Well. This has been a pretty blank space for some time now. I nearly died when I logged on and discovered that I posted once in April. Once?! I knew it had been a while but had no idea how long.
There are two versions of this blog post I could write. I could explain away my absence by telling you that I've been out living life instead of blogging about it. That I am now the world expert on dating. That I have been so busy with weekends away and spending time with friends that I haven't had a minute to breathe, let alone blog about it.
Or I could tell the truth.
The truth is that whilst most of the above is true, I haven't been out living a fabulous life but have instead been making attempts to prove to myself that I do have fabulous life. My emotions can barely be kept in check on an hourly basis at some times and I swing from being insanely happy and positive, with some terribly life affirming song playing in the soundtrack of my mind, to being unable to scrape myself off the sofa with nothing but the sound of the ticking clock that is my life booming in my brain.
I haven't blogged because every time I've got something straight in my head that I want to talk about, I swing the other way and am rendered dumb. When the bad times come I can't face doing anything, when the good times come I know to enjoy them whilst they last which doesn't leave time for anything else.
I would like to say that I've learned the signs by now and know when a crash is coming, but the highs are so high and I'm so busy enjoying the view that I fail to see the ground coming hurtling towards me until I've faceplanted in the mud. The good news is that even when I am face-down in the mud, I know that I was once floating up in the sky so a time must come when I'll be back up there again. It's not great, but I'll take it - I'd rather be feeling the lowest of the low and know that it will get better than be soaring in the sky and waiting for myself to plummet.
Always a silver lining girl as it turns out. Who knew?
I have learned what some of the triggers are and to be completely honest with you, they don't make me feel too good about myself.
Other people's extreme happiness really sets me off which makes me feel like the worst person alive - "Get over yourself you massively selfish cow and stop making everything about you", or a similar refrain, ricochets around my mind at these times - but it isn't really any help. It's a simple magnifying effect. People's happiness strikes into the heart of me and is sucked into the blackness within. It makes me feel as if I'll never reach those levels of happiness again. It doesn't help that most people's happiness revolves around something they have done or shared with their partner. Clearly I don't know enough people having a cracking time whilst single.
Sundays are another trigger. Saturdays are fine. Saturdays are grander than grand. Everything is good, everything is dandy. Sundays are complete and utter misery. I have my own little theory about why they're so bad for me and the reasoning is simple. Weekends are the longest period that I'm on my own for and I really struggle with it. Nights during the week are fine, I've been around people all day, I've done all my chatting and laughing and sharing, coming home to an empty flat genuinely doesn't bother me any more. But come Friday evening my interactions with people virtually come to a standstill. People do stuff with partners on a weekend, the number of texts from friends almost falls to zero on a weekend. I'm an Extrovert. I can only spend so much time on my own and it turns out that amount of time amounts to about two nights. Pathetic I know.
I realised something the other day. I spend huge amounts of time, if not every day then certainly every other day having a go at myself mentally. Telling myself I'm stupid for over-reacting to something, stupid for still getting upset about being on my own almost eight months later, stupid for still having hope that I might find someone when all the signs point to that never happening (a post about dating needs to be saved for another time), stupid for thinking that I need a man to make me happy in this age of feminism. It's no wonder I feel bad all the time, I'm telling myself I'm a terrible human being, pretty much on a constant repeat.
I don't know what the answer is. It frustrates me that I don't know how to just. get. happy. It annoys me that every time I try and write about it, the words fly away from me like dust motes. It irritates me that I'm still not over it after this long. I've been told that these are good signs, that it's when you don't feel anything at all that you need to start to worry, but the relentless nature of my emotions is draining and incredibly self destructive.
I don't have a cure. I don't even feel as if I'm close to a cure. So the best I can do is book in as much in the diary as possible, enjoy the highs when they come and hope that when the crashes come I remain able to peel myself off the floor and carry on trucking.
Showing posts with label emotional nonsense. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotional nonsense. Show all posts
Tuesday, 5 May 2015
Friday, 23 January 2015
Things not to say to someone who has seen their relationship end
It's tough when one of your friends breaks up with someone. You know they're hurt and you have no idea what to say to them and you don't know if it's best if you should ask them about it all the time, or shouldn't ask them about it at all and you don't know how they're going to react to fairly innocuous questions about the demise of the their relationship.
I get that. I really do.
But in the interests of public health, here are some things which you shouldn't say to someone who is going through a break up
1. "You know where I am"
I know what you're thinking. What's this girl's problem. Of course you would let your friend know you're there for them.
The thing is, this phrase does not let your friend know you're there for them. This phrase says "I'm not really going to to bother with you unless you come to me. So....good luck with everything you're going through."
I have a string of texts from people who uttered those words in the days after the break up. That was the last I've heard of them and I couldn't tell you where they were. In the midst of it all I couldn't have told you where I was, let alone where they were.
Don't tell someone "You know where I am" let them know where you are. It is your responsibility to keep in touch with them and ask them if they're doing ok, it is not their responsibility to ask for your help. Call, text, WhatsApp, Facebook, Twitter - there are a myriad of ways to get in touch with someone and let them know where you are. Ask them out to dinner, ask if you can come round - they may say no, they probably will say no, get over it and show them that you are there.
2. "You're so strong, you're coping so well with it all, I'd be in pieces."
Again. What's wrong with telling someone that they're doing well? Surely this gees them up and makes them feel good about themselves?
No no. The trouble is this phrase is almost certainly paired with Number 1.
You see I don't have any choice but to be strong, because I'm doing this on. my. own, Am I going to sit down and curl up in a ball and cry? Actually yes, yes I am, and I do, all the time, but I'm not going to do it at work or when I'm out with friends because that would be super awkward and creepy for everyone. Of course I'm going to go to work and laugh and joke and seem normal, what else is there to do?
When someone says to you "You're so strong" it immediately puts a huge roadblock in the path to showing your true feelings. Now they've said that to you, you feel like you can't have a little breakdown and freak out. Sometimes I don't want to be strong, I want to feel like shit and not be happy go lucky.
By saying "You're coping so well with it all, I'd be in pieces" there is an implicit judgement in there for the recipient of that phrase. Oh so you think I'm a heartless bitch who has got over her relationship in double quick time. That's nice. And so untrue. I still cry most weekends when I'm stuck in the house by myself and I cry and feel miserable on other days of the week too. Yes those days are lessening but they're there still. Just because I'm not sobbing over my keyboard or stabbing pins into a voodoo doll over the lunch table don't assume that I'm "coping with it so well."
3. "I envy you your space."
This is one of my personal favourites and is only ever uttered by people who are in relationships.
No. You don't envy my space. You don't envy that one day I came home to discover that my one ally in life was not only leaving but was a complete stranger to me. You don't envy that I went from splitting my bills with someone to being responsible for them on my own.
What you want is an evening/weekend to yourself when your other half is out/away and you can have a bubble bath and watch crappy TV and paint your nails. You don't envy that I spend every weekend in on my own. You sit at home on a Saturday night, with your other half and your takeaway, watching Take Me Out and laughing at all the desperate single people - I'm sat on my own doing the same and trust me, you don't envy me.
4. "Have you heard from him at all?"
This just acts as a reminder that no, no I have not heard from him. Yes he was the biggest part of my life for a huge period of time and yes he did indeed turn his back completely on it and sever all contact completely. Thanks for reminding me.
Also trust me, if I hear from him, believe me I'll let you know.
5. "You'll meet someone else."
Just....don't.
-------------------------------------------------
Arm yourself with these and you'll be able to be a fabulous friend to someone in need.
Good luck.
I get that. I really do.
But in the interests of public health, here are some things which you shouldn't say to someone who is going through a break up
1. "You know where I am"
I know what you're thinking. What's this girl's problem. Of course you would let your friend know you're there for them.
The thing is, this phrase does not let your friend know you're there for them. This phrase says "I'm not really going to to bother with you unless you come to me. So....good luck with everything you're going through."
I have a string of texts from people who uttered those words in the days after the break up. That was the last I've heard of them and I couldn't tell you where they were. In the midst of it all I couldn't have told you where I was, let alone where they were.
Don't tell someone "You know where I am" let them know where you are. It is your responsibility to keep in touch with them and ask them if they're doing ok, it is not their responsibility to ask for your help. Call, text, WhatsApp, Facebook, Twitter - there are a myriad of ways to get in touch with someone and let them know where you are. Ask them out to dinner, ask if you can come round - they may say no, they probably will say no, get over it and show them that you are there.
2. "You're so strong, you're coping so well with it all, I'd be in pieces."
Again. What's wrong with telling someone that they're doing well? Surely this gees them up and makes them feel good about themselves?
No no. The trouble is this phrase is almost certainly paired with Number 1.
You see I don't have any choice but to be strong, because I'm doing this on. my. own, Am I going to sit down and curl up in a ball and cry? Actually yes, yes I am, and I do, all the time, but I'm not going to do it at work or when I'm out with friends because that would be super awkward and creepy for everyone. Of course I'm going to go to work and laugh and joke and seem normal, what else is there to do?
When someone says to you "You're so strong" it immediately puts a huge roadblock in the path to showing your true feelings. Now they've said that to you, you feel like you can't have a little breakdown and freak out. Sometimes I don't want to be strong, I want to feel like shit and not be happy go lucky.
By saying "You're coping so well with it all, I'd be in pieces" there is an implicit judgement in there for the recipient of that phrase. Oh so you think I'm a heartless bitch who has got over her relationship in double quick time. That's nice. And so untrue. I still cry most weekends when I'm stuck in the house by myself and I cry and feel miserable on other days of the week too. Yes those days are lessening but they're there still. Just because I'm not sobbing over my keyboard or stabbing pins into a voodoo doll over the lunch table don't assume that I'm "coping with it so well."
3. "I envy you your space."
This is one of my personal favourites and is only ever uttered by people who are in relationships.
No. You don't envy my space. You don't envy that one day I came home to discover that my one ally in life was not only leaving but was a complete stranger to me. You don't envy that I went from splitting my bills with someone to being responsible for them on my own.
What you want is an evening/weekend to yourself when your other half is out/away and you can have a bubble bath and watch crappy TV and paint your nails. You don't envy that I spend every weekend in on my own. You sit at home on a Saturday night, with your other half and your takeaway, watching Take Me Out and laughing at all the desperate single people - I'm sat on my own doing the same and trust me, you don't envy me.
4. "Have you heard from him at all?"
This just acts as a reminder that no, no I have not heard from him. Yes he was the biggest part of my life for a huge period of time and yes he did indeed turn his back completely on it and sever all contact completely. Thanks for reminding me.
Also trust me, if I hear from him, believe me I'll let you know.
5. "You'll meet someone else."
Just....don't.
-------------------------------------------------
Arm yourself with these and you'll be able to be a fabulous friend to someone in need.
