enola

The reasons I am not killing myself tonight are: 1. My bedroom is messy. I don't want anyone to see it. 2. I don't have a top on and it's too hot to put one on. I'd rather not be naked when they find my body. Fucking morbid, I know. Self-pitying, wallowing bullshit. Yet also, just fact.

I can't even write what has happened. I read back over diary entries now and then. Visually halted by my cathartic expression of failings of someone or something around me. My dog just died. My mother lied to me. I'm blind in one eye. He raped me... etc. but I can't do it this time.

It's not even as bad as some things. It's not the worst thing to happen to me. But it feels like it. My eyes are twitching. When I bring my hand up to light my cigarette, I realise my hands are shaking. My body, shuddering. I cry a bit and it goes away. It's not even me crying, it's that person who was me. My body. Laying on my bed. I'm watching myself just feeling numb.

I wish I was 14. I wish I was having a panic attack because I'm agoraphobic. I wish my boyfriend had just hit me. I wish I was dying. I wish I was dead. All I want is for my son to be okay. If it wasn't for him I would be dead.

This isn't a case of "I can't cope". I do not want to fucking cope. I want it to end. I don't know how I can go on knowing what I know. Although I know I will go on, I will carry on, I will be okay. But I don't know how. I can't see anything at the end of this "tunnel".... except it's just a box.

Motherfucker.

Know that I cannot go back, but how do I go on?

I wanna know - have you ever seen the rain?

I've been feeling odd, as of late. I mean - well, I'm always feeling 'odd', but... This has been different. It makes sense, we are always changing, evolving, growing, sinking... we are always dying. I have never been a 28yr old single mother before. In fact, I've never been an "anything" before. Yet, I've also never felt so much like a nothing.

I have felt like a nothing, before now I mean. And I have a story - it's just not worth repeating. That being said, as I said, as I'm saying, I have felt like a nothing previously. I just haven't felt THIS before.

I have suffered from depression, agoraphobia and anxiety my whole life. Bipolar type II as well, apparently - although, I have no idea if I was born with that or it just manifested, triggered by drugs, alchohol, abusive relationships etc.

Anyway... I have this thing, where when I'm feeling really deeply perturbed, I can't just say what I feel. I have a barricade within me that stops thoughts and feelings translating to words. (Actually, as I get older, this isn't limited to just when I'm upset. Sometimes I forget simple everyday words, like "remote", "basket", "fridge". I can see the object in my mind and I know what it is for - but I have no idea what the word is. Right brain, left brain issues - I guess.)

I've been feeling really low for some time now. I was feeling low before my ex left me, but being honest - it's really gotten bad since he left. Triggered by him leaving? Certainly, but the split was not the cause. Or am I in denial? Am I feeling this way because of him, or have I always felt this way? Can I not bare the thought of the power laying with him? Or am I using him as an excuse, a diversion from the real problem?

I have been feeling awful. I've felt suicidal before, but not like this. I have even attempted to kill myself in the past, but even then, I didn't feel this bad. I have my son though, so I won't do anything stupid. But that doesn't help the way I feel. In fact, knowing that I have him just makes me feel that much more guilty for the feeling of wanting to end my life.

I feel like I'm dying. I feel like I'm letting go of life. I pray almost every day, to God, for him to end everything. End the world, so that no-one will suffer, anymore. It's entirely selfish, though. I feel like my pilot light has gone out. Everything that interested me, feels empty now. I wish I could sleep all day and all night. I wish I didn't have to ever move again. I want to sit, really still, alone and not speaking, until I feel better.

Tonight is the first night in a long time, I've felt slightly better than that. Like I'm coming out of it. Which I'm used to... the ups and downs of a bipolar life. I feel glad to have more understanding of my illness, or at least to be able to see a pattern and predict what is next.

But I am always running. I have always been running from the aching darkness in my life. I pgysically have an ache inside me all of the time - and I know it's emotion. I know that I'm not ill (yet) really, but that my emotions have no way of getting out of my body so they make me ill.

Like I said, I'm always running. I can never just "be". Ever. I feel like as soon as I stop, it catches up with me and I'm swallowed whole.

Emotionally raped.

I can't escape. I am totally trapped and enveloped in an excruciating, desperate feeling of desire and turmoil.

