10 Things it’s Still OK to do at the Age of 26…

To see a photo taken by someone else with a picture of your Mum’s hands and really, really want a cuddle right at that very moment!


To see a huge bar of chocolate, have a couple of squares and still want to eat the entire bar even though you know it’s wrong and very bad for your waist line. There’s no one to stop you and no one would know, but you still battle with yourself of whether or not you REALLY want to.


To still have that one spoon that you love to use when you eat. You know the one – it’s the odd one in the drawer and just feels…. Nice. It’s also OK to shout out “Where’s my favorite spoon???” to your boyfriend like it’s the end of the world when you can’t find it.


To still run out of money at the end of the month even though you are 26 years old and probably should have your finances sorted by now.


To have a favorite film that no one has ever heard of. Mine is a film called “Love and Sex” that came free with Glamour magazine or something similar when I was much younger. It’s like a familiar friend that’s always there when you are in bed alone after you have had a huge fight with your boyfriend/husband.


To still watch re-runs of Sex and The City even though you have seen every episode about 100 times and you know the entire episode word for word, laughing before the funny moment has even happened. It is also OK to still make your boyfriend sit through them as well.


To secretly have a crush on Mike – the Situation, from Jersey Shore. Even though he’s a slime ball and if he came up to you in a bar and was the best of a bad bunch, you would still think he’s a creep.


To act like a complete high school kid with every relationship problem you encounter. It is still OK to eat a ton of ice cream once you have had a fight, or to think it’s the end of the world when there is a chance that you might break up. Even though you know he doesn’t really mean it, and you both know that you don’t.


To wonder what if………?


To secretly sometimes want a baby even though the timing is completely inappropriate, you have a volatile relationship, no financial stability and definitely no room in your life for responsibility. Even after all of that, you still think about it from time to time.


Images Sourced from Weheartit.com & Pinterest.com

May 13th, 2012 – The Lapdog: Get Outta My Head

He’s in my head again; The Lapdog. We have communicated recently, and I saw his girlfriend walking past me earlier when I was outside my place of work having a quick smoke with my sister. It didn’t help that I came home and went through a bunch of files I have on my computer and found a few letters that I’m pretty sure I never gave or sent him. These were from before I started my blog, and I thought, rather than waste them, I should publish them. This one is dated May 13th, 2012: (*Names have been changed)

I know you said you wanted a hand written letter, but then I’d have to deliver it you and that would make me cry again so I thought I’d just email you instead. I hope this is OK. I’ll try to find the most hand-written font I can find for it.

You just walked out and it broke my heart. I wanted to run down the stairs after you but I know what you are saying is right. You need to go get happy, and so do I. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you or that you aren’t enough. It just means that the timing isn’t right for us, yet again.

I do love you. I just don’t have enough to give you right now and you don’t deserve half a shot, if that makes sense? You are more than enough for me. I don’t care that you wear baggy jeans or polo’s, I don’t care that you don’t do your hair every day, I don’t care that you are not, (as you put it) hench. I don’t care about any of that stuff. I adore you for the person you are, the way that you make me feel and the fact that nothing ever changes between us. This is also why I know why we can’t work as friends. We can’t keep away from each other. You kiss me and I fall apart. When it’s just me and you, we are perfect. But we can’t just be me and you all the time. I need to go out and have my friends, I need to meet new people, I need to go out and have fun, and not just with girls, because I don’t like them much. I have always had more male friends than I have had female ones, and the fact that you automatically take a disliking to my male friends, regardless of what our intentions may be, makes it so difficult to figure out. I can’t just go out with you every night for the rest of my life, life doesn’t work like that and neither does relationships.

