My New Year’s resolutions for December 31st, 2011 were to give up smoking. It was also to avoid falling in love with the following people – drug addicts, compulsive liars, cheaters, wife beaters, emotional fuck ups, attention seekers and general fucktards. The reason I know this is because I posted a Facebook status that said something along the same lines. I also said that I wouldn’t buy so many pairs of shoes.
As I look back and reflect over the last year, I realize how much of a rollercoaster I have been through. I lost what I thought was the love of my life to a drug problem. He may not have died, but we sure did. I moved from one side of the world to the other. I slept with 7 different boys. 4 of those were boys I’d never slept with before. I have been in two “real” relationships and one “sort of” relationship. I have fallen in love (again) once. I think. I have gotten a new job. I have lost 60 pounds in weight. I’ve put a few of those back on again. I’ll start the diet again in the New Year.
I wanted 2012 to be a good year. I thought it was the new start that the Big Love and I so desperately needed. Turns out it wasn’t.
I failed at a lot of things in 2012. I DID give up smoking again like I wanted, but I started up again so I don’t think it really counts. As far as I’m aware, I haven’t fallen in love with a drug addict, cheater, wife beater, emotional fuck up, attention seeker or general fucktard. The compulsive liar bit is debatable. Let’s be honest; One Ball has been a bit of a twat.
I’ve gained a few people in my life – those that I work with and some new friends. I have also lost a few – The Lapdog is a definite loss. My Mr. Grey seems to have disappeared off the scene again. To be fair, I wasn’t exactly as responsive as I probably should have been, especially when One Ball came along. I lost the Big Love of course. I also lost half of the people that I once considered to be friends on the other side of the world. I knew that would happen though – you promise to keep in touch but even with modern technology, you still don’t as much as you should.
According to my Facebook page, I added 75 new friends in 2012. I wonder how many of those people I would actually consider to be friends. Or how many I still am friends with today.
Facebook also reminds me, in my review of 2012 that it offers, that I was far too drunk and went to too many bad clubs when I first came home. I spent some time on the beach during the poorest summer ever. I dyed my hair so many times that I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen out yet. I went to a couple of Anniversary parties, a few birthday parties and more than my fair share of festive drinks. I was in a relationship for a brief spell of time. I also wore some pretty colourful outfits…. Cheers Facebook! What you have basically reminded me is that this year I have mostly been single, drunk and in outfits that I’m sure were a great idea at the time. It makes me feel like I’ve done sweet bugger all with my year.
I wanted to think of 2012 as my new beginning, but in reality all I did was rewind. I have ended up right back where I started 7 years ago, before all of my adventures began. And what a few years it has been. I got married, moved and lived in three different countries, on three different continents. I travelled. I have found love and lost love, separated from the hubby, started 6 new jobs, “lived” in 7 new places, slept with too many people, broke too many hearts and lost too many friends. I’ve made great memories though, and although I’d love to see the back of this crappy fucking year, I can’t snub the fun and laughter I have had along the way. The nights out with the sister who is now legally allowed to drink with me. The movies I went to see high in the cinema with the Bestie I’ve Never Had a Dalliance With. The crazy fuck fest weekend I had with My Mr. Grey. The awesome weekend I spent with One Ball. The bad sex with the drunk guy. The nights I spent partying with the Lapdog, high on MDMA. New memories, new people, new places….
So I start 2013 on a new chapter. This year WILL be my year. I’m not going to make New Year’s resolutions, as such, but I am going to make goals to meet before 2013 is out:
I want to give up smoking. Again.
I want to progress within my job.
I want to see where things go with One Ball and hope not to get a broken heart at the end of it.
I want to find a new little home to call my own rather than living with family.
I want to go to a country that I have never been to before.
I want to go back to the other side of the world to see the people I left behind.
I want to get completely, truly, definitely over the Big Love.
I want to make mistakes and cry some tears, make new happy memories and travel around my home country that I feel has been somewhat overlooked.
I want to get drunk, occasionally take some drugs and have some good nights out.
I want to get to my goal weight of 145 pounds.
When all is said and done, I just want to be happy. So here is my goodbye to 2012 and my hello to 2013 – BRING IT ON!
Happy New Year guys! Thanks for spending 2012 with me – my tears, my laughter, my sex and my fears. I love you all. And I hope 2013 is your year too xoxoxoxo Follow me on Facebook & Twitter for more updates!
Do you think you could score your last breakup? Was it more painful Adele than get-over-him Taylor Swift?
Today I am in a very weird place. In fact I’ve been in a weird place for a few days now. I haven’t really had anything to write. Or maybe I did and just didn’t know where to start?
Two days before Christmas. This should be a time of cheer and I don’t see myself cheering. I’ve worked so many hours at work and run around after the family so much, as well as my freelance writing to afford Christmas as my pay hasn’t been right for the last few times, that I’ve forgotten about Christmas altogether. It’s 9:34pm on Christmas Eve-Eve and I still haven’t wrapped anything. In fact, I still haven’t bought everything I wanted to buy for people Still I work better under pressure so hopefully a last minute dash for it on Christmas Eve itself will prove fruitful.
I haven’t really thought about the Big Love much recently which lead me to think that I was starting to get over him. I also found this very interesting article on 26 Milestones to Pass after a breakup which I decided to test myself on.
According to the article, there are 26 milestones that you have to pass in order to be over someone. Clearly I’m not going to work my way through them all, firstly because some of them are unnecessary, and secondly because we will be here forever. And no-one has time for that right now.
*The first milestone is not instantly thinking about him when you wake up in the morning. Well, I’ve not done that in a while now.
*Number seven was when you deleted his number from your phone. Well I haven’t done that yet. I have recently discovered that he no longer has an iPhone now which makes me sad. I felt comfort in the fact that he was just an iMessage away and now he’s not. I have restored the phone so none of his messages are on there anymore. That’s got to be progress, right?
