Finally … and I do NOT

Finally after waiting for what feels like forever (it’s only been 5 months, but still!) I finally have a date I can move into my new home! The place was finished being built late November/early December … but then Christmas and New Year happened and I was stuck in a limbo waiting for a date of settlement.

And … *drum roll* … February 2nd is the big day! I am so excited I squealed when I received the text message from my dad confirming the date. And I never squeal! I’ve never been a girly girl, but I gave the girliest squeal ever! My very own place, my very own fresh start.

I can actually hand in my notice of intent to leave to my estate agent and tell them to stick it up their arses. Well not literally, I want my deposit back! But in my head that’s what I’ll be saying: A great big eff you!

Just the thought of having my very own home makes me want to squeal all over again! But it’s 12.19am, squealing is not an appropriate thing to do when I live in very close proximity to my neighbours (block of townhouses makes for less privacy).

At least this move will give me something to focus on other than something that has slowly been creeping up on my mind and taking permanent residence. An idea that has been growing the more I try to suppress and ignore it. Something I don’t even want to acknowledge because if I admit it to myself then it becomes real. And I really, really, don’t want this thought to manifest itself into reality. I don’t have time, energy, or desire to make the idea a reality.

I fear that I am developing a crush on someone. And I really don’t want to have a crush on him. It’s not something that would go anywhere, it couldn’t go anywhere. And I don’t even want to consider it going anywhere. But the less I feed it – the more it fricking grows. I swear it’s consuming my mind at the most inappropriate times of the day – when I am supposed to be talking to customers at work, or trying to sleep at night (like now).

I’m projecting, this is what it has to be. I’m subconsciously lonely and longing for someone, and so I’m projecting a crush on a specific guy. I must be talking myself into thinking I have a crush (on him in particular) for 2 reasons: he is there in my everyday life and we get along really well. But I know, I know that we are only meant to be friends. I only want to be friends. I logically couldn’t be interested in this person. It just cannot happen. It will not happen. I will not allow it to happen.

I cannot, do not, will not, have a silly crush on a guy I work with who is almost 10 years younger than me. It’s all in my head, and it’s not true. Not even a little bit. Not at all. Never a crush. Never on him.

Never in a million years.

Today The Loneliness Hurts A Little

I’m feeling a little melancholic today and I’m not really sure why. I’m not depressed (not yet anyway) it’s just that there is a little heaviness in my heart. I think it’s the fact it’s getting close to Christmas and New Year’s Eve. It really sucks feeling lonely at this time of year.

Three of my team mates at work became engaged over the past couple of months and so they do a lot of gossiping about their upcoming weddings and all the plans they are making. I’m not jealous, I’m really, really, not. I don’t want to get married, not really. It just seems like too much of a hassle and too much money to invest into a single event.

I just want someone to love me. But I know that can’t happen until I love myself. I really don’t have the energy to devote to anyone else when I am still so fragile. And I can’t honestly say that I have any love for myself. I don’t hate so much anymore, but I’m still a long way from love. Indifference I think it where I am at in my feelings about myself. Oscillating between sheer indifference and vague dislike.

And until I can find at least a shred of love to give to myself, there is no way I could even begin to let another person into my life. That would be dishonest and irresponsible. I couldn’t expect anyone to love me when I haven’t any for myself. But how do you make yourself love something you are so heavily programmed to have negative feelings towards? That is something I don’t yet have an answer to, but I’ll keep looking I guess.

Unfortunately logic and rationality doesn’t ease the nagging sadness in my heart.

I Choose This Life (But I Don’t Approve)

I often write my blog sitting alone on my bed. Tonight it occurred to me that though I’m drawn to spending all my spare time in bed, it’s a place haunted by misery and pain. It holds the painful memories of sharing it with the person I loved more than anything. It is a constant reminder of the emptiness both in my bed and in my heart.