I know that you are right; I know the time apart will do us good. That DOES NOT mean I have to like it. I know we don’t text all day every day like we used it, and I am so sorry about that. However, we spend so much time together, the little texts don’t seem necessary any more. Then we would have nothing to talk about when we do see each other, does that make sense? I miss you when you don’t text me, and I know that the next little while is going to be so difficult with us not being in each other’s lives. I do get where you are coming from though – I understand how it feels to love someone with everything you have, and not feel as if you are getting the same back. I don’t know what is wrong with “us” right now, but I do know that it is not a good foundation for a relationship. It barely works as a friendship right now. You’re paranoid and jealous, I don’t show enough emotion. I would rather bottle everything up and take it out on myself than have to talk to you about it. For example, I would never say how much I still hate it that {your skanky ex} messages you. Not only because I don’t have a right as we are not together, but also because I’m not that kind of person. You take it as I don’t care, but in reality, it bugs me more than you will ever understand. Maybe that’s what I need? To hear of you in a happy relationship before I realize that I want you all the time. Harsh, but true. You know what we crazy chicks are like.

I do want you. More than just sex. I really need you to understand that. I love spending time with you, I love being around you, even when it’s nothing, it’s still something, you know? There are just so many reasons why I can’t commit to that right now, and when you’re in front of me, it’s hard to know where to even begin to explain. I need space – you know this. I get freaked out by the closeness, especially because I wasn’t used to it from The Big Love. I can’t deal with telling someone where I am all the time; it annoys me when you ask. Like when you asked what I was doing with The Bestie I’ve Never Had a Dalliance With, what time I was going out, when I was coming home, what was I doing? I get defensive and annoyed, because again, I am not used to someone keeping tabs on me all the time. I don’t know how to deal with it. I also don’t like the constant texts. I know it was different at the beginning and you might think it’s different with The Guy I Couldn’t Get Rid Of, but if you look back through our text conversations, you will clearly see a whole bunch of texts from him before I respond. And like I said, that changes in a relationship, which is basically how I was living, and I see you every night almost, I have only seen The Guy I Couldn’t Get Rid Of once, which is why we text. However, when I don’t text you back straight away, you get annoyed and defensive, asking where I am, why am I pissed off and not responding etc.

I still want to lose weight and if we get together now, or if I get together with anyone, I’ll get comfortable and put the weight on again. I have worked so hard to lose the weight that I have lost, and I have done barely anything recently in the way of working out, which has annoyed me. The same goes for smoking. I can’t be in a relationship with a smoker; otherwise I will end up being a smoker. That’s not me telling you to quit, that’s me saying that I need to become a strong enough non-smoker before I can start hanging around with a smoker.

I need to have my rebound fling, and if we keep doing what we are doing, you are going to end up being my rebound fling. You are worth so much more than that in my eyes. However, I have so much anger and resentment towards the men that I have had in my life, I now need to rebel – I need to be mean and non-committal, I need to date because I have NEVER dated. I need to do bad dates, and good dates. Otherwise, I’m going to regret and resent the person that stopped me from doing that five years or whatever down the line. I need to be really, really selfish. I have given the guys in my life everything that I had, stupidly, and now I need to do what’s right for me. Just for a little while, at least.

This is not me saying that we are never going to work. This is me saying that there is so much I need to figure out first. I don’t need to go out and shag every guy that looks at me, and I definitely don’t want you to think that. I do need to meet people though, and have new experiences and have fun. Whatever those new experiences and fun may mean. I have so many bad things about me right now that I need to sort out. I need to learn how to get angry and deal with it properly rather than hurting myself. I have been on the brink so many times since I came home and I haven’t done it and I am so very, very proud of myself. That might sound utterly retarded to you, but to me, that’s a big achievement. I want to be able to wear skirts and bikinis, and the only way I am going to be able to do that is if I stop cutting. I need to sort that part of me out first. I also need to learn how to deal with jealousy better. I need to stop taking my mood swings out on the people around me, like you. I need to mourn for The Big Love. I still think about him all the time and it annoys me because I hate the fact that he is still in my head. That’s not fair on you. It’s not fair on me either.

