Monthly Archives: June 2009

and I don’t know how to feel about it.

I was never a huge fan of Michael Jackson, love some of his music for sure, really love the Jackson 5.

What I DON’T know is what really happened with those kids.  I’ve seen interviews of people (celebrities) that were totally convinced that nothing had happened, it was all press hype but frankly I can’t make a decision because I’m not in full possession of the facts.

I do know that MJ certainly seemed a troubled person & I do think, that whatever happened he’ll be at peace now.

Why am I writing about this?  Because I’ve experienced sexual abuse as a child & I know the effects of it… devastating damaging effects that last for a VERY long time.  I feel angry that people can so easily dismiss it as if it didn’t happen, because all too often that is exactly what does happen when abuse has occurred… people can’t handle it so they deny it.

I don’t know, as I said I’m not in full possession of the facts.  I know the MJ’s music has had profoundly positive effects on millions of people, and I know that many people will be affected by his death.

Whatever did or didn’t happen I understand that abuse comes from deep seated pain, & agony that just can’t be resolved that easily…. I believe in forgiveness because forgiveness resolves pain…

Michael Jackson, Rest in Peace

So without going into too much boring detail I have been working for the same company for the last 7 years. I like my job but I’m ready for something new. A few weeks ago an opportunity arose which I jumped at, now its 50/50 whether it will go ahead and be approved, budgets bla bla bla so I wont know for a few weeks yet.

Then this morning I saw a job thats fits what I want so well and the company fits equally well.

So do I wait and see or apply anyway? Being happy and challenged is most important surely? Or is job security? Bloody recession…

I have fallen.

It’s like an infection that I cannot shake and it’s more consuming than I ever imagined it could be.

I am shaken.

You will not leave my head but in a way I don’t want you to.
These mundane fantasies are the happiest I have ever been.

My feelings have come too late.

I am a wreck.

The best revenge is honesty.

I’m good. I’m gold. I’ve kept my notes, I know my dates, I have my lists.

In the face of a wave of a shit, I will stand tall. I am gold.

Fuck them.

They lie, they cheat, they commit so many wrongs.

One day, soon, I get to stand up there and speak.

They can ask what they want.

They can plot and plan and scheme.

I’m good, I’m gold, I have the truth.

Interrogation? Cross examination? Attacks, assaults and insults?

Whatever.

I’m gold. I’m ready.

Waiting.

I have a terrible fear of pregnancy tests. It’s not what you think. I’m nearly bursting at the seams here. After a hundred year wait I think I’m pregnant again. I took a pregnancy test this morning and waited for the stupid blue line. I could see one, but it was so faint I think I probably imagined it. My clever eyes said ’see if you hold the test this way to the light there’s a blue line, turn it a little more, little more, yup blue, line, see, I told you!’ I read the instructions from top to bottom. The little picture of a faint blue line on the pamphlet was just that, a faint blue line. Compared to that I had nothing. Unless of course you held it up and, well, you know. Then I read the box. Then I read the expiry date on the box. I was over a year past it’s expiry date. Did I mention I’m six days late?

I walked past Boots and three different chemists today. Did I go buy another test? No. I’m a complete weirdo when it comes to pregnancy tests. I cannot bring myself to even been seen in the same aisle as them. I have no clue why this is. Maybe my mother was so thorough about knocking a fear of pregnancy into me that in my head a pregnancy test is the worst thing you could have to face, ever. I picked one up once in Tesco but I could only do that because I knew for sure I wasn’t pregnant and didn’t have to buy the thing and that was nerve racking. I’m embarrassed for myself to say that I checked to see that nobody was around to see me pick it up.

Last time around I was past two weeks late and only had a positive test result because my husband couldn’t wait any longer and went and bought a box of three tests himself. This was after he had asked me for a solid week to pick one up and I gave a series of daft excuses as I why I had ‘forgotten’. The last test in that box of three is the one that let me down this morning.

He hasn’t suspected anything yet this time and I don’t want to mention it to him because he’ll be gutted if I’m not pregnant.

Friday is Test Day. I cannot go the entire weekend being late and not knowing. That means I will have to spill the beans or buy a test on Friday. I’m sweating just thinking about it. I have a bet with myself that I’ll nearly cry with the stress of buying it and then I’ll go back to the office and I’ll no longer be ‘late’ and I’ll be a crying, crazy, evil mess.

Anyone take that bet?

How will she know?

Will I tell her?