I am lonely. I hate admitting that because I consciously choose to make my life this way. I choose to exile myself from the world. But even though I choose this path, it doesn’t exactly make me happy. It’s so difficult to explain. I don’t like being around people – they don’t understand me. They don’t think the way that I do or feel the way that I do. So I withdraw from the world. I lock myself away, thereby creating my loneliness.

Why would I choose loneliness? I think it’s because reality doesn’t compare with my imagination. I know it sounds like I have incredibly high expectations, impossible ideals, but why would I settle for harsh reality? Why would I settle when my inner life has so much more to offer me? If I can lose myself in my imaginary world for long enough I can conjure up peace: both of mind and soul.

It gets harder to leave the sanctuary of my imaginary world. The disappointment of reality burdens my heart. When I’m in the real world I am painfully aware of my loneliness and heartache. I’m aware that I don’t have a connection to someone special, that my heart isn’t entwined with another. So it’s too easy to retreat into my fantasy world, where I can dream up perfect love and perfect acceptance.

This loneliness always goes the same way. I’m (half heartedly) trying to convince myself that I am in love with someone who … ugh I don’t even want to explain this because it’s too embarrassing to admit even to myself. He is a person who exists on earth. But he doesn’t know me, I don’t even really know him. We’ve not actually met, not actually spoken to each other – but I’m infatuated with his voice, his eyes, his crooked grin. Honestly he may as well be imaginary because he is just so out of my reach.

And it’s even more hilarious (in the most self insulting way possible) that I’m acknowledging this train of thought. Clearly I’m not in love with him. I’m just lonely, so I imagine and project these false feelings onto him because he is unattainable. And by falling in love with the impossible I’m protecting my vulnerability. Because in my warped mind it’s better to be hurt by loving someone who doesn’t even know you exist, than it is to entrust your heart to a real person and risk them breaking it.

Thus I am in a perpetual circle of hurt and loneliness. I justify my self-imposed exile with the belief that if I put myself in reality I’d only end up hurt and lonely anyway. This circular “reasoning” is so draining. I put the word reasoning in quotation marks – because clearly the turmoil inside my head doesn’t have even a single iota of reason about it. Nothing about what I have typed is reasonable – except maybe my admission that this entire post is unreasonable.

Friday Night Freak Out

Apparently Friday night I had a freak out. I don’t actually remember it, but I’m told that the kids dad (my ex) actually took a detour on his way to a job to come over and do a health check on me.

I remember sending him a message telling him that the kids were doing my head in and I couldn’t take it anymore. They weren’t listening to me when I told them to clean up their toys, and they made more mess, and it sent me over the edge. I don’t recall much after that. But my phone shows he called me seven times and I kept hanging up. And it prompted him to come over and make sure I was ok.

I also must have taken 3 days worth of my meds the same night, sometime after my freak out – because I woke up the next morning and noticed my pill box had 3 days missing when I only filled it up the night before. He says that it showed in my change of mood – I suddenly went from highly agitated and angry to calm and tranquil and very sleepy.

But sometime before before the calm set in I must have started writing a post, because I found it earlier today when I was doing some maintenance on my blog. It’s interesting what I think and feel when I’m off my rocker. I usually don’t remember so when I have something I wrote in that state I’m pretty fascinated.

Oh shit the cracks are starting to show. My carefully constructed veneer is chipping at the edges. I thought I had it together enough to get by. I thought I was in a place to be ok. Two and a half fucking years. It’s been two and a half fucking years and I should be able to cope now.

But I can’t. It’s getting worse. I’m getting less and less able to deal. Fuck I don’t love him. I don’t fucking love him. But without him I can’t fucking function. I can’t breathe without him. Fuck I hate him so fucking much. He fucking ruined me. Tore out my heart and crushed it. He didn’t fucking care that it broke me. He broke me.

And the fucking joke of it all. I’m still so fucking weak for him. The need for him is clawing me apart. I keep waiting for something to give. My heart most likely. I guess.

That is definitely the deluded rantings of a crazy girl. I am living and breathing without him. I’m doing just fine thank you very much. If some else had written this and I read it, I’d be like “wake up and smell the coffee you still love him”. But I don’t. I really really don’t. And I know that I am better off without him. I definitely can’t feel any chemistry between us. Absolutely not.

