My Bloggy Wog

          

I don’t possess the gift of self love.

And I mean ‘love of self’ par se, not the desire to masturbate. For this, I clearly possess the gift. 

I care about my running and what I put into my body which does suggest I have a little self respect…. Self love? 

*******

I wake in the morning with the deep hunger. A sense of longing for lost times. Constant, it sits heavily on my lower abdomen.

When I was 8 and sat in Primary School Assembly, the Head Teacher told us that our conscience was a prickly ball within our chest. If we told a lie, our conscience would prick and we would feel guilt. 

I feel guilt, on a day to day basis and I am reminded of that ball of conscience. I feel the sadness of not having achieved enough. I feel hurt from being mistreated and I feel discarded and unloved from my difficult childhood.

I feel a huge sense of “SHOULD”.

*******

Today, I realised that ‘self love’ had still not presented itself to me when in a moment of clarity, I discovered that the deep hunger had been masked by a person. 

This person is my Messiah. 

And he is so, because I enabled him.

*******

Despite my unbridled optimism and lust for life, at times I lean towards anxiety and procrastination which journeys down the path of mild depression and unresponsiveness to life’s opportunities. 

I recently, unexpectedly and surprisingly found myself in a profound relationship with a friend. We met at The Caxton Theatre 16 years ago.

I remember him staring at me across the room and thought nothing of it at the time.

Later, we set up our first band. I Drummed and he played Keyboards. We named ourselves after a Microsoft Word Font: Turkish Impact. We had an affinity for the inane and found blenders and beetroot funny. In those first 5 years, I didn’t see him as any more than a great friend who I could talk to about the abuse and bad memories. 

Sadly, he lives in our home town, 230 miles and a 4 hour drive North of where I live.

*******

APPRECIATE WHAT YOU HAVE: YOU ARE PRIVILEGED 

I have a lovely house - which my Grandma and Mother are currently staying at, renovating my garden and loft room which hasn’t been decorated since it was converted almost a year ago. They are like the Ground Force Team except my Nan wears a Bra(1). 

I have two lovely dogs, a cat, great friends and a promising career - which although flailing, is completely capable of renewal should I put a little effort into it. 

Why then am I depressed and obsessing over my new relationship? 

Why do I always let everything else slide when a man comes into my life? 

I haven’t had a successful relationship because I don’t do them properly. I am too eager to please, too keen to dedicate all my time, too willing to let my personal and professional life take any precedent.

James…. 

Admittedly, due to our 16 year friendship history - which included Turkish Impact, an amazing first kiss in the Paris snow when we were 17 and various other adventures - following a 2 year physical absence from each other, we fell in love after only 2-3 days.

We have shared our innermost secrets and are both susceptible to impulsive behavior (e.g. me uprooting my life to spend almost 2 weeks living with him, with my dogs at only a days notice).

Things have gotten serious very quickly.

We have already spoken of ways to live nearer each other and loosely discussed conjoining our self - employed businesses and forming an ‘empire’. I think the excuse of, ‘well, we’ve known each other for 16 years and feel so close’, enables us to feel this is OK

*******

Following my 2 week sojourn, upon my return to ‘real life’, reality has hit and I am faced with no James. 

After 2 weeks of spending every minute with each other - making love several times a day, smelling him on me, talking into the early hours, working, cooking and relaxing together, I feel lost without him and it aches throughout my body.

This pain in my chest feels like my conscience prickling me angrily. I feel compelled. 

We talk regularly, texting several times a day and have a long web chat in the evenings. We are planning the next time we see each other which is only a week away - two weeks if we can handle it - followed by another get together for almost 2 weeks in August. 

Why then do I feel lost and close to tears? 

All day I have felt tears pricking my eyes but not a single drop has been released.

I trust James completely, so this can’t be jealousy.

*******

I wake in the morning to a deep yearning. I yearn for James to be with me, holding me. I want to make love with him and kiss deeply. 

*******

I wake in the morning to a text message or phone call from James. 