Good luck.
Friday, 9 January 2015
The love that never dies
For the past 13 years Manchester has been where my heart has resided. Don't get me wrong, I love my Mothership (Hull, just in case you've lived under a rock) and nothing could ever take me away from her, but Manchester has been an all consuming, soul shaking, stomach flipping love since the day I started university in 2001.
Cities really are like people - some of them you just don't click with, no matter how hard you try (Leeds and Dublin I'm looking at you here) and some you just feel an instant connection with the second you step out of the train station or into the city centre (Newcastle I'm looking at you here). Some cities just speak to you and Manchester didn't just speak to me, she yelled in my ear and its resonance has never stopped ringing since.
As with any big city there is almost too much to discover and my world was hugely small - back in the day us students weren't really that fussed about the Didsburys and Chorlton (or at least none of the ones that I knew) and they still remain un-chartered territory for me. As a student my domain was Oxford Road, the city centre, Rusholme, Fallowfield and what was back then a 'new' and 'up and coming' part (which may be unthinkable to some reading now), The Northern Quarter.
I first lived in Halls directly opposite Manchester Piccadilly station and I remember my first walk down Oxford Road to go and register at the Student Union. It was about a 20/25 minute walk and I remember getting overly excited at seeing Paradise Factory, the club that Paradise Records was turned into and the BBC building. I was dealing with the big guns here.
As I walked under the footbridge with University of Manchester emblazoned on it, I swear I really felt at home. I belonged on these streets and from that day on I walked up and down Oxford Road like I owned that joint. This become my territory and I have never, ever, in my whole life, felt as confident and assured of who I was than I did in the years I spent in Manchester.
Maybe everyone who goes to university feels this way about the city they lived in and the people they met and the time they spent there. I have absolutely no doubt that I look back on my time there as an undergraduate student and a postgrad with rose tinted glasses. And I don't care. I thank God that there were enough good times to merit the rose tinted glasses, goodness knows there are enough periods of my life where the strongest lenses wouldn't be able to put a good spin on it.
It felt like my city and I think it will always feel like my city, even though it has now changed almost beyond recognition in some parts and I am hopelessly clueless as to where the good places are to go, or indeed, where anything is that is immediately out of the areas that I used to frequent all the time.
I want to stop people in Piccadilly Gardens and say "I remember this being unveiled bitches! I was here that long ago!" I want to march up to all the hipsters in the Northern Quarter and go "Booya! I remember a time when the stuff in the Oxfam vintage stuff was actually affordable!"
Whenever I go there I feel alive. I feel like me again. I feel the beauty of living in a place that is so large that you can be whoever you want to be because anything goes. I always wondered if I would grow out of being a city girl and eventually have the hankering to settle down in a more suburban area or live in a little village, but I have slowly realised that it is just never going to happen. I need stuff happening - I need an endless choice of places to eat and places to drink and places to go and things to see. But I still feel like not just any city would do, I could move to Birmingham and I still don't think it would be right, because Manchester is the one that will always be the comparison and aint no-one who measures up to Her.
But unfortunately, my memories of living in Manchester and being in Manchester and breathing in Manchester are all intrinsically linked to The Person. He is wound up and caught up with all those memories and those feelings and my brain has struggled to begin to pick apart Him from Her. She is the one I want to hold on to, hers are the memories that I want to retain - him? I have no place for Him in anything.
December 2014 was the first time since I first lived in Manchester that I didn't visit the Christmas Markets. I couldn't even bring myself because going to the Christmas Markets had become something that we did together, even though there were a whole bunch of years when I went before we ever even dreamed of getting together. And it made me feel so sad that he was going to not just break my heart, but break the part of my heart reserved for Manchester.
And so this year is the year that I go back. It's the year that I go back more than once, it's the year that I go back and make new memories with Her and slowly excise Him out of my brain.
I can't wait to start my love affair again.
Cities really are like people - some of them you just don't click with, no matter how hard you try (Leeds and Dublin I'm looking at you here) and some you just feel an instant connection with the second you step out of the train station or into the city centre (Newcastle I'm looking at you here). Some cities just speak to you and Manchester didn't just speak to me, she yelled in my ear and its resonance has never stopped ringing since.
As with any big city there is almost too much to discover and my world was hugely small - back in the day us students weren't really that fussed about the Didsburys and Chorlton (or at least none of the ones that I knew) and they still remain un-chartered territory for me. As a student my domain was Oxford Road, the city centre, Rusholme, Fallowfield and what was back then a 'new' and 'up and coming' part (which may be unthinkable to some reading now), The Northern Quarter.
I first lived in Halls directly opposite Manchester Piccadilly station and I remember my first walk down Oxford Road to go and register at the Student Union. It was about a 20/25 minute walk and I remember getting overly excited at seeing Paradise Factory, the club that Paradise Records was turned into and the BBC building. I was dealing with the big guns here.
As I walked under the footbridge with University of Manchester emblazoned on it, I swear I really felt at home. I belonged on these streets and from that day on I walked up and down Oxford Road like I owned that joint. This become my territory and I have never, ever, in my whole life, felt as confident and assured of who I was than I did in the years I spent in Manchester.
Maybe everyone who goes to university feels this way about the city they lived in and the people they met and the time they spent there. I have absolutely no doubt that I look back on my time there as an undergraduate student and a postgrad with rose tinted glasses. And I don't care. I thank God that there were enough good times to merit the rose tinted glasses, goodness knows there are enough periods of my life where the strongest lenses wouldn't be able to put a good spin on it.
It felt like my city and I think it will always feel like my city, even though it has now changed almost beyond recognition in some parts and I am hopelessly clueless as to where the good places are to go, or indeed, where anything is that is immediately out of the areas that I used to frequent all the time.
I want to stop people in Piccadilly Gardens and say "I remember this being unveiled bitches! I was here that long ago!" I want to march up to all the hipsters in the Northern Quarter and go "Booya! I remember a time when the stuff in the Oxfam vintage stuff was actually affordable!"
Whenever I go there I feel alive. I feel like me again. I feel the beauty of living in a place that is so large that you can be whoever you want to be because anything goes. I always wondered if I would grow out of being a city girl and eventually have the hankering to settle down in a more suburban area or live in a little village, but I have slowly realised that it is just never going to happen. I need stuff happening - I need an endless choice of places to eat and places to drink and places to go and things to see. But I still feel like not just any city would do, I could move to Birmingham and I still don't think it would be right, because Manchester is the one that will always be the comparison and aint no-one who measures up to Her.
But unfortunately, my memories of living in Manchester and being in Manchester and breathing in Manchester are all intrinsically linked to The Person. He is wound up and caught up with all those memories and those feelings and my brain has struggled to begin to pick apart Him from Her. She is the one I want to hold on to, hers are the memories that I want to retain - him? I have no place for Him in anything.
December 2014 was the first time since I first lived in Manchester that I didn't visit the Christmas Markets. I couldn't even bring myself because going to the Christmas Markets had become something that we did together, even though there were a whole bunch of years when I went before we ever even dreamed of getting together. And it made me feel so sad that he was going to not just break my heart, but break the part of my heart reserved for Manchester.
And so this year is the year that I go back. It's the year that I go back more than once, it's the year that I go back and make new memories with Her and slowly excise Him out of my brain.
I can't wait to start my love affair again.
Tuesday, 30 December 2014
Not Really Resolutions 2014 l The Conclusion
*Insert standard sentence about "Oh my goodness where has the past year gone?"*
Seriously though. What a year. Right now I'll be very glad to see the back of 2014 but before I shove it out of the door I need to take a few minutes to update you on 2014's Not Really Resolutions. After 2013's miserable performance (2 out of 10 resolutions anyone?!) I felt sure that 2014 couldn't be that bad, and actually it's not gone badly...
1. Read 12 Classics
Completed! After failing last year for the first year ever I felt like I wanted to go for this full force. I've had a pretty good mix of more 'classic' Classics and more modern Classics. Quick overview of some of this year's Classics?
Vile Bodies - easy to read, bit of fluff, funny, but not my favourite Waugh.
Lady Chatterley's Lover - not really that rude it turns out.
The Woman in Black - actually full on made me feel scared when I was reading it. Chilling.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - just...weird.
Of Human Bondage - took an age to read but I loved it, which is quite a feat considering that the main character is such a sap. But despite that I kept rooting for him.
Mrs Dalloway - oh I could not get into this at all. It's such a short book but I struggled through every page. Would be very wary of picking up another Woolf.
I always enjoy this challenge and have been doing it for the four years that I've been doing the Not Really Resolutions but I think 2015 might see time for a bit of a change.
2. Eat 1 Vegetarian meal per week
Oh dear. This really could have happened and I hate to be a massive tit and blame everything on the break up but I really do. Post break-up my eating habits have just been plain horrific and I haven't made anything, much less go to the effort of looking up vegetarian recipes to try out.
I think I did about 30 veggie meals which is half way there so it depends what my yardstick is for achieving a Not Really Resolution - if it's 50% then I totally did it.
Mind you the number of times I ate toast or had a jacket potato with beans post break-up I probably did end up hitting 52 meals.
3. Do 1 interesting thing each month
January - Trip to London including a visit to see Chloe
February - Trip to Leicester to meet up with Janet
March - A trip to America to see American Girl and Boy get married and take a little road trip around Arizona (can't believe I still haven't finished blogging about that. Eek.)
April - FA Cup Semi-Final at Wembley to see Hull City beat Sheffield United
May - Trip to the London Pet Show and a rainy Bank Holiday outing to a resevoir
June - A trip to North Yorkshire to see Heather
July - The Color Run in Manchester, a trip to London to Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium
August - Nothing - but I was laid up with sciatica at the time so I'm letting myself off
September - A trip to France to see my Dad and a trip to Birmingham with some work friends
October - A night out at the dogs with work people
November - A trip to Bristol
December - A trip to Marrakech - even if all didn't go quite to plan...
4. Save up to buy a car
Not even close. In fact I don't think I even picked it up this year shamefully. The closest I came to it was buying a light up crochet hook because I knew I had an inordinate amount of black squares to make and thought it might make me blind.
I won't feel too bad though. According to my records I made 26 amigurumi things for people this year which is actually pretty immense when you really stop and think about it.
And that doesn't include the random dinosaur I made for funsies...
...or the Father Christmases...
Anyway. You get my drift. No Tetris blanket this year.
6. Learn something new
I was all set to go "Nope, not achieved this one either" and then I thought I wouldn't be so harsh on myself because actually I did learn something new this year. I learned to be on my own. And whilst it isn't as if I was a massive sap who was completely dependent on someone for their very existence, when someone who has been in your life for 13 years ups and leaves you there is a huge amount of readjusting to do.