Alright so maybe I feel just a little. But I’m going to keep on ignoring it. It’s better that way.

I (Don’t) Want…

If I were honest with myself, I mean really truly deep down in my heart of hearts honest with myself … maybe I would admit that somewhere underneath it all, I want the story of happily ever after. Maybe.

But I’m never completely, without a doubt, 100% honest with myself. So I don’t need a handsome prince to rescue me. I’m not dreaming of a fairytale, because fairytales don’t exist. There isn’t anyone to sweep me off my feet. And I don’t want that anyway.

I don’t want the romantic proposal.

I don’t want the diamond ring.

I don’t want the beautiful bridal gown.

I don’t want the honey moon in Hawaii, or Paris, or where ever.

I don’t want someone who’ll write me songs, and sing to me and take my breath away. I don’t want to belong to them and they belong to me. I don’t want to hear the soft sweet sighs meant only for my ear. I don’t want someone to take me by surprise every time they tell me they love me. I don’t want anyone to look so deeply in my eyes that I can see my name etched onto their soul. I don’t want fall asleep listening to the even breaths and the heartbeat of the one beside me. I don’t want any of it.

Except I ever so badly do.

A Bad (Holiday) Romance

I have previously talk about how naive and awkward I am when it comes to romance. When I was 22 I unwittingly added being an asshole to my list. I was getting over my first serious relationship and decided to take off for a two week vacation in Hawaii. Overseas alone was a very daunting expedition for an introvert who was still living at home. However, I stayed in a hostel in Waikīkī, and even met two really delightful English girls and became instant friends.

One night they took me to a pub they’d found and introduced me to the joys of a Long Island Iced Tea; and watched the 74th Academy Awards on the big screen TV.  There were a couple of guys at this pub who I believe the lasses had encountered on a previous day because they came over and joined the table. One of the guys, his name was Jake (at least I’m pretty sure it was, shit dude sorry if it isn’t – now I’m an even bigger asshole!!) came across as rather cocky and sure of himself, and the girls didn’t really care for him all that much.

But he got to talking with me, probably because I was the only one polite enough to respond and pay attention. And it turned out he was actually a decent sort, cocky yes, but very intelligent and witty. It turned out we had a few things in common, an interest in Ancient Egypt and old classic films. Somehow, I got to calling him Humphrey Bogart (he said was his favourite actor) and he was calling me Audrey Hepburn (my favourite actress). It was a fun night and I did come away with just a little crush on Bogart (I’ll keep calling him that, just in case his name isn’t Jake ^^’ )

I ended up going to North Shore for a few days with the girls and came back to Waikīkī the day before I was scheduled to return to Australia. That night, on a whim, I decided to go to the pub, just in case Bogart was there. And he was there. He started buying me drinks. We had some pretty deep conversation going, and major flirting too.

It gets late and I’m on the happy side of tipsy and decide I’d better call it a night and head back to my dorm. Bogart walks with me until the intersection where his apartment is a different direction to my dorm. And he gives me the most spellbinding passionate kiss, like straight out of one of my favourite movies. Dead set, it was amazing. And now that he’s charmed me with that incredible kiss, I find myself going with him to his apartment.

A few times I stop walking to half heartedly say I should probably be going back to my dorm. Keep in mind I’m not saying this because I really wanted to go back to my dorm. I’m only saying it because part of me knew it was very improper to take off with a complete stranger in another country. He distracts me with kisses trailing up my arm, my neck and to my mouth … of course I am putty in his very expert hands and my thoughts have turned to mush and I can only think how much I want him.

Seriously those kisses were captivating, I’d not been kissed like that before. It was like he walked straight out of my mind and into real life – his personality, his kisses, his unconventional cuteness it was all like my ideal mate come to life.

Except for the bit that came after.

