Love & Heartache: My X, Y?

Break Ups, Cheating, Relationships, Uncategorized

wordpress_10 steps back

This week was the first time that I saw a photograph of him and her together, it’s been 3 years and this was the first time. I saw it once before however, but that was at a “work event’, little did I know that it had already started back then. It’s not like I went looking for it, it appeared on my TL. I never asked for it, I never even realized what it was in the beginning. Something told me to ignore it, but instead, I chose not to. I wanted them to know I know, I wanted everyone else to know my damn name.

I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Anger.  Lots of anger. Lots. I wanted to rip his throat out and throw it at her. I wanted the earth to swallow them and take them away and hopefully with it all my feelings too.

My feelings for him. My sadness, anger, pain and despair. Why the fuck do I still love him?! Why do I convince myself that I don’t?!

Am I officially insane? This man wanted to kill me for God’s sake.

Why does seeing them together hurt me so badly?

Why do I still feel so angry and filled with rage?

Why can I just not let them be?

It’s because he lied. It’s because he cheated on me, with her. It’s because he lied. It’s because she answered his phone when I called him. It’s because he lied about her. It’s because when I asked her about I’m she said “jou pa se p&o$” as if she knew my father…as if she had a right to be angry at me…as if me asking if she’s sleeping with my boyfriend gave HER the right to be angry at me. It’s because she didn’t know me. She knew about me, from the lies he told. It’s because she didn’t know she was the other woman. It’s because he lied.He lied. To me. All the time.

Seeing that photo has taken me ten steps backwards, I’m feeling the same way this week that I did 3 years ago. The sadness, crying, headaches, insomnia; it’s all back. The pressure, tension and anxiety. The mood swings. They’re all back. Like a fucking reunion of my mixed messed up emotions.

I hate him again for doing this to me, but then I hate myself again for allowing it.

I was trying really hard, to get better. I really was. I even tried to fall in love again, I even tried to convince myself that I was. I wish I could be, that is the only way I won’t love him anymore, is if I love someone else, but I don’t want to love someone else just to stop loving him, because that’s not fair either. But I feel nothing. This is why I do what I do; in an attempt to feel something. It never works.

So I’m going to be stuck in this limbo for a while and it hurts me every day while I’m here, but I don’t know where else to go.

*The way I loved him was some kind of powerful, I’d give anything to feel that way again, but I’d give everything to feel this kind of pain again…not ever. Not ever again


Women & Heartache: My three year anni{misery}

Break Ups, Dating, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized

I knew that some day when I’d eventually meet someone new that he would know; not because he was told but because he’d be able to feel it; that he would be able to feel my love for him fading and eventually dying.

wall of love_wordpress

We always knew each other so well, he knew every smile, every eye roll, every “it’s fine” when it wasn’t because he made it that way. We’d start speaking at the same time {and it would always be about the same thing}. Our bodies mirrored each other the same way our minds did.

There was a time when we were perfect for each other, but that time was short lived.

It’s officially been three years and one day since the fateful end of our relationship. The timeline of our demise has become somewhat blurry but I believe we died the day he decided to give me my very first blue eye. Three years has since passed since I felt the sting of that man’s hand against my face. Three years since the day he put his hands around my neck and suffocated me. Three years since he literally wanted to kill me. Some would say it’s been long enough for me to be okay by now, for some to question why it still hurts this badly; those people clearly have never known heartache the way I have at the hand of someone they loved, I pray for their sakes they never do. There’s been many things since that “three years” but what it all comes down to is heart ache, heart break, heart wrenching & heart gutting anguish and turmoil and every other adjective to describe the falling & breaking of a woman…to a pit so deep that the light at the end of that tunnel is no where to be seen.

You see heartache is no joke, it is not something to be taken lightly, it is not something you simply “get over” or “move on” from. No…heartache is a disease that has no cure, something no doctor can medicate. There is no magic pill for this kind of shit, and so you deal with the shit in the best way you know how. I have, whether it has worked or not remains to be seen but what I can say is that the fear of having my heart ripped open again has been the sole reason for the erection of these walls {I just said erection, hahaha}; these walls that not only prevent anyone from coming close enough to hurt me, but seemingly also prevents anyone from coming close enough to make me happy. And happiness could be the very cure that I so desperately need.

A friend of his always said “the two of you have such a strong chemistry that it borders both passion and insanity”, he’d say “julle is so lief vir mekaar dat dit julle mal maak” {you guys love each other so much that it literally drives you crazy}.

I remember telling him after the break up that I wish to never speak of him again, to never have to say his name, to never have to hear it being spoken in my company…but in that same breath I also asked him “tell me how do I explain to someone what I am without doing that? How do I tell my story without sharing yours, and ours?”