I'm giving myself a massive gold star for this one because I didn't have a complete breakdown over anything when I really did feel like it. I got on with it and I learned that I'm not a total idiot, he's a total idiot.
And if that's the only new thing I learned this year then I'm ok with that.
7. Sell something at a craft fair
Well no I didn't.
But, see Point 5.
I was a craft fair this year. I was my own personal craft fair and seeing as the reason to do this was to make some money and feel that my stuff was good enough to put out in the public space I have actually achieved that. I've sold my stuff to people and have made some money from it and therefore I'm going to count this as complete.
I know. I'm a massive cheat.
Let's not talk about this shall we?
Let's just say that 2014 was the Year that Running Forgot. It was my Annus Horribilis Runnus. I was either injured or mentally broken for 2014 and that did not make for a good runner. Since my bout of sciatica in August I haven't run at all. I will be back to the beginning once I start running again - ugh.
---------------------------------------------
There we have it. Five out of eight will do me very nicely.
I'm looking forward to seeing what 2015 has in store for me.
I think.
Seriously though. What a year. Right now I'll be very glad to see the back of 2014 but before I shove it out of the door I need to take a few minutes to update you on 2014's Not Really Resolutions. After 2013's miserable performance (2 out of 10 resolutions anyone?!) I felt sure that 2014 couldn't be that bad, and actually it's not gone badly...
Completed! After failing last year for the first year ever I felt like I wanted to go for this full force. I've had a pretty good mix of more 'classic' Classics and more modern Classics. Quick overview of some of this year's Classics?
Vile Bodies - easy to read, bit of fluff, funny, but not my favourite Waugh.
Lady Chatterley's Lover - not really that rude it turns out.
The Woman in Black - actually full on made me feel scared when I was reading it. Chilling.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - just...weird.
Of Human Bondage - took an age to read but I loved it, which is quite a feat considering that the main character is such a sap. But despite that I kept rooting for him.
Mrs Dalloway - oh I could not get into this at all. It's such a short book but I struggled through every page. Would be very wary of picking up another Woolf.
I always enjoy this challenge and have been doing it for the four years that I've been doing the Not Really Resolutions but I think 2015 might see time for a bit of a change.
2. Eat 1 Vegetarian meal per week
Oh dear. This really could have happened and I hate to be a massive tit and blame everything on the break up but I really do. Post break-up my eating habits have just been plain horrific and I haven't made anything, much less go to the effort of looking up vegetarian recipes to try out.
I think I did about 30 veggie meals which is half way there so it depends what my yardstick is for achieving a Not Really Resolution - if it's 50% then I totally did it.
Mind you the number of times I ate toast or had a jacket potato with beans post break-up I probably did end up hitting 52 meals.
January - Trip to London including a visit to see Chloe
February - Trip to Leicester to meet up with Janet
March - A trip to America to see American Girl and Boy get married and take a little road trip around Arizona (can't believe I still haven't finished blogging about that. Eek.)
April - FA Cup Semi-Final at Wembley to see Hull City beat Sheffield United
May - Trip to the London Pet Show and a rainy Bank Holiday outing to a resevoir
June - A trip to North Yorkshire to see Heather
July - The Color Run in Manchester, a trip to London to Lady Dinah's Cat Emporium
August - Nothing - but I was laid up with sciatica at the time so I'm letting myself off
September - A trip to France to see my Dad and a trip to Birmingham with some work friends
October - A night out at the dogs with work people
November - A trip to Bristol
December - A trip to Marrakech - even if all didn't go quite to plan...
Not even close. In fact I don't think I even picked it up this year shamefully. The closest I came to it was buying a light up crochet hook because I knew I had an inordinate amount of black squares to make and thought it might make me blind.
I won't feel too bad though. According to my records I made 26 amigurumi things for people this year which is actually pretty immense when you really stop and think about it.
And that doesn't include the random dinosaur I made for funsies...
...or the Father Christmases...
Anyway. You get my drift. No Tetris blanket this year.
I was all set to go "Nope, not achieved this one either" and then I thought I wouldn't be so harsh on myself because actually I did learn something new this year. I learned to be on my own. And whilst it isn't as if I was a massive sap who was completely dependent on someone for their very existence, when someone who has been in your life for 13 years ups and leaves you there is a huge amount of readjusting to do.
I'm giving myself a massive gold star for this one because I didn't have a complete breakdown over anything when I really did feel like it. I got on with it and I learned that I'm not a total idiot, he's a total idiot.
And if that's the only new thing I learned this year then I'm ok with that.
Well no I didn't.
But, see Point 5.
I was a craft fair this year. I was my own personal craft fair and seeing as the reason to do this was to make some money and feel that my stuff was good enough to put out in the public space I have actually achieved that. I've sold my stuff to people and have made some money from it and therefore I'm going to count this as complete.
I know. I'm a massive cheat.
Let's not talk about this shall we?
Let's just say that 2014 was the Year that Running Forgot. It was my Annus Horribilis Runnus. I was either injured or mentally broken for 2014 and that did not make for a good runner. Since my bout of sciatica in August I haven't run at all. I will be back to the beginning once I start running again - ugh.
---------------------------------------------
There we have it. Five out of eight will do me very nicely.
I'm looking forward to seeing what 2015 has in store for me.
I think.
Friday, 26 December 2014
The Christmas Spirit
Christmas spirit was lacking around these here parts for a long time. At first I thought that it was because I'd been so ill in Marrakech (I was off work for the week after returning home because I was still a super sick person) so I forced myself out once I was feeling steady on my legs and went to buy a tree.
I would love a real tree but I'm also short on space, as well as cash, so I parted with £15 of my hard earned cash and handed it over to Tesco in exchange for a rather lovely specimen.
I dutifully decorated it and plugged in the fairy lights. I lit the Christmas scented candle. I brought out my Christmas mugs. I sent out cards. I wrapped presents. I even put tinsel around the gerbilarium.
But it wouldn't materialise for me.
(I even joined in Char's Blogger Secret Santa in the hope that I would soon start to feel that Christmassy tingle all the way to my fingers and my toes. I packaged everything up (inadvertently being very trendy with my brown paper and baker's twine) and sent it off before I went to Marrakech so I hit Char's posting deadline of 8th December.
The package I sent off is pictured below. My parcel is still MIA at the time of writing.)
Eventually I realised that it wasn't ever going to make an appearance.
I was just too sad.
I have mostly been fine since the break-up and have done a pretty good job at holding my shit together. But sometimes everything falls apart and then I run through the usual cycle - getting mad at myself for feeling sad, telling myself to get over it, telling myself that there are people with real problems, etc etc before eventually reaching a place where I say to myself, "You know what? It's only been 3 months. You're allowed to still feel a little bit shitty, especially at Christmas."
Christmas is a funny one really. There is so much pressure for it to be perfect and happy. There's no room for feeling a bit off. You have to spend it with people and you have to love every single second of it and isn't it brilliant and marvellous?
The closer Christmas got and the more shrill people got asking me if I was feeling festive, the more I started a slowly slide into complete panic mode. I'm not truly, deep down, happy at the moment. I absolutely have moments of awesomeness and brilliance, but in my core, I am so sad and so lonely and that just started to get magnified.
I reverted back to the weeks after the break-up when I would come in from a day of being completely normal at work and just sit and cry for no reason. I had another near meltdown in Tesco. I left drinks with work friends early because I kept having to go to the toilet because I was convinced I was going to break down in tears.
I could not keep my shit together any longer.
I didn't want to spend Christmas with anyone, I didn't want to see anyone. I just really really really wanted to be on my own.
But at Christmas you can't say that to anyone so I plastered a smile on my face, took a deep breath and plunged headfirst into a day of festiveness and happiness with family.
I would love a real tree but I'm also short on space, as well as cash, so I parted with £15 of my hard earned cash and handed it over to Tesco in exchange for a rather lovely specimen.
I dutifully decorated it and plugged in the fairy lights. I lit the Christmas scented candle. I brought out my Christmas mugs. I sent out cards. I wrapped presents. I even put tinsel around the gerbilarium.
But it wouldn't materialise for me.
(I even joined in Char's Blogger Secret Santa in the hope that I would soon start to feel that Christmassy tingle all the way to my fingers and my toes. I packaged everything up (inadvertently being very trendy with my brown paper and baker's twine) and sent it off before I went to Marrakech so I hit Char's posting deadline of 8th December.
The package I sent off is pictured below. My parcel is still MIA at the time of writing.)
Eventually I realised that it wasn't ever going to make an appearance.
I was just too sad.
I have mostly been fine since the break-up and have done a pretty good job at holding my shit together. But sometimes everything falls apart and then I run through the usual cycle - getting mad at myself for feeling sad, telling myself to get over it, telling myself that there are people with real problems, etc etc before eventually reaching a place where I say to myself, "You know what? It's only been 3 months. You're allowed to still feel a little bit shitty, especially at Christmas."
Christmas is a funny one really. There is so much pressure for it to be perfect and happy. There's no room for feeling a bit off. You have to spend it with people and you have to love every single second of it and isn't it brilliant and marvellous?
The closer Christmas got and the more shrill people got asking me if I was feeling festive, the more I started a slowly slide into complete panic mode. I'm not truly, deep down, happy at the moment. I absolutely have moments of awesomeness and brilliance, but in my core, I am so sad and so lonely and that just started to get magnified.
I reverted back to the weeks after the break-up when I would come in from a day of being completely normal at work and just sit and cry for no reason. I had another near meltdown in Tesco. I left drinks with work friends early because I kept having to go to the toilet because I was convinced I was going to break down in tears.
I could not keep my shit together any longer.
I didn't want to spend Christmas with anyone, I didn't want to see anyone. I just really really really wanted to be on my own.
But at Christmas you can't say that to anyone so I plastered a smile on my face, took a deep breath and plunged headfirst into a day of festiveness and happiness with family.
I opened presents. Awesome presents actually. Maybe it was just because I felt so crappy about the day that I was so overjoyed with anything that happened that was vaguely nice? Maybe it was because my family felt a little bit sorry for me this Christmas? Maybe Father Christmas took pity on me and figured I deserved a break.
I'm not one for 'haul' posts *cringes* but the above photo shows just how well my family know me. (How jealous are you of my Famous Five Annual? VERY.) I feel like the Tetris light is a sign that I need to pull my finger out and get on with the Tetris blanket though...
I ate food, I drank champagne, I toasted Christmas, I watched TV, I played family games, I laughed around the table. I did all the Christmas things and I got through the past couple of days, even though my body did what it tends to do when confronted with a difficult emotional time and want to sleep. All the time. Luckily that's socially acceptable at Christmas.
Less socially acceptable was my decision to come back to my flat on Boxing Day late afternoon to spend an evening alone. That decision did not go down well with either sister or mother but given that I'm about to take Mum to Hull and won't return until Monday I decided I was allowed some time to myself.
