Women & Dating: Love is Blind…

Dating, Love, Uncategorized, Woman, women

Someone once told me that I am a walking, breathing example of the phrase Love is blind.You have such amazing intuition, you give really good advice and you can read people better than anyone I know

What’s your point?” I asked. “Then why when you fall in love does all of this go to shit?!”

I gave that some thought and realised that he was 100% right. It’s not love that’s blind, it’s quite simply that love blinds me.

It makes me tolerable of things I would otherwise deem unacceptable. It makes me stay around for a lot longer than I normally would and it definitely makes me fight FOR things I would usually fight ABOUT.

So it’s not surprising that I found myself in this exact situation not too long ago, where I thought I might have fallen in love, the fact was I didn’t, but I could have.

I somehow always knew from the beginning that this was a circus and he was the ring leader;  waving around so many red flags I had to be blind NOT to see it.

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In hindsight, I’m glad I blocked myself off to those red flags because it allowed me to just go with the flow and experience it for what it was…a lesson…another blady lesson. And quite frankly, if this was indeed a circus, I was only here for the kissing booth anyway….

But wait, I digress…he allowed me to be vulnerable, even though I resisted. It was something I haven’t allowed myself to be in a very long time. I needed him, it, all of it, and I needed to be blind to see that.

So when it ended and I finally snapped out of the love spell I was under, I realised that he had a pattern and it will always be the same with him and whoever he chooses next and because of this; he will most likely never be happy, at least not in the way he expects to.

This made it a lot easier to stay away from him when things ended. It made it easier letting go of the illusion. I cried though, a little {okay that’s a lie, a lot} and I’d be lying if I said it was easy knowing he was with someone new {so soon after me}; speaking to her the way he spoke to me, looking at her the way he looked at me. But it helped and for almost 8 weeks I never saw him, spoke to him, texted him…until a few days ago.

My eyes really do enjoying looking at him. But this time I’m seeing everything. Like how he seems all over the place yet nowhere in particular. How he imagines situations that he believes will make him happy, when all along he was all he ever needed.

How he doesn’t see this is beyond me.  How he doesn’t realise how amazing he is…so amazing that he actually doesn’t need anyone’s validation.

He told his sister “She doesn’t even need me. I don’t feel that she needs me, I feel like I’m not good enough for her. She really doesn’t need anyone”.

If only he knew that everything he was was exactly what I needed. And how I would love to tell him every single thing he meant to me since the moment we met, how what I needed wasn’t what he was used to; girls needing things like parties, weekends away, lifts, gifts.

If I was the epitome of “love is blind” then he was the epitome of  “when you’re hurting, you should be healing not dating” and a host of other clichès as well.  But he’s never healed, and so he’s never learnt.

I love knowing that he was all I needed, not his things, not what he had…just him. In my blindness I was fine with being “just another one” to him, because in this story he wasn’t “just another one” to me…I needed him, and he’ll never know it, because I will never tell him.

He’s changed me. In fact he said this “look at what I did to you…” to which I replied “what? made me soft?” …he smiled and gave me that look that would usually result in our clothes being ripped off. But alas. {we’re friends now, and friends don’t do that…apparently}

But he has, he’s made it okay for me to be softer, kinder and more affectionate. I’m still the alpha though, let’s not get that twisted. But I am more open about my feelings, wants and my needs. His touch made me want to be touched. And the way he spoke to me; he’s made me realize that if no one ever speaks to me that way again I will miss it, because I loved it. But mostly I love how he’s changed the way I think about men and how I need to treat them too.

Honesty was always what we found most refreshing about the other, so when that honesty was used to end things, it made it okay…besides, I could never be angry with this man, never.

So I would love nothing more than to tell him these things you know, and I will. But the words never seem to make their way out my mouth. And even though I never say it, I know he sees it on my face. He says “your emotions sit right there you know, I can see it” and even when I lie and try to dismiss things and emotions he says “You are such a bad liar!”

***I couldn’t hide it even if I tried ***

My blinkers might be off, but knowing that I love him without being in love with him {this is still debatable though} shifts me into a whole new place in his life and him in mine. A place we both seem to enjoy. A place where I really hope we can stay.

We will never be together romantically again, I have no intention of going blind again, and being in his life as his friend seems to be the reason we found each other. Because I think he might also be blind…and perhaps my role is remove his blinkers so that he can see how amazing he is and that if he just stops chasing the idea of love, it will eventually make its way to him…the way I did.