How can a person, me, have a person, him, in their lives for so long... dedicate so much, give so much, doubt so little... and then just accept, they’re gone? How can you be told constantly, almost daily, to trust that they will never leave you, experiencing every since nuance of life and your CHILD together, only to be told, they are in fact leaving you. GONE.

You go from hearing “I love you so much, I will never leave you. I’d have to be physically removed from you” to hearing yourself say “I am a single mother... I am doing this on my own now.”
How can you forgive so many things, learn to cope and deal with so many things for someone else, only for them to just disappear. Disappear into a life of drinking, gambling, late nights... whatever they want. How can someone be so fickle and self absorbed? So short sighted?

How can that same man, that did love you, he promised you he did... how can he spend all that time knowing everything about you... only to turn into the lad that turns up for a shag and leaves asap in the morning. How can a man be with you, crying, through childbirth telling you he loves you... only to use you so blatanly like you were shit on his shoe?

Being suicidal is so 90’s bedroom. But I literally want to tear every piece of skin from my body. Disfigure myself so that no-one can ever recognise me, see me, touch me again... I’d go through labour a thousand million times just to not have this pain, right now. I’d face labour every day for the rest of my days, for my heart to be in one piece again.

I have felt this before, when my dad died... this pain that just won’t leave your body or your mind and fills the whole house with a dark cloud that stops you breathing. Even when you are smiling... it’s more of a grimace. And the difference is... my dad didn’t choose to leave me.

I know I need to “just move on” as they say... shag around... shag as much as possible until I’m numb and indifferent. Validate myself on a regular basis. Super mother by day – ex girlfriend slut by night. Laughing at the man I love as much as possible. Trying to make every man that isn’t him look amazing.

THE WORST THING IS – this was a shit relationship. Terribly flawed. Excruciating. Volatile, impulsive, immature and rocky. People, everywhere I turned – including his mother, telling me I was too good for him, asking me how I put up with him. Even he would ask me that sometimes. He was a drunk, and a fool, ignorant and stubborn, refusing to see anyone elses point of view or even listen to opinion that differred from his own. Loud to the point of embarrasment, causing trouble everywhere he went. Anti-social and cowardly. Egotistical to the point of stupidity, denying his actual intelligence. Totally impossible – burning every bridge he walked on AS he walked on it.

But I loved him.

I think how if I had died 5 weeks ago... he would have been upset. Devestated. He would have even cried a bit. But now, when asked if he could bare the thought of me kissing someone else, holding someone else, having a baby with someone else... he replies that he is indifferent. I think I wish I had died 5 weeks ago rather than this.

The moral of the story is, I guess... not to give up on love. But to make sure that the person in question of being loved is the shit, and to do this before you even look at them. When they’re a pathetic mess, been chucked out, not even their own mother will take them and they need you... spit on them. Spit in their face. Make sure they know how worthless they are. Because, it seems, that loving someone unconditionally, no matter what, offering your life and everything in it on a sacrificial platter to someone who has nothing themselves, someone with no future and no aspirations, no ambition or drive... Loving someone so much even with the knowlege that they are barely even humanoid and are essentially the missing link - ignoring all of this and looking within, choosing to see that they are damaged and feel for them, want to protect them and love them... all of this just gets you fucked over. Totally and utterly, unbelievably and impossibly fucked over. Emotionally raped.

So when this soul comes along, he'll make you think he's a nice guy, sure he looks odd and has nothing to offer - he'll make you pay for everything and treat you like he owns you - but tell you all his woes... and make you know how hurt he was by his father. In the end you'll love him so much you want to kill his father just to protect this man. BUT, before you get to that stage... take one look at him... and spit on him. Because he is a twisted, evil, bitter LOSER. He has nothing good to put into anyones life. You can make an amazing son with this man - but make sure you don't expect him to be anything than a pathetic loser father to your son, too. I mean - he didn't have a role model so how could he know how to be a good husband or father? He was never taught to look after a woman, his child, his family unit... poor poor thing. Wait, don't listen... spit on him. 