It's not about sitting at home and moping and feeling sorry for myself you know. It's not as if I'm sat here crying to myself about how my life got completely annihilated a few months ago. It's just that when I'm on my own I can sit here and feel relaxed because I don't have to pretend that I'm fine when I'm not. And I feel pretty sure that there were quite a few of us out there who felt like that this Christmas so high five to us for getting through it.
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And because I don't want to be whiny you may now enjoy some pictures of the animals at Christmas...
Note Blinky "joining in" at Christmas a.k.a. sitting as far away from everyone as possible and with her back to the room.
Monday, 1 December 2014
The train
I stood on the platform waiting for the delayed train with the hundreds of other people. Huddled together against the cold, like a colony of penguins, equally shielding each other from the worst of the cold, whilst never looking in any single person's direction.
As the train pulled in, we moved as one towards the doors, performing the same routine as on every other train platform across the UK; simultaneously trying to ram yourself through the door whilst still maintaining a terribly British sense of personal space.
We fought through the carriage, throwing ourselves down into the nearest seat, hurriedly shedding jackets and hats and scarfs and bags. Claiming the space as our own, casting glances at those who would be so bold to sit beside us.
Always moving as one yet always moving an individual.
We all sat in our own worlds, studiously ignoring those around us. Ensconced in books and phones, iPods and tablets. No-one looks up, no-one speaks.
I sat and wondered about them all. Keen to not think about my own thoughts that night I threw myself into imagining theirs.
I wondered what that girl was smiling about when she was looking at her phone - a message from a lover, a joke from a friend, embarrassing pictures from the night before, happy news from a relative.
I watched the two girls sat opposite me, whispering to one another so none of us could hear their conversation. It was a dissection of the night before, the scrolling through of a constant stream of messages - was she arguing with someone, or was there simply another person involved in the conversation, being filled in on the conversation happening on the train.
I looked at the guy next to me answering work emails and filling in cells on a spreadsheet. What was it that he did for a living? Was it what he always wanted to do, is it where he thought he'd see himself when he was a young boy?
I wondered where everyone was coming from and going to. A Sunday night could mean that everyone was going home after a weekend away, it could mean they were going away to start their working week. Where were they going to go once they got off the train? Would they be going home and what awaited them there - a house full of friends, a house full of family, a wife, a child, a pet, no-one at all?
They felt like they should be friends, I wanted to reach out to them all and ask them, find out about them. It felt like we should all be connected, all of us here on this delayed train. We all had that in common at least.
But I knew that I was alone. Alone on the train and alone in life. The only connection for me was going to be the next train I caught.
Out of the blue someone started playing a song out loud on their phone. Dancing Queen of all songs. There were mutterings, people turned around in their seats, people took out their earphones. And then it happened - we all caught each other's eyes. Some people rolled their eyes, others smiled, others out right laughed. We mimed the words at each other and danced in our seats. The girl put her phone down, something else momentarily funnier happening with us; the two girls stopped whispering and shook their heads laughing at each other and at the rest of us around; the guy left his spreadsheet alone for a moment, nodding his head along to Abba with the rest of us.
It happened. For a brief two minute period we were all connected. We looked each other in the eye and shared a moment.
And then the music stopped.
As the train pulled in, we moved as one towards the doors, performing the same routine as on every other train platform across the UK; simultaneously trying to ram yourself through the door whilst still maintaining a terribly British sense of personal space.
We fought through the carriage, throwing ourselves down into the nearest seat, hurriedly shedding jackets and hats and scarfs and bags. Claiming the space as our own, casting glances at those who would be so bold to sit beside us.
Always moving as one yet always moving an individual.
We all sat in our own worlds, studiously ignoring those around us. Ensconced in books and phones, iPods and tablets. No-one looks up, no-one speaks.
I sat and wondered about them all. Keen to not think about my own thoughts that night I threw myself into imagining theirs.
I wondered what that girl was smiling about when she was looking at her phone - a message from a lover, a joke from a friend, embarrassing pictures from the night before, happy news from a relative.
I watched the two girls sat opposite me, whispering to one another so none of us could hear their conversation. It was a dissection of the night before, the scrolling through of a constant stream of messages - was she arguing with someone, or was there simply another person involved in the conversation, being filled in on the conversation happening on the train.
I looked at the guy next to me answering work emails and filling in cells on a spreadsheet. What was it that he did for a living? Was it what he always wanted to do, is it where he thought he'd see himself when he was a young boy?
I wondered where everyone was coming from and going to. A Sunday night could mean that everyone was going home after a weekend away, it could mean they were going away to start their working week. Where were they going to go once they got off the train? Would they be going home and what awaited them there - a house full of friends, a house full of family, a wife, a child, a pet, no-one at all?
They felt like they should be friends, I wanted to reach out to them all and ask them, find out about them. It felt like we should all be connected, all of us here on this delayed train. We all had that in common at least.
But I knew that I was alone. Alone on the train and alone in life. The only connection for me was going to be the next train I caught.
Out of the blue someone started playing a song out loud on their phone. Dancing Queen of all songs. There were mutterings, people turned around in their seats, people took out their earphones. And then it happened - we all caught each other's eyes. Some people rolled their eyes, others smiled, others out right laughed. We mimed the words at each other and danced in our seats. The girl put her phone down, something else momentarily funnier happening with us; the two girls stopped whispering and shook their heads laughing at each other and at the rest of us around; the guy left his spreadsheet alone for a moment, nodding his head along to Abba with the rest of us.
It happened. For a brief two minute period we were all connected. We looked each other in the eye and shared a moment.
And then the music stopped.
Tuesday, 7 October 2014
2 weeks
It started with a sty.
I think my body eventually gave up and last Monday I went to bed with a slightly sore eye and woke up on Tuesday with a swollen eye, looking like I'd been punched in the face.
The sty had spoken. It was time to take a break.
I think I have a great work ethic, I'm happy to keep working and keep going through anything. I may have a little cry along the way, but I don't give up. I worked all the way through my sciatica and all the way through the break up and I didn't stop.
The sty was a sign to stop.
So I stopped. I called in sick. Real sick. As in, please don't contact me, I'm sick. (Although I did actually end up having to dash into work to get my laptop to do some work. It's just...what it is!)
Although I had the sty I was actually starting to feel better than I had in what felt like forever. Maybe it was the result of finally writing down and publishing what had happened to me and getting confirmation from other people that I wasn't mad, that it was an awful thing. You are all responsible for that, and making me feel like I'm not a complete nitwit for not realising that my boyfriend wanted to leave me.
Not just feel better, but starting to feel. That was a big step forward because I was really not feeling anything for quite a long time there.
But the sty was forcing me to take some time off and I decided I was going to use that time productively. That meant sitting down and finishing my book first (priorities people) and then Getting Sorted.
Getting Sorted came in the guise of cleaning, rearranging, sorting, and throwing away.
I cleaned out all the kitchen cupboards. Threw out everything that was past its sell by date. Moved things around. Started putting stuff in a bag to give to charity. That bag swelled to two bags. I hoovered. I started to fill the drawers that he left empty. I started to fill the wardrobe space that he left empty. I carved out niches for myself in the places that were once his. I sat down and looked at my finances. I gathered up all the rest of this stuff that he didn't take when he moved out, ready to be put in a box to be sent to him.
I started to get clear. Mentally and physically. Excising a beast.
By the end of the day I was starting to feel much better and was gladdened when I realised that I was hungry. A small thing, but from the day he left my appetite has been MIA and that is not something that ever happens to me. No matter what the drama, I can keep putting food in my body. Turns out that heartbreak is the only thing that stops me. Since he left I have singlehandedly kept the grain industry afloat as any meal that I have eaten has consisted of toast. I had cheese on toast a couple of times until the cheese ran out and I couldn't be bothered to go out and get more. I went for two days without drinking tea because I couldn't be bothered to go out and get milk. I'd tell you how much weight I've lost but hilariously the scales were his so I don't have those now.
Feeling hungry felt good. It was an excellent sign and although I wasn't up to cooking I was up for more than toast. I was reaching for the culinary heights of a jacket potato with tuna mayo and salad. As I chopped my salad I felt pleased with myself, things were good, things were moving along.
And then I noticed the time.
6.30pm on Tuesday.
This time 2 weeks ago he was walking out of the door.
I stopped and I sat on the kitchen floor.
I replayed it over and over in my head and I realised that I still can't think about it properly. When I imagine it, it feels like it is happening to someone else. I feel as if I'm watching a play where the lead actress happens to look a lot like me. I still don't have any feelings when I think about him leaving. I don't know if I ever will. I think it is my brain's protectionism kicking in. I don't think it wants me to remember it. When it happened I was beyond calm. I didn't rant and rave and I didn't really cry until well after he left. Maybe my brain decided at that point to switch off - that the resultant flood of emotions would be too much to deal with so it was best to not deal with them at all.
It's incredibly difficult to describe - it's not that I can't remember it happening. I remember it all in great detail. I just don't feel like it happened to me.
Maybe it will always be like that.
Eventually I picked myself up off the floor and went back to chopping my salad. I didn't want to eat again but I was going to make myself get on with it because I had to. Because the world keeps revolving, even if you don't want it to. Because I had had a good day and had made strides to move forward with my life.
Because soon a Tuesday at 6.30pm will just be a Tuesday at 6.30pm.
Sunday, 28 September 2014
13 years
My thoughts when I came home from work a couple of Tuesdays ago were fairly commonplace. I had stood on the corner of the road, talking to a colleague for a while, our gossiping not complete from a full 8 hours or so at work. I tried to remember what we were supposed to be having for dinner that night. I knew I still had to unpack my bag from our long weekend in France. We had returned home at 6pm the night before and I hadn't been able to be bothered to do the unpacking, deciding to postpone it to another day to remain relaxed and stress-free.
In the thoughts of dinner and unpacking and anything else that might have been running through my head there were no thoughts at all about what was actually going to happen when I walked in the door. That I would be faced with a boyfriend with his bags already packed telling me he was leaving me.
He was gone less than 15 minutes later.
Here we are 12 days later and I have only just now even scratched the surface of being able to write down what my feelings are.
Everyone talks about the shock that you experience when something like this happens. What no-one tells you about is how long the shock continues for. 12 days later and I am still in shock. For a while I didn't know it was shock, I just thought that I had composed myself remarkably well.
The day after it had happened, after 3 hours sleep, I was up at 5am to go to London for work. I got up and got dressed and sat on a train and got caught up in tube closures and had to queue for 45 minutes for a taxi and attended the conference and networked and then shut myself in a toilet cubicle and cried all through lunch. I attended the rest of the conference and had to run like the clappers to catch the tube and my train.
