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
Wednesday’s film – Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
I don’t normally follow through with much in life. I have the attention span of a goldfish. However, my two week breakup course is still in full force. Every night for two weeks, I am going to watch another movie that you’re meant to watch after a breakup. Given its a few months late, but hey, later is better than never and all that bullshit. I’m going to cry all the tears I never cried. I’m going to do it all, and then hopefully, he’ll be out of my system. It’s probably not going to work, but who really needs an excuse to watch tear-jerker movies and eat lots of chocolate ice cream whilst crying in bed? Not me 🙂
The film is a thought provoking one. Jim Carey and Kate Winslet play two very different characters from what we are used to seeing them play. It’s a good film though. The jist of the film, for those that haven’t seen it, is whether or not you would choose to erase all memories of an ex, if you had the option.
“Would you erase me?”
This had me thinking. Would I? Could I? If I were to forget about exes, huge chunks of my life would disappear. I would never have travelled so far and wide if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have been through any of the shitty experiences; I would never have become the person I am today.
I wouldn’t know how it feels to be cheated on. This means that I would love more freely and I wouldn’t be as cautious as I am today when it comes to giving my heart away. I wouldn’t instantly become curious when I get one of those “gut feelings” that, up to now, have always been right. I wouldn’t question the guy when they were working late. I certainly wouldn’t drive myself mad with all the things that COULD be happening while they are not by my side. Saying that, I wouldn’t even have a “gut feeling”, would I?
I wouldn’t have been beaten by The Husband. Or that guy at school. Or the guy that punched me right outside my house. Or the “incident” with The Big Love. I wouldn’t flinch whenever a guy raised his voice, or made a sudden movement. I wouldn’t wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweats.
I wouldn’t have that scar just above my lip. Or the scar on my back from when I was thrown into the a door handle. Or the scars on my feet from where I was dragged around a parking lot. Or the scar on my hand from where I was stabbed with a screw driver. Or the scars on my legs that I did to myself. I definitely wish I could erase those parts of my life. However, if I hadn’t been through those things before, or at least remembered them, I would probably forgive again. And it’s true what they say – a leopard cannot change his spots. It WILL happen again. They probably weren’t sorry.
I wouldn’t have felt the happiness that I felt when I was with those guys. Being curled up on the couch beneath a blanket watching The Big Love play video games. Eating a midnight picnic with Number 4, (the guy that punched me in the face outside my apartment) to celebrate our one year anniversary. Or the amazing sex that we had. The comfortable feeling I had with the husband when we were actually doing alright for a few weeks. If I couldn’t remember all of that, I wouldn’t know how GOOD love could feel. It’s hard to remember the good as well as the bad, but the good makes it all worthwhile, right?
I wouldn’t have travelled at all if it hadn’t have been for those guys. I wouldn’t have made it to the other side of the world. I wouldn’t have moved to the other country in Europe, and in turn, I wouldn’t have seen all the other countries that I did. I wouldn’t have gone to the war zone. All of these things happened because of those guys, and in turn, I wouldn’t have met those amazing friends and enemies, or experienced all those things I did. And those things I wouldn’t change for the world. Those memories, the good and the bad, were the best memories of my life.
I wouldn’t have felt the pain of a miscarriage. Nor would I have felt the joy of marriage. There wouldn’t have been family feuds, or get-togethers. Would I really want to erase all of that stuff? As much as I’m in a slump right now, unable to get The Big Love out of my head, wallowing in self pity eight and a half months too late, would I really be prepared to lose all of those memories?
No, I wouldn’t. I love those memories, and the entire process of falling in love, falling out of love, and everything in between. I have felt love, and I have lost it, and that’s more than a lot of people can say. Could you really hate your time with someone so much that you would be willing to completely erase all memory from them out of your mind? As much as those people hurt you, or weren’t what you wanted them to be, didn’t they help to mould you into the person that you have become today? I know that I would be a very different person if it weren’t for those guys, and possibly one that I wouldn’t have liked much. I know when not to forgive, when enough is really enough, the power of drugs over a person and the way they are, and much more…. I like to think I’m smarter now. Bitter, hurting, yet smarter. So in conclusion, no I wouldn’t want to erase them.
Would you?
Today I decided upon another breakup film. I’m slowly working my way through the list I should have gone through when The Big Love and I first broke up.
Sunday – 500 Days of Summer
Monday – The Holiday
Tuesday – Closer
Why am I doing this? Because I can. Because I have to. Because I’m driving myself crazy with my pathetic obsession over The Big Love and I am determined to get him out of my system once and for all.It’s been 8 and a half months and this has to stop. Now.
I had originally planned to spend the next two weeks making my way through the breakup list of films, crying myself to sleep, and getting him out of my system. Today I made progress; I threw away the cards. You know the ones – the birthday cards, Christmas cards, valentines day cards… I threw them all out today. Next would be the letters. Some day soon, but not today. The cards were purging enough.