Will he?

Will anyone?

Does she need to know?

Does it matter?

I want to be a Montessori Teacher.

I’ve wanted it so long it feels like a part of my body, but I never went for it for a variety of reasons…. mostly my sexuality, I didn’t believe there was much call for gay Montessori teachers, and I didn’t want to hide anymore.

Instead I chose to shove my real career into the closet and hide behind a desk job for years. But that was then, and this is now, and I realise that while I’m still gay thats only a part of me … a small part, and a bigger part is I will be a great Montessori teacher, so I’m coming out all over again, this time I’m coming out as a teacher :)

But now the big decision, has been made there is a final important decision I need YOUR help with.

Do I

A. Take the course this year, be broke and get a mature student assistance.

or

B. Wait one year, and be able to fun it myself and know I did it myself.

Have I waited long enough? Whats another year when I’ve waited so long?
Its only 9months surely I wont be bothered that I’m totally broke?
Perhaps I don’t need the worry of money and if I wait I will know I can concentrate on the course and not worry about money?

Advice for a mature but scared student?

I don’t wanna do that crappy shitty work, so I won’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!! I refuse to! So there! See what you gonna do about it eh? Can’t do nothing can ya! Can’t make me!! :P

I want to let go sometimes. That means to me not worrying about how what I do will affect others. Especially the ones who love me. I want to be able to let go of the pain I live with every day. I want to be able to let go of the worry about the future. I want to be able to let go of the constant watching. I just want to be able to let go.
But I won’t let go now. I hope that one of these days I don’t let go.

sometimes I just want to have sex, just for sex’s sake, not about making love, or having a “connection” just to satiate that sexual desire, feeling alive, having the energy course through every cell in my body,

Sometimes I just want fuck!

and yet I can’t help loving you, can’t help wanting you, can’t help being inexplicably drawn to you.
And yet it’s more than sexual attraction, I want to love you, even if that means helping you have a better relationship with your wife… telling you what she needs to hear, telling you how to listen to her more… and listening to you sharing your story…
You’re beautiful, you’re good looking & you love your wife, I have every faith in you that you’ll find a way to love her more and more, and you in turn will be ever more and more loved by her.
Yes I’m crying as I write this, crying because I know it’ll never be me that’ll be your wife. Crying because I let myself get into this situation in the first place, to be fair though you weren’t wearing your wedding ring…

I know he’s a complete and utter asshole.

I know he’s a liar.

I know he’s a cheat.

I know I’m too good for him.

I know he will do exactly the same thing to her.

I’m so sick of using the words “I know” to everyone.

Just let me be sad and deal with it in my own way please.

I’m enamoured of him. I dont love him. I dont lust after his body. I dont want to have sex, sleep with, marry, date, live with, or anything else with him… but I am in love with him as one human being to another. There is no word in the English language to describe being head over heels with someone in a purely non sexual context is there? But I am so drawn to this man that I’d love to spend a portion of my time each day with him just being friends. And I know its not love because I cant picture him naked (ewww.) and I”ve felt this way with a few female friends over the span of my life… its just the glow you get when you meet a human being who is real and genuine.. who doesnt play games, who respects people as they are, who shares your passions but doesnt agree with all that you say. I suppose this is what they call brotherly love? However you define it, term it, classify it – it feels like sunshine.

A pause can allow you the chance to take stock, to catch your breath.

But my life is slowly fizzling away as it sits on pause and I’m terrified that someday it’ll just stop…without having ever really started.

I like coming home and falling asleep while still smelling like him.

I used to write a blog like this a couple of years ago, before I deleted it all one day when I’d had enough. A blog onto which I typed all the texts in my phone that I had never sent for one reason or the other. Reading this tonight I thought of it again and went looking to see if there were any scraps of it to be found anywhere else on the internet. There was in one place and one alone and to that person I am forever grateful. I want to hide them here in case I lose them again. They are all that is left of months of posting and everything of who I was, like scraps of my own dead sea scroll.

- Today I passed the last place where we kissed. It was empty.

- I liked it when you took my hand across the dinner table the other night and squeezed it. It made me feel taken care of.

- The first text you sent me this morning made me smile from ear to ear. I knew it was true.

- There are times when I think you’re growing tired of me and my situation.

- The person I used to be is inside me screaming to get out. He keeps kicking and screaming harder and harder the older I get.

