What’s in a name…

We, as sentimental, selfish, romantic, loving, generous, narcissistic, jealous, caring, wanting humans, do this thing. We label things…and animals…and people. Not just for the ‘type’ of creature they are, but actually label. We are born with given names, acquire nicknames, short names, pet names and labels.
As my name is quite long, and has several abbreviations, I have been called many things at different stages of life. I have also been given both names and labels by people who feel for me, good and bad (and quite realistically, probably a few choice ones I’m not aware of).

I don’t take too well to alternate names, but some seem to adhere regardless. They have changed over the years from schoolfriends, parents, old ladies, work colleagues, business clients and in the online community.

There are also endeared labels. Two people in my life have always called me ‘Sweetheart’, one of my oldest friends, and my most recent. It sounds strange coming from most people, but from these two sounds quite natural. The former only uses the word on those he despises or loves, and I’m pretty sure it’s the latter…or at least I hope so.
Another person I used to know, for a while called me ‘Lover’, which sounded quite heartfelt, until I found that I wasn’t the only one, literally. Loses it’s gloss pretty quick. Now it sounds more like poison.

I debated once, about the use of labels in a relationship. At what age do you stop using the words ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and pretend you are mature enough to have progressed past that point? We were no longer boy and girl, yet supposedly exclusive, but not married? Hhmm.
‘Partner’ sounds ancient or gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), so/but essentially misleading. In the end, we decided that it was not in any way a normal relationship, and found odd metaphoric terms of endearment. I like to think they were both metaphoric anyway, although there *may* have been a tinge of truth to mine.

Another friend, who is actually married, never refers to her husband as that, but always just calls him ‘my Mi***el’. It is sweet and completely innocent, like her, yet as mentioned above, a very direct form of ownership.

I’m pretty sure just about every committed couple out there use some form of alternate name for their partners, ranging from gut-wrenching stuff like “Honeybunch’ & ‘Sweet-pea’, to the more widely used ‘Love’ or ‘Darling’. Today I saw ‘Snuggle-monkey’, which seemed very apt considering who applied it, and to whom.
A guy once made the mistake of trying to call me ‘Darl’…wow. He never did that again.

I guess in a nutshell, if you are with someone, that you acclimatise to whatever they call you (within reason-and excluding the heat of argument), but by far the most soul-piercing name anyone has ever called me…is my own. My real name, from their lips. In those moments it wasn’t just about me. It was acknowledgement. It was about this person being with me, and only with me. Even if only…for those moments.

What names do you share Kids? We want the vomit-inducing cuteness. Spill.
V

Here

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I sat for a minute, lay down, not knowing what else to do.
There are, there are things to do, but what they are escape me right now.
The music puts its foot on my chest and holds me down and I don’t even try to wonder how. It says all the things I won’t understand.
I am existing. In this room. In this place, between nowhere and nowhere else.
It’s grey and rainy, and the weight is everywhere I can see.
Warm fur nestles to my side, begging that I love, feel, and the memories just flow, leak, roll.
The face I can see, and don’t see, and the hand I can’t touch, slides into my own. The heart I can’t reach, beats behind my eyes, pushing each tear to the point of overflowing.
That heart is gone, wherever mine is, they have run away together, but I am still here.
There are things to do. Important things, unimportant things. But what and which, is what and which?
The voice changes, the music, the song. It always changes.
And the chair sits in the corner and rocks, laments days when it was an important thing.
The scents leak from the cupboard. Things hidden away, nestle together in the comfort they can no longer give.
And the call beckons softly, to find another place, other things. To pack the music up and take it away with me.
The warm body next to me huddles closer. A tear licked away. A soft snuffle. Please?
I am here for the love you cannot give. The things that are gone. I am here.
I am here.
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Void