*When you de-friend him on Facebook and un-follow him on Twitter was milestone number 8. I deleted him from my Facebook before I even left the other side of the world, and he never had Twitter anyway.
*Number nine was when you stop asking mutual friends to keep you updated. Well I’ve never really done that either – I stalked his Facebook more than a few times because he has everything public (TWAT) and it was easy. I blocked him a few times, but also unblocked him. Funnily enough, almost every time I have unblocked him I have had a message from him within a few days.
*When you find a spare pair of his socks and don’t crumble is number 10. I threw most of his things away when I came back to this side of the world. He did have a whole bunch of stuff here that he left when we were this side together. There were a couple of things I kept though. I still have a pair of his shorts. They are comfy. I also have a t-shirt of his which, funnily enough, he had never even worn. I also have one of his t-shirts that made up his uniform in the war zone where we met. These aren’t things I crumble over however; they are just memories from our time together. Is that the same thing?
*Number 12 was flirting with a new man because you actually want to, not just to prove that you still can after all this time. Well there have been a few guys since Big Love. One Ball is the closest I’ve gotten to feeling something even closely resembling emotional attachment to someone so I’m going to check this milestone box.
*Number 20 was when you are getting undressed at night or getting ready for something and you realize that what you are putting on or taking off was something he bought you. There are still certain garments of clothing that bring a lump to my throat – that red dress for his work Christmas party, the Louboutin’s he bought me for my birthday and the hoodie that he bought me in the war zone. He never really bought me clothes so I don’t even know if this milestone applies to me.
*The first major holiday you manage to get through on your own. Well I guess in two days we will know the answer to this one. I know this Christmas can’t suck half as much as what the last one did.
*When you genuinely realize that you don’t want him anymore. I’m stuck with this milestone. I KNOW I don’t want to be with him anymore and I know it would never work if we were to get back together. It doesn’t stop me pining for him though. It doesn’t stop my heart from hurting.
*When you are genuinely happy about him and his girlfriend. Well remember in one of my last posts I said she looked fat in one of the Facebook pictures? Well, there’s another picture and she is definitely a bigger girl. Bigger than I ever got and I did put on some serious weight towards the end, before I lost it all in one go. He told me he couldn’t be with a bigger girl ever again. He also said that my weight was one of the biggest things he didn’t like about me. How the fucking hell does it make sense that he is with a big girl now? Everything he said he didn’t like about me, he’s basically found in her. She looks similar to me – she’s curvy but bigger than I got. She has blonde hair, around the same length as mine. She has pretty blue eyes – he always liked my eyes. She even dresses fairly funky; not the same as me, nut unique nevertheless. How does it make sense that he is basically dating my replica?
Pffft. Whatever.
So I guess I answered my own theory here – I’m still not over him. Not completely anyway.
Today is what would have been our three year anniversary. Is it only me that would be hurting today, or would you be hurting too? Am I being melodramatic over this?
My heart hurts so much right now, I don’t even know how to describe it. It just feels so … heavy? I really, really miss him. It feels as if it were a thousand years ago, but at the same time it could have just happened yesterday. I spent the first six months after I left him sorting out everyone else’s problems, so I delayed my grieving process by about six months I think. And fuck is it hitting like a godamn brick. I have never felt this pain over losing someone before. I never once felt this bad about leaving The Hubby. No breakup has felt like this; not for me anyway. I smoked a joint when I got home from work last night. I knew it would get bad. I knew I would get like this again; insane, break up crazy. That joint didn’t help me. I actually think it made it worse. I have One Ball sexting me all the things he wants to do to me when I see him next weekend, and all I can think about is Big Love. One Ball doesn’t know the importance of tonight, of course; why would he? I think he knows something’s up though.
I can’t think straight. I watch some TV and I think of him. I type some blog and I think of him. I do my laundry and Boom! He’s in my head again. What right does he have to consume so much of my attention right now? Ugh. I hate him.
I didn’t mean that. I don’t hate him.
I can’t remember exactly what he looks like anymore. I have a fuzzy image of his face in my head; just enough to make out it’s him, but not that clear. It’s as if my mind is slowly fading out my picture of him. I see photos sometimes and it hits me exactly how attractive he was to me. That cleft lip that he was so anxious about, or his “designer” looking stubble. He was beautiful in my eyes; from that lanky streak of piss I fell in love with, to the “hench” well-built guy I walked away from. Guys and gals, he was fucking hot.
I wonder if he knows how much he rocked my world. Like actually rocked my world. The guy was awesome. He was funny too, but I think he was funny to me because it was ironic. Half the time I’m not even sure I knew what he was saying to me. His accent just drove me nuts at the beginning so he could have been talking shit to me the entire time and I would never have known it. I think his accent made him sound kinda dumb, but it was hot and red-neck at the same time. He used to text me every morning to say “have a nice day” and after a while, I learned that when he didn’t send that, I had done something wrong or he was pissed. It was like this weird little code that only we knew about. I used to hate those mornings where I didn’t get a “good morning” text. Yesterday, I got the same feeling for One Ball. He has text me every morning, regardless of time, to say “Good morning!” This morning he didn’t text me. I missed it. I didn’t like that he hadn’t sent me a morning text. He later told me that he hadn’t had a signal, but it made me realize how big of a gesture this was for me. I crave that morning text when I am in a relationship, and I liked what it was “code” for with the Big Love – it was our little thing and I want it back.