- In my profession I’m seen as someone succesful, smart, even someone to be looked up to. I spend some days wondering how I’m going to manage to take the next breath.

- My partner portrays me as a questionable parent and a nightmare to live with.

To properly explain how I feel on this.

100 Romanian refugees rehoused due to appauling racist attacks in Northern Ireland.

Any attack that stems from racial ignorance and intolerance is inexcusable. Anything that forces people from their homes and causes them to have to be “housed” in community centers or whatever is something I’d never want to go through, or wish on anybody else for that matter.

I haven’t read every article or watched every report, but the gist of everything I have noticed is that 100 people were attacked and so moved out for their safety, namely a 5 day old baby.
Fair enough, if people are in danger, get them out.

But here’s where I may lose you.

I doubt that all 100 were attacked. This doesn’t mean that no one was attacked, nor does it condone those who were attacked.

If a person is attacked does it have to make it an attack on an entire race?

I don’t know a single Romanian person. I’ve experienced lots of them in the form of beggars that harrass me to the point of wanting to use physical force to remove them from my personal space. I’ve witnessed them picking pockets, shop lifting and then denying any knowledge of the English language when the authorities turn up.

When they’re the victims of attacks, or they go to claim benefits, they’re more fluent in the language and laws of the land than you or I.

I’ve witnessed this in a number of foreign races to our own while living here. I also know a couple of people I wish I didn’t who have acted the same abroad. So I suppose some people will try to get away with acting the prick if they think they can.

So it’s at about this point that your blood is boiling. You have me pegged as nothing more than a petty racist who’s on a small minded uninformed rant. Maybe I am.

Or maybe we’re not getting the full picture as always.

I’m not racist, but of course you’ve been expecting that line all the way. I draw conclusions based on experience and in my experience there’s no smoke without fire or no stereotype without basis.

Of course not all Romanians are thieves and scammers, no doubt there’ll be tons of comments about how people know of Romanian saints and charity workers and salts of the earth.
But there’s no smoke without fire. So were these attacks the frustrated (but wrong) reactions of a community sick of pick pockets and thieves? Or were they out of the blue KKK style attacks as the media would have us believe?

Once again, it’s not right but I suspect that a community that is still divided in itself with paranoia and memories of violence in every man, woman and child brought by their own neighbours and families, figures it has enough to deal with already.

It’s not something that has been mentioned, but I’ll bet everyone has asked the question. If not in public then just to themselves. What provoked these attacks?

They call these race attacks and the headlines are awash with variations of “Ireland attacks Romanians”, “Vicious race attacks in Ireland”, and one I read online “Ireland is the most racist country in Europe”.

That’s a different kind of attack.

That means that I’m a racist (which you no doubt think by now anyway), you’re a racist (which you’ll say you’re not too) and so is everyone you know. We’re all racists.

We’ll do what we always do and roll over and take it. The next time you see a Romanian selling stolen roses you’ll buy two. When you see a Romanian beggar you’ll empty your change into their hands. Why? Social guilt.

Ask any victim of any attack what they did to provoke an attack and they’ll always, without fail respond, “Nothing, I don’t understand it”. That’s all I heard on the news today while the reporter sympathised. While I’m sure most of them didn’t do anything, someone(s) did.

Today the media, the internet and people in general pissed me off. They generalised and called me racist for being Irish. So that must mean then that I can generalise and call all Romanians no good blood sucking thieves.

But I can’t.

I wonder if I could sue the media for calling me a racist just because I’m Irish?

But I can’t.

There’s two kinds of people in this world, the acceptable racist and everyone else.

I’ve witnessed attacks on people, verbal and physical. None are pleasant to witness, but they happen and such is life.
A couple of these attacks were on those of a social minority, and because of that they were branded race attacks.
One was over a parking space at Christmas time and the other was over skipping a queue in a post office. The victims claimed race was the cause when really they were just acting the prick, like we all have the capacity to do.

I’ve rambled on, but like I said at the start I can’t find the words to explain properly what I wanted to say. I suspect this is why not a single person has come out questioning why this all happened without calling these faceless attackers low life racists.
If they did, they’d be fired, ridiculed and made to make a public apology to whatever race they had offended and they’d never be allowed to forget it.

This is exactly why I do this anonymously. No matter how many times I say I’m not a racist, you’ll all shout “But that’s exactly what a racist says before a racist rant, you scumbag racist.”
I suppose it is.
I could also go on about how many different races I socialise and work with and call close friends, but once again I’d hear “Yeah, that’s what they all say”.
I suppose they do.