Want to know what it feels like, to have a man, that has claimed to love you for over 13 years, sell you dreams, and keep you living in hope, tear your heart out in one swipe? Me too…because right now, I’m not feeling anything. Oh…I know I will. I know that in a few hours, when the shock subsides (not the shock of it happening-just the feeling) I will feel it. I’m imagining it similar to all the other times, but more of Mack truck like effect. Because this is it. The last time.
I know…drama drama drama right? But he ended it, again, and this time it’s done. Not because he says it is…but because I don’t have the energy to keep fighting. Not because I don’t love him, but because I just can’t do it any more. I can’t.
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Right now I’m just a huge messed up ball of anger, and hurt and confusion. Right now I want to hurt somebody, and if nobody gets in my way, I’m guessing it will be me. Right now, I don’t care about anything or anyone, much less myself.
 But in the morning, when I can see clearly enough, process the thoughts that are spinning in an out of control fashion around my head currently, in a weakly diluted (okay barely diluted at all) bath of wine and whiskey…I’m going to feel every single little part of the hurt, and betrayal and loss.17362774_1027317360737433_2339336717897629705_n
Someone said to me tonight “It was a betrayal of love, and a betrayal of you. You fight for love, and he plays with it”. Well, I don’t like this game, and I can’t play it any more. I have fought for too long, to get to the castle, to be told that the game is over before it begins. And the thing with games, is that they come with consequences. If you land on the corner square, you go to jail. If you land on a ladder, you slide down it. If you hurt somebody, that is strong enough to have dealt with your bullshit for 5 fucking years (not including the stint 8 years before that again), you need to expect, that before they are gone, they will show you what it’s like to feel.
17012372_10211245417504954_1407257881_n.pngConsequences. Something he has never had to deal with. Because he trusts that he is loved, and while love has never been enough for him to return, to commit to, he thinks it is enough to protect him.
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He says he wants to be alone, period. So, he can be. And I will make sure of it. Vindictive-sure. Vengeful-maybe. Justice-fuck yes. I’m guessing at this point, there may be a person or two out there, wondering just how much they have under-estimated me, or my affinity for evil? For truth? Perhaps even under-estimated my lack of resourcefulness and memory? And I can say this, because I’m a bottle of wine and half a dozen good (fuck your Scotch) Irish whiskies to the wind. I can say it because lack of inhibition, apparently lets me say whatever I want, to whoever I want (those people know who they are tonight, and I regret nothing!)

But for now, I will sob, and despair, and be fucked up. Let all who wish to judge, kiss my lily-white arse. I deserve to feel exactly how this feels to me. I deserve to hurt and bleed and pine, and ache and long. I deserve to feel what this man has done to me for so long, that I may be able to one day, finally, let go of all of the light and goodness, that I see in him, still. I deserve to grieve and be hurt, and be bitter, and angry and resentful. I deserve to question and doubt, and know that he has done the wrong thing to me, when all I ever wanted for him was good. I deserve to know that I didn’t do this. that I was not to blame. That I have nothing to be ashamed of. That LOVE is nothing to be ashamed of.
5f1e127976647cf347fb3500479d4a93You see, all along, people have said that losing love is like grieving a loss. And I have known both, so not to diminish anything, but…there’s this. This. This is a decision. He decided that love was not enough. that I was not enough. He decided not to choose me. He weighed up the options, of which there are countless, thought about it…and decided that he didn’t love me enough. Loss is not a choice. this. This is a choice. I was not enough.

It is not my fault, I know. But it is my pain to bear. That this person I love so very much, my soulmate, the person I would give everything for, that told me until this week began that he loved me, wanted me…thinks I am not enough for him. He would be alone, over making a life with me. He would choose nothing, over me. Let that sink in, because it’s taking a while for me.
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So now, I’m going to go and try and sleep this off. This initial fucked up knee-jerk reaction to pain. I will wake up feeling sick and worse off for it, and steel myself to go to work and put on a brave face, when all I want to do is be alone and feel the entirety of this…void. And maybe he’ll show enough respect to just explain anything, and maybe he won’t. I don’t know why he’d start now, to be honest. It doesn’t seem that it’s been a high priority to this point. But the consequences…they will come. After all, who am I to stand in the way of a mans true desires?

Goodnight Kids. Don’t let the bedbugs bite. Or Karma.
V

 

New Year, just me.

The new year has finally started. Not a huge turning point from a lot of angles, but a select few perhaps. While the turn of the clock really doesn’t signify more than the fact that a few more minutes have expired, some see it as the magical unicorn of hope. The time to start afresh, move forward, leave the old behind. And while it may just be all rubbish, why spoil the moment for those who believe? If something can give someone hope…as long as hope isn’t the only thing they have, as long as it’s paired with something realistic, then let it.
whoAs for me…I’m on both sides of that fence. I’m cleaning out some old baggage, and opening new chapters too. Not ‘new year, new me’ stuff, but I just want to do better things for, and with, the ‘me’ I have always been. Most of you don’t know much about who exactly that is. You have heard my rants, opinions, memories, whinging, goals and motivations, but not a great deal about the ticking mechanisms, or where those thoughts come from…so here’s a little insight to start the new years reading…