I find my day being dictated by the ‘tone’ of his text message or voice on our morning phone call. If he can’t phone at the pre-agreed time because of work commitments, I worry that something is wrong. 

We both acknowledged that we mustn’t rush our relationship and should take things one step at a time. If we rush things - as we are both liable to do, being the kind of people we are - we will ruin it. 

This is so special and we have such a close bond, it could be amazing if we play our cards right. 

There are so many things to sort out; my ex relationship, my flailing business, his location - being some 230 miles North of my house - his business which is just getting on it’s feet, his day job and lack of free time from having two full time jobs, my location etc etc 

We have said that we WILL make this work. It is worth it and hopefully it won’t be too long until we can be together in location at least. 

*******

I miss him so much. 

In missing him so much, and expressing this so freely, I have given him my power, leaving myself empty.

I have enabled him to be my Messiah, my reason to wake up in the morning and to function throughout the day. 

If one call is missed, I sit by the phone willing it to ring. 

I let my mind wander into oblivion and entertain ridiculous and insecure thoughts. 

The mind is our biggest bull-shitter when we let it.

Sometimes I remember the time my ex didn’t come home. I huddled into a foetal position against our bed and released deep guttural sobs containing raw anguish.  He had cheated on me before and at that moment, I knew he was doing it again.

But this was my ex. This is not James. 

*******

I have drawn the conclusion that I am lacking in self love and self respect.

My Messiah must be within. 

I will no longer allow another to mask my deep hunger. 

I must satisfy this hunger on my own.

It is not attractive to cling to the one you love.  And, I need to love myself in order to be loved by others. 

When James looks at me he sees a confident and successful woman who is talented and creative. 

This is who I am.

I don’t know how to be a stronger and more empowered person - but I do know that it will take self discipline. In those moments when I want to be impulsive and drive 230 miles throughout the night, or call and text James more often than needed, or simply find an excuse to be around him, I need to use my head and say, ‘I do NOT need to be around James to validate who I am’.

I am simply enough.

*******

To Em From Em.

You sexy bitch. 

x

*******

(1) Charlie Dimmock from Ground Force frequently shovels top soil with such force, her un-cupped (and much needed, yet unwired) DD Cups - unpert and without any support - flail violently, causing any onlooker - regardless of sexual bias - to swallow their morning tea down the wrong hole.

I have a lot of paperwork to do today. 

Paperwork, that on completion will yield a big fat cheque of anywhere between 5K and 20K dependent on how well I complete said paperwork. 

I woke up at 10am and if I had started then, I would be finished by now; 6pm.  

I’m twitchy and I’ve spoken to at least 10 different people on various online messengers, including the infamous Lupine, an old school friend and a fellow musician. 

I’m twitchy as fuck and all I want to do is fuck. 

‘X’ was here earlier and I didn’t want to fuck him.

I’m so full of lust for the act I could fuck anyone.

I should slide my hand down my trousers, perform the perfunctory motions, orgasm in 2-3 minutes and resume my paperwork as planned. 

      

                    The one who can assuage my desire isn’t here. 

                       The password on my office laptop is “I Love Ian”.

                   

And I can’t be bothered to walk to my office on the other side of this room to change it.

What an idiot.

Why the hell did I let him be my password? 

The only forseeable way I can avoid the changing of it, is to never restart or shut down my computer; only hibernating it, so essentially, I don’t ever turn it off. 

Unfortunately, it is 6 years old and lint/dust is prone to wedging itself in the failing cooling fan which causes my laptop to overheat and power down. 

On the next occasion this happens - being a sentimental and born romantic - once more I will have to enter those three words: ‘I love Ian’, to power my machine.

Upon typing these words, I will no doubt break down into tears and phone him; desperately trying to rekindle something that should not be rekindled and BEGGING for him to come back to me. 

Why am I such a twat? 

Why can’t I just walk over to the fucking laptop and change the password?

Fuck…. 

****

Oh bugger me. 

There’s more. 

