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.


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.

Relationships & Moving On: The time is now


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Without even realising it the more I healed and worked through my issues the better my behaviour has gotten. The more I dealt with what was bothering me and being open about it the less it affected my behaviour. Internalising and withholding has caused me so much trouble; because it all comes out eventually, like an erupting volcano.

I always knew it wasn’t who I am, the behaviour patterns that have been present since he left. A few people would point it out, but most of them never knew the real me so they couldn’t see it. They couldn’t see what I became. He damaged me, broke me and in their attempt to find their missing pieces the broken bits simply did the best they could. To distract me, to camouflage mm pain with drinks and parties and men…this was my defence. *Because if you think I’m a loose cannon and utterly insane, you won’t notice that I’m actually just a sad little girl trying to live with a broken heart.

I gave it some thought, as to why I thought like. It’s because we are all predisposed to believe that NOT being okay is not okay; well not being okay has led me to do some irresponsible, unsafe, reputation damaging, rude and disrespectful things. Perhaps next time, we can all just be okay with not being okay so that we can be okay a lot sooner.

Like now, I think I’m okay, most days…and on the others, I’m okay with not being okay, but I won’t let that take me down a road in attempt to feelokay {feeling wanted made me feel okay and so my need for attention and the seeking of it was part of my problem}

This is my lesson.  In my attempts to feel okay I searched outward instead of inward.

It’s taken me two years to finally start caring again, to feel that other people matter and the way they feel toward me matters too. That another person can be more than just a challenge. That another person could become by familiar. This is however the part I have dreaded, because caring can cause me to be hurt again.

*But what is love if not courageous and what is love if not fearless?

Single & Dating: Never mind I’ll find…someone NOT like you

Dating, Love, Relationships, sex, Woman, women

I was told that the only thing a man would ever want from me is sex. That he will use me until he gets what he wants and then discard me like the nothing that I am. That there is nothing about me worthy of love. That I am vile and vulgar and disgusting.

I am many things, I do a lot of weird and crazy shit; the words that come out of my mouth totally trucker worthy, there are indeed days that I can be unlovable, those days are far and few in between and can be summed up in three letters {PMS}. But the real me, the me that I was before he broke me was, even my worst, the best thing that could have happened to someone.

However, hearing those words spoken over and over has been the main reason why it has taken me so long to finally be ready to move on. Fear. And the fact that he punched out any sense of self-worth I had…you know, emotional wounds take a lot longer to heal than the bruises do.

This is why I spent one year by myself, completely withdrawn from everyone including friends & family. At some point I couldn’t differentiate between those who wanted to hug me and those who wanted to hurt me. So I just avoided everyone.

I never met anyone new. I never put myself in situations where there would be new people to have to introduce myself to.


I was so scared that what he said would be true and that whatever goodness was left inside of me would be taken and  used by someone who had no intention to love me. So I stayed away from it, from love. From everything.

This did not help me either. I looked at other women who were able to move onto a new boyfriend just weeks after a devastating break up. I couldn’t understand how they managed to do this. I spent most nights crying and then most days trying to pretend I never cried. I wasn’t doing well so how on earth could I be with someone new? I was sad all the time, nothing made me happy, I drank too much; most times alone. I had little or no idea how to crawl back out of this hole I had dug for myself, how could I invite someone else into my hole? The idea of someone having to come and fix me was unbearable, why would I do that to another person? Why would i do that to myself?

Then someone said to me “You are such an amazing person, but you will never allow anyone to see that because you are so scared of being hurt, you do know not everyone is out there to “get” you right?”

The answer was no, I did not know that. And it was at this point that the possibility of all men not being violent, aggressive, jealous, disrespectful and vicious asshole beings I was lead to believe they were arose. And it was this possibility that allowed to me to start {and I must announce soon to be completed} “not all men are assholes, in fact they are beautiful beings that want love as much as we do…and sex, lot’s of sex” adventure.

I also realised that I needed new people, staying away from them was never the answer. I needed them to show me everything he wasn’t and I needed them to show me that they are not what he said they would be, and I needed them to show me that I will be okay with someone new, one day.

*Even if that day is not today.

Relationships & Death: Finding Love after Loss ~ The guilt of moving on


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It’s repeated without a second thought “Till death do us part” but no one at that moment of bliss standing on front the person you are about to marry thinks about it for more time than it takes them to say it…“Till death do us part”.

Until death does them part.

Death, it has a way of ruining your plans doesn’t it. It comes in and stamps your life with finality. The end. The end of your marriage. The end of your relationship. The end of your life. The end of my life. Whether you wanted it or not, there he is, like that uninvited guest that eats and drinks the most, such an irritation.

How candidly we say “Till death do us part”, how oblivious we are to the true meaning of “In sickness and in health” and how nonchalantly we say “All the days of my life” because it is indeed that, it is all the days of MY life, because death came and took you. He never asked my permission, not letter of request, no application to proceed…he came, and he left, with you.

“All the days of my life” is now spent without you, the thought is debilitating. It strikes me to the ground and renders me useless.

“All the days of my life” was supposed to be spent with you by my side, and if either of us had to go it was supposed to have been me.

Because you were the light, you were the smiles and the joy, you were the one who kept it all together; it was supposed to be me. Your light shone brighter and could light up more darkness than mine ever could. Your light was switched off and I had to find a torch, candles, matches, anything I could but nothing will ever be that light, nothing will ever shine as bright.

It is in this darkness I have found myself, it is in this darkness that I have made my new home. Alone. Without you. It is in this darkness that I still hope for a new light. To come from afar, to come streaming into my darkness and light me back up. I hope. I wish. I pray.

There will be a day, when that light comes. It will be a familiar light. I’ve felt it’s heat and seen it shine before. So have you. The two of you shone together. Friends do that you know, they allow each other’s light to shine. But now, now she shines for me. What do I do now?

I love you, but I need love in return. What do I do now? What will the people say? What would you have said had you been here? Is love more important that the opinion of people? Does my happiness come first? Will they understand?

I need love. She is love. But she is scared. And so am I.

What do I do now?

*What people say matters less and less when what you say to each other matters”