I can’t find the words to properly convey how I feel about this and get my point across without offending every person who reads this. But nothing about race, religion or politics could be written without offending anybody.
If I have I apologise, that wasn’t my intention. And controversy wasn’t my motivation.

If you have been offended is it because you have me pegged as nothing more than a low life?

Or are you offended because if you agree with any single word that I’ve written then that means that by association you are a low life?

i am broken

and i need help……

maybe they are the hardest words to write. at least now i realise that i don’t recognice myself. why i dont know…..but im not the person i used to be.

luckily im not sick but i, not healthy either…why did i do those things i dont know….what possessed me? why do i still want him? ive been treated like shit…what is worse ive allowed myself be treated like shit.

i usen’t be like this, i use to smart happy had friends….now im on the outside looking in to glass house with a party im not invited to. they are happy, they are stable….

me…i am alone with the thoughts in my head that just wont go away.

why did i do those things

i am broken…help me

I wonder if this is a post that will be read out at a trial.

Is it possible to hate someone so much and not act?

It burns up my brain.

I am filled with seething, impotent rage.

It has to remain impotent, because it burns so hot that the only consequence is final.

It’s impossible. It eats me day and night. It’s not a get over, it’s not a move on, it’s an injustice.

It’s fuelled by the actions of a sociopath who runs free, untethered by social convention, by the hamfisted rule of law, or the weighty deliberations of the courts.

He operates in the margins, committing so many wrongs that each individual one becomes insignificant, but the cumulative weight of them is like being bitten to death by a cavalcade of turtles.

I hate him.

I dread the day he steps into the road in front of me… I know my foot will rush towards the floor. I long for the sound of the windscreen wipers batting away his blood and brains.

I can’t read here anymore so I’m stopping right now.

Every post is written by her about us even though I know none of them are really.

Reading them is a torture I cannot handle anymore.

It’s killing me.

I have almost started to enjoy the pining. It gives me something to do to fill my time now that he doesn’t want to be with me any more.

Sad, self indulgent song lyrics have become my comfort. I feel so alone; like nobody has ever felt heartbreak like mine before.

But, as Lightbody wrote

“….please don’t look at me, I’m such a mess, I will beat your love out of my chest…”

and someone else wrote

“….maybe you could have been something I’d be good at…”

and

“…I hate when I feel like this but I never hated you…”

and

“….I really tried to be what you wanted….”

and

“….don’t I hold you like you want to be held?….”

so they must have felt like this too.

So why why why do I feel so alone?

I have to know it gets better. I have to know before I drive myself mad with the sad songs and the crying so hard that my breath comes like grenade fire and the eating of my feelings and the ever-strengthening feeling that I drove him away, despite everybody saying he’s a bad guy and he treated me like chewing gum; tasty for while, but easy enough to discard. Might stick to you for a while though.

“….come, break my young heart….”

I pop over to this blog from time to time and I have to say some of the pros are beautiful. The imagination and expression of life through peoples aspect of a situation and the gorgeous language of some very talented writers make the trips over worthwhile.

I’m not one of those people. I’ve never been someone who can articulate how I feel & when I do, I usually get ostracized for having such a “simple” or “harsh” view on a problem. But here I get to express my opinion in anonymity. So to all the people who purely post there troubles here, this is my view. I doubt you’ll like it and I will try to explain as best I can and I truly hopes it helps you.

Get over it

Be your own hero

Take action

Stop talking about action and actually do it

Take responsibility for your own actions

Stand on your own two feet

I’ve fought a lot of the battles that people blog about here – everything from affairs to depression to hating zoolander when I was supposed to love it. The more I spoke or wrote down my problems, the more I became consumed by them.

When I thought “How could he be so stupid and come without telling me, without a condom, without a care & he didn’t even offer to come with me for the procedure & he’s blaming me because it’s my body, why is he crying poor, I’m only asking him to pay the part of the cost that I can’t cover”
I was miserable.

When I thought “How could I have been so stupid, how could I have gotten so drunk, how could I have trusted someone that I barely knew, why am I insisting on being awake for the procedure, why am I so sure that I’m doing the right thing”
I was miserable

When I stopped having sex. When I stopped thinking about men. When I focused on my the job that I loved, the friends that I had, the beautiful world that I lived in…
When I got over it
When I accepted responsibility for my own actions
When I stood on my own two feet
When I realised it was for the best and I was my own hero
And now when I don’t talk about doing something but actually do it…

I am happy.