38e33ad805fb7e4ea49225097a22a22aI believe in giving things your all. If you are going to jump into something, why not head first? Sure, you can take calculated guesses as to how deep it may be, but if you’re going to jump regardless, then just jump. If I am not sure about something, I’ll procrastinate and fuck about with it. But, I am passionate about the things I love or believe in, and there is no halfway with that. In loving, fighting, helping, fixing, there is only ‘do or do not do’. Why half-arse it when you can whole arse it?

x16 I have been so, so, so fucking hurt. And I’m not talking like the, ‘oh we were together for a while, but it didn’t work out’ kind, but deep down, to my soul, betrayed on every level, never recover, kind of hurt. 14 intermittent years of hope, love and forevers, wrapped in “I love you’s”, disintegrated into nevers, by empty promises and deceit. The last year came paper-thin close to ending me, mentally and physically (and no I’m not just being dramatic).

4e1fce29654d5c4fda70429d9354edb6I am not as naive, gullible or stupid as a lot of people, and a specific few, think I am.  Sure, I let a lot of things slide for the ones I love, but more often than not, it doesn’t mean that I don’t know the truth. I’m sure there have been plenty of times, that a well spoken lie has served its intended purpose, but each one inflicts doubt and hesitation. And many…well, often I choose to let hope persuade me to believe what I want, over what could be…
x8I still believe in true love. Even with all the cracks and fuck-ups (hey nothing’s perfect right?), I still believe in true love, soulmates, destiny of path and all that other hippy shit. The problem is that I may be the last living soul on the planet that does, which puts a small hiccup in the plan. Unfortunately you can’t do it alone.
x9 This man, this dark and hurtful man, I love. Denying it would be the most transparent veil of a lie I could ever tell. I no longer try to understand it more than I do, and I expect it will never change. I have no intention to try and do so. But I need to somehow learn to love myself just enough…to know that what he gave me was not love.
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Love is about taking chances, and showing strength via weakness and vulnerability, honesty, respect, taking responsibility, keeping promises and not giving up. If he ever really wanted it at all, he gave up. Maybe long ago. I have not given up. I just gave in, because I had to.
x4I text/message back fast. I always have my phone in reach. Not because I want it to ring, but because I want ‘my people’ to know that they have someone. Someone who is listening, and cares…enough. I may go off grid for a while every now and then, when it all gets too much (sorry for the last two weeks), but everyone needs somebody, for when they need somebody. And don’t ever try to kid yourself, that that’s not you. We all do.

x10Although I feel dark, broken and twisty, I can still be ridiculously and surprisingly optimistic. It’s like this huge conflict of hope and hopelessness. I think I just need to see that somehow, something can change or get better, because I need a light ahead to keep going. When a part of me gives up completely, the other half drags it up by the collar (like that sober friend that carries you out of the club?) and refuses to let it stay all the way down.
I can’t take all of the credit for that however, I owe a lot to my dogs. They have given me a reason to stay grounded, stay coherently (sometimes) sober, and well…just, stay.

vwm15731014_10210694712697678_278154594_nI love art, music and dogs (and in no particular order). I have dogs, I help dogs, I foster and rescue dogs, I stop and pat random dogs. Dogs.
I do commission artwork (lots of dogs), tattoos, as well as whatever takes my fancy at the time. It helps me focus, takes my mind of other things, and lets me feel productive and worthy of something all at once. This year I am concentrating more on it, and have three commissions in the works currently.
Music is my soundtrack to life. I have a stupid number of playlists for every mood and occasion. It plays 99% of every day. I find both solace and happiness in it, in listening to other people tell their stories.

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I have a total love/hate relationship with myself. There are days where I look at myself and shudder, hating on everything I see, and days where I shrug it off, and accept that I am who I am. I refuse to apologise for it any more, if I piss people off, intimidate them, annoy them, or offend them, just by being who I am. I am almost 40, and beyond pandering to people, who would only accept the romanticised version. I know I could be fitter and healthier, and when the time is right (very soon), I will be. I don’t see someone beautiful in the mirror, often just plain and messy, yet I am told otherwise from time to time. The bad stuff is often easier to believe. I’m working on that.