I don’t have much to say except that the sex really was actually pretty disappointing. So we ended up falling asleep at some point and when I wake up the next morning, I realise with dismay just how much better my holiday fantasy would have been if I hadn’t actually slept with him. I am also shockingly aware of just how awkward and uncomfortable I feel right now because I desperately want a shower and a toothbrush (fucking alcohol fuelled morning breath).

I tell him I’ve really got to go and I hurriedly throw on my clothes, distractedly rebuffing his offer of breakfast. He goes to give me a kiss goodbye and I hold out my hand (like offering a handshake) and say it was nice to meet him and thanks for the memory.

Yeah real smooth, sleeping with someone and then shaking their hand like “it’s pleasure doing business with you”. I didn’t want him to kiss me because I was paranoid about the fact I felt unclean – I hate even talking to people when my mouth doesn’t feel clean, let alone kissing. But of course I came off as an asshole by totally brushing him off, which wasn’t my intention at all.

So um I guess I owe you an apology Jake (yeah that’s totally your name, I’m sure of it now) – I’m really sorry about being such an asshole. I did quite like you, and if I wasn’t such a freak about my having clean teeth and such, you would have gotten at least one more kiss out of me. I probably would have gone another round with you too, just in case it was alcohol that made the sex suck. At least I hope it was the alcohol, and not you. (SHIT! I’m still being an asshole…sorry Jake!)

The Odd One Out.

One of my work colleagues became engaged on the weekend. Her boyfriend took her for a weekend away to Uluru (also known as Ayers Rock) in the centre of Australia. It was all very romantic. When she came into work today all the females (except me) in my department practically swarmed her and were cooing and fawning over the ring and the proposal story for ages.

Don’t get me wrong, I am genuinely very happy for her and I think it’s lovely that her fiancé (I’d better call him that now!) made it all very special and romantic for her. At the same time, I don’t really get why women suddenly feel the need to gush and get all sappy over hearing of someone else’s engagement. I was watching them all out of the corner of my eye (I was on a call with a customer, I am at work after all!) and I was really quite bemused to see these otherwise professional women start squealing and carrying on like a pack of high school girls, the pitch of their voices getting nauseatingly high and baby like.

I’m sitting here laughing now, because reading over this one might get the misunderstanding that I’m bitter or jealous. It’s not that at all, it’s just that I’ve never been a ‘girly’ girl, and cooing and squealing and all that rot just isn’t me. But I do sort of feel like an odd one out, like there is something different about me in situations like this. I don’t behave like a “normal” girl. I can’t. It’s not me. I just kind of see those over the top reactions as a little put-on and pretentious.

For my part – I gave her a heartfelt congratulations, and even gave her a warm hug (and I’m certainly not a touchy feely person – so any hug from me is a rare event!). I thought her ring was gorgeous and told her so. I did this all in my own voice, the one that is filled with enthusiasm and happiness of course, but it’s still my regular pitch and decidedly no gushing. I promise it’s definitely not cold or unfeeling, but at the same time it’s not falsified or overdone.

Does that make me weird? Maybe. Truthfully, it makes me a little sad that I’m not like the other girls. I sometimes wonder what people think of me because I’m not like other girls. But, I am who I am. I can’t change that any more than I can change the weather.

Sometimes though, I wish I could change the weather…

A Little More Backstory

I have been a single parent for 2 years – ever since the life altering moment when my now ex decided he just “couldn’t do this anymore” and walked out after the children had gone to bed. What he meant of course was that he couldn’t be with me anymore. At the time I was blindsided, I didn’t see it coming. I was getting treatment for my illness and was actually breaking ground and getting better. His leaving was a huge shock at the time, but eventually I have come to understand why he had to leave me.

However, he fucked up royally by leaving me to deal with the aftermath of his decision. I (still to this day) have to field the endless questions of why daddy left without saying goodbye, the nightmares, the fears that I’ll disappear in the middle of the night. Some of the residual effects are still present in the both of my children and that pains me deeply.

For the first couple of months after he left, he didn’t call them or see them – I could have fucking eviscerated him. How does a person who adored his children from day they were born – who had an integral part in taking care of them; was so present in their lives – go from everything to nothing?