I’m hurting so bad right now and I really wish I could get over it and stop. I’m disappointed in myself for letting him get to me that much. I’m better than this. Surely I’m stronger than this? What the hell is fuelling my fire for him, rather than putting it out? Have you ever had that one guy that you pined for? Not just pined for; I mean really piiiiiiiiiiiiiined for. I wish I could tell him how I really feel. I want to tell him how much I miss him. I want to tell him that the fact he never said goodbye fucking broke my heart. I want to tell him that I still think he was “the one”
I want him to know how hard it has been to get over him, and that I don’t think I ever will. He’ll always be the one that got away. He should know how many songs remind me of him – I won’t give up by Jason Mraz, We found love by Rihanna feat. Calvin Harris, Hey lady by Thriving Ivory, Call me maybe by Carly Rae Jepson, Count on me by Default … This list could go on for some time. Every single one of the songs that destroy me now once held a memory so precious I wanted it to be embedded in my heart forever.
I think he has a right to know that me wanting his happiness is a long way off, and as much as I pretend I am happy that he has found someone on the outside, I hope she eats him up and shits him out just like he did with me. I want him to know how beautiful he always was to me, even if his worst of states. I want him to know that he drove me insane with just one kiss. I want him to know that he was everything I could ever have wanted in a man + one awful drug habit I most definitely didn’t sign up for.
I wonder if he remembers that it’s now our anniversary. I bet he does – he always remembered things like that. For our six month anniversary, we were on my side of the world. He waited for me to get home from work naked on the bed, rose petals and candles everywhere, strawberries and squirty cream all over him. He had written a note about why he loved me on a piece of paper on every single one of the stairs leading up to my bedroom. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. Unfortunately, I was two hours late home from work because my sister (who worked with me) had an unsightly swollen insect bite on her foot and it swelled up so big, she couldn’t drive home. I got home, turned him down and went to have a shower. I don’t know why I did that. He always did things like that at the beginning of the relationship. It didn’t last that long though; the romantic phase of our relationship.
I looked at his Facebook today, and she has written on his wall twice. She’s a once a week poster-kinda gal – I wonder if the two posts were for my benefit? I once again realize that the Big Love and everything about him is sending me into a new spiral of crazy. I’m not even that bothered about One Ball at this point – I’m glad he’s away. One less fucktard I need to bother myself with. Because let’s be honest; you know he’s going to screw me over in one way or another.
That song, by Jason Mraz, was “our” song. The Big Love and I, I mean. It was our song. My Best Girlfriend on the other side of the world showed me this song when I was at a point of determination that our relationship was going to work, and I wasn’t going to let his drug problem get the better of us. At the time, I don’t think I realized the significance of the song, which is funny because I don’t think he would ever have realized that this would end up becoming “our” song either. To this day, it has become a song significant in our breakup – me being determined to carry on, and him determining to give up. Just one beat from this song is enough to have my heart feel as if it were being crushed.
That song wasn’t that big when I left the other side of the world; not that many people had heard it. Over here, however, back on MY side of the world, it is EVERYWHERE I fucking go! The contestants on X Factor are singing it every five minutes, and it’s on every TV commercial I seem to hear. I quietly flick through YouTube and BAM! There it is again! So what happens from here? Well, when I am reminded of anything about him, including this damn song that I once used to love; I get into this fury-bred Facebook stalking session of him. And so it begins…
She’s still leaving all these gay messages on his wall, and he’s not responding to them nearly as much as he should being her boyfriend and all. I think they must have broken up a while ago as well, as there were some posts by her removed, and it would seem that she was removed from his Facebook relationship status for a while. And, according to her shitty little comment on a photo he shared, they are “getting a house soon”. You will know if you have read some of my other posts, (He’s Buying a House) that the fact they are even thinking about house buying, grips my heart with an iron fist and causes me to go into a mini breakdown. Guess this means they are back together again now. I’m trying to ignore that comment. Clearly it was for me to see – no person in their right mind would randomly post that on a picture he had shared without meaning for it to be seen by somebody. My crazy lady side is determined that this was for my benefit. My crazy lady side is also adamant that this relationship is doomed and will fall apart. Clearly they’ve broken up once, and they have only been dating since around March time, so about 8 months. That’s not a good start, that’s for sure. Secondly, he’s an emotional fucktard and he WILL fuck it up. Thirdly – why would I even care? He’s not my fucking problem anymore!
These Big Love rants are really starting to piss me off, and I’m actually concerned that I’m no longer a grieving ex-girlfriend that’s having a meltdown a few months too late; I’m the crazy bunny boiler that all the guys talk about. I’m concerned that I’m the girl that finds a new level of crazy.
In two days, it would have been our three year anniversary. I would advise you stay away from my blog at these points – it’s going to get snotty, that’s for sure. I’m already struggling. Our two year anniversary was a massive one for us. When we first started to have our problems in the relationship, around June last year, we made a pact – if things hadn’t improved by our two year anniversary; six months later, we would part ways. We desperately made changes to the relationship, and the only drawback was we weren’t making the same efforts at the same time. I’d get in from work and be grumpy and pissed off and he’d be cooking dinner, dancing and singing around the house. I tried to explain to him that when I got home from work, I need half an hour just to drink my cup of tea, get all my anger out, and calm down. I worked for very demanding people. He didn’t get it.
I’d get up early in the morning to make his food for him to take to work, and he’d be as miserable as sin. I’d be horny, he’d be grumpy, I’d be up, he’d be down… Can you see the pattern here? We just weren’t “synced” within our relationship anymore. A few times he threatened to give up before our two year anniversary, but I managed to persuade him we should give it a shot. And vice versa when I was adamant we were over. We did try I guess… Just not good enough. We didn’t learn enough about each other again to give it a good enough shot. We had already destroyed it, and were incapable of getting it back together again. Imagine if we had given it one more chance. Imagine if I hadn’t have gotten on those flights and came home. Would things be any different? Did we just need to give “us” longer to settle back down again? Naaaah. Things would have been the same – we would have gone around in the same coke-induced life circles we always did. As much as I miss the guy, even I’m not stupid enough to think that we ever would have been able to make it work the second time around. Our relationship wasn’t a “real” one from the start – we met in a war zone, I was still with my husband, then I was back home and he was still out there, then he came to me for two months, then we travelled to the other side of the world. It was when we moved into our own little crib that things started to really fall apart, if we are being totally honest.