I have a lot more patience than people assume I have. Sure, I can be spontaneous, impetuous and reactive. Yes, I can get bothered if some things don’t happen straight away, or the way I thought they would. If I’m willing to do something without hesitation, it’s difficult to watch others wait. But if a game it all is, then a game, you play with strategy. One chooses their battles, makes alliances, researches the facts and perfects their timing. Never underestimate the other players.

My people are ‘my people’. My friends are odd, broken, experienced, tough, survivors, weathered, scarred, beautiful and just a little twisted. The most common traits include love of animals, warped sense of humour, inability to tolerate stupid fuckers, capability to speak their truth openly, staying up late on school nights, and lack of judgement toward others for their differences (sexuality, colour, race, fetishes, etc). They are open-minded, intelligent and passionate.  They have tattoos and sailor mouths, but respect when necessary. They are not offended easily, partake in devil drinks and love music. They analyse, dissect, empathise, question. These are my people. I could count them on two hands (I’m lucky). And I love them.

70b48daa206a02a8533875cfdea0ee5fSo there you go Kids. A whole heap of stuff from the more intrusive, slightly uncomfortable to write, ‘all about me’ section. Maybe if I ever do this again, it will sound chirpier and less ‘meh with more ‘yay’. There’s a whole year ahead..and then another one..and another.

Cheers
V

 

 

A grave day

5Twas the night before, the night before Christmas, and all through the house…was nothing.

I’ve walked into the kitchen four times tonight, before I remembered I was actually going through to the laundry for something. I eventually got it. It was for the dogs. Another excuse to go back to my dogs.
I’ve stopped to fall on my bed and cuddle them, more times than I care to count.
I don’t have it in me to choose a movie to watch. I didn’t trust myself to open a bottle.
I got nothing.
2623335172aba7a59144970d48043327I don’t care for Christmas, we’ve established that previously, but it’s really just the time of year. A time when everyone else is out there in the world, advertising the fact that they are with the ones they love. And I got nothing.
The man I love, and only one I want most in the whole world to be with, is far away, content to be with another. The arms that make me feel loved, and safe, and at peace, are no longer around me.
My family is gone. My friends are with their loved ones, and I don’t begrudge them that, but I don’t have it.
971bba00dc3aa31cd4899c35581e47b4  I received a phone call today. A person I have never spoken with in my life, called to ‘remind me’ that tomorrow is the anniversary of my Fathers death. Because, I obviously would forget such small and insignificant things like this.
“We miss him”, she said, “I can’t even delete his number from my phone. So we put flowers on his grave today”.
“Oh”…she says as an after thought…”I’m sure you miss him too. It’s tomorrow you know”.
I can’t even fathom the level of vacuity it took to make that call. After a few seconds of being utterly speechless, I asked her around the welling tears, if she would like a badge for her good deed. The call ended shortly thereafter.
1When my Father was killed in an accident three years ago, it was my front door the police knocked on to notify. I had to hear all the details from officers, with their eyes turned to the floor, to have to give someone such news on that day. I was the one who had to make the phone call to my big brother, to tell him what had happened. On Christmas fucking Eve.
We were the ones who had to drive hours to his house the following week and find his paperwork, clean up and make arrangements for his dog. We were the ones who had to clean the personal possessions out of his wrecked, mangled car at the impound yard, around the dry blood splashed all over the centre console. We had to stay at his empty house, field his friends and family, and sort through all the photo albums. We had to arrange the funeral service, and then travel to attend it. All while you stayed in your comfy fucking home…unable to delete his number from your phone. So lady, just FUCK OFF. And take your flowers with you.

I don’t need to put flowers on a meaningless, stone grave-site to remember my Father. He is with me wherever I go, in what he did for me, what he taught me, how he did his best to raise me, and loved me. He is in my cherished childhood memories, with my Mother, of how much they loved each other, and our family.
And I certainly don’t need a phone call from anyone to remind me what day it is, that we suddenly lost him.
Every year, the shine of tinsel and ring of bells does that for me. The day draws nearer, and I see people get excited for the man in red coming to their house, while the two most important ones in my life, won’t be.
4So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t sing along with the Carols and put on a paper hat. I know we’re supposed to be thankful for the things we do have…and I am, but some days, the things I am missing, make that focus go a little blurry.
2Hold your loved ones close Kids, tell them you love them as often as you can, life is so much harder without them.
V.
6

Ho ho huh?