Anyway, my plans were somewhat skuppered last night because One Ball came over. He came over and we fucked. As much as I like this guy, last night he was my toy. Nothing more, nothing less.
Within minutes of him being here, we were making out. A few minutes more and we were naked. Now I don’t know what it is about this guy, but I’m a different person when I’m with him. I don’t know if I’ve built up some confidence, or just act differently because he’s someone new, but sex with the lights on doesn’t terrify me with him. In fact, I love it!
The usual games commenced – his wandering hands slid into my wet underwear and got me off….twice! It was good and it was hard. It’s been a while since my last sexual escapade, which is probably the reason behind the obsession with The Big Love again. I digress… My jeans came off, his top too. It was impatient – his jeans were halfway down his legs and my sweater still on when the games began. He tried to go down on me, but yet again I said no. The ropes came out… He wanted to tie me up. Still I said no. I probably would have let him go down on me if he had been more persistent. Instead, we settled on a compromise. He teased the fuck out of me. He held my hands above my head by the wrists and told me he was in charge. He wouldn’t let me kiss him…. He was right there and he wouldn’t let me! It drove me crazy. His cock was just there; he was millimetres away from entering me and he waited for what felt like an eternity. Then I felt it…. One fucking hard thrust; it hurt and I loved it!
From there, things are a blur. He fucked me hard, and rolled me over. I rode him hard and I came hard. I was over the bannister, (I have an attic bedroom) and then I was hanging out of the skylight window while he pounded me from behind. Then we found my computer chair. I rode him facing away from him, then he turned me around and I was straddling him. My hands were tugging at his hair, and his hands were pulling mine. He bit my collarbone and growled at me again – “I’m still in charge!” It took an age and he didn’t cum. We decided to stop for a breather; I had a smoke and he had a drink. He said that he had stopped himself from cumming within a minute of being inside me, and now he was struggling to cum. I asked him why? I had already cum twice before he even fucked me; it was Okay for him to be quick. If I hadn’t cum, it would have been a different matter. He said he wished I had told him that before. We spooned for a bit, and then I did the “Butt nudge.” You know the one – you nudge your ass towards his cock and hope he takes the hint. He did. Within a few minutes, we had both cum and stayed there for a few minutes, basking in the scent of our own sex.
The other thing that amazes me about being with One Ball is how comfortable I feel after we have fucked. I was naked; he was naked, and we just laid there for a while, letting our breathing subside, our bodies intertwined. He kissed my neck, and I held his hand. He’s into me. I can tell. How can I tell him that last night was just about sex? Fucking amazing sex, I’ll give him that, but sex still the same. There was no feeling, just pure unadulterated passion. His back had my scratch marks everywhere. There was a bite mark that I left on his chest. His shoulders had blood where I had dug my nails in, and his hair was disheveled from me tugging at it with fury. It was a war zone. A delicious war zone.
It was good – I needed to get some Big Love tension out, and One Ball was my punch bag. I feel bad for him really, he doesn’t know what is going on in my head, or how much I’m using him. He’s the guy I can have angry, passionate sex with, and he thinks I’m the girl he’s going to fall for. He’s already told me how much he is into me, and how much that scares him. I’m going to break his heart, and if I’m brutally honest, I’m not really that bothered. I didn’t realize I had this wealth of anger within me, and the only way that I seem to be able to get it out, without hurting myself, is by hurting someone else. For the moment, its during vicious sex, but after that….? Who knows?
Could I eventually learn to turn this great sex into something more? There are other factors behind me not wanting more with him – the fact he has kids, the fact he doesn’t want anymore, My Mr. Grey, he’s only here on a course…. Ideally I should tell him that we have no chance of going any further but I can’t do it. Nor do I want to.
What kind of a person have I become? I can tell you what I have become. The line I just head in the film “Closer” has summed it up in one sentence – “You fucked up slag”
Do you want to know something? I’ve realized that I’m not looking for a relationship. That’s why My Mr. Grey and I aren’t in a real relationship yet. I’m not ready. That’s why The Guy I Couldn’t Get Rid Of wasn’t enough, and The Lapdog before him. In reality, I’m not a “fucked up slag” like he said in the film – I’m a girl that has experienced a wealth of pain, over and over again,and I want to have nasty, passionate, angry sex with a man that’s going to give me that without commitment. I want the best of both worlds – sex that you would normally only get in a relationship, minus the relationship. I guess I’m just trying to fuck The Big Love out of my system. And every other asshole before him that fucked me up.
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?!?