Nothing about our relationship was “real” or “normal” from the start – it was a whirlwind, fantasy style relationship that was clearly rebounding for both of us, and it never should have lasted as long as it did. I loved him, I still love him, but it was the situation we really fell in love with; not each other.
He loved the fact I was British, I loved the fact he was from the other side of the world. I loved that we met in a war zone; he loved that I could do all the things that he did, and more. He loved that I was innocent to his way of life; I loved the new life he was offering me. See the pattern here – we fell in love with the situation, not each other at all. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t regret any of it for an instant. The thing I do regret is falling so deeply in love with him. When we met, he really was my knight in shining armor and he saved me from a life that I was struggling to survive in. Again – I fell in love with what he could offer me, not necessarily for who he was.
Still doesn’t make it hurt any less though, does it?
So, continuing on with my two week break-up course, I watched Forgetting Sarah Marshall. To be honest, I couldn’t really take this one seriously as I have a serious thing for Russell Brand, and I laughed most of the way through it. However, I did empathize with the blubbering mess that was trying to forget her, except I hide my blubbering mess away in my room so that people can’t see it. With the exception of you guys, of course.
I’m having a really hard time right now. I’m not sure if it is because I’ve been plan-less all weekend, or because I’m a bit lonely, but I’m reminiscing. A LOT! I had a look back through last year’s Facebook posts and it has hit me like a ton of bricks. This time last year, my best girlfriend from the other side of the world took me to a movie so that she could tell me she was pregnant. I’m anti-baby, and have been for some time, and she knew that having the kid would change the dynamic of our friendship. I knew she had been planning on having a family in the future, but an accident happened and she was happily married and all that so I was happy for her. I left a few months after she told me anyway.
This time last year, I dressed up and went to a Halloween party on the other side of the world without The Big Love. We were fighting, he went away to work, and I went to the party on my own. I was surrounded by couples the entire night, and I felt like a spare part.
This time last year, we were making up and breaking up every couple of days. It went like this – he went out on a bender for a few days, getting drugged up to the eyeballs and breaking up with me so that he could do whatever it was he wanted. Then he had a come down after the drug fuelled few days and realized that he wanted me to “help” him to get over the drugs and make him a better person. We would be fine for a few days, perhaps a week or so, and then it started again – he went out and got drugged up and broke up with me….. It was a nasty, vicious circle, and one that I’m not sure either of us thought we would get out of at the time.
It was brutal. It hurt a lot. I spent a lot of this time last year crying my eyes out to the best friend over there that, by this point, had been telling me to leave him for some time. She tried to persuade me to move into hers, as did both of my bosses. I wasn’t having any of it. I could help him. I was going to make him better. We were going to be OK. What a total idiot I was.
Drugs have a funny way of changing someone. He wasn’t the person that I fell in love with. He was nasty and evil, and ended up in this spiral of drugs and drink, surrounded by fellow druggies, that he couldn’t get out of. He spent a lot of money. He lost his job. It was the scariest time in my life. I was on the other side of the world, away from my family and friends, trying to make a life with someone that was adamant on pressing the self-destruct button. I don’t know if he still does drugs now, but I’m hoping for his sake, and the sake of his girlfriend’s that he isn’t. I’ve been told by a few people that he looks tired and pale when they’ve bumped into him, but he works a lot of hours so this could mean anything.
I can’t exactly remember when it was, but I think it was around this time last year that he started seeing someone else. I had found two cups in my house during a period of us breaking up and asked him about it. He said it was nothing. Then my best girlfriend told me that her friend had seen The Big Love arm in arm with another girl at the movies. This broke my heart. I knew we had broken up again, but I wasn’t aware that we were seeing other people. It crippled me, and it was at this point that I knew we would never really recover. She went to our gym, and once we had gotten back together again, I told him that I didn’t want him going to that same gym when she was there, and if them bumping into each other was going to be a recurrent thing, that he would have to move gyms. He refused. It was my problem, apparently; therefore I was going to have to deal with it. In reality, he was right. I should have left him when he started seeing someone else. Unfortunately for me, this wasn’t the last girl.
There was another one that he started seeing when we broke up for the final time. This one was another situation entirely, a few months later. He used to dirty talk with her on the phone while I was in the house and I could hear him. I could have opened my mouth so that she could hear me, but she didn’t know I was still living there, or anything about me, and he told me if I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I would have to move out there and then, rather than waiting a few weeks until I had enough money put together to pay for both my flights and sending my stuff home.
The last couple of months that I was there was the worst. I started sleeping on the sofa every night, and only when he was away working for longer periods of time, did I dare to get in the bed. All of my stuff had been moved to the spare room, and I had to get used to the fact that he now had another girlfriend. I had already booked one flight and missed it because he had asked me to stay, but the final flight I booked was the flight I actually left on.
From about this time last year until February, I spiraled into a circle of desperation. Every time he told me we could get back together, I clung onto any last hope like a desperate girl drowning. We had a few good weeks between now and the time I left – we went snowboarding and had an awesome day, we spent nights together, got drunk together, cuddled up on the couch together…. It was full of trouble however. Every time we went to certain bars or clubs, other girls that he had been seeing/talking to/texting came up to him, putting themselves on a plate for him, and he didn’t care that I was there.
I slept with someone else; two people in fact, and I hated every second of both of them. He was all I wanted. People kept telling me to go out there and date, so I did. I joined an online dating site in the periods that we were apart, and I slept with other people. The only person I could think about was him. Well, the “him” that I fell in love with anyway. I don’t think he knows I slept with other people. He was aware that I was leaving the house on what he thought were dates, but I don’t think he thought I had what it took at the time to actually fuck another man. In reality, he was probably right. I might have been there in body, but in mind I most definitely wasn’t.