The simple answer is I won’t ever have to because the right man won’t need me to explain. The pain and torment I experienced at his hand will eventually be erased by the gentleness of another’s. The words he uttered to me, will be erased by the kind words spoken off the lips of another. One day there will be another who will come to live in my heart when it’s ready to open it’s door.

So who is this “other” you may wonder; well this is what it’s been about of late; the battle of the two; the one who instantaneously broke down my walls from the day we met, the one who when I see him literally makes my heart skip a beat, taking my breath away, the one whom I just can’t seem to stay away from…yet I manage to do just that

*because then there’s The Architect, who just so happens to be someone worth writing about

**but that’s a story for another day

***happy anni{misery} & a day, to me



Breakups & Heartache: Band aids don’t fix bullet holes

Break Ups, Dating, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized

I needed to access my Google drive recently, something I don’t do often, so to my surprise, shock and horror I came across old texts between my ex and I during our three month break up period.

At that point I should have clicked “delete” but I did not. Instead I chose to read, rehash and as such relive a very traumatic, heart breaking and horrible time in my life.


These texts, they were normal for the two of us, the way we spoke to each other lacked any form of dignity and respect. I was always in defense and he was always on attack. With every sentence I re-experience the tears, they fall out of memory not because they hurt me; every tear links to a memory that links to a word spoken and it’s dark and filled with so much hatred. You’d think after two years they’d fade? They don’t. After the thousands of words I have chosen to use in my attempt to write him and the memory of him out of me. The strength of those memories cause an automated response; tears, despair and a feeling of intense loneliness and sadness. The nausea comes back too, the pit in my stomach, the headaches, eye twitches. And then the confusion shows up. Who the fuck is this woman that begged and pleaded with a man to stop calling her “whore”? Why did this woman, who so clearly wanted peace, continue to fight? Why would this woman, who clearly loved this man, not see that he was no longer the man she fell in love with?

I read each one, I see the pattern, I notice the general trend of “crazy” that laces each and every word we spoke. We go from “I hate you” to “I am not coping without you” to “I love you” to “Go fuck yourself” to “Have you had breakfast yet?” How exhausting right?

I take a moment to wipe away my tears that have now drenched my cheeks, neck and t-shirt and say “take five deep breathes baby and do not allow those insecurities that once ruled your life to come back.” I give myself that pep talk “he is not worth it, pull your shit together. Nothing that he said was true. All he wanted to do was hurt you the way he believed you hurt him. That is no longer your life. That is no longer your reality. You are no longer that woman and he is no longer than man; he is no longer your man and you do not have to continue fighting. It’s over. This, is over. And you are okay”

Our relationship was over long before it ended. Yet my love for this man continues long after. I know I am no longer in love with him. I forgot how he likes his coffee. I forgot the sound he makes mid-sentence when he talks. I forgot how he’d pull me closer at night while we slept, placing his legs over mine as if to say “I’ll protect you” but actually it was more of a possessive tendency than a protection thing. I forgot the way he looked at me and it made me feel like the only person in the room. I forgot how he used to be too scared to hold my hand because he knew personal space was a big issue for me. I’m scared that one day I will forget what it was like to love him. When will I forget the sadness, the horror and the pain that he brought. Why do I forget the good, when the bad still lingers so close behind?

So as I take my final deep breath I say to myself “I’m sorry baby, because of my fears you continued to suffer, I caused you this pain because I couldn’t face the reality of starting over, again. I hurt you, and I am sorry.”

And because I apologized to myself I am now also able to forgive myself; a little every day.

*And that, if anything, is all I really need right now.

Women & Relationships: When you’re living dead

Abuse, Break Ups, Cheating, Death, Love, Relationships, Sister, Uncategorized, Woman, women

After the break up two years ago I found myself doing something I’d never thought I’d do again so soon. Grieving.  The death of my relationship, but most importantly the death of me, the person I was before him.

You see, an abusive relationship kills you, figuratively and more often in some cases, literally. In my case it was the latter; my eyes were open, there was air moving in and out of my lungs, but there was no life inside of me. Inside, I was as good as dead.

wordpress_living dead

In the notebooks I found recently I can trace back the first violent incident to August 2011. He threw a plate at me for going out with colleagues after a work function. I can trace back the first lie to the very day we met again in April 2009 when I asked him “who’s car is this” because I knew what car he drove, and the one I saw that night was not it. “It’s my mechanic’s” he replied.  It wasn’t and I later found out that it was the woman he was living with, the women who called him her boyfriend…his girlfriend! It was her car! And I was in it. {Funnily enough, the mother of his child told me many times how he would come pick her up in my car and go out on dates, I never believed her because he always said she was lying…that’s karma for you}

Fast forward to May 2014…the day I told him to please leave, once and for all, and for the last time.  And so it started, as though what had been going on for the past few years wasn’t enough.

