This wasnāt an argument, and it wasnāt over breakfast
So you left, and yanked door behind you so loud, I can still hear the noise in my ears.
It started off with you waking me up at 8am to go gym with you. I hate when you wake me up so early, for literally no reason. You call my name trying to attract me to the idea of exercise and a walk to the gym on a freezing cold February morning. No, thanks.
I hate that feeling when Iām still paralysed and cat even open my eyelids, and youāre talking to me as if I was wide awake. I canāt even tell you to shut up, no muscle on my body is awake yet.
You end up going to the gym alone, and honestly the silence after you leave is a blessing I worship. Itās that silence that puts me in a good mood. I do a few cat cows before sliding off the bed and turning to bathroom for morning toilet. Iām not worse than you, so Iāve decided to do yoga- both for me and you. I can imagine how happy youāll be seeing the matt, and knowing I have done something more productive than scrolling through Instagram all morning.
But I canāt find my mat anywhere... I give you a quick call to ask if you know where it is. Iām half asleep but determined to have a good morning. I end the call with high peached ābyeā because you sound like you canāt be bothered to talk and not being helpful at all. No yoga then.
I make a cup of geeen tea and get s magazine out if my bag. I remind myself that there are other ways of self care that can work on this glorious morning. And it does work, sort of you know. Iām not angry, Iāll Yoga later, after youāve gone to work. And itāll be fine.
You came from gym and gave me a kiss. We did a silly Rock Paper Scissors battle to establish whoās going shopping for breakfast- I was sure we had everything in the house but apparently not. Iām glad to wing as Iām still on no mood to go outside. You come back with eggs and veggie sausages quickly and we dance in the kitchen. I put on some music and you put call food, in olive oil, then put the job on. WRONG. Ew. I try to explain why this is not the way to cook it but youāre annoying and not letting me talk, because itās your preference. Iām angry, not at your stupid preference but that you wonāt let me talk. I sit down and you ask me how do I like āmyā sausages cooked, which is annoying again because again you think its a preference thing, making me look like a unbearable bitch with high standards. ... meanwhile the frying olive oil is stinking the room and I canāt breath freely. Iām frustrated already and donāt want to talk to you because itās hard to breath this toxic smell. My mum calls and it give ms me a chance to leave the room. I can hear the oil boiling from the other room. Unfortunately I can smell it too. My is asking me about my new job and I donāt tell her anything about it, the smell is too much and I canāt concentrate on anything else but it.
You shout that breakfast is ready and Iām think off vomiting. I hung up on my mum and enter the room. Letās try again.
You tell me how my food was cooked in sunflower oil and Iām happy to know at least my wonāt be soaked in oil, letās forget the smell... but then you go again, itās how I like āmineā. And I try to tell you about the smell and how olive is not for frying but you shut me up, āokay okay I know now I know nowā. You donāt.
I look at my food. Looks good. Smells disgusting. I have a suddenly tummy twitch and quick gag reflex and I know I wonāt be able to stomach a single bite from my plate. I look down and say Iām not hungry. I thought this would be a better alter to saying Iām going to throw up if I eat this, but youāre already offended. I feel bad and did appreciate your effort, but youāre not looking like you would want to listen if. Iām rude, and ungrateful āafter all this you just preparedā. So weāre not talking and youāre offended. You took your plate and ate in silence by the table. I grabbed the magazine I finished this morning and pretended to read the article about food trends in 2019 (nothing about frying in olive oil, btw).
Then you start getting ready. I squir my eyes to see and the clock says itās 11 am. 3 hours till your shift. And it hurts, that youāre looking to leave way before normal time. I questioned you on this and youāre saying that Iām clearly angry and need space and you laugh. Iām donāt need this space without you, but leave. Go on.
You trying kissing me, giving me a hug goodbye Nope, not interested. I wander if you will always have no problems leaving me. And then you leave, and yank the door behind you.
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Sleepās for the weak, right?
Another early night, and another night when Jack falls asleep at the speed of lighting, and Iām left listening to his loud breathing. In... out.. in... and out. Louder and louder until i realise heās snoring like a bear. I give him a gentle shake. āI love you, babyā he says as I grab his hand, and I squeeze it in response. He know I mean it, too.
Iām trying to think of what it is that Iām feeling. Name it. Spell it. Feel it. Out. Loud.