 

 

 

 

 

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Love & Relationships: You’ll be amazed what you find when you’re not looking ♥

Dating, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized, Woman, women

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He found me, after our world’s have lived in parallel for what seems like forever. The universe finally thought it was the right time.

Now he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room. He does this all the time. He’s done this since the first day we saw each other. I find myself doing the same.

He speaks to me as though he’s been waiting his entire life to tell me his stories. He’s done this since the first moment he introduced himself to me. I find myself doing the same.

He holds my hand in a way that feels like should he ever let go I would fall, and should i ever let go so would he.

He kisses me as if it’s my air that fuels his lungs, in a way that should my lips never meet his again he’d suffocate and die.

He listens to me so attentively it’s as though his favourite song rolls right off  my tongue. Memorizing every word.

And his voice; I would do anything to hear it, every single day.

I must have done something right in my life to be given everything I have ever asked for; wrapped up in one beautiful human being who wants nothing more from me but to love him.

So if I ever thought I was in love before {and boy did I ever think that} I couldn’t have been more was wrong, because nothing, in my entire life, ever felt like this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love & Its Inevitable Ending: Death

Death, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized

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He knew I could never live in a world where he doesn’t exist. 

I grieved him and us and what we had while he was still alive. I mourned the loss of our life and our love for almost three years. It was difficult but I always knew he was out there somewhere, walking around, laughing, dancing, living. But that’s all changed now.

I started this blog in an attempt to try and write him out of me, to try and write the words I was unable to speak, to tell the stories I could never tell. All in the hopes that one day it can finally be over. That I can finally stop loving him, stop hating him, stop feeling him.

114 posts; more than half about him; the man I loved more than life itself, the man who loved me, hated me and broke me. Gosh, he loved me. Sometimes I knew it, other times I questioned it.

114 posts about love {having love, losing love, thinking I’d found love to actually falling in love again}.

114 posts about heartbreak, pain, sadness, the inevitable healing and moving forward.  and the things I did to forget him. Trying in vane. Always. Because he knew I belonged to him and I knew it too.

114 posts about learning to live without him and they have to end today. They have to end today because he died. The love of my life, the man that changed my world, the man who owned my heart even thought he broke it several times over, he is dead.

His heart stopped beating Friday the third of March 2017 at some ungodly hour in the middle of the night in an area far away from where he and I shared a life, a home. Friday the third of March was when his life ended {taken}. His last breath drawn {taken}. He left. Me.

“23 Nov – We never even said goodbye to one another, baby we gonna be apart forever”

I have tried to be okay. Even answering the questions “are you okay” with a “yes”. Mostly lies because I’m not. I dream about him every night, he’s banging on my windows screaming my name, screaming for me to help him. But I can’t. I couldn’t. It wasn’t my job anymore. It was hers. She never did her job.

So I’m stuck with these questions in my head all day. Why was he there, why did he lie to her, why was he without her, why did he leave without his things, why was he in the street, what did he say to them when they approached him, did he scream for help? Did he try and fight back? Did he know he needed help.Why was there no one to help him? Because he never needed it that’s why! He was strong, and fit, he never needed help until that night. And no one was there.

I spoke with him briefly the Thursday, some time between 5 & 5h30pm, we laughed, he quoted Riel Prophets’ song “ChillinLike A Villain”. He loved rap music, hip hop…I never knew that would be last time I’d hear from him. I replied with a laughing face emoji and the words “I’m glad” …my last words to him was “I’m glad” because I was. He seemed up beat and relaxed. Staying out of trouble. I wanted to believe him. {Believe. The word tattoo’d on his arm, his motto, Believe} I wanted to. But that was the last time I will ever hear from him. Of him yes, the day I got the news I “heard of him” again. “They found his body” …”He’s dead” it said. But not from him. I heard of him. Because he is dead.

We always spoke about who would die first {I always believed I would because cancer runs in our family} and we spoke about who would tell the other about it. I told him I would feel it, the day he no longer breathes, but I didn’t, I felt nothing at all. I woke up that Friday, went to work, wrote my 114th post, mostly about him; again, and went on my merry way. In fact, I still spoke about him that Friday night, I said “I would have done anything to be with him, and I did, I did it for us, and love” I did everything. Everything I could, except be there when he needed me. When he died.

We never thought he would actually die, he was immortal you know {his words}, he was my superman {my words}. The one that protected me and also the one who I ended up needing protection from.