I adore you. You are my best friend. I can’t imagine you not being in my life again, even after these three short months. However, I can’t stand how much this is hurting you. I can’t give you all of me. I can’t give anyone all of me. I’m not ready. The thing is I would kill any girl that ever made you cry like I make you cry. I can’t stand seeing you like that, and I definitely can’t stand being the girl that caused that. I will ALWAYS be there for you. ALWAYS. Just like you come running to me, I always come running to you. I don’t know how we always end up in these stupid situations, and it definitely hasn’t gotten any easier to deal with over time. I can’t do that to you anymore. And I don’t want you to wait for me either. If you find a girl that makes you smile, go for it. I probably will be jealous and angry because I missed my shot, in fact, I would like to bet money on it. But, more than anything in this world, I want you to be happy because you deserve it! Go be single. Do the single thing. Just like I need to. Like I keep saying, you can’t be happy in a relationship if you are not happy being single. I can’t make you happy, only you can. It works the same for me – I’m not happy with myself. Therefore I can’t rely on you to give me that temporary happiness, because at the end of the day, I still don’t end up sorting the issues out that I have with myself.

I hope this works out for us, in whatever way that it is meant to. I do know that I can’t watch you be this upset anymore, and I would imagine the same applies for you. If you need me, please don’t hesitate to call me. I will always be right at the end of the phone for you. I just hope we are doing the right thing by giving each other space. One thing is certain – I love you. Get happy x

I Miss You in General

Tell Me What You See, When You Look at Me.

*Super Long Post Alert*

I was watching a show this morning about women and the way they see their bodies. It made me think about the way I think about my body, and compare notes with you guys. Coz, you know; that’s what I do.

I should probably say that I probably suffer with a very bad body image because the ways that I have been treated over the years by the various men in my life. I will always remember the time I slept with The Firefighter (Number 4) and he told me that even though I had put on a bit of weight, I was still incredibly sexy. Those comments stand out to me, and it’s a pattern that has continued with most of them men in my life. The Big Love, for example, made constant comments about my weight gain at the end of our relationship, went through a phase of sleeping with skinnier sluts, and then settled with a girl that was bigger than I ever got. With The Hubby, I was bigger when I got married and then lost weight during the course of our relationship, occasionally piling it back on again and then losing it once more.

The heaviest I ever got was 220 pounds with The Big Love. I currently seesaw in between 165 and 175, depending on the weather, how much pot I’ve smoked and how I’m feeling. Oh and who I’m dating. I want to be 145 pounds. I guess I’m not really that far off.

When I look in the mirror, I am not happy about the way I look and I’m constantly looking for the next weight loss craze that I’ll actually enjoy doing. I love being in the gym, it’s just getting there that’s the problem. I also hate going by myself and the people I keep asking don’t ever seem to want to go with me.

Body Image

I have a tummy that I hate. I have stretch marks on the tops of my legs, around the edges of my breasts, the tops of my arms, and around the edges of my tummy. Most of them have settled down to a very faint silver now and most people probably can’t even see them. I know they are there though so they make me feel very conscious.

I do love the size of my breasts (36E) but I wish they were a big perkier. My arms need definite toning. I have the double chin that seems to be a strong family trait. I have love handles. My top half is a UK size 16 and I can get my bottom half in a UK size 12/14 depending on where I’m shopping and what I’m trying to buy. I have a very hourglass figure with a small waist, hips, a ghetto booty and large breasts. I love the way my body is shaped; I just wish it were a bit thinner in certain areas.

Most guys date me for my eyes or my breasts. OB is very much an ass man which is taking some getting used to. I have started to love my ass – I don’t really have cellulite and my legs are super toned from all the walking I do and heels I love to wear. In a dress in the summer, I wore a pair of nude wedges and my legs looked fucking awesome. I must try and find a photo of me that doesn’t show too much of me to show you. I love my legs.