I get that he couldn’t deal with me anymore. I know that I’m a shit person to live with because of my flaws and the fucking dark clouds of bipolar that shrouds me at times. I also get the fact he probably felt guilty for abandoning the kids without warning. He maybe even felt a little guilty for hurting me. But that doesn’t excuse cutting off all contact with them for any length of time.

If it was only me in this equation, I would have said “Whatever. I’m well shot of this pillock.” and forget I ever knew him. But it was my children whose needs I had to think about. And I know that they want and need him in their lives. And honestly before all of this he was the best dad in the world. He really was.

Things have gotten better now, he calls them (from time to time) and has them stay once a week. It’s not really enough for them because deep down they miss him fiercely, miss having his constant presence in their lives. But at least he’s there for them in some capacity.

One of the things that still bother me is the fact that he’s never had to deal with the fallout from his leaving out of the blue. He left it all to me to clean up. I keep trying to explain to him, that he needs to acknowledge to them what he did wrong – to explain that it wasn’t their fault he left. However, because he doesn’t have to see the tears, the worry, the struggles they have – he thinks that everything is ok so he can just sweep it under the rug and forget it happened.

For someone so brave (he works in emergency services), he really can be gutless. He goes into shutdown over anything that forces him to admit to his imperfections, to acknowledge mistakes he has made, to look deeper into his heart and soul. He runs, runs like the wind, instead of confronting and dealing with emotional situations. Life gets tough and he’s checking for the exit, finding a loophole in the contract, eager to find a way out. He doesn’t deal – he runs.

I get that more than he understands – I spent most of my life running. But I stopped running. I had children and realised that I can’t run anymore. I have to face who I am, how I feel, all of the things I don’t like about myself, about my situation. I have to stand strong for them. Always for them.

Another Failed Romantic Tale.

Time for another flash back, another failed romantic endeavour.

It was 1996, I was in the tenth grade and his name was Ben. He was tall, dark haired, with soft doe eyes, and he had this gorgeous smile where one corner of his mouth curved up higher. He was a little bit bad boy and that was really attractive to me – the Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. Of course this is a private school version of bad boy – what made him an undesirable (not to me, but to my cliquey school friends) was that he had to repeat year 10 and wasn’t of the same “social class”. Some people in my school were very much snobs it seems.

Anyway, he was in my homeroom; and we had our main classes together. Before too long I found myself totally into him, and it turns out that he was into me too. Of course he couldn’t just outright say it, instead he teased me mercilessly (you know all attention; even bad attention; is good attention). And of course my reaction was an overreaction because I was so into him I couldn’t help but react.

Eventually one of my friends (not one of the snobs) had enough of Ben and I circling one another. She (without my knowledge to all of this) outright asked him if he liked me, and he admitted as much. She told him to ask me out, and he said he would if he got me alone. So right before one of our elective classes; she drags me over to him under some pretence and then takes off. I’m left alone with him.

We’re both standing there awkwardly; trying desperately to make small talk, until one of us has the courage to make a move. Right at the last second I am the one to cave. I ask him out and he says yes and tells me that he was gathering up the courage to ask me out. We share a shy smile before we head off to our classes. I’m uncharacteristically a little late to my class; but I have the biggest grin on my face.

Now here is the totally awkward and fail bit. Even though I had asked him out – and he had said yes – I still couldn’t believe that he actually liked me. I had very low self-esteem, and even when faced with evidence to the contrary – I was convinced that this was all some joke on me. I was terrified that he didn’t really like me; and that somehow it was a practical joke, like out of CarrieAnd so I became really shy, and aloof, and practically stopped talking to him – where before I’d done every little thing I could to get his attention. It was like I didn’t know what to do now that I’d had him. He got the impression I wasn’t into him, and the relationship was dust before it even got off the ground.

He resorted to being unpleasant towards me at lunch times; staring at me and calling out mean things when he was in his group of 11th grade friends. I took to ignoring him in class, and acting like he didn’t even exist. Our friendship had disintegrated because I didn’t know how to show him I liked him, and he thought that I wasn’t actually interested in him.

