S is awake!

S is awake – there are no words to express how happy I am to hear this! I won’t know how he really is until tomorrow, but for now he is awake. I’m sure he is the same cat loving lunatic he was only a few days ago, but I need that last bit of reassurance that he is exactly that.

I said I would document every day and I will continue to do that for him. Hopefully he knows he is with me in thought, since I can’t be there for him now.

I managed to work on my essay this morning, proud of myself for sitting down and doing it after putting it off for so long. So I spent a good few hours in the quiet library, hunched over my beastly laptop and smashing away at my keyboard. Instead of comfort eating, today I have invested in retail therapy. I had cancelled on my best friends birthday this weekend after the bad news but I woke up this morning and decided I did not want to spend the weekend holed up and alone. So I set myself on a mission to Oxford street to find the perfect outfit: a low cut top, low enough to show my central under-boob tattoo but also hide the ever growing rolls of fat on my stomach, and something other than my standard black jeans to wear it with.

I ended up buying two pairs of jeans, one pair of trousers, wet-look leggings, that perfect top I was after, blusher and two new lip glosses. Can we please acknowledge that I have a problem…

It wasn’t until I was walking out of the station on my way home that I received a text message from Alex telling me the good news. I was beaming at my phone. I could see the TFL workers watching me walk through the station out of the corner of my eye, probably wondering what the hell I was looking at to make me so happy. I didn’t care, S is awake!

Alex and I continued to talk, I learnt that she and S met on a night out roughly one year ago and as she is gay they hit things off socially. I said thank you for keeping me company and I sent her a kiss face emoji, then conversation took an unexpected turn. Suddenly we are flirting, talking about fantasies, about how S is more open to all sorts now, she is encouraging me to talk to him about our fantasies. But that’s not the S I know knew. The S I knew only had fantasies involving the one woman he loved – me.  Of course, we broke up and his fantasies no longer had anything to do with me. Alex is telling me “he loves a booty call ;)… he loves to tease ;)…” And then the ball drops.

Maybe a year ago now S suffered a complication from surgery that left him with short term memory loss, he didn’t know entirely who I was but he knew that he was drawn to me for some reason. During this time he was out partying a lot, he pulled two girl friends and well you can guess the rest.

I know it’s poor judgement, but could she be one of them?

 

He is everywhere

I agreed with S’s (the ex’s) friend that we would chat today for both of our sakes. She will be keeping me updated on how S is doing as I am unable to go and visit him myself. The Doctors say that he has incredible brain activity, most likely due to ‘intense dreaming’ – ‘Where are you, S?…. In the land of dreams.’

I have been dreading coming back to central London today. There are memories of S scattered all over London, from Heathrow airport to North London, where we live just 15 minutes apart. I didn’t want to come back and see the cats, they are more comfortable around S. Knowing his love for cats, he would happily come to see them even if I was not here. I walked through Warren Street station wondering if I would bump in to him there when I knew that I wouldn’t. I even made an effort to look for his face in the crowd – what is wrong with me? I couldn’t remember what state I left my room in, if there was still a mold of his body in my duvet from where he lay down and watched me get ready on Monday morning.

It’s late afternoon and I am sitting on my bed on the verge of tears. I want coke – ‘can’t find my left overs…damn, I must have lost the bag at the party on Saturday. Ok, I could smoke with my friend instead but she lives over an hour journey across London. No, do not cry. You haven’t eaten all day, Tash. What are you going to eat? What do you need to do to make yourself feel the tiniest bit better?’

So I set myself up a space on the floor: I put down a picnic blanket to sit on so the cold from the floor doesn’t rise up by back; I get my laptop and put ‘the Gilmore Girls’ on; light a candle; cocoon myself in a furry blanket and eventually the Chinese food that I ordered arrives and I eat. Happier? No. All the time I’m thinking how perfect it would be if S was here, how beautiful it would be if we were making love here, on the floor, in this gorgeous set up. I took a photo of it thinking that I can show S what I have been up to all this time. Part of me is aware that I may be setting myself up to fall, but I am driven by this new sense of false hope and the overdue realization that I need this man in my life.

One more problem: I can picture him laying on my bed, and now I don’t want to get up off the floor.

 

It’s too late

I have so much to say that I do not know where to start, I don’t have the words to say it all and no one will have the time or the patience to read it, especially not the one person who needs to. I am frantic, scared and completely alone. I can’t tell anyone, not yet at least. I am strong for appearances but the second I am alone I am quivering and unable to keep myself upright.

Just yesterday my ex and I were laughing over bad pub food and a game of American snooker. I had him in my arms. He kissed my cheek several times – and I didn’t kiss him back.