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…
There is nothing like a good bit of reminiscing when you are experiencing a dry spell with men, and this got me to thinking about firsts, (and talking, after a rather in-depth conversation at work)
I have decided to compile a list of firsts…. Those moments in your life that change things forever. You know the ones – your first fuck, your first kiss, and your first sexually awakening moment. I decided to start this blog, not only because I have had sexual experiences that most women, (and men) would only ever dream of therefore I should shout about them, but also because I want to be brutally honest about everything that I have been through. And let’s face it; in the past, I have been through an awful lot. More than most others at my young age, I would imagine. I apologize if this gets a little boring, but it was in my head so I wanted to talk about it.
My first crush
My first crush, unless you are counting Tom Cruise, who I had a major crush on in high school, was a guy I later fucked once school was over and out. This guy was Number 6. He was hot, tanned, ripped, a little bit of a nut job, and while we were at school, completely out of my league. At school, he was a bit of a jerk, especially to me. It turned out that he wasn’t that great in bed, and the night was soon forgotten about. Still, I liked him, I wanted him and I got him. I really am a spoiled princess.
My first kiss
Ah yes, the awkward first kiss. Mine was with a guy I couldn’t stand. He bullied me at school, and I think back then, we had this weird flirtation that now would probably be known as the whole 50 Shades of Grey scenario – submissive and dominant; him being the latter. It was all tongue and saliva and neither of us were very good. It was in the center of the locker room outside the technology block at high school. We were in the middle; everyone else was around us in a circle, “egging” us on. It was awful.
My first love
1) I have problems when it comes to choosing my first love. I thought I was in love with those guys in my younger years, but when you compare it to the way that you feel when you love later on in life, it is virtually nothing. I like to think it was Number 1 – the guy whose “banjo string” I broke. We dated for 10 months – this is a long time when you are just 13/14. It started off rather bizarrely – I was bullied very badly at school, and he was one of the popular kids. He tried to keep it a secret when we first started dating at the beginning of the 6 weeks school Summer holidays, and when we returned back to school, I told him we either went official or we went to nothing. To my shock and surprise, he decided to go official. He was popular and I was dating him, which in turn made me rather popular. It was weird to be on this side of the fence for once – I was beaten rather badly by both boys and girls at school, and then all of a sudden, I wasn’t.
He was a bit of a dick to be honest – he once hit me in the form room at school, resulting in all the other boys pouncing on him. He cried a lot. He was also very controlling. He hated me smoking, hated me going to the cafeteria without him, and hated me hanging out with my friends when he thought I should have been hanging around with him… It was a little crazy to be fair. Every spare moment away from school was spent together, and although I know a lot of first relationships are like this, it was all a little intense. We broke up heading into exams – I did better than expected and he did worse. I guess that says a lot really. We copied a line from the hit film “Ghost” – “Ditto” was our secret way of saying “I Love You”
2) I can’t work out if he was my first REAL love, or if this next guy was. He was Number 20. It was passionate, (for a 16 year old girl anyway) and it was awesome. Thinking back to him still makes me smile. At the time, he was amazing in the sack, but in all fairness, I didn’t know any better yet. I went back there a few years ago, and it wasn’t all that. There were rumors that he cheated so I slept with his best friend. I then cheated on Number 4 with this guy, and almost messed it all up. It wasn’t worth it.
I remember being very sad about this guy when we broke up – I was living with my Nan, and when he TEXT me, (oh yes, I got the text breakup) I cried into her lap for an hour or so, until I picked myself up, dusted myself down, and went out for a good old alcoholic bender with his best friend, (yet again) to get over it.
I don’t know which of these were my first loves. They certainly weren’t my GREAT loves. Almost like mini-loves; the ones you have when you are younger that sets the scene for how you are going to love others after them. They impacted me, of course – the first never took my underwear off when we slept together, and even now I have this weird thing about getting stark-bollock naked. I don’t like men seeing my frou-frou. If I get head, it has to be with the lights off. The second set the path for my crazy love of mental sex – he tied me, blindfolded me and teased me, and all of this was just our first time in bed together.
My first GREAT love
There is most definitely a difference between your FIRST love and your first GREAT love. My first GREAT love was my husband – a man that I would have done anything for, and put up with a lot from. He cheated on me repeatedly, he physically and mentally abused me, he left me with no money AT ALL for weeks at a time, and in short, he completely destroyed me. It took every ounce of my strength to walk away from him, and even then I couldn’t have done it without a little help from Number 29.
I loved my hubby with everything I had. He cheated at the beginning of our relationship and I forgave him. He cheated not long after we got married and we moved to a different country, and I forgave him. He repeatedly cheated – it was as if he had a problem. In reality, the problem was mine – I let him get away with it, therefore he was bound to do it again and again. We got married too young; it was the whirlwind romance. This was in 2006, and I still haven’t managed to divorce him.
