything that’s happened over the last few weeks. Trying to make sense of it and deal with it, but I’m sad. I’m sad every day

You’ll have to forgive my fractured writing, but I need to document things or I will drive myself crazy. The choice of whether you read or not is your own, but this space is for me, no one else.

The things that happened I expected, but not in the way they did, or that the the promises I asked be made would be broken.

I wanted to write letters, letters that detailed the hurt that the lies I have been told have caused. Perhaps it was my intention to one day share them, with him. I don’t think he yet fully understands the consequences of his actions or how hard it is for me to try and keep this friendship afloat. He has eveything he wanted and I feel I have lost everything. All hope is gone. Erased one Saturday afternoon when I though the world was actually ok.

How fucking stupid am I.

Looking back


I didn’t mean to fall in love. It wasn’t something I wanted or needed, but it kind of crept up on me and took over when I least expected it.

There was an easiness to how it happened, it grew along with the new friendship which was both intriguing and exciting in equal measures. It filled me with happiness but it also filled me with dread, bringing back old demons, the fear or revealing myself to someone again after having been hurt so many times before.

I tried to resist, but other people could see the change in me and bouyed by their enthusiasm and his assurances that he was different from other guys, I started to believe that this could be something, could become something. Hope crept in and with it love. Love for his values and the things he believed in. Love for the person he was and how he made me feel.

Still though, despite his assurances and the good wishes of my friends, I had my doubts. I would tell him that I did not think I was the girl for him, but that’s my problem with self confidence isn’t it, I don’t think I am the girl for anyone. He would tell me to give us a chance, and I did.

He told me he loved me once, but by the next day I knew he had regretted it. I asked him never to tell me again, unless he actually meant it. In that respect we were and are very different people. I love my friends and will tell them often, he deems love to be something for family or a partner, it seems he will never tell me he loves me as a friend. That makes me sad.

My love wasn’t reciprocated. When we met, although I knew he liked me, he said his feelings were not strong enough. I didn’t feel he gave us a chance, he feels he did, there is no middle ground. I do however know the problems that would come with this, a long distance relationship, so in some way I can understand.

We still talk almost every day but I think I view the friendship differently than he does. Sometimes it feels very one sided and almost like he sticks around because he doesn’t want to break my heart all over again. My self confidence issues also cause many problems, because despite his assurances I cannot believe he wants to be friends with me.

I have no idea what will happen, but being in a friendship where feelings are stronger for one person than the other is very difficult. I’ve told him if and when he meets someone else that I think I will have to walk away, because I am not sure my heart could cope.

Perhaps with the benefit of counselling my feelings will change and I will be able to rationalise my thinking. I hope so, I don’t want to lose him, but at the minute I just don’t know how to stop loving him.

Why do I write?


Here as with other places I have had to jot down my thoughts and feelings I constantly ask myself why I write.

Sometimes I like looking back and reading about where I was at a certain time and place, remembering how I felt and how I coped with that particular situation.

Other times though I cringe, especially when I see related posts, read them and realise they are almost identical to what I have just written. It always seems to be the same theme and thought processes, does this mean I never move on.

My life is ordinary, I am nothing remarkable or special, so on a day to day I would not have much to tell you about my comings and goings. What I do have though are feelings, in abundance and these I do need to talk about, because while they rattle around in my wonky top box I can never seem to make sense of them, but somehow when I write about them I can.

I hate sometimes that people think bloggers write for sympathy, that is one thing I do not need. Nor do I need pity, I suffer from mental health issues, I am not a problem, in fact I am trying to be my own solution.

I don’t actually write for anyone else, I write for myself, but still despite that, I find myself restricting my words, because I am scared of being judged. It’s not a competition. I have not even had enough time yet to spread my wings much outside of my blog to see who else even exists.

I write because I want to and I need to. It’s important that on days when I feel like I can’t talk to anyone else I can talk to myself, in a manner of speaking. I need to remind myself about the bad times and also the good times, those small seemingly insignificant little moments that we forget make us smile.

I write because there are a million things to say and while not all of those things will ever be written down, I hope that I can capture some.

All these little things will make up a life lived and a journey travelled. My journey.