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So…it’s that jingly, kris kringly, tinselly, carolly, fucking annoying, cheerful time of year again. A time I no longer look forward to on any count at all. I used to be one of ‘those’ people. You know, the kind that never gets over the wonder of tinsel. I didn’t think anything could ever ruin that for me. I won’t bother explaining the reasons, for those who don’t know the story, but let’s just say it has lost it’s shine. All of it. In fact I almost wish it didn’t even happen at all now.

This year was hard for me. I know we all have them-hard days, hard years, hard times. I’m not complaining. It’s not a ‘poor me’ blog. I made it through. I’m still here. In fact probably more of me than before, because hard times are a test of strength, endurance and help you grow within yourself.
6631b825b216cdc90c0df0261367b7adWhen things go wrong, it makes you ask ‘why?’ It inspires change, innovation and reckoning. It provokes acceptance and forgiveness of yourself and others. It urges you to choose paths, find solutions and try and make things ‘better’. It makes you figure out exactly what, and who, is important to you. Yourself included.
“The desire for more positive experience is itself a negative experience. And, paradoxically, the acceptance of one’s negative experience is itself a positive experience.”-The subtle art of not giving a fuck, Mark Manson.
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You see, I think for the majority of life, we just walk along the path in front of us without question. We take what comes our way and deal with it. We stick to this path, because we feel it is ours, or perhaps we have chosen it, or committed to something on it. We wander, hand on the guide-rail, sometimes even looking over the edge, mildly inquisitive, to see what’s out there. For a very long time, we don’t consider climbing that rail, because what we are already dealing with seems enough.
life-changesWe become scared to diverge, or even worse, content to walk straight on. But…what if? What if change, breaking free, was the path we were supposed to take? Or it’s better, or easier…or happier? It sounds like I’m going with the ‘grass is greener’ theory here, but that’s not it at all. What I’m saying is, what if…we have changed as we walked that original path, and we become destined for something different as we grow?
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We are all hurting, struggling, missing someone, losing something, trying to make right decisions, trying to live, or just survive. Every one of us. We are all hiding things, bottling emotions, holding back, using coping mechanisms, keeping brave faces. We are all wondering if we are right, settling for less and hoping for more.  Every one of us. Every. Damn. One.
“Almost universally, the kind of performance we give on social media is positive. It’s more ‘Let me tell you how well things are going. Look how great I am.’ It’s rarely the truth: ‘I’m scared. I’m struggling. I don’t know.’” -Ego is the enemy, Ryan Holiday.
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“Nobody will protect you from your suffering. You can’t cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It’s just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live through it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.”
Tiny beautiful things-Cheryl Strayed 

When it comes down to it, the answer we need to know…is what we want. What, in life, can give us peace. What makes you feel so absorbed that you forget the world is waiting outside the front door? What makes you forget to check your phone? What makes you want to live in the moment that it should never end? Whether that’s a person, a place, a hobby, a job, a thing or a mix of many. What we are passionate about, willing to fight for, lose sleep over, hold hope for, work toward…
c81b049952f4d7922f8c489379161d7aAnd, as a new year is peeking over the horizon at us like a devious cat, what better time to put thought into how we can get it? How we can change survival and contentment into living. Once this whole tinsel strewn, tumultuous affair is over, and the wrapping paper settles…
6b8eb3ebe7967e80bfd9e4ada4d6a116So, at the risk of sounding at all festive…what do you truly want, not just for Christmas, but for life, for yourself? I have a list. It’s very short, but it’s important. Every thing on the list would change life as I know it, and if you are reading this now, you are either part of the journey ahead, or spectators to it. Either way, I promise you, it will be filled with hope and passion and love (and perhaps just a drop of sarcasm).
resoluteHold your someones and your dreams extra tight Kids, and don’t let go.
Cheers
V

The red pill or the blue pill?…

red-pill-vs-blue-pillI was given a book to read this week, by a friend. They thought it would be beneficial to my current circumstance, perhaps help me move forward with greater conviction and courage. To see the world anew, or to create a new one.
Attached to the cover, was a sticky note. Just a small blue piece of paper, tapped gently onto the top left hand corner, written neatly and purposefully. I stared at that little note for a while and put the book down. I picked it up again and read the note again, replaced the book on the counter, and went on. Finally I picked the book up and flipped it open. I only made it through the intro intact. The note read…’The red pill or the blue pill?’.
(For those not aware…”You take the blue pill, the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill, you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”  The term redpill refers to a human that is aware of the true nature of the Matrix.)