Some days my heart stops.

It must.

It can’t keep beating.

There are too many things pulling at it. Pulling at me.

Those are the days, when I could cry.

I don’t cry, I can’t cry, Men don’t cry.

But I’d like to.

Then the pain in my heart might ease.

It might let me take a breath.

I’d like to be happy in the sun, not torn by the angst, the misery, the unspoken.

My dark heart always beats.

Firm and strong.

Frightening in it’s lusty blood.

But my true heart, my gentle heart wants to break.

My mother was also an ‘ inmate’ of two of these institutions, from 1956- 61 , when she left aged 16 yrs old. where she was treated like a dog , and then went on to become the abuser to her five children, who all now, including my mother, suffer with pyschological, drug, alcohol, social issues. What hurts more is that there are individuals out there who are inept at understanding someone’s pain, even suggestions that these victims are imagining these horrors occurred,or that false claims are being laid. The same kind of mentality that allowed these autrocities to occur in the first place. I don’t believe or have faith that this irish society really get how badly affected these victims now are, if they did there would be more of a show of discontent. Usual story,no one taking responsibility, talks after talks, nothing really being done. The religious having the luxury of negotiations ? These CHILDREN, didn’t have the same options to negotiate their beatings, or which part of their bodies were sexually interfered with..Did They??????????? And what about these criminals? Why are THEY being protected? Why are WE standing back and allowing this to happen, why are THEY above the law??

I started in the chemist then headed for Tesco where I shopped for cleaning products, a new mop, some potpourri. There was a coffee machine on special offer which I almost bought then I caught myself and snorted rally loudly. There was no-one close thankfully.

Tick

I washed out the floors, hoovered every corner and dusted each shelf with meticulous concentration and attention.

Tock

I emptied the second drawer in the kitchen. It has always overflowed with all those homeless gadgets and bits ‘n’ bobs that don’t have a home anywhere else. I couldn’t find a home for most of them, so I threw them in the bin.

Tick

All those old towels, hardened from too many washes and stained with history, they went too.
The bed sheets next. Clean, fresh, new. As I dressed the bed I dramatically flung the crisp creased sheet into the air as I dressed the bed and inhaled the smell of clean.

Tock

Then the underwear drawer. There would be no stains or frayed edges remaining. Toys will have to go too I reminded myself.

Tick

Those photos I have hung onto for too long. How pathetic I would look if they were found.

Tock

I finally cleared the spare room of the old boxes most of them went to the bin.

Tick

My computer has been anointed, cleaning up the history ,emptying my outbox and setting all my passwords to PH235. I’ve stuck the handwritten note on the fridge. It simply says PH235 – Password – remember.

Tock

Everything that can be paid has been paid and left in a neat pile under the phone.

Tick

Later when I’m gone and it’s all over at least they can say I kept a clean house.

Tock

Fuck her.

Fuck her. Stupid bitch

Fuck her anyway. Better off without her.

Still angry though. Angry and upset. Mostly upset. Sad.

Why? Why did she just fuck it all up like that? Didn’t she understand this was it – this was how it was supposed to be. Happy. Comfortable. Together.

What more is there? Should there be more? How will he ever find someone else?

How long has it been? Months, no actually over a year. And she’s still there in his mind. Ghostly images echo around the house – corner of his eye he sees the chair or the kitchen or something, anything that makes him think of her.

Fuck her.

Who is she anyway? The world is full of better women, right? Taller, cuter, smarter?

Maybe not. But there have been others before – there have been others since, but still the ghost of Lisa remains unexorcised.

He changed the bed sheets – not just washed them – bought a whole new set, new duvet, new sheets, new pillow – just one – because there is no one else in the house now. Just one pillow. And a king sized duvet. Even that hurts.

And every day there is a point where he thinks of her. Then he forgets again, moves on, but stumbles.

So how did this happen? How did he end up like this? Is this an end? Or is it just a midpoint – that seems to stretch forever but in time will be but the blink of an eye?

To find out, we have to step back to where it all started – back when he was married to Petra

==========================================

Petra, long story.

Married, young, in need of a visa and in search of happiness.

Found a visa, got a passport, fell apart.

That is the short version.

All he could say afterwards is that people get married too young, people get married without understanding what it means and people can’t always make it work.

Anyway, the point of it all got lost somewhere in the past.

