Don’t get me wrong. I love my tattoos.
However, I find myself becoming incredibly insecure about the tattoo on my arm because it is so visible and I have seen some not so positive reactions from friends and family about it. I find myself trying my best to hide it lately.
I know I shouldn’t care because if I like it then that is all that matters. But I cant help shame spiralling and feeling ashamed and wanting it gone.
I don’t know.
It isn’t going anywhere sooo…
So today has been a tad strange – many happy and fun moments but a gloomy cloud lurking above me never the less.
A and I never discussed our relationship – so I guess we are still just friends. Friends who sleep together, talk every day, say they miss each other and speak about all the things we are going to do together when I get back. So we are friends. I want to act all nonchalant and cavalier about this but my anxious girly mind can’t stop itself from worrying what is going on in the relationship.
The way I have felt the past two days – I am going to go home and A is going to realize what a worthless person I am, ugly and fat with no direction. A girl who is just a child and always will be, incapable of even controlling herself around a humane right like food. Then he will leave me – like he rightly should because he deserves more. He deserves someone who actually has their shit together, who can deal with this thing called ‘life’.
Am I feeling like a pile of dirt today…
EDNOS turns 10 years old this year.
Since the tender age of 16 we have been friends.
We had our breaks from each other. For years at a time we were only in contact once in a while. But our friendship never ended. We will always be there for each other in times of need.
Lets go binge and purge on your birthday cake…
I haven’t posted in this part yet.
I am feeling blank lately. I feel nothing yet I feel everything. All at once. All the time.
I have come to the realization that I miss being a wife. I miss my home and doing laundry and doing dishes and preparing meals. I miss the caretaker role, I miss looking after someone and loving someone.
I miss marriage.
I don’t miss my marriage.
I am so grateful that we ended our relationship, and I am much happier now.
However, I do miss marriage and I hope that one day I am fortunate enough to experience it again.
We’ve got to keep on moving on and on.
Forget the horror here. Its future dust and its future rust.
Each moment, each second is a new beginning. It’s hard and it’s tough. It’s hell but we have to keep on going. Even when its hell, heaven is always on the other side.
Eating – CHECK
Gym – CHECK
Not being too hard on myself – CHECK
Balance – CHECK
I love how you guys are always around to catch me when I fall with your elastic waist band 🙂
You fit again, and it’s annoying, I want you to be loose again, please be loose again…
The thing is, that I don’t feel that we belong. We simply don’t fit, we literally ripping holes into each other and overflowing with emotion. However the sad truth is, that when we together we comfort each other and egg each other on to binge and purge and feel the sweet satisfaction of control again…and then we get consumed.
So we are going to sit here now, in the garden with glass of wine and we going to sort out our differences and we going to accept and respect one another and build each other up. We are going to stop judging one another.
Cheers to us. Cheers to the love and respect we are harvesting…
Back to the city. Year starting again.
I feel content.
Drove by my house I shared with my husband and I just smiled…
‘It’s really worrying that you wearing lipstick’ he said while I was explaining to him that I had called the psychiatrists and I would help him go to therapy if he needed.
‘Can we have sex one more time? Just one more time?’ he pleaded and picked me up and put me on the kitchen counter. I pulled him closer and stared deeply into his eyes. Those green eyes I made love to, the eyes that held my heart and a thousand memories. My future was in those eyes. They now looked blank. He hadn’t slept in days since I left, he hadn’t eaten. He was jumpy and agitated and anxious.
We stared into each others eyes and started kissing slowly and then more passionately. Our eyes were closed, he was kissing my neck sending shivers down my spine. I wanted to get lost in him, get lost in us and what we were, but it was gone. It was lost. It was no longer there.
I pulled away.
‘One last time’ and he leaned down kissing my stomach and lowering into me.
‘Come on, I have to go’ I said pulling him up and sliding past him as I jumped off the kitchen counter.
‘Come on, please eat this’ I’d warmed a croissant and put cheese and jam on it for him, his favourite.
I had to leave, I couldn’t stay.
We hugged good bye, I got into my car and I redid my lipstick while he was looking at me from the bay windows in the spare room where I had spent my last night sleeping in our house.
I’m the lucky one. The pretty one. The favourite one.
This is what my ex husband thought of me and my family, I was the lucky one and my sister was the underdog. My brother and I were lucky, we fitted in, we were closer to my parents and we were closer to each other. C was the outcast he said, she was the underdog. Perhaps that is why he was always so fond of her.
It must have been incredibly difficult for my parents raising C and it must of been incredibly difficult for C to grow up in our family. ‘You don’t understand how hard it must have been for her when you came along. You the little princess.’
When I was a teenager I always wanted to be like her. She was thin and she was beautiful. She wasn’t sticking her finger down her throat, she wasn’t cutting herself. She was always incredibly loving, a mother by nature, she was a caretaker. She got married a virgin.
Of course she rebelled, she rebelled the most out of us the three of us children. She was flawed, but she was herself and she was perfect to me. I wanted to be just like her once a upon a time.
She was the lucky one. She was the pretty one. She was the favourite one.
Thats how I saw it when we were growing up. Yes my brother and I are closer. I’m the princess, I am. I’m the firecracker and the risk taker and most say I am the favourite and the pretty one. I’m different and I’m a good listener and liberal and supportive. Does it matter? She’s pretty, she has set values, she’s the most wonderful mother. She is smart and she is driven. She is the one that is filled with love all around. She is happy and she is funny. She is a role model. She is kind and she puts family above all.
It doesn’t matter what we are or who we are. We are sisters. It never was and it never will be a competition. It doesn’t matter.
We are who we are.
We are the lucky ones.
I baked a cheese cake and I had one slice. Not zero slices, and not five slices, just a slice.
I wrote and I read.
It rained on the farm…hope and smiles for the drought to end.
Going back to the city on Monday and looking forward to seeing all my friends and looking forward to seeing Andrew, a lot. Really looking forward. I wonder what it will be like when we see each other.