Then one day, one lunch time, he came up to me. He’s mustered up the courage to apologise to me, it’s awkward and adorable all at once. He says he’d like to start over, which of course stupid oblivious me somehow misinterprets. I say to him “Ok, so we’re friends again yeah?” and hold out my hand. Poor Ben has been unwittingly rejected, and limply shakes my hand with a dejected “Yeah, I guess…” and turns on his heel.

Suffice to say we never really talk again after that one. And for the rest of the year, and into the next (until he left the school mid way through the 11th grade) he’d always give me this strange look in the halls. At the time I thought he was staring me down to make me intimidated and uncomfortable – as if he was trying to tell me I was an idiot for thinking he ever liked me. But looking back with experience, I think his face showed something more like a forlorn wanting. I was unable to interpret back then that his expression reflected the disappointment of his belief that his feelings were unrequited. And my suspicious, self-preserving glares back at him really wouldn’t have helped the situation.

So now it’s time for another apology to another guy.

Ben, I’m sorry I couldn’t show you that I really was into you. I had pages and pages of diary entries filled about you, and had a major crush on you for a long time. However I was naive and unsure of myself. So I did the only thing I know how to do – shut down, and hide my feelings. I wish I’d been more confident – because now I’ll never know what your kisses taste like.

Everybody Know’s It But Me.

I’ve spoken about my thoughts that I’m an empath – in that I absorb the feelings and moods of other people. I am also naturally compassionate and understanding towards others – to the point where I have always been the one to whom people come for advice (especially on relationships which is funny considering what I’m going to write next!).

And yet I have a certain amount of obliviousness when it comes to a guy being attracted to me. It’s happened ever since I was young – and I’ve got many hilariously sad stories about it. Hopefully this story (about one of my many cock-ups in love) is something that you’ll get a laugh out of.

When I was in grade five or six, I was hanging out with a guy friend at a baseball park – my little brother had baseball practice and my friends dad was the coach. Some little 4 year old kid was following us about and copying things we said and did. And for some fun we decided to run away and hide from the little tyke. We ended up hiding down a small embankment.

We’re waiting there to see if the little tyke can find us, making jokes and giggling away like the silly kids we were. Then my friend turns to me, looking me dead in the eyes and says in all seriousness “I’ve always wanted to kiss you.” There is a pause as I process the words that just came from his mouth. Apparently I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do with that information because all I said was “oh really?” and shrugged in a really nonchalant way. Honestly, I probably would have conjured up a more emotive response if he’d revealed that he always wanted to learn Spanish.

So we’re sitting there in silence and, bless his heart, the poor boy tries to make another subtle move. He asks “Have you ever thought about kissing me?” Here is me still embarrassingly unaware that he is actually trying to find a way to kiss me right here, right now. What is my stupid answer? “Uh not really…” with another shrug. All he could muster was a tiny “oh…” and if I’d looked closely enough I probably would have seen the exact moment his heart shattered.

So, what was going through my head at this time? I’m not kidding when I say I was thinking “This is a really strange conversation to be having when we are supposed to be hiding from that little kid.” (Yeah cause that was his intention when he led me to that private and hidden area). I seriously, honestly thought that he was just making conversation while we waited for that little kid to find us (or get bored with looking – whichever came first).

I wish I had a time machine so I could go back in time, slap myself upside the head, and apologise to that poor boy for unintentionally rejecting what I didn’t know were his romantic advances. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him, I actually had a more than just friends interest in him. It was that I was so (and still am) so bloody dense when it comes to romance. If he’d just kissed me instead of hinting – I probably would have kissed him back. But unless he’d said “I want to kiss you right now. Can I kiss you right now?” I wouldn’t have understood that was what he meant all along.

So Glenn K. I’m really really sorry that I didn’t understand what you were trying to tell me. You should have just kissed me – that would have got the message through to my brilliantly dense mind!