The drugs changed him so much that he was barely recognizable by the time I left. He had turned into a compulsive liar, not only to me but to his friends and family as well. I had told his Dad about his drug problem, scared that I was unable to keep a hold of it anymore, and he lied to his Dad. Even when he lost his job, he told me not to tell anyone why he had lost it and kept telling people different stories. These stories soon caught up with him, of course, and people started asking me about it. I was torn between lying for the man I loved, and wanting people to know how bad things really were. He had been bad-mouthing me to everyone, and as much as I know I made mistakes at this point in our relationship, and probably said a few things I didn’t mean, I definitely didn’t deserve the backlash for his drug induced mistakes.
He started playing with my head. We bought a trailer for the sleds and he took me along with him to get it, asking me to name the new sled, kissing me and cuddling me, telling me that he still thought I was “The One” and that he was never going to let me go. He was going to change, and he was going to go back to the man I had fallen in love with, as long as I went to the gym and started working out. I agreed with this – I had put on some weight, especially during these final few months. It’s funny because the last few weeks I was there, I barely ate, I barely slept, and I drank a lot so I ended up losing a lot of weight in a very short time period.
One day he loved me, the next he couldn’t stand to be in the same house as me. This went on for a while until eventually; we couldn’t be in the same house at the same time. When he was home, I got in from work and went straight downstairs until he went to bed, and then I went upstairs to sleep on the couch. Honestly, this was the worst I had ever felt in my life. I started cutting myself again, (a story that we will go into another time) and I could see myself falling apart. I wasn’t sleeping properly, I certainly wasn’t eating hardly anything, and I couldn’t handle the situation anymore. By this point, I had stopped telling people about what was going on. I was leaving as soon as I could afford to, and it was over.
I think the thing that makes all of this the hardest, and also possibly the reason I can’t seem to get over him, is that I left a completely different person to the one I fell in love with. The guy I fell in love with was romantic, adorable, a great lover, hilariously funny, had great morals, and actually gave a shit about other people. The guy I left was bitter, mean, angry, and nasty, blamed me for his drug problem, did whatever he wanted and didn’t care who he hurt in the process. It was as though I had fallen in love with Dr. Jekyll and left Mr. Hyde. I know this is probably the case with a lot of relationships, but this was something else. The Hubby, for example, was an asshole throughout our entire relationship; I just chose to ignore it and thought I could make him a better person. I’m THAT girl that thinks she can turn a bad guy into a good guy. It never works, ladies; never fall for it.
So here I am. Reminiscing about things that happened a year ago today, still incapable of getting over a man that quite spectacularly ripped my heart to shreds. In all honesty, I don’t think it’s entirely him. I think my heart has had enough of being pulled from pillar to post; bad relationship after bad relationship; more dramas in every one than the ones before. My poor heart has been through it all. It has been cheated on, lied to, beaten up, destroyed by drugs, ripped apart by broken promises, and now it has finally realized that love hurts. Even now though, I can’t hate those guys. I can’t hate The Big Love even though I really wish I could. I still love him. The guy that could make me pee my pants with laughter. The guy that could make my knees buckle from a single kiss. The guy that could give me goose bumps all over just from the way he looked at me, and managed to make me feel completely safe even in the most dangerous of situations. Drugs destroyed that guy. Drugs and the failed relationships before me. He once told me that whenever he gets to the two year anniversary mark of any relationship, he falls apart and destroys it. He starts taking drugs again, cheats, lies, and hurts the girls that he is with. Guess where we were in our relationship. Yep, you guessed it – just coming up to two years when it all started kicking off. He predicted the end of our relationship right at the beginning, yet still I threw myself into it. I thought I was the one girl that could change him. And once again, I was proven wrong.
Another night, another film. This one is a bit odd but was suggested to me by One Ball. He doesn’t know about my current obsession with The Big Love, nor does he know about my two week breakup crash course, but he stole some films from my hard drive, came across this one and told me I must watch it. Apparently it’s good for a breakup. So here I am….
There were a few things about this film that started the cogs turning. At one point, the guy changed his attitude and personality to match what the girl on the date was looking for. I definitely do this in long term relationships. I tend to “morph” into the guy, regardless of how hard I tried to prevent it. This actually didn’t happen with The Big Love however. In fact, I went totally the other way from the girl that he was actually looking for. It was weird – it wasn’t really “me”, nor was it the girl he wanted. I lost myself for a while, and it seems to be taking an awfully long time to find me again.
Aside from him, there was definite morphing happening. Does this happen with everyone? In the film, he then goes on to say that the girl he had been so “in touch with” had now become obsessed with the worlds most unattractive shoe? Basically, he discusses how differences occur within a relationship and how you must accommodate each other. Did I accommodate these men? Or was I incapable of keeping my opinions to myself, thus destroying everything we actually shared? Did I really care about the “unattractive shoe”, or in my case with The Big Love, the really awful headband he used to wear at the gym, or was I just opening my mouth for the sake of it?
I hated The Big Love’s sudden passion for the gym, and the fact that it kept coming between us because I just wasn’t that much of a gym bunny. All of a sudden he was buff and beautiful, and I was the fat girl that didn’t look good in photos next to him.
I hated the relationship he had with his best friend. I thought he lead him down the wrong path, especially with my guy’s drug riddled past. The same went for the tattoo artist.
I hated the fact I could never get time off work to actually enjoy activities with The Big Love, thus resenting it when he went and did them anyway. That certainly wasn’t his fault, but I blamed him nevertheless.
The thing I found intriguing about this film, and I guess the moral of tonight’s story, was that it had me thinking about all the things I did wrong in the relationship, and how I could potentially have destroyed it all. I did give him a hard time about things that were out of his control. I also started hating the things he enjoyed with a passion, because I couldn’t actively enjoy doing them with him. I hated roller blading because I didn’t have the patience for it and I wasn’t very good. He loved it and did it on an almost daily basis. These activities became his escape from me, and in turn, I grew to hate them.