Because I would love to go back in time, to the moment he said "oh you have freckles... I didn't know you had freckles..." and SPIT IN HIS FACE. Because you don't want to turn out like me. Sat in the home that was your family's home, alone. Trapped inside a love with someone who has continually shat on you and then looked dumfounded when you were unhappy. Someone who asked asked you what your problem is as they've pissed on your sofa. Someone who you have told every single one of your hopes and dreams to as they've said "sorry I wasn't listening." But they said sorry, so that's alright then? Someone who thinks that when you cry... it means you're crazy. But when they cry, it's important. A man who's idea of trying to make things work is sitting on his own in a room and then wondering why things aren't working, blaming YOU for things not working. Someone who says he is so unlike, prides himself on being so unlike the usual man... except will hit you, blind you, choke you... and tell you it's your fault.

Don't waste your life being angry and hurt. It's too late for me, but just avoid this man and you will be okay.

I will thow away all my photo albums... all the pictures of my son when he was born.... in the bin. every memory that I have I will try to get rid of. Burning five years out of my skin with cigarettes. trying to wipe my brain.

De-ja-vu

I once had a boyfriend who, well he wasn't really a boyfriend, more of just a guy I was sleeping with, who I really thought I was in love with. I wasn't, incidentally, but that is not the point here. He used me for sex and company and had little respect for me. He would come over, sometimes after we had gone out, sometimes he would spend a whole week with me... But whatever, he would be at mine, we'd have unsatisfying sex and he would fall asleep clutching me like I would disappear if he didn't. I could never, and still can't, sleep whilst being that close to someone, so I would worm my way down out of his arms and out of bed. Silently. Almost frightened. I would then just go about my normal nocturnal activities; writing, smoking, online browsing etc. but that was always my most favourite part of the "relationship" because in that time... He was mine. He was in MY bed, breathing my air, dribbling on my pillows. And I could pretend that we were a couple, pretend that we were living together, that we had something more... I could pretend that in the morning he would love me.

Seven years later I find myself feeling the same thing; this time with my ex of five years, the father of my child. He came here for sex, no doubt, and I probably would have done it... But he fell asleep on the sofa while I was in the shower.. And here I am, watching him. Watching him and pretending that in the morning he will love me.

This is the man that was with me while I was in labour with our son, the man who has seen me poo. I have seen him in every possible light. I know every tiny cell on his body like the back of my hand... Better than that, even. The man that I was so sick of I refused to even look at him at all some days.

But somehow... I am now watching him sleep and regretting not looking at him more often before.

As you know... he said he didn't love me anymore.

I was going to type out all of these feelings I've been having... especially tonight... I mean, I confessed to something I did a while ago, it wasn't really that bad, just something I never told him before. And he went ballistic... and again he just said the same things, again!

Ok, yeah I know you don't love me. Yep, and I think I've heard that you hate me somewhere before, too? Oh really, we're done now? I thought, I'm pretty positive actually, that we broke up 4 weeks ago?

IRONY.

But now.... instead of typing all the feelings I was feeling... I'm going to go to bed.  The one thing I will say is... that this is the first time I've done something to hurt someone, intentionally. I know he can't control himself. I know no-matter how often he says he doesn't love me... he's just an idiot really. And now? I feel good. It feels good to give him just the slightest little idea of how he's made me feel for 5 years. I promise, to myself, that I won't ever do something to hurt someone again though. No matter how much they deserve it. I don't want to end up like him... I was just playing at being him for the night.

This is hard.

This is hard. Coming home. Coming home to the smells, the creaks of the house. It feels like my dad has died all over again. Seeing your old shoes on the floor that weren't important enough to take with you, but are now so precious to me I won't even touch them. Your dressing gown, that still smells of you. I don't know why I even lifted it to my nose... I knew how it would make me feel. Coming home, to this home, the home where we took our baby home for the first time. The home we came home to when we went on holiday: how refreshed we felt, how in love. The home where we first kissed. The home where you first made me cry, the home I cry in now.

Now, the home that you left us in. The house, just a house, that you've deserted us in.

I owe him everything.