There are at least 1000 ‘happy family’ photos of Ian and me with the two dogs in iphoto on this Mac. Bugger. ‘Happy family’ photos. 

When I look at these I will no doubt feel torn between my inner need for a ‘happy family’ - for I never did have one as a child - and my inner need for freedom. I will romanticise and think ‘what if? What if I have missed out on an opportunity where we could have lived happily ever after with our surrogate canine children in this minature hell, all the while allowing my creativity to fester?’

****

Somewhere in this house, there is a photo of us from a time we were happy to play the perfect couple. 

There is also an entire collection of his very amazing Vinyl - this I may try to keep - and the Complete Beatles Chord Books. 

There is a Basketball and two hand held weights. I don’t want these.

What about the Eeyore mug? He loves this. His gorgeous little niece Indigo bought it for him as she found it too hard to pronounce ‘Ian’ and it sounded more like ‘Eeyore’. 

I love that mug. It’s just the right size for a larger-than-usual cup of Tea. 

I don’t think I can keep it. It will hurt too much.

****

He still has my front door key.

****

His pop up tent is in my shed. 

GOD.

THIS FUCKING HURTS.

For two weeks I’ve been living in a strange interim.

This interim lies somewhere between real life and make-believe. 

I feel emotionally blocked yet free. It reminds me of the year I was taking Prozac. I lost my Grandparents and felt nothing.

My chest is tight and a cough could break composure. 

Life is now my oyster but I’m unwilling to bite, less I choke.

And I have a sensitive gullet. 

Today, in the midst of my current relationship fuckery and the ‘big decision’ - To stay or to leave? - I decided to find a list I wrote in 2006. This list detailed what I wanted in a partner. Every girl writes this list at one point in their lives - I assume.       

I hoped that on finding my list I would gain clarity from this emotional blockage I have and my disconnection with “real life”. I thought that in finding my list - which was written with my head and not my heart - I could find an uncomplicated and balanced view and maybe, a definitive answer. 

I dug out my most recent Diary, dating from around the time I met my boyfriend AKA ‘X’.

                              

I fucking LOVED this Diary. I found it in a Charity Shop and it symbolised my personal studies at the time. For 5 years I had immersed myself in philosophizing; partly as a bi-product of an old relationship with yet another boyfriend I was insanely besotted with. I trailed the streets of London’s 2nd Hand book shops seeking the Greek Greats, Nietzsche and Kant and later - through my need for a Degree Research Topic - Shamanism and all the minions of branches that spout from it.

For a while, I developed a passion for the Occult and obtained some unusual and rare books by Arthur Waite, Crowley and Gardner. 

I divulge. 

My prime interest settled upon Shamanism. I researched Shamanism involuntarily for 2 years and have voluntarily researched it since. This Diary reminded my of the great World Tree. 

My World Tree. 

I’m a girl who sees a Diary as a new possibility. I pour myself into my Diary and a few months later, the novelty wears off. I have at least ten half-finished Diaries. 

When I scoured through, The World Tree Diary didn’t have the list.  

Instead, it contained entries which despite their age, still tighten my throat on their reading. The words instantly connect me to the pain I felt at the the start of my relationship my X. Back then, I had a nervous breakdown. X was the catalyst but not the cause. 

I have never felt such sadness as I felt at the time of writing those entires. 

Extracts from the start of my current relationship with ‘X’ AKA “initial start-of-the-relationship-fuckery”. 

*****

June 15th 2007

I’ve been seeing X over the last few weeks and when we’re together, it’s great. When we we’re apart, I’m in knots. He has never had a girlfriend and I am intense and insecure. Physically, we are so attuned and this has drawn me in emotionally - even though I am treading so thinly as to not scare him off. I definitely want more then he can give and after our phone call today - where I told him I felt he was giving me “hot and cold” treatment which I couldn’t understand - I asked him why he didn’t make more of an effort to stay in touch with me. He said he wanted to “apply the breaks” and become a “friend”….. 

I have a good life; friends, house, job and still shape everything around men. I have to change this for my own future happiness. 