Well, yes.. I guess, one could say that Iām sad. Upset with my life. Unhappy for sure. I just remembered that I always wanted to live oin London to be able to participate in londonās cultural scene. Enjoy theatre, music evens, art exhibitions and all sorts of cultural events that London has to offer on daily basis. And I also just remembered that since we moved here I havenāt been too involved it the Art scene of the capital at all. Maybe at the beginning, we tried to do something once a week. But then I would make excuses and weād stay at home. āLetās save moneyā, āIām so tiredā, āa movie night inā, āmaybe tomorrowā, āletās make home made food tonightā, āNetflix and chillā. Iād always say something and pretend itās not because I canāt bare the thought of being outside with other people. Itās not like I had a panic attack every time I happened to be in a crowd.The tube is really bad, especially in the evening. Rush hour kills me. Everyone walks with such a purpose, like they know where they are going and why, and they seem like they figured it all out. I watch peopleās clothes, the way they fill them, they way they look good, and how they look after the whole day at work, and somehow they donāt look like they just spent the last 10 hours being tortured. Like their hair is shiny and pteretty. And I feel like maybe itās just me. The weird one. The one who gave up. Beaten up by the hours spent on the phone, time spent in the pointless meetings, fake smiles given to colleagues in corridas.
More often I blame myself than the company. Yes, there are fundamental principles which I disagree with in my job. Things agains my own ethics. However, I sometimes think that Iām simply useless. I am not succeeding in my role, and itās demotivating. Whatās more, Iām not particularly up for celebrating any successes that I have there. I hate the fake chit chat. I hate listening to my colleaguesā bullshit about how this job has changed their lives for better, when I get Migraines just thinking about staring a fresh week.
I hate the judgment in the voices of my bosses when they ask me how I am and I donāt scream with happiness that I just made them lots of money. I hate the pity in voices of my teammates when they ask me how I am and I give them high piched āamazingā and fake smile until my dry lips crack. I hate the embarrassment I see in the mirror every time I go to the bathroom to hide from everyone and pass some time and forget that I probably burst into tears for any reason.
My clothes look bigger on me than when I first bought them. I donāt look pretty and my skin is grey. My hair is messy and matte no matter how hard I try. I look like someone who could clean the office space rather than an
Associate consultate from the office in the 10th floor of the shard. I sometimes see raised eyebrows in the lift, as I run in on closing doors. Me oversized bag slipping off my shoulder, my jacket dirty not fitting me properly and my scarf, too long, dragging on the floor.
This is how I imagine other people see a failure and I wish I could see what my director saw in me the day he gave me the job. I also wish I knew how stupid he felt now.
I donāt like going to bed mid week. I canāt relax and I keep thinking about Cvs, conversations, situations from the day in my job. It feels like an annoying advert and I canāt skip though it, nor can I exit it. I have to watch it if I want to fall asleep eventually but I canāt control how long it is going to be. Stressed? I think so. Useless? Yes, actually.
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If itās both terrifying and amazing then you should pursue it.
Erada (via onlinecounsellingcollege)
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I havenāt tried to write anything in a million years. Probably because I am not very good at it. Why am I doing it now? Because I am alone.Ā
It does sound dramatic, even in my own ears. I am not sure why I said it. I am not an teenage orphan, I havenāt lost my family. They are all alive and well ( I hope so, at least). I have a boyfriend, who I know loves me truly. I have a few best friends, the kind that you can always count on, and I have a job which requires me to socialise with many people on daily basis. But it felt like the wordĀ āaloneā would fit. I still think it does.
