Dating & Relationships: Words Worth Writing

Break Ups, Dating, Love, Relationships, Uncategorized

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Each time I write, the words splash pieces of myself into a place where anyone can touch them. And when I realized I wasn’t driven to pen & paper each time we were together, my heart knew it wasn’t worth it.

I think about everyone I have ever written about, the emotions tied to every word. The memory linked to each sentence. The feeling each paragraph reminds me of. I’ve been a bucket of emotions for as long as I can remember {…pity no one else knows this about me}.

Sometimes I go back to reread my very own history when I feel the memories slipping away. Sometimes I cry, other times I smile. But no matter what the emotional response, at least there are ones. With him, there was nothing, nothing worth writing about, nothing I wanted to remember, nothing worth remembering to be honest. Except that I now know that the words I love you mean nothing if not backed up by action. That three words can get cold real fast.

Why did I even let it go on this long, four and half month of being his girlfriend when I never missed him when we were apart. Never longed for his smell and touch and the sound of his laughter…never had the sense of anticipation for our next time together erupt out of me and land on my face as blushed cheeks and permanent smiles. Never did the urge to want to be next to him, to touch him, to hold his hand ever envelope me the same way I wanted his body to.

I knew this from the beginning though, that I felt nothing for him. I never did. Not in all the years we knew each other, he was never on my radar; what he turned out to be was a rebound. I never wanted to admit it, but that’s all he was. I literally needed to drink every time we were together, being sober around him was excruciating. I knew the longer it continued the more i would lose pieces of myself, and not in my words, on these pieces of digital paper…but I’d lose myself completely trying.

Be with someone worth writing about. Be with someone who makes you smile. Be with someone who’s actions don’t require the constant and sometime premature “I love you’s”…but most importantly, just be with someone you can be yourself with, your best self, the person you want to be because of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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. I t 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 heard 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.} 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. “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”

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. 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.

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 this one the way they looked at him, before I even knew exactly what he was going to be. Mine. Forever.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dating & Relationships: The First Fight {Not Fist Fight}

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

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Saying “I’m not like other women” is so cliche. Because the fact is, I am.

I’m such a typical woman it’s actually scary and I hate to admit {so I never will} but hey…I want what we all want out of a relationship; a partner, a lover, a confidant…*a big dick* I want time and affection and to be showered with gifts and adoration *a big dick* I want romance, dinner dates, picnics in the forest *a big dick*. I want support, stability and consistency *a big dick* I want it all.

So why then do I claim to “not be like other women”. Because the truth is, I’m not.

The “broken hearts club” is the most UNexclusive club in the world..not just the city, not just the country, not just the continent BUT the whole world.

But my journey that lead to my heart break & honorary member of said BHC {Broken Hearts Club} has now laid an entirely new foundation for any relationship I choose to enter. A new point where my “fuck this and fuck off” point has shifted to.

Is this fair though? No matter how many times I have said that I never want my ex to be a factor, and the fact is even though he physically won’t it is what he did to me that will and how that experienced changed me that will. And yes it’s not fair, but it is a reality. One that I have to deal with.

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One that I have had to deal with this weekend past where an eerily familiar feeling hit me, a feeling that used to be normal for me, a feeling I always said I never want to feel again…during an interaction with new BF I experienced for the first time since my ex such an utter lack of respect and disregard for me that, at first, I was shocked & stunned, like “what the fuck just happened” “does he know who he is speaking to” {I got visions of an aunty in the street with rollers in her hair doing wild and dramatic hand and head gestures} and through those visions my “fuck this and fuck off” got switched back on.

I ended it. That night. Done. Told him as such. He never took it well because he never expected it. {Oddly enough the root cause of the issue was HIS expectations of a frolicking-at-sunset-on-the-beach type romance, highly unrealistic, I mean, just read my bio…little did he know that I too had AND subsequently let go of my own expectations to give this an actual chance…see previous post Women & Relationships: When expectations become the executioner of your butterflies }

But what I wasn’t expecting was to feel that bad about it. He is a good guy and I have said this before…it was out of character {at least according to him although I have seen snippets of it before}…so I took a step back, agreed to hear him out one last time, I eventually accepted his apology. And now, things are seemingly okay.

This was not shock tactics, although I think it is what he needed.

I’m not saying I’m the greatest thing since sliced bread {although I really am} but I am somewhat super cool, I have good hair and a great sense of humour {these are frivolous things and in no means grounds to rate myself 10 out of 10, although I’m going to anyway}.

Yes, I am fucken great and he simply needs to work harder…and I might just adjust my fuck this and fuck off switch…{compromise, so grown up of me}

…..months later….I should have listened to my gut….she’s never failed me before

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.