I don’t like the tops of my legs because when I used to self harm, that’s where I used to do it the most. The scars have faded to a faint pink color now, but there are some pretty deep scars thrown in there that are very clear to see because they are so wide. There were a few times that I did it where the skin literally ripped apart, almost like a sausage bursting, and those are the ones that have left the worst scars.

When I look in the mirror, there are three versions of me that could stare back. There is the one that is currently sat in front of you writing this now – I have spent the entire day in my pajamas because it’s cold outside and I didn’t have work. My hair is scraped back from my face in a high ponytail and my ginger hair is fading, with patches that could really do with a re-dye touch up. I have no makeup on and my eyes are red from the joint I have smoked, and I have dark circles under my eyes because I haven’t been sleeping well recently.

The other side to me is the version that OB gets to see when he spends the night at my place – I have scruffy bed hair that only looks sexy the morning after a really heavy night of sex. I have that sexy morning-after smudge of makeup under my eyes and swollen red lips from a night of hardcore making out.

Then there is the version of me that I let the world see. I am always made up. I never leave the house without makeup. It takes me forever to get ready in the morning, which is probably why I’m late for work almost every day. I have to draw my eyebrows on because I get them threaded and they have taken too much hair off. I also need to go a shade darker as I’m natural blonde and my hair is currently bright orange. I’m considering having semi-permanent eyebrow tattoos done. I have to have eye liner on – black. I have this kinda 50’s housewife/pin up thing going on. I’m a big fan of flawless skin, bright red lips and proper kitten eyeliner. I have really long eyelashes naturally too, so I always wear lots of mascara to make them look awesome. A lot of people comment on my eyelashes. It’s one of my favorite things about myself. However, I have a habit of pulling my eyelashes out from time to time so sometimes I have tiny wee bald spots. I hate that.

Those are the three versions of me that I have. Sometimes I hate the perfectly made up version of me because it takes up so much effort. I don’t know when I started to care so much about what people through of me, to the point where I refuse to leave my house without makeup on.

I don’t like the image that comes back at me when I look in the mirror. I wish I was slimmer. I’d like to have a Jessica Rabbit style figure, like Kelly Brook, and I probably would have if I were a bit slimmer. I’m also fairly short – only 5 ft 3 or 4 so that doesn’t help matters. I hate photos of me and Lil Sis because she’s 6 ft tall and is a quarter of the size of me. She makes me look like a freaking whale.

People keep saying to me that they felt more comfortable with their figure the older they get, and I’m hoping the same thing will happen to me. Being with OB is helping – he makes me feel super sexy and he’s always complimenting me. I’ve always quite liked my ass, but now because he keeps telling me how fucking amazing it is, I have a real love for my ass and my legs. Sometimes I wish the tops of my thighs were slimmer; I’m scared they look like fat girl thighs when I sit down, especially in skinny jeans.

I am starting to notice changes now when I work out. I started doing this crazy workout home-video thing when I came home and after a while I really started to notice that my arms were becoming more toned and my tummy was getting flatter. After a while though, I started to struggle finding the time to fit the half an hour work out in my day, especially after a long day at work, and I guess I just need to get back into the swing of things. I’m hoping the coming of spring, if it ever gets here, will motivate me some more. I want to start walking home from work as well as to work. I haven’t really been walking to work recently because it’s been so cold and snowy. We’ve had some really shitty weather and it’s hard to get motivation for anything when the weather is like that.

In other aspects of my life, I realize that today was the wedding anniversary of The Lapdog’s brother and his new wife. They have been married a year today. He took me to that wedding reception and it was one of the most amazing nights of my life. He booked us a hotel and I wore a beautiful dark blue dress with the nude wedge sandals I spoke about earlier. I spent hours on hair and makeup, tanning myself and basically spending more time than was necessary to look perfect just for him. He was so proud to be taking me to that wedding reception and I really wanted to make an effort for him.