June 17th 2007

I went out to meet X and from the moment we looked at each other it was clear it wasn’t over. When we got back to my place, it was intensely passionate: in the bedroom it got kinky - with him pulling me onto his face for oral sex. He smacked my arse and I liked it…..

I no longer want to be the kind of person who “controls” my relationships and keeps my men in my ‘pocket’. 

June 21st 2007

X told me he didn’t want to commit. He said, “what if I meet someone amazing”. 

I’m just a girl who likes his company and wants to meet when we plan to. He has cancelled our meeting up 5 nights in a row. Why is this too intense and heavy? 

I’m going to walk my dogs and if tears come, I’ll let them. 

June 28th 2007

One thing I’m doing, which I shouldn’t - but don’t feel bad about - is telling some obscene lies. Mostly to X but also to Dan (friend). I told Dan today that I’m recording an album in London and have a record deal. Bollocks - but I reckon I’ll get there. 

Why doesn’t X want me?

August 3rd 2007

I bought a new dress and made a choker - it took 4 hours to sew but it is beautiful and will go with my dress. X and I are going out for dinner tonight. I hope he doesn’t cancel again…

He cancelled.

I am crying as I write this. I’m wetting the page. I’m wearing my new dress and necklace and he fucking cancelled. 

November 8th 2007

My Dad died. It’s the Funeral tomorrow. 

My family hate me because I came clean about Dad having an affair. X is coming to the Funeral with me - thank God. I don’t think I can make a drive of 6 hours without someone there. Let alone the Funeral. 

November 9th 2007

X didn’t come to the Funeral. I’m writing this sat in my Hotel room, alone. My family fucking hate me. I was my Fathers next of Kin and they are making me feel like I meant nothing to him; because in reality, they weren’t there for him when he needed them. What saddens me the most: I cried for X at the Funeral and not Dad.

November 14th 2007

I’ve been asked to plan a remembrance concert for Dad. X is going to come with me this time - he promised. I don’t think I could forgive him if he cancelled again.

November 20th 2007

It’s the eve of the Tribute to Dad - I’m driving up to Lincolnshire in the morning and guess what? X cancelled. 

Fucking arsehole.

*****

I also found an email from X, tucked in the Diary.  X wrote this at the end of the initial start-of-the-relationship-fuckery. Post this era - when I had finally taken as much as I could handle - I dumped his arse. He later groveled and begged for another chance and we started a “proper” relationship where I held the reins. 

Dear Emily.

I shall be as succinct as possible. First of all, I apologise unreservedly. You are undeniably a very talented and beautiful individual. You’re smart, witty, interesting and sexy. I enjoyed your company and appreciated your understanding and discretion regarding my patent lack of experience. 

I have behaved like an ill mannered imbecile. I was unreliable, evasive and prone to bipolar bouts of insecurity. Once again I am sincerely sorry and would like to remain a friend of yours despite my failings. 

If you don’t want to keep in touch, I understand. 

Lots of love, X.

P.S. I don’t mind if you regale tales of my poor performances in the bedroom.

I like many fellow sufferers are not ashamed of impotence, premature ejaculation and size worries.

*****

I fucking love that email. 

*****

X wonders why I can never forget the past. 

I can’t forget how he treated me at the start of our relationship and I can’t forget how he didn’t come to my Fathers Funeral or to the Remembrance Concert. 

I put up with X’s shit at the start because deep down I “knew” he was special and something great could happen between us.  

At times, I think I can live with X for the rest of my life. 

We have the ease of something good. 

Then I remember how sad I felt at the Funeral. How his non-attendance took away my grief for my Father and instead, how I grieved X for not being there by my side. 

I fight with X. I am angry with him all the time. 

I don’t want to fuck him because I am angry with him. 

I masturbate 1 or 2 times a day - always in secret - so X doesn’t find out.

He doesn’t deserve to be fucked.

Why the FUCK don’t I trust my own feelings? Why am I such a fucking thinker? Why can’t I just break free from this and cure myself? 

*****

I NEED to find that list.