The second I set foot on the train home at 7pm I started crying again. I cried the 2.5 hours it takes to get from London St Pancras to East Midlands Parkway. Not great, heaving sobs, just an outpouring of tears from my eyes, the tide of which I couldn't stem.
I went to work the next day and I went to work the next and I have continued to go to work over the last 12 days, I haven't had one day off.
I talked to friends and family about what had happened.
He came and picked up all his belongings from the flat.
At various points over the last 12 days I have cried and I have cried and I have cried and I have cried but if you'd asked me, I couldn't have identified one emotion that I was feeling. I knew I should be angry. I knew that I should be bereft. I knew that I should be confused. But I didn't feel anything. It is a very strange situation to be in to know that you should have feelings but not be able to actually vocalise what they are.
It turns out that I was in shock.
I have worried that people must think that I am heartless. "How can she possibly have come to work every single day for the past two weeks?" they must have thought. "How is she not sat at her desk constantly crying? How is she still managing to laugh and joke with us?" My answer is that I don't know. I really don't know.
What they don't know is that every morning I have woken up after a shocking night's sleep (7 hours is the most I've got by a long shot in any one night in the past 12 days) and not wanted to get out of bed at all. They don't know that at about 5.15pm I go to the toilet and lock the door and take deep breaths and cry a little bit because I don't want to go home at all. I don't want to go back to the flat that was my sanctuary which turned into a place of betrayal.
They don't know that I have been walking around for 12 days wondering why everyone is carrying on as normal. People are doing their weekly shop in Tesco. People are sat in pubs drinking. People are sat in meetings at work. And in every one of these situations I have literally had to stop myself from screaming. And I mean literally. I have had to take deep breaths in the salad aisle to stop myself from shouting "How can you act as if everything is normal, when the world has just ended?"
Weekly work project update calls where people have asked me "And what are you working on?" and I have had to stop myself from saying, "Well, I've actually been working on forcing myself to eat something other than one slice of toast a day and shrivelling up into a ball and rocking in a corner. As for anything else, I really couldn't give a shit, because it turns out that nothing actually matters any more."
I don't know how everything else can be normal when my life has been turned so upside down. Isn't there some kind of butterfly effect? Isn't the ripple of this expanding out in ever decreasing circles to those around me? How can you be stood in the queue to get your Starbucks this morning when I could barely summon the energy to put clothes on?
For 13 years he has been in my life. For about 9 of those he has been one of my closest friends and for the past 4 he has been my best friend. My one and only and my Person. A lot has happened over the past four years - the long distance, his parents breaking up, my redundancy and ensuing unemployment, the crappy jobs we both hated, moving apart, trying to build new lives in a new town. A lot of turmoil has taken place, but the one constant throughout it all, my one security in life, was us. His love for me was one of the only things I was sure about. I don't have a lot of faith in anything or anyone, but us? Us I had faith in. He is the only person I've ever imagined when I have dared to look into the future.
To suddenly discover that not only is that security no longer there, but that it was a mirage is enough to send you in to shock.
You see whilst I was merrily picturing a future with us together, he was imagining a way to make sure there was no future with us together.
When we were out the week before he left and a friend said to us "We were just talking about you guys and saying that you are basically the same person, you are so well suited" - I was basking in the glow of the compliment whilst he was...who even knows what he was thinking.
When I was sat planning the shopping for next week's dinners. He was sat buying furniture for his new flat.
Yes. You read that right. Before allowing me into the secret that he was leaving, he made sure he was set up. When he left, he already had his flat and had been sat about 10 foot away from me buying furniture for his new place. When we went to France for the long weekend he was sat there with my Dad, knowing that he was about to leave that man's daughter. When I sat there talking about plans for maybe coming out next year, he sat there, agreeing, making plans with me, knowing that his furniture from Argos was already on order and the rental checks were being completed on his new place.
You think that you have questions? You should be inside my brain.
As the shock has worn off I have realised that I have been cheated of a proper ending. You can't end 13 years in less than 15 minutes. You can't say "I don't feel the same way any more" and think that that is a sufficient explanation. I am also going to have to come to terms with the fact that these questions will never be answered. Someone that was so cowardly as to not have the conversation in the first place is not going to dignify me with a proper explanation.
I know that I have to move on. It is what it is and there's nothing that can be done about it now. I know that it's better that I know now and not even later down the line. I know that I'm better off without him and that I can do better. I know that worse things happen at sea and that I should be grateful I still have my health and a job.
I know that there's only so long that I can continue to be shaken to the core by this. That sooner or later everyone else will move on and no-one will feel obliged to feel concern for me. No-one will ask me "How are you?" with that look of pity in their eyes. I know that time is running out to come to terms with this because the longer that it goes on, the harder it will become to get over.
I tried to cleanse the flat of every piece of him. But apart from a stack of empty photo frames and a new lamp on the desk that was once his, I have been unable to move any further. The rails on his side of the wardrobe remain bare and the drawers that contained his clothes are still empty.
In a way the stuff was easy to erase, much harder to erase are the memories. I have tried to make myself feel better by delving back into my mind to bring up happy memories, but he taints all of them with his presence. I hate that he was part of watching my best friend get married and I hate that he is intrinsically linked with Manchester, my favourite place in the whole world.
I was supposed to finally get my fairy tale. I was supposed to be with the person that I had known for years. The person that had stuck around even when we weren't together, waiting for me. The person who had pursued me and tried to win me back. I was supposed to get the person that was the extension of me. Because we really were the same person. That friend who said that to us the week before the world ended is not the first person to have said that. I think the one comfort I can take in all of this is that in the past 12 days anyone and everyone that I have spoken to has been completely shocked. Those that have known him from 13 years ago and those that have known him in the past year, they have been as shocked as I am. The phrase "I can't believe it" has become as commonplace to me now as "Good Morning" is.
I have always tried, and I think succeeded, to make sure that I remained my own person no matter what relationship I have been in. I have been proud of my independence and I actually think that is the reason that I have not completely lost it in the past 12 days. But no matter how much I have been sure who I am, I don't know who I am in relation to anything other than him. He was my anchor and the point around which most things revolved. I can't feel sorry about that, I don't think you can be together for any length of time and not have that happen. I was still capable of being my own person and going and doing my own things without him, but it never once occurred to me that I would go and do those things and not come back to him.
The main issue that I have to come to terms with is is that after 13 years of knowing him, I didn't really know him at all.
Tuesday, 8 April 2014
On watching your best friend getting married...
You may have missed this because it kind of happened in the midst of my massive blog hiatus last year but America Girl and American Boy totally got engaged last summer.
They were going to be over in England for American Boy to attend a conference in Manchester and we said that we'd go for a little break in Corfu whilst they were over. We'd talked about a trip for our 30th birthdays anyway and this seemed like the perfect opportunity for us to get away and for them to tick another European country off their list - I actually think they're beating me in the number of places that they've been in Europe you know.
All was planned and in place and so I nearly died when American Boy e-mailed me saying that he was planning on proposing to American Girl - he needed to know some logistics about what we were doing when so he could plan his proposal.
My reaction was two-fold - so much excitement that I nearly vomited and absolute horror that I was going to have to keep this a secret for months.
I coped with the latter emotion by telling as many people as feasibly possible that did not know either of them.
I'll never be a spy. No good at keeping secrets.
Their engagement story is not mine to tell but it was unique and personal and beautiful, even with a dead pigeon involved.
They got engaged the day before we flew to Corfu and the week we spent there was spattered with conversations about when the wedding might take place, who might be invited, where it would be, what it would look like etc etc.
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They were going to be over in England for American Boy to attend a conference in Manchester and we said that we'd go for a little break in Corfu whilst they were over. We'd talked about a trip for our 30th birthdays anyway and this seemed like the perfect opportunity for us to get away and for them to tick another European country off their list - I actually think they're beating me in the number of places that they've been in Europe you know.
All was planned and in place and so I nearly died when American Boy e-mailed me saying that he was planning on proposing to American Girl - he needed to know some logistics about what we were doing when so he could plan his proposal.
My reaction was two-fold - so much excitement that I nearly vomited and absolute horror that I was going to have to keep this a secret for months.
I coped with the latter emotion by telling as many people as feasibly possible that did not know either of them.
I'll never be a spy. No good at keeping secrets.
Their engagement story is not mine to tell but it was unique and personal and beautiful, even with a dead pigeon involved.
They got engaged the day before we flew to Corfu and the week we spent there was spattered with conversations about when the wedding might take place, who might be invited, where it would be, what it would look like etc etc.
Picture has no relevance - it's just to make you jealous.
I felt simultaneously incredibly excited but also just a tiny bit sad. No, not for the reason that you think, but for the simple reason that this was my best friend getting married and, thanks to that stupid Atlantic Ocean and the fact that she lives on the wrong side* of the United States - I wouldn't be able to really help out that much with the planning of the wedding. Not the dress trying on or the table plans or, you know, just any of the stuff that you get to talk about when one of your most favourite people is about to walk down the aisle.
Thanks to the wonders of Skype, Pinterest and Facebook messaging I got to see how things progressed - and progress they did quickly. I'm used to 1-2 year engagements so I nearly fell off my chair when I found out that the wedding would be taking place about 9 months after we all returned from our Corfu holiday.
It was never a doubt in my mind what I would go. When I told people we knew when the wedding was they asked me "Oh, are you going?" and I would look at them as if they were slightly insane. There wouldn't have been anything on this planet that would have stopped me going.
I felt sad that I didn't get to take part in the Bridal Shower or Bachelorette party. Mostly because it meant I wouldn't get to do something that's on my list of Things I've Seen Time and Time Again in American TV and Movies. Did you know that a Bridal Shower and a Bachelorette Party are two different things? Not just a hen do? Anyway, much as I would have loved to have been a part - two trips to the US in a month was off the cards for me.
When we arrived in Phoenix I was overly keen to get involved in anything that might be 'helpful' to the wedding, but those guys were well planned, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't find anything to do to be useful. Up until the day before the wedding when I got to be super helpful and help make the flowers for the table centrepieces. Under the guidance of a professional I sat under the shade of their patio and tried to uncover my inner florist - sticking greenery and succulents into oasis until they eventually resembled something that looked pretty damn good.
I did ok at the wedding. For me. There was a point where I cried every time I looked at American Girl but I eventually got a hold of myself.
I would have done anything to have been more involved in their wedding day but nothing can compare to being able to be there when they did get married. Sat on the little white chairs on the grass, towards the end of a beautiful day, I couldn't believe that I was actually there, watching them get married.
Sometimes it absolutely smacks you in the face how quickly life goes past. Oh I know we sit there and go "How is it April already?!" but I never really take in the actual speed of it.