All he knew now was that when he glanced back at the train wreck that was the end of his marriage it had all become entangled with Lisa.

She pulled him from the wreckage. Persisting and pushing and pulling and not going away and demanding attention and leaving him no choice but to want her and need her.

So he did.

And somehow everything else hurt less. And all the pain and misery was eased. And living in a weird claustrophobic one bed apartment above a bus garage became an adventure instead of a tragedy.

She gave him that.

And he gave her love and support. And he tried to give her everything that she wanted. That can be a mistake.

And it seems now like it was.

And all the pain and torture and misery that he expected from the death of his marriage seems to have arrived late – and in the wrong package.

There was no grief for Petra. No misery. No angst and recrimination. It was the right thing to do. And any doubts were soothed away by the love and energy that Lisa created.

So why now? Why this hollow blackness, this 14 months of mourning after Lisa departed? Is it about her? Is it karma? Is it Petra’s long delayed revenge?

One thing he does know is that he is not happy.

Lisa the ghost in his head.

==============================================

Misery is over rated though.

It feels bitter. Like Jagermeister. And then the darker thoughts come.
Maybe now is not the time to talk about that.

The full bath. The darkness of night. The emptiness.

And somehow the failure.

Not even that.

At least there is a marker at the lowest point.

And that was before he ever met Petra.

I guess the darkest places in our souls are scary. That’s why we don’t want to go there. But surely there is nothing in our own minds that we can’t deal with?

There is a girl in work that is so beautiful, funny, intelligent but out of reach.

I know many will say, you never know, but you know!

I’m constantly haunted by the faces of beautiful women.

The rise and fall of exhilaration and then reflection on the reality of the situation has become exhasting.

Unfortunately, it’s not going to happen, not any time soon. The craving for affection is becoming heavy.

But I’m Irish so I better suck it up, right?

I’m in a relationship that when it’s good, it’s amazing and when it’s bad, it’s vicious. My partner has excessive mood swings and I tiptoe around on these bad days hoping to avoid another blow out. It never works – they always happen. They are so intense and gut wrenching. I’m told what a failure of a partner I am. How badly they are mistreated. That I don’t like them and am just a coward that wont end it. And uncaring because I don’t reach out and comfort them when we fight.

I keep telling myself that things will be different. I keep convincing myself that the fact that I love them so much will bring us through all this to a time where everything will be fine. I keep pretending like I’m not being halved as a person.

Maybe I am a coward.

Oh how I love our conversations. I go online in the middle of the night just to look for his name and that little green icon by the side. Sometimes I don’t say anything, to see if he would call the bluff first, but I always start the conversation with something random. He is just so easy to talk to, a sweetheart without even knowing it. He is with someone. And I am with someone else too. I love my man, but I am developing a ridiculously humongous crush on this one even if I can count on one hand the number of times we have actually hung out. It makes me feel like a jerk sometimes. Like that time when we went for an early in the morning supper trip for chocolate sundae at one of those 24 hour places and we spent almost 2 1/2 hours just talking and talking. I don’t know if he had informed her that he was meeting me at such an ungodly hour for such inconvenient purpose but if he had, and she’s fine with it, my hats off to her. If he hadn’t and treating it as a normal, out for supper with friends kind of thing, and if i was in her shoes, i would be terribly upset.

Yet there i was, equally treating it like a normal, “out for supper with a friend hence there is nothing fishy, and nothing needs to be disclosed to the partner” sort of event. and today, treating it like it never happened, and trying not to think of it as anything more than just 2 people who couldn’t sleep and decided to hang out over sundaes instead. But then again who in their right mind would make that 20 minutes drive to pick me up for sundaes at such a ridiculous hour as that?

It feels like the both of us are doing this funny unspoken dance, in which our actions are ambiguous, neither here nor there, flirting with danger, tempting faith and loyalty, challenging the very core of our morals and commitment to our partners. As horrible as the thought is, one thing I am seeking refuge in is that neither of us are married yet (somehow the weight of things would be much heavier if it was to occur between to married people..)

Maybe I am just over thinking and being overly dramatic about it. Maybe there really isn’t anything more than what is, just platonic friendship and 2 people who enjoy talking to each other. Yeah.. maybe i’m just imagining trouble but in reality its probably considered normal to him in his interactions with friends.

There is something exciting and dangerous about this unspoken dance, yet equally stressful and revolting about it. How can the heart love one person yet be selfish enough to want another?