Do I still love him? Yes, of course I do. I stayed with him through the worst things that you could ever have imagined. He split my face open with one punch that was so forceful, he left half of his knuckle in my lip and I had to have it removed, and then have stitches. This was the worst of it all, I think. That was the first time he had actually HIT me. He had dragged me around a parking lot by my hair before, cutting open the front of my feet where I was dragged. He spat on me, he used to put his hands around my throat to shut me up, to the point where I had great big welts across my neck. I have photos of this still, and every time I come across them by accident, it shocks me. Was I really willing to let a man make that much of a mark on me? Apparently yes. What else did he do? He used to hold my wrists to the point where they were bruised. Again, I still have these photos. He once locked me in a cupboard in my house. My upstairs and downstairs neighbors knew all about this, but of course I denied it. It was the hole in the face/hospital night that got things out in the open, and this is where my downstairs neighbor started phoning my Mama. This is when shit got real.
Things were bad between us – he trashed my flat before we got married. He left me without any money once we had moved, snapping the bank cards so I couldn’t get access to anything, and then left the country for 4 months with his work. During this 4 month period, I heard from him 3 times and he slept with 5 other women. This was while I was practically starving; having to borrow money from my family so I could afford “luxuries” like food, tampons and toilet roll. I resorted to borrowing money from my family and friends in order to survive, and also, for the short duration that my Internet bill WAS paid, I tried my hand at online freelance writing; something that has stuck with me and that I still do today. Was this enough to make me leave? No, of course it wasn’t. I was an abused woman; something I couldn’t say back then, but now I say with the strength of a woman that was lucky enough to get out and overcome it. Even now when men make fast movements around me, I flinch. If a man shouts at me, I have a panic attack. He destroyed me, or at least a little part of me. I would never let him destroy me completely. I would never let any man.
Towards the end of our relationship, the only time we ever really got along was when we were both high on cocaine, something that repeated itself with Number 29. It was a disaster that I am glad I managed to escape from. He is in a long term relationship now with a girl that looks exactly like me. I wonder sometimes if he does to her what he did to me. We no longer talk, for obvious reasons, and even when we try to discuss the divorce, it ends up in a big fight. Ignorance is bliss for now. Until I can afford to get solicitors to get rid of him for me.
The thing about us was that when we were happy, we were deliriously happy and we had it all. He made me the happiest person ever. The problem was it was only ever good for a few months at a time, if even that long, and it soon went back to shit again, with some other woman happening, or another trip to the hospital for me. We lost a baby together. It wasn’t planned and I didn’t even realize I was pregnant. He was distraught about the situation. Me, on the other hand, well I just thought throughout it all that I had a lucky escape.
He was my first GREAT love.
OK, so I still have it bad. The My Mr. Grey thing I mean; it’s still bad. I still can’t get him out of my head. The guy I couldn’t rid of, Number 34; he asked me to go to his tonight and watch the meteor showers. We would sit in his yard, get high and watch the beautiful star display… That was the plan anyway. The truth is I couldn’t face going over there. I knew what it meant – we were going to get high, watch the stars, head to his bed and fuck like bunnies. I don’t want to. I’m hoping this is a temporary glitch following the epic kinky fuckery from My Mr. Grey. I just knew it would be downright disappointing in comparison, and my vagina is still sore. I think I just turned down a booty call. My bad.
I spent the night getting high on my own, talking to My Mr. Grey. He misses me and he thinks about me a lot. What does this mean? As in, he thinks about me sexually all the time, or in a more “real” sense?
I’m doing that thing that girls do, aren’t I? I am over-analyzing every word passed between us. Every bold moment I have where I make some kind of impression my feelings are more than we thought; I bottle it and make a wee joke at the end of it all. I simply do not have the balls to tell this guy how I really feel! Why? How does it make any sense that I trust this guy to be fist deep in my vagina, but not enough that I would tell him those three little words? Clearly the vagina is much stronger than the heart, or so it would seem!
So how long am I going to turn down other perfectly fine booty calls for the man I cannot have? Christ, up until three or four days ago, I didn’t even realize I felt like this! How long is he going to be everything that is going on inside my head? And how long before I stop reading far too much into every word that he sends across the internet? Fuck, this is pissing me off.
For those that care, the non-smoking is going well. I haven’t smoked yet, and I haven’t wanted to kill anyone. I did find out this morning that my estranged hubby has had my name tattoo covered over. Not that even set my crazy alarms jingling in frustration and hatred. I’m really pining. He doesn’t smoke – maybe that’s why I’m doing it right now? Maybe that’s why I’m doing so well and so determined this time around. Christ, everything revolves around him right now. Someone offer me a slap?
I’m going to go and wallow in a sea of self-pity for this evening. I’m also going to hang my head out of the window every now and again, hoping to see a flash of a shooting star so I can make my wish. Bet you know what it is………
Not So Sex in My City! 