The guy in the film then goes on to talk about the quirks that you pick up from each other in the relationship. I started picking up on his phrases – “perpy dawg” for example, when talking about every dog we came across, and “I can’t do it” in a faux-Indian accent that he had picked up from a film.
I don’t think he ever really picked up on any of my quirks, but I definitely stole a few of his. That must have annoyed him. I know it annoys me when people pick up my things. For example, I use the word “gay” when someone does something cute for me, or compliments me, and I don’t know how to take it. For example – “You look really cute tonight!” he says. I reply – “Gay”
The Guy I Couldn’t Get Rid Of used to steal my “gay” phrase all the damn time, and it proper pissed me off. Get your own damn phrases. Now I can understand how picking up and stealing The Big Love’s quirks must have annoyed him.
I don’t even know where I’m going with this blog post. This film is definitely one that gets the brain thinking. It has me realizing that, in a relationship, I am truly irritating. Everything this guy talks about – all the annoying things that happen with certain people in a relationship, I do! I morph, I pick up quirks, I daydream futures with people when I know there is no chance of it actually happening. I can’t keep my opinions to myself. Things that I once loved about people start to bug me. I’m no longer obsessing with The Big Love. Now I’m obsessing over myself!!!
Back to reality and One Ball came over tonight. This time, however, we didn’t have sex. We teased of course; I laid on my front and he planted soft kisses all over my back, stroking me lightly with his fingers. I kissed all over his chest and stomach. It was different from what we normally do, but I didn’t hate it. It was something more than just sex… I think tonight I needed comfort, and he was there to give it to me. We cuddled for a long time, just chilling and talking. It was nice. Maybe there is more to this guy and our “whatever it is” than I first thought. Perhaps my breakup crash course is actually starting to work? I do feel sorry for you guys having to read all this soppy shit. I know you’re just waiting for the sex…. Bear with me! The sex will come back, I promise! And hopefully once I’ve got the ex out of my head, things will go right back to normal – hot, sweaty, naughty, hardcore sex!
For now, I want to say thank you! Thanks to all of your comments, likes and reads, and for bearing with me on my long & complicated journey. Whether or not you like to believe it, you guys are actually helping xoxoxo
It’s Sunday night, I’m tucked in my bed at midnight, watching 500 Days of Summer. Why am I watching this film? Because Google tells me I should do. According to the “Rules of a Breakup”, you need to cry, get angry, and watch a series of breakup films. I’ve not really done those things, and it seems I’m no closer to being over The Big Love than I was 8 months ago, so I’m giving it a bash. 500 Days of Summer… Bring it on.
It had me thinking; how long does it take to get over someone? Reports seem to suggest half the time you were with them, but I don’t think this is strictly true. The Big Love and I were together for two years, but the last four months of that two years we weren’t really together – it was on and off; more off than on. Technically we were probably only together for say 20 months. Then there was that month we broke up at the beginning of the relationship too, so 19 months. Which means that after 9 and a half months, I should be over him. It’s 8 and a half months and I still feel the same tug on my heart strings when I see messages on Facebook between him and his girlfriend that I felt 6 months ago.
Should it still hurt this much? Personally, I blame The Perfect Penis post for this latest rant. Him and his damn perfect penis.
The good thing about our breakup was that I moved to the other side of the world, back to where I originally came from, and cut all communication. There have been a few messages exchanged; nothing exciting. You’ll know them if you’ve read previous posts. Despite the fact that I didn’t go through the post breakup heartache of seeing him/texting him/ bumping into mutual friends etc, I still hurt. It still hurts. My heart hurts. I think I’m over it every now and again and then something will come up and it hurts again. First it was the perfect penis post. Then it was the letter I wrote to him that I found on my hard drive – the one I never gave him but probably should have done. Then I put some paperwork away and I found an old letter from him. A letter that said “I will love you forever” If only I had known at the time “forever” meant “until I get bored”
I never got the chance to say goodbye. He knew I was leaving; I had my flight booked and my bags packed. That night I got home from work, and he left. I finished packing and my girlfriend picked me up and took me to hers. We watched The Holiday and I cried. I cried a lot.
I never said goodbye. I never got to see if he had tears in his eyes, or any sense of sadness for our parting of ways. I never got to see any hint of regret, loss, grief…. It was probably for the best. If I had seen tears in his eyes, I would have clung on to anything and we were most definitely over. Did he leave because he couldn’t bear to see me leave? Or did he genuinely not care?
I will never, ever forget that feeling that rushed through me when I carried my last bag to the car, shutting the door behind me and leaving my key in the mailbox. It was panic, fear, excitement, intrigue, sadness, anger, hopefulness all at once. Was he going to stop me? Was he going to come to my friends house? What about the airport, true romantic film fashion? Was he going to realize a week after I had gone home and flown to the other side of the world to get me back? Did we just need space? Were we really over?
5am came and I got dressed for the airport. Still no sign of him.
I got on the first flight. No call, no text, no sign of him.
I got on the second flight. Nothing.
I got on the third flight. Zilch. We were really doing this.
I got home. Nothing.
The second day I got a text – “Glad you got home Ok”
That was it…? Two years, no goodbye and that shitty text? Fuck him.
8 and a half months later and I still haven’t had the surprise knock on the door, text message or call. I think the time has finally come to start believing we are really over. 8 and a half months of Facebook stalking, not enough crying, too many thoughts and too much hopefulness. God I’m ridiculous.
On the plus side, I’ve lost weight, found my sense of style again, regained some confidence, and a little bit of happiness. The last 8 and a half months have been the driest my eyes have been over recent years, with The Big Love and The Hubby. I guess that says something. I’m not sad these days. That’s a good thing.