On page 10, was the line ‘We’ve purposefully made the tone of this book humorous, to distract you from the very real and overwhelming feelings you’re having right now’.
ca97f47154575c6a5798e0693e122b7fMaybe they’re onto something, I might pick it up again, if I can. When I can.
You see, the problem isn’t with knowing or not knowing the actual truth, it’s in which truth you wish to know and believe, but still having to accept all of the truths simultaneously. And more importantly, applying your own truth to the mix.

I know that there is also truth to many of the words I am being told, including those I don’t want to hear. I know that I deserve more. I know this man is flawed and complicated, and largely untrustworthy. I knew those things all along (intuition is great isn’t it?). I know that he has caused me much heartache. But… I am in love with him, and also love him still, because I also know that people in general, and love itself is flawed and complicated. It was the risk I took, well aware of the consequences, yet still hoping that a better truth would prevail. That he too, might see hope in the truth.

He is the first person in my life that I have struggled, and persevered, and tolerated with, through all the problems. Somehow this, he, is different for me, than any other. That is what I can’t let go of. The undeniable connection I feel. He has made me a hopeless romantic. I don’t want to settle. He is my Fish. Yes, I understand what he has done, yes I know what you all see, and yes…I would rather spend a lifetime missing him, alone, than betray my own feelings. And perhaps I will, but at least I know it will be true. ‘Moving on’ is all well and good, and unavoidable. I will travel, and befriend, and experience, and live…but the experience will be that much poorer in comparison to what could have been.
12341103_861836303914305_5978606474863632995_nTo those that suggest I would be sacrificing my dignity and self respect, I say, it’s not a question of either of those. I am well aware of the situation, what I do and don’t deserve, but continue to ‘choose’ what I want, love and have passion for. If I am wrong to do so, it wouldn’t be the first time, but I’d rather be wrong than have regrets. Essentially, doing what I am told, what is expected, or what is ‘correct’, is itself, a sacrifice of a part of who I am.

Perhaps people who have never experienced this feeling, which starts unexpectedly in your stomach like butterflies, makes your whole body quiver with nervous anticipation, and smile foolishly when you see a person, makes you crave their touch (even when they are right next to you), and miss them uncontrollably when they are gone from sight, don’t know it even exists? I admit, I thought I knew what raw, true love felt like…until it really happened. And then I knew without a doubt that all other feelings, failed in comparison to what I felt for this man sitting right in front of me.
beau11.jpgHe makes me feel like too much, and not enough. He makes me want to be a better person, yet I like to believe he once loved me for who I already was. I admire who he is, despite and due to his duplicity, and his strengths, and yet I want to keep him safe, and show him that there is so much more to the world, and living, beside the right person…
13524538_840170119452159_2288477524924573198_nI worry that I will live with the feeling of missing him always. I know I never stopped for the first ten years, and despite what he has now in the last few again, I miss him still. Some days are worse than others, and there are days when I almost feel nothing at all, but this is always there in my mind. In the silent moments, the loud ones, the funny ones…and when I turn to share or talk, love or smile…he is not here. I get this distinct moment of sadness each time in that realisation.
13450751_835557149913456_7253757091669370436_nSo, after major digression…the pages of this book are supposed to help. To help me proactively change the way I feel, and see the world. The stories of anothers struggle and victory, claim to be healing, and maybe they are, if only for the fact that they instil a sense of not being alone in the world. They will say I am not the only one to ever feel this way, and yet I know undoubtedly that I am. But, that said, words are powerful, a very special art form, and they can be used to hurt or heal. And some may resonate…
86df8fc8863dfb232e615a0b11e84907In a moment of drunken out-casting of inhibition I wrote this earlier in the week, and sent it to a friend. I reread it with my face in my palm the next morning, yet they claim to approve, so I will share it here, despite feelings of inadequacy to find the words to convey the depth of inspiration, and the primitive gushy, repetitive, romantic nature of it. You’ll just have to deal with those parts (and the typos are disgraceful-I know).
Don’t judge too harshly though, I rarely share my personal writings with anyone, and whatever inspired me to write it, might well bite. I am a harsher critic of my own, than you could all ever be collectively.
Always remember…Never judge another until you have walked a mile in their shoes. That way you are a mile away…and you have their shoes 😉
pretty-words
Goodnight Kids
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