Right... I've decided I'm going to kick the arse out of this situation. I have had the nicest day today! My son is feeling loads better, and we have spent the whole day together playing and laughing. I realised as I put him to bed that he hasn't cried once today! It's a satisfying feeling. He went to bed without a hitch too, I was beginning to doubt his happiness as he's been poorly and hasn't slept well the last 3 nights. But I shouldn't doubt what I think I know as a mum - it was just that he was ill. He knows I love him and I'm not going anywhere. My son is a confident, happy, intelligent, chatty litty man - and obviously although a lot of that is down to personality - a lot of it is either brought out by me or directly because of the kind of mother I am. It's the one thing I KNOW I'm good at. And that alone makes me feel wonderful! I never thought being a mum, a single mum I might add, would be something that boosted my confidence... and I'm really pleased.

We're still away at the moment: we go home on Monday and I'm dreading it! But I don't care - I finally know and feel that everything will be okay. Yes, money is tighter than ever before. Yes, I can't go out every night. I can't drink anymore. I can't stay in bed when I'm too tired to get up and when I'm ill I don't get time off. But I have the sweetest, most gorgeous, most interesting little man with me all of the time. I've always loved my son, naturally, and never thought it was possible to love him more: but I do! As he grows and changes, we become closer and closer and we learn more and more, together.

No doubt there will be days when I feel too stressed, days when I feel like shit and that I can't go on, days when I'm unsure, lonely, bored.... but ANYTHING is worth the feeling I get loving my son.

It's not only my baby that's grown in the last 18 months, it's me too. I am a better person because of him. I am becoming the person I always wanted to be. And I'm strong like never before. I owe my son so much.

Heartbroken.

Away for the week... It's gunna be helpful I think. Borrowing my friends iPad.... Its fucking awesome! I already never want to let it go!! How do you know if someone still loves you? How do you know if someone has fallen out of love with you? Can you always trust what people say? It's a big thing to lie about. I can't imagine falling out of love with anyone. I mean, I dont think you always love people the same way. But the people ive loved dearly will nwever leave my heart. I will always love them in a way. The only person I have believed loved me, says that he doesn't, anymore. I have said it before to him in an argument, not nice I know, but this time he just said it.

So much has changed...

I used to run a pretty successful web ring and personal website. When I say successful, I mean I never made any money from it - but I got recognised in the street sometimes. At the time, that was success. To have my online and offline life merge like that was interesting. I uploaded my poetry, chapters of novels I never finished, pictures and, of course, my online diary. I recorded my every throught, evey detail every minor happening of my life. Including the relationships between my family and me, my romantic adventures and friendly drama.

As my boyfriend(s) became aware that there were people all over the world, agreeing with my every word and joining in with my complaints about everything from socks on the floor to a lack of sex - he quite rightfully resented the whole idea. My mother has still not quite come to terms with it, I don't think, and I worry sometimes she still fears that any mistake she makes will be "published for the world to judge", as she put it.

I was at an age where I was finding out who I was, desperate for attention, and willing to trample on anyone in order to persue, and make everyone aware of, my right to self-expression.

Angry again. Always angry.

It's unlike anything I've felt before - which I'm always a fan of, if I'm honest. A new feeling, experience, happening. Something unknown to my psyche, no matter how positive or negative.I am in a metaphysical place right now, that I know I have to be in, but dislike so intensely I want to die.

Just to interrupt my thought-stream: I have The Housewives of Orange County on in the background. It is truly tragic that this is the highlight of my day. Anyway - one of the women on there (Alexis, if you want to know) said "You can think 'the grass is greener on the other side, the grass IS greener on the other side!' - but if the grass is greener on the other side, you need to water you own lawn, not buy another house." Despite my love of this program, I don't know much about the women on the show - but that statement was pretty nice.

I like this program on in the background - I actually have an unhealthy addiction to reality TV, lately. All reality TV, from Supernanny and Nanny 911, to Big Brother and True Beauty. The only one I don't like is Come Dine With Me (I cannot stand the narrator guy!)  and I don't include the music ones (X Factor, Britain's Got Talent etc) in my Reality TV genre. My absolute true favourite is California based reality TV. I like the way it makes me feel - the warm glow coming from the sunny climate, fake tans, shining off the big plastic boobs and highlighted blonde hair. All the incredibly "pretty" people, with their pretty real problems; but all that money and beauty around them to make them feel better!