I woke up that Sunday, that’s when I got the news. That’s when I heard of him. I dropped my phone and started shaking. Crying. That was how I knew I would feel. Like my heart is breaking all over again, shattering into a million pieces. My already broken heart, breaking even further. He knew I could never live in a world where he doesn’t exist. He died anyway.

How did it feel to lose him? Like every goodbye ever said to me, all at once.

All. At. Once.

114 posts. And this, is my last one.

 

 

 

Love & Personality: Touch my heart but don’t touch me

Dating, Love, Uncategorized

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Love is not complicated, people are.

It’s kind of difficult though when the one thing you need in life is something you don’t want. Or at least, not something you want from the one who loves you.

Don’t get me wrong; I am all about massages, head rubs, playing with my finger tips {yes, that is a thing} but yet, it’s the affectionate touches that seemingly bothers me the most.

Oddly enough there were moments where touch was extremely important to me…for me to {want to}touch him and to {want to} be touched by him. These were the times I was in love, with him. Like utterly, soul shakingly, eye blindingly in love. These are the times I would remember. And these are the times that has created the basis for every other touch.

I remember times as I lied beneath him I’d feel him start at my ankle, slowly stroking my my calf with his fingers, my thigh, groping my butt {as if to say “this here, this belongs to me..and it did}. He’d make his way up from the small of my back, squeezing my shoulder before he’d stroke the entire length of my arm eventually landing his palm into mine…he’d gaze up, into my eyes and look at me with what felt like bewilderment for what he’s seeing, for what he had just felt; physically, emotionally…holding my hand with every part of our bodies touching each others’…that, that was touching.

He  was able to touch my body, my mind, my heart…because I wanted him to, because I was in love with him, and because of that I needed him to feel it, to feel that love, to feel my body that I gave to him.

Love was beautiful, I miss it though. I miss the anticipation, the electricity {literally; when we’d touch we’d shock} the corner of the mouth smile when our eyes meet from across the room, I miss the want but most importantly I miss the self I become when I am in love. Different. Who I am supposed to be.

Softer, rounded edges. More gentle, caring. But I’m also possessive, obsessive, jealous and paranoid. Until I have unlearned the latter, I cannot be the former and I cannot enjoy the touches and everything that accompanies it that I so deeply desire.

So for now, I will continue to seek other ways of receiving and demonstrating my emotions…but mostly, I wait for the day that my eyes look at another the way they looked at him, before I even knew exactly what he was going to be. Mine. Forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love & Relationships; Space & Time

Dating, Love, Relationships, sex, Uncategorized, Woman, women

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Sometimes I have to re read my words, the words that my heart spoke during a very difficult time in my life. I re read them to remember how far I have come and to remind myself to never ever go back there.

I remember so much sadness. I wish I could forget that feeling. The emptiness, the despair.

I remember how lost I was and I remember the things I did to try and find my way back to myself again. It seemed in vain. But I tried.

The things I did to make myself “feel” better when in actual fact I couldn’t feel anything at all. But I tried.

I remember hoping & praying that one day I would be able to be okay again, myself again. I remember hoping & praying to heal, so that one day when he comes along I can be whole and happy and not allow my past to hurt my present. My gift, the gift i hoped for. A feeling out of the brokenness.

Sometimes I forget to remember, those are the days I smile. Laugh. The days I forget to remember, those are the best ones.

I never used to laugh much, but I remember being happy; but I also never used to cry as much as I did. I remember each tear, like a lover lost; fading the further it went.

I liked laughing. It was better that crying. I found my laughter again, and it’s been a while since I cried, until a few nights ago, until he made me cry again. The one that gave me that feeling. The one I hoped for. He made me cry.

Crying because I couldn’t understand how you could say to someone “I think we need space” when space is all we ever had? So callously. So carefree. So inconsiderate.

And no matter how many times I tried to close that space, he found equal and more powerful ways of reinstating it. Again, I tried.

How do you tell someone “I think we need space” when that is all you have ever given them, because you knew they needed it, and they needed time; time to understand that not all women are the same, time to understand that maybe I won’t do what she did, time to understand that it could be different. Time to heal the same hurts I have. I tried. He never did. And seemingly never will.

He doesn’t get to say that. Space and time was all I ever gave him because I thought that’s what he needed.

Until it became clear that that was what he wanted.

 

 

 

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.

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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.

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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.