I have a friend who eats with her mouth open. Every single bite she puts in, is up for intimate viewing by those sitting across the table from her – she mashes the food with her tongue against her teeth and roof of her mouth – instead of truly chewing. And she makes smacking noises. she’s young – not an old lady i mean with false teeth. She’s about 25ish and very un ladylike in her entire being. I honestly think her mother never taught her the basics of being in public. She has no idea she’s doing it either… and it drives me nutty. I honestly cant stand going out with her if it involves a meal or snack. And I have no idea how to tell her or even if I should tell her.

After discovering this site, I set up an account and thrashed it all out in a blog, things I’d never been able to put on paper. I feel such a sense of relief. I think I may actually be able to sleep properly tonight for once in almost a year.

I love him. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t tell him because he’s your best friend and even if I was to break up with him, you and I could never be together because of your friendship. It kills me everyday that you love me and I love you, but we can never be together.

I’m watching it happen and there’s nothing I can do.

When I first introduced them, my parents joked if he was “sure he had gotten the right sister”. It made me uncomfortable, more than uncomfortable. I found myself hating her for it. The woman who had been my best friend, sister, shoulder to cry on at times, practically a mother was now the “competition”.

I stopped going to family events just so I wouldn’t need to invite him along. I felt ill with worry and couldn’t bare to see them together. I would become irrational, angry and paranoid. Of course other people could see it on them and they knew why. The little knowing nudges, nods in their direction, eyes rolling to heaven. Even the occasional pity smile.

Then she left for Australia. It was such a relief. We got engaged and all was forgiven.

Now she’s back and I realise I can’t live my whole life knowing that at any moment the man I love and the woman I love will fall for eachother and destroy me entrely.

This is what I type when people are walking by so that it looks like I am working. I never work. Maybe 15 minutes a day. I am the bad joke that ruins the party. But I don’t care, I don’t care if I get fired. It might be just what I need to turn my life around from the pale grey mess that it has become. I should win an Oscar for pretending that I am happy and normal and productive. This shit is 24/7. Method acting at its finest, complete immersion in the character of a normal human being. Then again getting fired might be the end. The final act in this epic story. The final shot before the gradual fade to black, before the inevitable Fin.

Just a random piece of text. About how all the glitters is gold. Some days I wonder why I stay. Most days I know it is because I am in love with a girl who is here. Does she feel the same? I don’t know but I would really like to see her soon. I doubt I will see her this weekend but hopefully the following weekend. Then maybe I will have to tell her how I feel. I need to know one way or the other. I need an answer. If she says no then at least I can move on with things. Find the next obsession to focus on. It is just a game, jumping from one obsession to another until the feelings are reciprocated. It has been a long couple of years, at least I don’t have any real problems like disease, poverty, unemployment, STIs and so on. If all my problems are emotional then all my problems aren’t so bad. But the next time has to be the one. The next time I need to bite the bullet and ask the question. Forget the future, that would mean another whole year of wondering, then wondering the whole time that we are there. Next time just make the move, see what happens, take your rejection like a man. At least then you will know. At least then you can move on and find someone else, find the next obsession.

You told me last night that at the start you felt like a failure.

You shouldn’t – the sex is amazing!

I don’t want this to be a post by a girl waiting on a guy to call. I don’t want to be ‘that’ girl.

I could write in all the details of what has happened over the past months, I could argue that this circumstance is different and the background means that what happened recently couldn’t be called a one night stand. I could, but I wont. The reality is I’ve been used by a guy that I thought was different, and he is not going to call, he is not going to think twice about what happened or why it means the end of our friendship.

I am ‘that’ girl. I allowed myself to let my guard down and now I have no one to blame for the fact that I feel vulnerable, and really incredibly hurt. There is no point in trying to blame him, the fault is mine for being the girl I promised myself I left behind. The fault is mine for not respecting my own feelings, I’ve felt them before. He is who he is and I should’ve recognised it earlier, I’ve seen him in other men before.

Three years,six months and 24 days since the last time.

Not that I’m counting mind.

It’s not even about sex. I’d he happy with a hug,a kiss,a squeeze of the hand or someone to rub my neck after a long day. There’s no ease or comfort to being this lonely.

None.

You make me so unhappy, why can’t you see it in my eyes and face. I do my best to keep you happy but it is never enough for you. You have broken your promises to me, please don’t propose on my Birthday , I can’t say yes.