How was it possible that it was eight and a half years that I went back to Manchester to do my MSc and met these two guys who were currently standing on the altar in front of me? Eight and a half years? It can't be possible. (In fact it can't be possible so much that I have spent about 20 minutes counting on fingers and paper and checking with The Person that it was in fact September 2005 that I went back to Manchester.)
It was something that I knew was going to happen and I knew I would watch one day. I knew these guys would get married, but here it actually was. Here is the actual day and I'm sat right here remembering. Remembering the year that we lived together in Manchester. Remembering that very first e-mail that I sent to American Girl once she was back in the US and I was living temporarily in Salford. Remembering all the e-mails and Facebook messages that have taken place since then. Remembering my trip over to the States in 2008 to see them. Remembering the time they came over the UK and it snowed and it snowed and it snowed. Remembering all the Skype calls. Remembering Corfu. And realising that now I get to remember their wedding day.
I could sit and be sad that I live in the stupid UK and she lives in the stupid US. I could sit and rage against the fact that there are no islands in the Atlantic Ocean that mean we could meet in the middle more often. I could sit and be sad that I couldn't be more involved in their wedding day.
Or.
I could be overwhelmingly happy with all the things that I have got to experience. I could be overwhelmingly happy that I happened to have lucked out when I applied to stay in Halls and was thrown in with those two. I could be overwhelmingly happy that we have managed to keep a damn good friendship going for eight and a half years when we don't live anywhere near each other. Overwhelmingly happy that I have just got to witness my best friend getting married.
There isn't anything that can beat that.
Uncharacteristic cheese from me. Source from here
Except the discovery of an island in the middle of the Atlantic...just saying...
*The 'right' side of the United States would be somewhere like New York i.e as close to the UK as you can get. Not over in Arizona which is most definitely the wrong side.
Sunday, 2 March 2014
The one who moves away
It’s a funny feeling being the one who
moves away.
I get a lot of “It’s been too longs!” or “When
are you coming back for a weekend?!” and I answer and go “I know, I’ve just been so busy and haven’t
had the chance to come home, I’ll let you know when I’m back and we can go out.”
I explain that for me to get home at a
price that doesn’t cripple me I take the Megabus. Unfortunately the times that
the Megabuses run are not convenient if you work Monday-Friday so for me to
come home I either have to take a Friday off work, or not arrive until 1.30pm
on the Saturday afternoon.
And then I stop and think.
Where are the messages and texts saying “When are you free? We’ll make a trip up to
see you!”? Where are the people offering to sacrifice their precious annual
leave to make the trip over to the Midlands?
But of course I don’t get those messages.
Birthdays tend to be a good example. I was
asked recently whether I would be coming back to Hull for someone’s birthday in
May. I was told that it didn’t need to be expensive because they were probably
just going to go out for a meal and go to the cinema.
I have to take a deep breath with these
situations. I want to ask people to really
think for a second what they’re asking me to do. In this case I’m being
asked to take time off work to come back to Hull to go to the cinema…
It would be fine if people accepted that
you couldn’t come back for everything but unfortunately they can’t. Everyone
likes to think that they’re special (myself included) and that someone would
want to come back for their birthday, if you don’t then it’s taken as a
rejection of friendship.
And yet, let’s talk about my birthday.
Nobody says to me “Right, so when are we
coming over for your birthday then?” instead I’m asked what I’m doing and
I’m asked if I’m coming back to Hull to celebrate.
Because I’m the one who moved away.
Coming back has now become a stressful
experience rather than the relaxed feeling you should get upon returning to the
city that I love. It’s become a military exercise of trying to shoehorn everyone
in and trying to keep everyone happy. Least of all has it become about spending
time with my Mum.
You know, my retired Mum who is almost 70 and lives on her own and might actually enjoy
having her daughter around to spend time with. A daughter who doesn’t come home
and stay there for five minutes before dashing out to meet up with someone for
coffee/go out for a night out. It’s not like we have grand adventures planned, but
she likes to make dinner for me and watch a bit of rubbish TV and wander over
the fields to Matalan. It’s simple but it’s what we like to do and I hate that
my time with her becomes compromised or becomes something that I fit in around
when everyone else is free to meet up with me.
In fact it’s so bad that when my Dad and
his partner actually left Hull to move down to Somerset I was basically relieved. One less visit to try and cram
in when I venture back home.
I’ve even thought about sneaking trips back home to see Mum so I
can avoid the guilt trips that follow when I’ve been back and haven’t had
chance to see absolutely everyone I know that lives in Hull.
Being the one who moved away means that you
are simultaneously expected to make new friendships whilst maintaining the ones
back at home. People resent you for making new friends and moving on, having
new in-jokes and “You had to be there” stories. But at the same time, people
resent you for not keeping up-to-date with their news – after all you should be
the one constantly checking in and finding out what’s happening,
Because you’re the one who moved away.
Monday, 10 February 2014
Extroverts don't have it easy you know
The other week an impromptu after work drinks thing was arranged.
Normally this is my most hated of things. I hate impromptu stuff, it gives me the willies and the shakes and I don't like it. It wasn't planned, it wasn't on my list of things that need to be done. That makes it scary.
My initial reaction is to say no to these things but I also knew that someone who complains that she doesn't have friends and then turns down opportunities to go out and make friends is a very sad person indeed.
"I'm just going to go out for one" I told The Person, "I'll be back about 8pm."
I did not come back at 8.00pm.
I came back at 1.30am.
I, however, was triumphant. Not because I'd broken down the barriers and actually made people realise that I'm super fun and brilliant. Not because I'd just had a great time. Not because I'd drunk all the drinks and danced to all the songs.
I was triumphant because I was the first person to leave the night out and come home.
Welcome to the world of an Extrovert.
There was a point at 10.00pm when I actually wanted to go home - I'd had a few drinks, had a good chat with people and was feeling good. I knew I had to be up early the next day as my Dad and his wife were coming to see us and I also knew I needed to text The Person to point out that I had indeed not come home at 8.00pm as originally planned.
If I was an Introvert, also known as The Person, this is the point at which I would have gone home. For all the reasons I just listed above.
But I am not an Introvert. I am an Extrovert and Extroverts don't leave the party early.
I made a noise about maybe going home and everyone went "No, come on to the next pub" and I, after absolutely no further persuasion whatsoever readily agreed.
For me it didn't make sense to leave the party early. Yes there were all those reasons I just listed above but you see there was one overriding factor - I was still having fun. Why on earth would anyone leave when they were still having fun? My brain cannot comprehend the thought that a person can have fun and then say to themselves "That's my fun all topped up now, I can go home."
I want more fun. I want my fun to run over and overflow. I want to keep funning until the sun comes up.
I do not get drained by being around people, even when I didn't want to go out in the first place. Once I'm in a group and talking and chatting I feel my energy levels slowly building and lifting. There have been times when I've been accused of being drunk on a night out when I've been stone cold sober. I'm not drunk, I am just giddy on the fumes of excitement, lightheaded on the vapours of jollity, blinded by the dazzle of friends. I get silly and loud and raucous and I just never want it to stop. Ever.
If I had left at 10.00pm when I had absolutely had fun and a great time I would have been left feeling a little bit empty inside. People would still be out having fun and I wouldn't be with them - not being with people who are having fun is incredibly difficult for an Extrovert. As I spoke about in this post - last year was so hard for me because I haven't had friends to go out and have fun with.
For an Extrovert my own company isn't enough. I know it's terribly uncool to admit that. We're all supposed to be self-contained hives and the internet is full of people absolutely desperate to let us all know that they are the person that is the most ok with being in their own company. I think the trouble sometimes is a misunderstanding of the phrase. When I say my own company isn't enough I'm not saying that I couldn't survive without a man in my life or I couldn't bear the solitude of living alone - believe me, as someone who has a man in their life and lives with him there are many times when I long to be in my own space. What I'm saying is that I need real life human interaction on a regular basis in order to feel happy and content.
I thank god for Twitter most days now. During the past year when I didn't have real life friends about Twitter was a god-send. I go on there every night and talk to at least one person, that was how I tried to keep my Extrovert happy. I felt like I was talking to people and making connections and being part of something. But unfortunately 140 characters just isn't enough for me, I like having actual voice conversations too.
Recently the internet has been talking a lot about being an Introvert. By doing this it becomes easy to cast Extroverts as limelight stealing show-offs who drain the energy from the poor Introverts.
But we don't mean to drain your energy. It's just that sitting at home and not talking to people for really long periods of time leaves us feeling just as shitty as you do after a long period of socialising.
And that sucks too.
---------------------------
For an Introvert's view of things, please go and read this post by Janet
If you have a sense of humour and are able to laugh at the tongue in cheek nature of the list then please go and read 15 Unmistakable, Outrageously Secret Signs You're an Extrovert. If you are neither of those things then don't bother, you'll get all huffy and offended on behalf of Introverts everywhere.
Normally this is my most hated of things. I hate impromptu stuff, it gives me the willies and the shakes and I don't like it. It wasn't planned, it wasn't on my list of things that need to be done. That makes it scary.
My initial reaction is to say no to these things but I also knew that someone who complains that she doesn't have friends and then turns down opportunities to go out and make friends is a very sad person indeed.
"I'm just going to go out for one" I told The Person, "I'll be back about 8pm."
I did not come back at 8.00pm.
I came back at 1.30am.
I, however, was triumphant. Not because I'd broken down the barriers and actually made people realise that I'm super fun and brilliant. Not because I'd just had a great time. Not because I'd drunk all the drinks and danced to all the songs.
I was triumphant because I was the first person to leave the night out and come home.
Welcome to the world of an Extrovert.
There was a point at 10.00pm when I actually wanted to go home - I'd had a few drinks, had a good chat with people and was feeling good. I knew I had to be up early the next day as my Dad and his wife were coming to see us and I also knew I needed to text The Person to point out that I had indeed not come home at 8.00pm as originally planned.
If I was an Introvert, also known as The Person, this is the point at which I would have gone home. For all the reasons I just listed above.
But I am not an Introvert. I am an Extrovert and Extroverts don't leave the party early.
I made a noise about maybe going home and everyone went "No, come on to the next pub" and I, after absolutely no further persuasion whatsoever readily agreed.
For me it didn't make sense to leave the party early. Yes there were all those reasons I just listed above but you see there was one overriding factor - I was still having fun. Why on earth would anyone leave when they were still having fun? My brain cannot comprehend the thought that a person can have fun and then say to themselves "That's my fun all topped up now, I can go home."
I want more fun. I want my fun to run over and overflow. I want to keep funning until the sun comes up.
I do not get drained by being around people, even when I didn't want to go out in the first place. Once I'm in a group and talking and chatting I feel my energy levels slowly building and lifting. There have been times when I've been accused of being drunk on a night out when I've been stone cold sober. I'm not drunk, I am just giddy on the fumes of excitement, lightheaded on the vapours of jollity, blinded by the dazzle of friends. I get silly and loud and raucous and I just never want it to stop. Ever.