I spent each day after that last day in denial {yes, I hoped he would come back, and say he’s sorry…again} the pain, anguish. The anger and sadness overwhelmed me. I spent most mornings driving to work in tears and most night’s awake suffering from insomnia. Even when I could manage a few hours of sleep they too were tainted with nightmares, night sweats, heart palpitations & restlessness. My breakdowns were so severe, I couldn’t move, talk, and think…I was numb.

I never recognized this person, when I looked in the mirror or caught a reflection of what I had become. 2014 was a horrible year. I couldn’t let anyone see me like this, so I stayed away from everyone. The lies I told, oh my word the lies. All the “I’m fine’s” and the “It’s okay’s” and the “I’m busy I can’t make it’s”.  I was so good at it. Or so I thought,

My daughter, she suffered while I suffered. I couldn’t help myself so she tried, but was only 7 years old, it was never her job. I hope she knew it was never her, I tell her that now. She believes me. She says she’s happy to have her mommy back. I wish I could say the same because the person that came back is not who I was, I am not sure who she is quite yet…but I do believe she is getting better. My daughter say I smile a lot more, I laugh a lot more too.

But there is still so much anger inside of me. I feel it when comments are made that brings back a memory or two. In fact, just yesterday I got told in the most condescending tone of voice I have ever heard directed at me…“Look here, I know YOU  went through a bad time in YOUR relationship, but I …I actually give a damn about mine” And this was my sister. Hearing those words hurt me, it was unexpected and caught me completely off guard. All I asked was if she wanted to come with me to the food market on Sunday, but her finace is going to rehab because he is apparently a drug addict, yet she chooses to shout at me instead of leaving him… and I lost my shit and told her as such.

No one has the right to assume what it was I went through, what that “bad time” was like. No one has the right to talk about it in my absence or reference it in my presence unless I brought it up. This never happens, because I can’t ever bring myself to start telling someone my story. I try, so I share pieces of it, bordering on headings and summaries…and I wish I could, I wish I could see someone’s face as they hear what I have to say. So I can see the horror in their eyes, because that is what it was, it was horrible. It was absolutely horrible.

I cried last night. I cry often these days, as it leads up to the anniversary of the death of me, us, and him…the tears serve as a reminder. I don’t like these memories anymore but I know they won’t go away until I make new ones, with someone who is not him. With someone who’s love won’t hurt me. With someone who I am not scared of. With someone. Else.

And right there is where I find myself, stuck, because it’s kind of hard to live let alone love, when you’re dead.

Relationships & Break Ups: Fear of love

Abuse, Break Ups, Cheating, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized, Woman, women


There are days that go by where the memories of him are non-existent. Only days though, never longer than days.

A sudden noise or even a sudden movement is enough to frighten me. I’ve never been a jumpy or anxious person. I was fearless and strong. Before, the only thing that used to scare me was horror movies, you know, those Nightmare on Elm Street type creepy music and death movies. The fear of being pulled under the couch by a gremlin was the only thing that caused panic. Oh how I wish for those fears to return, the fictitious, senseless and totally unnecessary ones.

Not like the fear he has placed inside of me, no, those are very real. They never left me when he did. They linger. The fear of being hurt, physically. The fear of being disregarded, disrespected, the fear of loving a man who won’t love me back. The fear of rejection.

I handle pain very well, I think that’s why so many times he would get super upset, because I never reacted to the pain he was inflicting or trying to inflict. I wouldn’t cry. Scream. I’d look at him, with nothing but love and confusion in my eyes, all the while he looked at me with hate.

I would make my body numb. I could always feel the sting, the throbbing, but nothing more than that. I’d even see blood, but no pain at the source of the bleeding. I have one scar left, i don’t even remember it hurting anymore. I don’t remember him hurting me anymore.

I might have survived, but he’s the one that killed me. From the inside. And so the constant need to be numb eventually became permanent.

That’s when everything stopped working.

I’ve said the words “I hate you” so much so that hatred infected me. Hatred filled every part of my being. I still have communication saved between the two of us, and I read it, again, and the way i sound, the words I used, no one should ever sound like that. No one should ever have to say those words. No one should ever have to fight for their own dignity yet at the same time be forced to do things that rid them of that very thing. But I did. And it was him that made me do it.

I ended it, over and over again. I asked him to leave. But I would wish for him to come back as soon as he had gone. The cycle was vicious. And dangerous. When he returned it would start again eventually, the torment, pain, abuse. He continued even though he had already found someone new. He wouldn’t let me go even though he had already left.

He took from me things that were not his to take. Things I never thought could be taken. My pride, self-worth, self-respect of all he took my heart with him. It beats only to keep me alive, even though I’ve died inside many years ago.