Despite all being well nothing is great, really.Ā
To start with: I donāt even talk to my family. I havenāt heard from my mother in about two months. It was a sill remark on her side. Some overreaction on mine..and I am too proud and maybe a little too afraid to make the first move to get back in touch. We have always had a very difficult relationship and things arenāt easier now when I finally accepted myself for what she never did. And I mean for being me, obviously.. Now that I have Jack in my life I finally know what it is to be unconditionally loved by someone. The kind of love that you experience from you birth giver.. or so Iāve heard itās the way it should be. I wasnāt lucky enough to have that. My mum is more of the cold type. I know she loves me. I donāt need pity. I am old enough to understand that now. Took me over twenty years to see that my own mother was not a monster with no feelings. I began to believe that deep down my mum has a place for me in her stone cold heart. This post was never meant to be about her - but somehow I can easily see it turning into one. Iāll stop now before of little brain filled with my mummy issues starts dictating the story of how I have never been given hugs or kisses or bed time stories as a child, who cares anyway? I donāt, anymore.Ā
I said I donāt talk with my family. which is mostly true, except for the fact that my dad is trying to talk to me. I would put emphasis on the word trying by using bold text if I only knew how to do that. I am not so advanced at blogging yet. The reason why Iām highlighting the world ātryingā rather than doing so is because he doesnāt know how to communicate with his own children. He texted me earlier today that heāllĀ ācome at 6pmā. Three words. No explanation nor expanding on where heāll come, why and why again... was that his invitation to spend more time together or an announcement that he will pick me up from work and take shopping? I was left no choice but to get to his car at 1803. He was already waiting. There was the usual awkwardĀ āhelloā as I was fastening my followed by the uncomfortableĀ āhow are youā as I was pretending to look for my keys in my bag. There was also a long, embarrassing silence while he was pretending to have troubles getting us out of the car park. I am most certain he had a speech ready for me when he decided to force our meeting today. I am also sure that it all seemed stupid to him the moment he saw me. This is the way we are with my dad. We donāt talk because we canāt. We talked briefly about the weather and politics, but I know that he wanted to know our plans. Mine and Jackās. We are meant to move out in just over two weeks to Manchester. With no jobs. No flat to stay at. And no money.Ā
Obviously the original plan sounded much better. Ā We both agreed that this town is too small for us, too dull and that we need a change. He suggested Manchester and I agreed without thinking. I donāt need to think about it - Iād follow him to the end of the world. He finished his job earlier than it was first planned. Itās a sign, we thought. What a better chance are we waiting for? A week later I was sat on our double bed as he was packing his massive suitcases.Ā āWe will be together in the new flat sooner than we thinkā, we told each other. I was sad, but I trusted him this was a good idea. Itās thee weeks later now and I am still on the same bed, alone in this flat. Our love cave. Iām alone here with so many fears and no one to talk to right now. He still has not found a job. Itās only been three weeks and I am sure he will find something soon, but we have rushed the deadline of moving out date! My family are asking questions, they think itās stupid that we want to move so far away. They take it personally and think that heās manipulating me... Ā I know they are worried about me - I know, but so am I, I need them to support me for once in my life.
I canāt even talk to Jack. I tried Ā ti tell him how i feel but he stopped replying. If I tell him that Iām scared he will probably get angry at me. Does he think I blame him for us not having it all yet? I canāt even ask. He keeps saying trust me. Believe in me. We will be okay. And he wants me to move out in two weeks, quit my job...Ā
I need him to understand that what he says now is impossible. I canāt just leave everything when I have no where to go! Without a place to stay at... We canāt all live in one room with his little brother in a student accommodation. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? I cannot turn to my parents who already think that all my life choices are wrong. They are only waiting for me to admit that I am a failure. I cannot speak to my friends, because they see me as the successful one: independent, happy, with good job, in a great relationship. And donāt get me wrong, all these things are true, but I canāt show that I am also a human, a weak one to be precise and I am scared. Talking to colleagues is also not an option. Even though we have became quite good friends in the recent months I canāt mention my current problems because no one knows that I am planning on leaving work soon. I donāt even know if I am?Ā
I canāt stop myself from checking if he has messaged me. I keep squeezing my poor, old iphone and my hands are turning blue. Iām trying to send him telepathic signals to comfort me. To tell me exactly what I need to hear. He does it so often that I am almost convinced he can read my mind. I need Jack to tell me that we are okay, and that I donāt need to move out so soon. I donāt want to rush it. Itās scaring me to death that he wants me to pack up my mess in a huge suitcase and begin my northern life in only two weeks! I need some sense of security, and the promise ofĀ āwe will work it out, babyā as romantic as it is, does not make the Ā sleep at night very easy. I am scared. I think itās okay to be scared. He expects me to be mentally homeless for now. I mean that I have the moving out date but I have no moving in date. And there is no sign that there will be a moving in date very soon. And itās not his fault. I just wish he understood that after my fucked up childhood itās hard for me to be so spontaneous as he is right now. I donāt have the experience of things just working out for me easily. Nothing ever comes to me with ease. I was not born under the lucky star as we say in my mother land. I need to work for everything. Jack and I are from completely different universes. And before we have met weāve had different lives. I am not assuming his was easy, all I am saying is that my life was brutal to me.
I cry a lot these days. I am constantly scared. Ā I feel like I am shrinking again. Like I am not good enough. And it is not something I like to talk about. I donāt like being seen as weak. I have been typing for at least an hour now and my tears have dried. I feel a slight relief. There is something very therapeutic about wording your thoughts. Itās been a difficult hour, thatās something I am not able to deny. If practice doesāt make perfect, hereās me hoping that it will make me better at writing and expressing myself. I feel like I will soon come back here as I am alone a lot lately.Ā
Bella
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