If I had left at 10.00pm when I had absolutely had fun and a great time I would have been left feeling a little bit empty inside. People would still be out having fun and I wouldn't be with them - not being with people who are having fun is incredibly difficult for an Extrovert. As I spoke about in this post - last year was so hard for me because I haven't had friends to go out and have fun with.
For an Extrovert my own company isn't enough. I know it's terribly uncool to admit that. We're all supposed to be self-contained hives and the internet is full of people absolutely desperate to let us all know that they are the person that is the most ok with being in their own company. I think the trouble sometimes is a misunderstanding of the phrase. When I say my own company isn't enough I'm not saying that I couldn't survive without a man in my life or I couldn't bear the solitude of living alone - believe me, as someone who has a man in their life and lives with him there are many times when I long to be in my own space. What I'm saying is that I need real life human interaction on a regular basis in order to feel happy and content.
I thank god for Twitter most days now. During the past year when I didn't have real life friends about Twitter was a god-send. I go on there every night and talk to at least one person, that was how I tried to keep my Extrovert happy. I felt like I was talking to people and making connections and being part of something. But unfortunately 140 characters just isn't enough for me, I like having actual voice conversations too.
Recently the internet has been talking a lot about being an Introvert. By doing this it becomes easy to cast Extroverts as limelight stealing show-offs who drain the energy from the poor Introverts.
But we don't mean to drain your energy. It's just that sitting at home and not talking to people for really long periods of time leaves us feeling just as shitty as you do after a long period of socialising.
And that sucks too.
---------------------------
For an Introvert's view of things, please go and read this post by Janet
If you have a sense of humour and are able to laugh at the tongue in cheek nature of the list then please go and read 15 Unmistakable, Outrageously Secret Signs You're an Extrovert. If you are neither of those things then don't bother, you'll get all huffy and offended on behalf of Introverts everywhere.
Wednesday, 18 December 2013
On friendship
I sat in the Wetherspoons at lunchtime eating my burger and looking about. It's newly opened in the 'town' and quite the talk of it. It's always full which always leads me to wonder where all these people used to go to drink and eat. Did they just stay at home?
My eye alights on one of the booths where there are 6 ladies in their 40s and 50s sat. Wine buckets are on the table, sharing platters in situ. They are all talking at once, several conversations overlapping and get periodically louder as excitement levels reach fever pitch.
It's not really the sight I want to see when I'm feeling so alone.
I wonder if that will be me in 10-20 year's time. Will I have made a tight group of friends by then (please god)? Will I still be friends with the people I'm friends with now?
I wonder where it all went wrong. I'm in the minority of people who are not still close to the people they went to school with. I'm not even that close any more with the people I went to university with (American Girl and American Boy in exception). It feels like it would be silly to blame anything else but me - I'm the only common thread. But then I get defensive. I could blame myself for not making an effort, but then others didn't make any either. Plus we're at the point where lives begin to drastically diverge - as people get married and have children I've watched the friendships they have slowly diminish - there's less time for friendships, and even less time for friendships where the other person doesn't have a baby and "can't understand what my life is like right now."
It must happen to others, I can't be the only one.
I wonder if I'll ever get to sit around that table with a group of gossipy friends.
And then I realise.
I do sit around a table every night with a group of gossipy friends. It's called the interwebs.
I show my face on Twitter every single day and more often than not pipe up in a conversation that's being had on there. I ask questions and offer up solutions. I exclaim with delight at photos of cats and share pictures of what I've had for tea that night. They're only the small things, but it's the small things that make a friendship - it's the random snippets of information that we share that give us an insight in to each other's lives.
It shouldn't really have come as a surprise that I've made a return to blogging. Because it's where a lot of my friendships now come from and are based on. I've been talking to some of you for years and years now, how weird is that? I tell you things I would never tell the people that I work with, or even some of my 'real life' friends.
'Real life'. That's a weird phrase isn't it. I've just gone back through this post and put quotation marks around each time I've mentioned it (hopefully). I still make the distinction to people when I talk about the people I know online. When I told people about going to Norbury Manor I got myself in a pickle trying to explain who I was going with when really I didn't need to. I just needed to say "I'm going away with some friends."
I couldn't have written an e-mail to my friends that contained within it the words that I wrote in my post last week. Even if I could have I wouldn't have experienced the plethora of comments and Tweets that I received. Sometimes it is about quantity and at a point where you're feeling quite alone, to realise that there are people out there is all you need to decide that maybe getting up in the morning won't be so bad after all.
And yes, of course, eventually, there will be new friends. I will get a car and I will be able to join the groups I would like to join and I will meet new people. And yes, I can try to rebuild and repair the cracks that have appeared in already existing friendships. But also I will make every effort to remember that some of the friends that have got me through this past year are you guys.
And I would like to thank you for that.
Here endeth the mush.
My eye alights on one of the booths where there are 6 ladies in their 40s and 50s sat. Wine buckets are on the table, sharing platters in situ. They are all talking at once, several conversations overlapping and get periodically louder as excitement levels reach fever pitch.
It's not really the sight I want to see when I'm feeling so alone.
I wonder if that will be me in 10-20 year's time. Will I have made a tight group of friends by then (please god)? Will I still be friends with the people I'm friends with now?
I wonder where it all went wrong. I'm in the minority of people who are not still close to the people they went to school with. I'm not even that close any more with the people I went to university with (American Girl and American Boy in exception). It feels like it would be silly to blame anything else but me - I'm the only common thread. But then I get defensive. I could blame myself for not making an effort, but then others didn't make any either. Plus we're at the point where lives begin to drastically diverge - as people get married and have children I've watched the friendships they have slowly diminish - there's less time for friendships, and even less time for friendships where the other person doesn't have a baby and "can't understand what my life is like right now."
It must happen to others, I can't be the only one.
I wonder if I'll ever get to sit around that table with a group of gossipy friends.
And then I realise.
I do sit around a table every night with a group of gossipy friends. It's called the interwebs.
I show my face on Twitter every single day and more often than not pipe up in a conversation that's being had on there. I ask questions and offer up solutions. I exclaim with delight at photos of cats and share pictures of what I've had for tea that night. They're only the small things, but it's the small things that make a friendship - it's the random snippets of information that we share that give us an insight in to each other's lives.
It shouldn't really have come as a surprise that I've made a return to blogging. Because it's where a lot of my friendships now come from and are based on. I've been talking to some of you for years and years now, how weird is that? I tell you things I would never tell the people that I work with, or even some of my 'real life' friends.
'Real life'. That's a weird phrase isn't it. I've just gone back through this post and put quotation marks around each time I've mentioned it (hopefully). I still make the distinction to people when I talk about the people I know online. When I told people about going to Norbury Manor I got myself in a pickle trying to explain who I was going with when really I didn't need to. I just needed to say "I'm going away with some friends."
I couldn't have written an e-mail to my friends that contained within it the words that I wrote in my post last week. Even if I could have I wouldn't have experienced the plethora of comments and Tweets that I received. Sometimes it is about quantity and at a point where you're feeling quite alone, to realise that there are people out there is all you need to decide that maybe getting up in the morning won't be so bad after all.
And yes, of course, eventually, there will be new friends. I will get a car and I will be able to join the groups I would like to join and I will meet new people. And yes, I can try to rebuild and repair the cracks that have appeared in already existing friendships. But also I will make every effort to remember that some of the friends that have got me through this past year are you guys.
And I would like to thank you for that.
Here endeth the mush.
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
My grass isn't greener
It's funny really when I think about it. Although 'funny' in that way where you feel like you might be hysterically laughing to stop yourself from collapsing on a heap in the floor crying.
I never would have thought in a million years that I'd be sat here in 2013 saying I'm in a worse place than I was in 2012.
I know right. How could anything be worse than 2012? Going from being made redundant, to having to move away from my friends and family in Hull, to being unemployed for a few months, to ending up in possibly the most depressing job where I got bullied. I lived in a city where I had no friends, other than The Person, oh and in the middle of it all I had a pretty spectacular meltdown.
2013 was the ultimate in fresh starts. Literally moving on the 1st January to a new place and starting a new job on the 2nd January which I was loving. There were challenges in the form of living in my sister's box room and having The Person live all the way in Preston but I was feeling fairly positive.
So how is it, that 2013 is heading towards a close and I feel worse than ever?
It's as if multiple things have conspired against me that seem determined to try and block my happiness everywhere I turn and, with no potential solution for some of them in sight, I can feel the 'badness' (those looming, crushing feelings of awfulness that seem to always be hovering over me in the background but I manage to keep at bay) starting to begin it's slow and painful creep over my shoulders.
For a start, the place I live in is tiny. I don't really know how to stress that word enough. The main 'town' is literally a street. A small street. We have one high street clothes store which is about the size of my living room. Luckily I'm not that interested in clothes shopping because that may have pushed me over the edge a long time ago. The fact is that there is just nothing to do here. Basically once you've visited the castle you're kind of out of things to do.
Frustratingly there's a whole host of things to do pretty much on my doorstep. I'm not a million miles away from some decent cities - Derby, Leicester, Nottingham, heck even Birmingham isn't that far away. There's the National Forest practically tapping at my window and National Trust properties galore. The problem? Absolutely none of them are accessible if you don't have a car.
Welcome to the sticks people, where public transport is non-existent and you are left with a situation where visiting Pets at Home and Wickes is the highlight of your weekend.
I have a huge bugbear about people with cars not understanding what life is like without one. I would love for them to come here for a week and be faced with constantly having to say "I'd love to, but I can't get there." or "I'd love it, but could you give me a lift?" Nothing like being 30 and not being able to independently get anywhere to make you feel good about yourself. The closest town I could get to is Burton, which takes 45 minutes on a bus, despite being a 25 minute car drive away and I think I can get to Leicester, although it appears to take 1.5 hours and involve a convoluted and difficult bus journey where you may have to get off a bus but also might not have to - I've been too scared to try it in case I just end up on a bus for the rest of my week.
I do technically have access to a car in the form of my sister's tank but to borrow that means a mile and half walk to her house (and back home again after dropping the car off) and actually, funnily enough, she needs to use her car as well. I'm probably not great at asking for it when I need it because, again, nothing like not being able to independently travel anywhere etc etc.
Secondly, I am 30 and it is well known that the older you get, the harder it is to make friends. I have been here a year and still don't have anyone I can call a friend. Don't get me wrong, I get on with lots of people at work. Lots of people - lots of chatting, lots of laughs - but they are restricted to 9-5. There has been nothing which has materialised into an outside of work friendship. Actually a lot of that is again down to location - most people don't live in this town, but live in other places and commute in, so they're not about to meet up or do anything with. Those people that do live here have lived here all their lives and are the ultimate in small town cliques - no matter how well you get on with them in work, it's not going to translate to an offer of a night out.