I want to talk about what is happening but I just cannot bring myself to say the words. They are not even uncommon words and I have said them before... this time, though... I just can't.

I feel cheated. I should be settling down right about now. The last 5 years should have been all the ground work I needed before we took flight. But now I have to start again? Start from a worse position I was in before. It is the risk we take, venturing into the world of monogamous romance, and I can only pick myself up and carry on. Start again. Accept my new challenges. Face them as if they were a task at work - where I seem to excel, I might add. In the office - I am wonder woman. At home - I am a disaster.

Maybe drugs would help - but of course this isn't a particularly responsible idea in general, let alone with a child to look after. On my own. A child to look after on my own. This isn't the good old days, either. The days when family and friends were around and only too happy to take your little bundle of joy off you for the night. Where trustworthy neighbourhood teenagers were selling babysitting services for barely any money but the use of your landline telephone. All the pregnancy and parenting books say "Don't be too proud to accept help!" Well, I am not too proud, I am not proud at all. I am down right desperate! It's not that I don't want to be around my son, it's not that I don't love him and want to give him everything I have in me. I do, I really do. But I also need some time for myself. I need some help with my son, too. Other influences for him. Other idea's. I am all he needs, but I am not all he wants.

I do have things to look forward to. I now have more control over what influences my son - I can almost totally protect him from what I feel are negative actions for almost all of the time. I also have the chance to build an even stronger bond with him. And where a bond between a child and mother is a wonderful thing. I worry, as I don't want to put any undue responsibilities or pressure on him. I do not want him to think or feel that he has to solve anything for me, that it is his job to look after me, or that he has control over whether I'm happy or not. I am the parent, and I am there for him. Not the otherway around.

In general; I never cry in front of my son, I never shout in front of him or show him that I'm stressed or annoyed. The few times he has seen me cry (possibly once or twice max), he looked at me with the most concerned face. He came over to me and put his little hands on me and leaned forward to get a better look of my eyes. Then when he saw it was tears he started sucking his thumb and put his head on me. It broke my heart. He should never ever feel insecure because of me. It's not fair.

Tonight was my first late night. I will be tired tomorrow, but at least I had tonight. Goodnight.

So angry.

I need to vent quickly and this is my only resource to hand. Unless I have a good old moan to my 15 month baby... But I'm not sure that would be very healthy for either of us.

Life is fucking shit. It's cruel and awkward, vindictive and dishonest. I'm so angry and upset and I don't know how it could do all the awful things it's done. Nobody said life was supposed to be fair, right, but nobody said I had to be happy about it either.

I just can't bare the thought of it doing to my son what it's done to me.

I feel like I can't even deal with it because of my baby either. I want to just sit and cry for half a day, then spend the rest of it under a duvet, surrounded in damp patches of old tears. Not moving except to blink or smoke. Watching the same film on repeat, blocking out thoughts of hurting myself, thoughts of dying, thoughts of killing the person who's done this to me... Blocking out my aching body, how futile I feel, how sad that makes me. How much it hurts.

It will get easier: people say. I know that's true. I logically understand that. I have been through my own and somebody else's fair share of horrible things, and I know it will get easier. But. I am now. I am here. I am not "will".

Day of the iPhone. 3GS if you must know!

Well well well... Here I am with my iPhone. I never thought I would ever be saying that. It's not that I'm really totally Eco-Princess about everything, and although I try to always recycle, ALWAYS buy free range eggs and avoid clothes made by children anywhere... I still drink Coca-Cola... And now I own an iPhone.

My love for Nokia has been swept aside in one impulsive move. A purchase set to swell my world,

Anniversary in hell.

On the various blogs I have held over the years, I have rarely written about my personal life. I may mention that I have a beautiful son, but never specifics, and even less I may mention I have a partner. I have family and friends. Aquaintances and ex co-workers. What I am battling on this blog, is that I do not want to compromise the privacy of anyone in my life.

What this tells me, is that I partly blame how I feel on other people. This is something that is a really sore spot with me. I am a strong believer in owning your position in life, owning your emotions, your decisions, your actions. That being said, people do affect you. Other people do make you feel things - so where does this leave me?

Right now, I am confused. I am confused about what I should do. I am confused about how I should attempt to resolve my current issue(s).