One part of my past I haven’t yet shared with you is my sadness; my depression, my self harm and self hate. Another story for another day.
I guess I’m just waiting for that day when I wake up and he doesn’t pop into my mind at least once during the day. It’s happening less, I guess, than it has been. I think One Ball is helping with that, and My Mr. Grey and the Guy I couldn’t get rid of helped before him. I’m just struggling to let anyone into that part of my heart. I don’t think it has been repaired yet, so I can’t offer it out to anyone. It’s just a frustrating process; almost like a waiting game. Surely it won’t go on forever?
So for now, I’m crying while watching 500 Days of Summer and writing the newest pathetic post for my blog. Just a few more months and hopefully this chapter of my life will be over. And that time cannot come soon enough.
My horoscopes have said recently that an old flame would get in touch. I actually thought they were referring to Number 3 from the other night: So I Got Turned Down. Turns out I was wrong. The Big Love got in touch. This was last night and I’m still reeling…
Our old friend and tattoo artist had hung himself. It was a courtesy message. I couldn’t believe it. This guy was so full of life, and such a talented artist; how had this happened? I stalked the Big Love’s Facebook. He had rushed to tell me before he had even said the obligatory RIP message on Facebook! What did this mean? The tattoo artist and I weren’t close. We partied a few times, he did two of my tattoos, the three of us did coke a bunch of times, and I watched a lot of the Big Loves tattoos…. I couldn’t understand why he had felt the need to rush home and tell me about it.
After a wee message frenzy with my one of my girlfriends from the other side of the world, she had thought it was a reason for him to message me without seeming desperate, and that perhaps things weren’t that great with him and his new girlfriend. It was weird however, it was very civil and I sent the last message…
It was our first real conversation since I had left about 8 months ago. It knocked me for six, and now he’s in my damn head. I went through some of our photos later on last night and found a good one of the Big Love and the tattoo artist during one of the many coke filled “inking” parties. I emailed it to him with a message:
Remember the good times.
He had said that he had been ranting on the artist to do a few touch ups and he felt bad about it. They were close at one point, but I didn’t know whether or not they were still close. All I had was the obligatory “I hope you are ok, my heart goes out to you” message. And now he’s in my head. I thought One Ball had given me the big crush I needed for just now, but now he’s like the smallest thing in the world to me. The Big Love is all I can think about. Why did he message me? How is he? What’s going on with him? Should I message him again to find out if he is OK? What the fuck am I doing? This guy ripped my heart to shreds, and I’m letting him work his way back in. The worst of it is he probably doesn’t even know it!!!!
Why am I putting myself through this again? Getting over him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do, and I’m not even there yet! Why am I letting him get into my head? Why? I dreamed of him last night. It was a good dream. We were happy on the couch that WE bought, wrapped in the blanket that we ALWAYS snuggled up in, watching the TV that I had helped him hook up. Fuck him. And fuck those happy memories. Where’s my One Ball or My Mr. Grey when I really need them?!?
I haven’t been around for ages, and I will tell you why. It is because there has been NOTHING going on in my life. At all. Whatsoever. I still haven’t had THAT conversation with My Mr. Grey, (Number 23) but in my head, we are in a relationship, so I’m not doing anything or anyone else. This is a good start for me. It’s been about a month since he came down to see me and I haven’t had sex since then. A month?! It feels like it has been about a year. That’s the truth about LDR’s, or Long Distance Relationships – they are shit.
Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t jeopardize what I THINK My Mr. Grey and I have, so I therefore wouldn’t want to start sniffing around anywhere else. On the other hand, however, I am quite literally crawling the walls. Just yesterday I jerked off about 4 times. I had the day off work, and pretty much all I did was smoke a joint and masturbate for the entire day. It felt good, don’t get me wrong, but this behavior leads me to believe that I have a bit of a problem.
The other problem with the LDR is that you have a lot of time to think. I have smoked far too much pot, and I have also eaten far too many munchies. In my high states, I have reminisced and this is by far, the most dangerous past time you could come up with.
I restored my phone the other day. I hadn’t done it before this point because I still had texts from the ex on there, (The Big Love – Number 29) and I simply COULD NOT get rid of those. However, a lot of the apps on my phone were still on his account, so I couldn’t update them. The time had come for me – it was time to restore the phone and quite literally remove the last traces of him from my day to day life. We are no longer friends on Facebook, we blocked each other on Skype, we deleted each other from MSN… It would seem that those text messages were the last thing I had of us together, and for some reason, there was no way that I could delete them. The time had finally come. It brought with it some tears, of course. I had a wee look through them and it made my heart actually melt. Once upon a time, we were blissfully happy. Well, probably not but reading the texts back it sure looked like it. We made each other laugh, we put “x”’ at the end of our conversations, and overall, we were together. I hate that I still think about him, and that I compare other guys to him. If the old saying is true, and it really does take half the time you were with someone to get over them, I have about another 5 months to go, and if truth be told, I cannot fucking wait.
I still love this guy and this annoys me. I am willing to embark on my new adventure with my Mr. Grey, to the point where I would quite happily pack up my things and relocate to the other side of the country in a heartbeat, yet I still can’t get the old asshole out of my head. He really did break my bloody heart.
The only problem with feeling like this is that I actually want to tell him. I want to email him or Facebook him and make sure he knows exactly how much damage he did to me. No guy compares to him. The girls and I discuss men at work, mostly those that come into our store, and there is no one out there that takes my breath away in the same way that The Big Love did. Yes, there was the guy so beautiful I couldn’t speak but that’s all he had going for him. Then there is the guy I couldn’t get rid of – Number 34; he had a huge cock, was great in the sack, but just didn’t kiss right. The ex kisses perfectly of course. Or at least kissed – he made have changed his technique for his new girl.
The problem with the LDR is that you think about all the things you don’t want to think about. You remember all those things you didn’t want to remember. You get so horny you spend the entire day masturbating, and you basically act like the hermit you said you would never become. Wow, is this really worth it?