I am an extrovert in the true sense of the word. I need people around me to gain my energy. My spark comes from talking to people and interacting with people. I'm not like introverts, who see social interaction as something that drains them - it's honestly my life force.* Me without friends is just not pleasant. And on top of not making friends here, I have slowly but ever so surely drifted away from my friends back home. It happens, people get boyfriends, you don't live there any more, life moves on and leaves you stranded behind it. But it means I have no-one to talk to about the crushing loneliness I'm experiencing here.
All of the above has added up to put pressure on my relationship, and whilst I don't really want to go into that on here (at the moment) things have not been great between us and we are needing to do some emergency repair work. Which is actually difficult when you have nowhere to go because you have no transport (begin that loop again.)
Which brings us to wok. And again without wanting to go into that too much - things have not been great there. My role has changed due to unavoidable circumstances and whilst I appreciate that a new role has been found for me it's not a) what I wanted to do and b) I'm receiving absolutely no guidance at all on how to do it. It's frustrating and just really really gutting because I'd finally found something that I wanted to do and thought I was doing well at.
So there you have it. The holy trifecta of work, relationship and friends has slowly but steadily crumbled over the past few months, leaving me feeling like I'm hanging over a precipice. One from which I have no escape because there isn't a bloody bus back from said precipice.
I joke.
Not really.
Last year, I may have been unemployed and without friends but I lived in a city. There was plenty to do and plenty to explore and there were other places that were on our doorstep that we could get to because there were public transport links. Living here is like experiencing cabin fever on a major scale and feeling as though the other shoe is about to drop...
---------------------------
*For a cartoon which incredibly cleverly and easily explains the difference between introverted and extroverted people please see this How to interact with the introverted cartoon - it will honestly help you you understand the differences between the two.
I never would have thought in a million years that I'd be sat here in 2013 saying I'm in a worse place than I was in 2012.
I know right. How could anything be worse than 2012? Going from being made redundant, to having to move away from my friends and family in Hull, to being unemployed for a few months, to ending up in possibly the most depressing job where I got bullied. I lived in a city where I had no friends, other than The Person, oh and in the middle of it all I had a pretty spectacular meltdown.
2013 was the ultimate in fresh starts. Literally moving on the 1st January to a new place and starting a new job on the 2nd January which I was loving. There were challenges in the form of living in my sister's box room and having The Person live all the way in Preston but I was feeling fairly positive.
So how is it, that 2013 is heading towards a close and I feel worse than ever?
It's as if multiple things have conspired against me that seem determined to try and block my happiness everywhere I turn and, with no potential solution for some of them in sight, I can feel the 'badness' (those looming, crushing feelings of awfulness that seem to always be hovering over me in the background but I manage to keep at bay) starting to begin it's slow and painful creep over my shoulders.
For a start, the place I live in is tiny. I don't really know how to stress that word enough. The main 'town' is literally a street. A small street. We have one high street clothes store which is about the size of my living room. Luckily I'm not that interested in clothes shopping because that may have pushed me over the edge a long time ago. The fact is that there is just nothing to do here. Basically once you've visited the castle you're kind of out of things to do.
Frustratingly there's a whole host of things to do pretty much on my doorstep. I'm not a million miles away from some decent cities - Derby, Leicester, Nottingham, heck even Birmingham isn't that far away. There's the National Forest practically tapping at my window and National Trust properties galore. The problem? Absolutely none of them are accessible if you don't have a car.
Welcome to the sticks people, where public transport is non-existent and you are left with a situation where visiting Pets at Home and Wickes is the highlight of your weekend.
I have a huge bugbear about people with cars not understanding what life is like without one. I would love for them to come here for a week and be faced with constantly having to say "I'd love to, but I can't get there." or "I'd love it, but could you give me a lift?" Nothing like being 30 and not being able to independently get anywhere to make you feel good about yourself. The closest town I could get to is Burton, which takes 45 minutes on a bus, despite being a 25 minute car drive away and I think I can get to Leicester, although it appears to take 1.5 hours and involve a convoluted and difficult bus journey where you may have to get off a bus but also might not have to - I've been too scared to try it in case I just end up on a bus for the rest of my week.
I do technically have access to a car in the form of my sister's tank but to borrow that means a mile and half walk to her house (and back home again after dropping the car off) and actually, funnily enough, she needs to use her car as well. I'm probably not great at asking for it when I need it because, again, nothing like not being able to independently travel anywhere etc etc.
Secondly, I am 30 and it is well known that the older you get, the harder it is to make friends. I have been here a year and still don't have anyone I can call a friend. Don't get me wrong, I get on with lots of people at work. Lots of people - lots of chatting, lots of laughs - but they are restricted to 9-5. There has been nothing which has materialised into an outside of work friendship. Actually a lot of that is again down to location - most people don't live in this town, but live in other places and commute in, so they're not about to meet up or do anything with. Those people that do live here have lived here all their lives and are the ultimate in small town cliques - no matter how well you get on with them in work, it's not going to translate to an offer of a night out.
I am an extrovert in the true sense of the word. I need people around me to gain my energy. My spark comes from talking to people and interacting with people. I'm not like introverts, who see social interaction as something that drains them - it's honestly my life force.* Me without friends is just not pleasant. And on top of not making friends here, I have slowly but ever so surely drifted away from my friends back home. It happens, people get boyfriends, you don't live there any more, life moves on and leaves you stranded behind it. But it means I have no-one to talk to about the crushing loneliness I'm experiencing here.
All of the above has added up to put pressure on my relationship, and whilst I don't really want to go into that on here (at the moment) things have not been great between us and we are needing to do some emergency repair work. Which is actually difficult when you have nowhere to go because you have no transport (begin that loop again.)
Which brings us to wok. And again without wanting to go into that too much - things have not been great there. My role has changed due to unavoidable circumstances and whilst I appreciate that a new role has been found for me it's not a) what I wanted to do and b) I'm receiving absolutely no guidance at all on how to do it. It's frustrating and just really really gutting because I'd finally found something that I wanted to do and thought I was doing well at.
So there you have it. The holy trifecta of work, relationship and friends has slowly but steadily crumbled over the past few months, leaving me feeling like I'm hanging over a precipice. One from which I have no escape because there isn't a bloody bus back from said precipice.
I joke.
Not really.
Last year, I may have been unemployed and without friends but I lived in a city. There was plenty to do and plenty to explore and there were other places that were on our doorstep that we could get to because there were public transport links. Living here is like experiencing cabin fever on a major scale and feeling as though the other shoe is about to drop...
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*For a cartoon which incredibly cleverly and easily explains the difference between introverted and extroverted people please see this How to interact with the introverted cartoon - it will honestly help you you understand the differences between the two.
Tuesday, 5 November 2013
In praise of mediocrity
"Most people don't workout and then feel sad about it you know" The Person says to me when my downcast face appears in the kitchen after another hard workout.
I then take him through all the exercises that I wasn't able to do. Mostly because the woman doing the exercise workout is a ballet dancer who appears to have legs the length of my front room and can dislocate her hips at will.
"You are literally the only person I know who works out and then beats herself up about it. You can't be perfect at everything you know."
I have decided he is right...
I can't run a very fast 10km.
(In fact at the moment I can only run 3km.)
I have the flexibility of an arthritic 80 year old.
I can't do 'normal' push-ups.
(In fact I struggle to do the 'girl' push-ups.)
I use baked bean cans instead of normal hand weights and sometimes those are too heavy for my puny arms.
I could be one of those people who works out until I vomit. I could be one of those people who goes out and tries to beat every run that she's done before. I could be one of those people who says "No pain, no gain."
I could be one of those people who reads other people's fitness posts on blogs and then feels like complete crap about herself because she'll never be that fast/strong/toned etc etc....No. Wait a minute. I am one of those people.
But being that person makes me terribly unhappy and the boyfriend is right, it really isn't normal to feel bad after doing a workout because you suddenly realise that you're not Mo Farrah/most other people you know who run 10km races.
And so, instead of finishing the workout and beating myself up that I could only do three quarters of the leg raises before having to stop and call the stupid, smiling, dancer woman in legwarmers a bitch, I shall finish the workout and give myself a high five for working out until my arm and leg muscles ache - it's not my fault that they ached so early on, turns out I'm not as fit as a fitness instructor. I shall give myself a high five for even doing one leg raise - that's one leg raise more than I would have done if I'd come in and sat on the sofa in front of the TV all night.
I will delight in my mediocrity. I don't want to be the "best I can" at running. I want to be able to do a bit of running and not die during/immediately after. I want to work up a bit of sweat, not throw up the contents of my stomach. Most importantly I will stop calling it cheating if I have to walk during a run - because that shit is crazy.
And now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and mentally throw darts at the face of that stupid, smiling dancer woman in the legwarmers.
I then take him through all the exercises that I wasn't able to do. Mostly because the woman doing the exercise workout is a ballet dancer who appears to have legs the length of my front room and can dislocate her hips at will.
"You are literally the only person I know who works out and then beats herself up about it. You can't be perfect at everything you know."
I have decided he is right...
I can't run a very fast 10km.
(In fact at the moment I can only run 3km.)
I have the flexibility of an arthritic 80 year old.
I can't do 'normal' push-ups.
(In fact I struggle to do the 'girl' push-ups.)
I use baked bean cans instead of normal hand weights and sometimes those are too heavy for my puny arms.
I could be one of those people who works out until I vomit. I could be one of those people who goes out and tries to beat every run that she's done before. I could be one of those people who says "No pain, no gain."
I could be one of those people who reads other people's fitness posts on blogs and then feels like complete crap about herself because she'll never be that fast/strong/toned etc etc....No. Wait a minute. I am one of those people.
But being that person makes me terribly unhappy and the boyfriend is right, it really isn't normal to feel bad after doing a workout because you suddenly realise that you're not Mo Farrah/most other people you know who run 10km races.
And so, instead of finishing the workout and beating myself up that I could only do three quarters of the leg raises before having to stop and call the stupid, smiling, dancer woman in legwarmers a bitch, I shall finish the workout and give myself a high five for working out until my arm and leg muscles ache - it's not my fault that they ached so early on, turns out I'm not as fit as a fitness instructor. I shall give myself a high five for even doing one leg raise - that's one leg raise more than I would have done if I'd come in and sat on the sofa in front of the TV all night.
I will delight in my mediocrity. I don't want to be the "best I can" at running. I want to be able to do a bit of running and not die during/immediately after. I want to work up a bit of sweat, not throw up the contents of my stomach. Most importantly I will stop calling it cheating if I have to walk during a run - because that shit is crazy.
And now, if you will excuse me, I need to go and mentally throw darts at the face of that stupid, smiling dancer woman in the legwarmers.
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