It was over before it was over. My heart broke before he broke  it. I always believed I would never be able to feel the things a woman needs to feel again. Love, mostly love. Love is what I miss the most. More than I missed him on the days that I missed him so much I thought I was going to die.

I miss love more than I miss him. Because he was not love, and he did not deserve my love. And so now I wait, for the one that does. Because he is here. And he has found me. And I am wishing that the fear will die with his memory, because it still lingers, keeping me away from the one thing that could heal me, love.


Relationships & Break Ups: How long can you live without love?

Abuse, Break Ups, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized, Woman, women


It’s been 48 days since I heard his voice. About 60 days since I last saw his face. And an eternity since I last uttered the words “I love you”. It’s been getting easier though, to not think about him, to not miss his touch, his voice, his face. What hasn’t been getting easier though is knowing I may never say those words again. I love you.

What i did say, is goodbye, to him, the last day of 2015 and every day since then has been a battle to stay away from another hello.  He will always be the one, the one who changed me. The one who made me fearful. The one who scared me away from love. However, he will also always be the one that holds my strongest memories, the good in him, the good memories, I pray that one day they will eventually overshadow the dark ones, and the darkness in him.

There have been moments that made and continue to make me think of him. Simple things like food I eat that I know he loves {loved}, places I drive past that we used to go to {that he still goes to}, random things I see. These things remind me of him and the urges to tell him about them, share the memory with him and remember when it was good so hopefully the bad can finally go away overpowers me. But this is typical behaviour of someone left in the after match of a narcissist. The need for contact. The idea that I can be nothing without him. It’s terrible. It’s difficult to break free from.

Coming out of a relationship with a narcissist unscathed is unheard of, and I am no exception. The time it takes to rebuild yourself seems to go on forever. The time it will take them to finally leave you alone {that only happens when they have replaced you} and whether this is solace I cannot say. Knowing he may be doing to another woman what he did to me is unnerving, and it drove me insane when the new one came along, it did. I didn’t know if me warning her was a way to save her or destroy him. Wanting to end their relationship so he could be alone, as alone as I was. She never listened. He never will. But you what does console me? That he no longer does it to me. The phone calls stopped. The messages stopped. Looking for me, has stopped.

It’s been a little over two years that I have been “free”. Doing things to help me rid my heart and head of the memory of him. Things that may, or may not, have been best for me. They worked, as much as they could.  But what was being “free” yet still being trapped?

I’ve recently written about how I’m getting better. How I feel healing is finally taking place and how I am getting to the point where moving on is actually a prospective thing. This happens to co-inside with the meeting of someone, someone who, without reason seems to be the reason, my reason.

I really don’t know what this means for me {or this someone} but I know one thing it doesn’t; fear. I am no longer afraid of love.  Of falling in love. Of being in love. What scares me now is the idea of having to live another two years without  hearing someone tell me “I love you” and without me ever saying “I love you too”.

Women & Weight: Dear John {alcohol} S1. Epi.1

alcohol, Break Ups, sex, Uncategorized, weight loss, Woman


There has never been a long enough period that I recall not drinking some sort of alcoholic beverage in the week, mostly over a weekend. Sometimes we’d try our luck and see how far we can push it and still function the next day. Sometimes I ended up not going to work. On the back of a motorbike. In a pool in the middle of the night. Naked. You know, the usual.

So it shocked me that at some point during last week, while discussing the merits of a healthy lifestyle with The Architect, that I willingly placed myself back on an eating plan that worked rather well for me a few years back. I think it was a way to show him that I can commit to something, even though it isn’t a man, it‘s at least something.

The catch…this plan requires the complete abstinence from alcohol for at least 4 weeks {ideally 6}. That’s a long time! 28 Days. It’s like the rehab program that alcoholics have to go to. It’s feels like “the break” couples take before they’re about to break up. Oh god this feels like a break up! Are we gonna have the talk? I hate “the talk”.

I’m anxious, sad, moody…what am I going to do with out you {alcohol}, who will keep me company on a weekend, who will listen to me, who will be my shoulder {bottle} to cry on…who will love me for the ridiculously crazy soul that I am??

Then the begging starts “Don’t leave me please!” “Please!!!!!!!!!”

But whoa, hold up, I’m the one that’s leaving. It’s not you, it’s me….wait, it is you too…you’re so bad for me. You make me do bad things.  You give me bad urges. You give me bad memories, sometimes no memories at all.

I love you, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t like you very much right now. So we need a break. I need some me time. It’s not forever, we’ll see each other again when I am in a better place and I can take this relationship seriously.

I’ll miss you. I’ll think about you. I’ll dream about you, every night.

Good bye my love {alcohol}, goodbye.

*ME: let me Google things that don’t involve alcohol…and switch off my phone…and take a sleeping pill…and crawl under the blankets and hide till March!