The thing is I reckon it might be. When My Mr. Grey texts me, he makes me smile. He says the nicest things, and I know that he misses me just as much as I’m missing him. So for now, the working too many hours, freelance writing on the side, and day dreaming about things gone past and times to come will just have to do. It’ll all be worth it in the end surely?
Carrying on with my lists of firsts (When Was Your First Time…? Part One), in which we have covered some ground already, I’m on to the next big event in a girl’s life; her first heartbreak.
My first heartbreak
I will never forget the first time I got my heart proper broken by a boy. It was nothing big, and it was nothing spectacular, but to me, at the time, it meant everything. He was Number 4 and we dated for 2 years. I shall explain a wee bit of the story: I was16, he was obsessed with me, we started dating. We were inseparable. There was talk of him cheating but it was never confirmed. I cheated. I cheated on my Number 4 with my Number 20 – the guy I was dating before. Number 4 was new, and I was still sad from breaking up with Number 20, and when he offered me the chance to spend the night with him, I saw this as a “we can get back together” fuck, (because I was young and didn’t know any better) and we fucked. We fucked in his car, and then ended up sleeping in the car that night because he had been drinking and therefore couldn’t drive. Was it worth it, I hear you ask? No, it wasn’t. I have kept a journal throughout my life, on and off. Number 4 found the journal and read it, only a couple of weeks from my stupid infidelity and found out that I had cheated on him with my ex. He went ballistic, quite rightly. I think it was his first heartbreak, and I definitely know I was his First Love. He threw me out of his house in quite the dramatic fashion, and threw my belongings out after me, in true Hollywood style. The hurt in his eyes was heartbreaking enough for me, and from that point onwards, I knew I had broken a barrier in myself, as well as him. Stupidly enough, I have cheated since this occasion. I have either not been found out, or the situation wasn’t quite as traumatic, but when this heartbreak happened, I knew that I was never going to feel that low again for the rest of my life. I had really hurt this guy; I was really horrible. He cried, he shouted, he got drunk, and he hated me. But at the same time, he loved me. This lead to a couple of odd nights – him turning up at mine, (I was living with my Nan) and sneaking in. Spooning me in my single bed, I ended up having my first encounter with angry, hurtful sex. It was vicious, it hurt, we cried, and it was passionate. This was my first time I had ever had sex like that, and although it wasn’t my last, it was still a pungent moment in my life that I will never forget.
My first fuck
My first fuck wasn’t what I told everyone. To the girls and boys at school, I had already had sex with a guy that was 3 years older than me at the age of 13. You know how it is – peer pressure and all that. My first fuck was actually with Number 1 at age 14, and it was dramatic! We had fooled around, lying on the floor of his bedroom, doing some serious heavy petting and some hardcore making out. We were going to get dressed and I realized that I was down to my underwear, and we may as well just get on and do it. I believe we had been dating for around 2 months. Off came his underwear, down went mine, and then it happened. His “Banjo String” snapped and pissed out blood everywhere. We didn’t realize – we had never had sex before; how were we to know how “wet” it was supposed to be? We finished and he said he was sore. That’s when we looked down and saw blood everywhere. It was dark and the lights were off, but the red staining on his sheets most definitely gave it away. At first we thought it was me – we both knew I would bleed a little. After closer inspection however, we noticed that there was blood quite literally pissing out of his cock. We had to throw away his clothes that night. It wasn’t the ground-breaking experience that I thought it was going to be, to be honest. There were no fireworks, there was no real spark, and although we were definitely at it like rabbits throughout our entire 10 month relationship, it wasn’t that good. Funnily enough, he was also my first blow job. I didn’t realize it was coming and he blurted his load right down the back of my throat. I swallowed my first time. What a whore in the making! It made me gag but I didn’t hate it… I am now a great lover of blowjobs.
My first anal
I will never forget my first anal. I am still a very angry wee girl about my first anal. I had heard about it, of course, and I was already under the impression that I would probably end up doing it at some point in my life, but at the age of 16, I didn’t realize it was going to be the painful, horrible experience it truly was. He was a year older than me, Number 20. You’ll recognize this guy if you have read the beginning of this post, and also if you have read “What’s Your Number?” We were drunk at a house party and left the party to find an empty bedroom. We found one. Sex commenced and before long, I was on my hands and knees pushed right into the corner of the bed, which was pushed against two walls. All of a sudden, he pulled out of my pussy and stuck in full-on into my ass. I screamed! There was no warning, no lubricant, and no preparation for this at all! He made my ass bleed; he actually tore me. It hurt more than I can ever remember anything hurting. The inconsiderate bastard had stuck his cock in my ass dry! DRY!!! Do you people have any idea how much that shit just hurts? I still hate him for that. I have done anal since, of course. You’ll definitely know about this (ha-ha!) if you have already read “Anal – What’s the Deal?”
My first sexual awakening
You know what a sexual awakening is – that point where you realize you are not an entirely “Vanilla” person. You like things that are out of the ordinary – pain, restraint, stretching, tugging, biting, scratching…. Etc. I have had many moments of sexual clarity of the years, but I think my first was, again, Number 20. The first time we slept together, I was so nervous. It was in the early evening and it was still daylight outside. I was nervous about taking my underwear off, (Number 1 never took my underwear off when we were sleeping together) so he decided that me not seeing would put me more at ease. Out came the blindfold. This was frightening; I had never had this kind of sex before. He was trying to go down on me, and it was making me nervous because he could see EVERYTHING. I kept pushing his head away, so out came the restraints. He had two ties to hand, and he used these to tie my hands together and keep them out of the way so that he could continue. This was the exact moment I realize that I quite liked bondage. He also gave me my first love of being scratched, especially my back.
To Be Continued…
Not So Sex in My City! 