Today, his surgery went wrong and he has slipped in to a coma. 

I should have made more effort yesterday. I should have kissed him back. I should have smiled at him more instead of hiding my true feelings. I should have told him one last time that I love him. I do love him, don’t I? Why else would this hurt so much. I should be there with him now.

I have asked God to save him. I would pray but I don’t know how to. I would ask everyone to pray for him but no one knows. What do I do?

I am so scared. I have tried to have a life without him but I always go back to him – even when I am sober. I can’t lead a life without him in the world at all. I need him more than I am even aware of. 

As we were saying goodnight to each other last night, he mentioned that sleep is “the land of dreams.” I keep asking myself ‘where are you, S’ and I can only picture his words in response.

Please, don.t take him away. 

It’s not love

Somewhere between having my head down the toilet and getting home at 3:00am I managed to unblock my ex on Whatsapp, declare my love for him and then invite him to my house. I don’t remember anything after being thrown out of the club, but apparently told my friend in the taxi home that I wanted to be with him again and the only thing stopping me from being with him is the fear of what other people will think.

When my ex arrived at my house I spent 10-15minutes just crying in his arms. I asked him why he hurt me; told him that I couldn’t find happiness anymore and that I was tired of trying. Then I threw up all over the floor and passed out in my bed. He was still here when I woke up, holding my hand and watching me with concern. We slept together, but when he said ‘I love you’ I had to stop. I couldn’t say it back. Suddenly I was realizing that sex is all it was. There was no sense of intimacy, no familiarity in it, I could close my eyes and picture any others mans face but his.

I’ve spent the day trying to make sense of the events of last night. How did I get drunk so quickly? Why did I contact my ex? Am I so damaged that I can only seek comfort in the source of the pain?

It’s amazing that even, after our history, at 3:00am he came to my side. I like the idea of being with him, but the reality of it isn’t as shiny. The truth is he hurt me beyond repair and I am afraid of him – not of what everyone else will think. Yes, there are aspects of my life where I could be happier but I am not crippled by the pain. I have so much to work through, including figuring out my feelings for him.

What a mess.

Keep your eyes open when your head is up

I’ve spent the past week back at home, hibernating with my thoughts because I managed to give myself laryngitis after my quiet weekend turned in to a very heavy weekend of alcohol and baking soda. I felt pretty alone after my last post, and wondering how the hell anyone would be interested in me when I look the mess that I usually do.

However, I’ve spent the best part of the week thinking about how much interest I have actually had over the past 9 months. From the consistent interest from the guy at the gym who has seen me with no make-up and (literally) dripping in sweat; and the guy that I lived with (who had seen – pun not intended – both ends of the spectrum); to the gorgeous Australian I met and went on several dates with when I had looked my best in the entire past 9 months.

In my last post I wrote about a weak moment where I compared myself to someone else, and I questioned things about myself. This had such a big impact for me to write about it because it is not usually something I do. I am self confident, and I learnt at a young age to love myself. I have imperfections yes, and I will always admire the differences in other women, but I don’t normally question my appearance. I have to learn to ignore these thoughts that will inevitably occur.

More importantly, I have been chased. I have had repeated interest, and I spent my summer falling for a guy who besides the point did mess me around. Yet at the end of all of it, I feel no one will accept me like my ex did…does? I’m not as bad as I occasionally think.

 

 

 

 

 

Writing

Here’s the thing with me writing – I love to do it when I can make time for it, but more often than not I don’t make time for it. Not even when a module on my degree is dedicated to writing reflective journals.

But sometimes I have an overwhelming need to write, such as nights like these: where it is cold; and my room is a mess; and I am borderline sick from eating too much Chinese food. I’m also single with not many friends left after the 4 years I have spent in University; and looking forward to having the quietest weekend to myself that I have had since I started my final year in September. In summary, I am cold (in all senses of the word), and alone (mentally).

I’ve spent the best part of 2 years in a messy break-up, running away from my ex and all the problems we/I had/have. I’ve been on this endless road to nowhere and I have come too far to turn back. I was going to say that I am lost, but no – I am not lost. I am still on a path, I just need to find a new direction and one day, a destination?

Yesterday, on my way to University, I noticed a girl wearing a gorgeous dark green jacket and I remembered I used to have one just like it. For a second I compare our outfits, I wonder how clear it must be that I literally threw on the first things I could see when I woke up: a pair of black textured 3/4 leggings, a pink jumper and a small black jacket. Then I am picturing the figure beneath my clothes. How the last 3 years of drinking, take-away’s, sitting at desks and laying-in have taken me from a size 4 to a size 10. Suddenly I am asking myself “When did you stop giving a shit?”