He picked me up and took me to the hotel so that I could drop off my bags. While we were there, he told me I had to hurry up so I dropped to my knees and gave him head right there in the hotel toilet. We then went on ahead to the wedding reception in a local hotel. The night was brilliant and he seemed so proud to be showing me off. Towards the end of the night, his Sister, one of the bridesmaids, suggested we go to a nearby club in our wedding get-up, which we decided to do. On the way there, The Lapdog took me to one side, kissed me and pulled a tiny little baggy out of his wallet containing what looked like white rocks. It turned out to be MDMA and that was the first night I ever tried that drug. It turned into “our thing” which probably isn’t a good thing.

I freaked out for a few minutes before we actually got into the club, and he spent the time to calm me down. We had the most amazing night, kissing and dancing and generally bouncing around, enjoying the pretty colors and the love that you feel for someone when you are on that drug. It was the craziest night of my life and that was the night that Hot Right Now by Rita Ora became our song.

At the end of the night, I don’t know how we got there, but we ended up back in our hotel room. The sex we had that night will stay in my head forever. I’m pretty sure we did anal. I’m pretty sure I squirted all over the place multiple times. He came more times that night than I’ve seen a guy come ever. And there were whole chunks of the night that he couldn’t get hard. He had his head between my legs for absolutely hours and hours, at various times throughout the night. Everything felt so good. I was so in love with him. That’s what the drug does – it makes you love the people you are with. I will never, ever forget that night – it was my first night on MDMA and one of the most mental nights of my life. I will always look back on that song and that night with a huge smile on my face. I really want to text him tonight, but I know I can’t. I shouldn’t. He’s been in my head a lot recently, and we’ve communicated a couple of times. I know he’s happy with his girlfriend though, and I certainly don’t want to mess things up with OB.

We had a few more nights on MDMA after that night. There was the night before his new sister-in-law had the baby. We went up the hospital the morning after, still totally fucked from the night before. I’m not even sure how he managed to drive. Then there was the twin’s birthday party. That night was fucked up. How we got away with being that high and his parents not realizing, I have no idea. I wore this black dress and the hottest red and black, lace shoes. He loved those shoes. We kept them on later on that night when we sneaked away upstairs and had a cheeky fuck. First, he fucked me as I bent over the bed, then he fucked me with my shoes in his shoulders, then it finished with me sucking him off and him climaxing into my mouth as I jerked myself off on my knees. That night was a powerful one between us.

Every single one of those nights followed the same pattern – we wanted to dance, laugh and drink until we couldn’t do it anymore. Then we had this period of fucking amazing passionate sex that was both brave and stupid at the same time, then we had a chat about us and the things we were feeling, crying usually as we did so, followed by an ending of sex before falling asleep in the 6 in the morning and being awoken by his parents at 9.

I remember one night he actually ate MDMA rocks from my vagina. That can’t have been good for it but the way it made my clit tingle as he did so was out of this world. Fuck we had some crazy sex.


That was a long time ago now though; a whole year ago. It’s a shame really because if I had just sucked it up and dated him, we could still be having that crazy sex right now. For now, however, it is T-Minus 6 sleeps until I see OB again. And then we can have crazy sex. I have ordered a new outfit for him and I can’t wait to wear it for him. Let Operation Blowjob-Come-in-Mouth commence…….

The Art of Blowjobs

So I have a predicament. I’m teetering on giving up on giving One Ball a blowjob with the hope of him climaxing my mouth. I love giving head – it’s one of my favorite things to do to a guy. It still hasn’t happened after all this time – he still hasn’t cum in my mouth. What the fuck?

We have tried, people; we have really tried.

He had a 45 minute blowjob out of me. Nothing.

We tried him not jerking off for a week or so before he sees me. Nothing. That was the weekend I went up to see him – See A Naughty Weekend, The “L” Word, and Running into a Bathroom Door.

We’ve tried making that the first thing we do when we see each other after a long period away. Nothing.

We have tried me on my knees. Him sitting up. Him standing up. Him lying down. Me leaning over him, letting him play with my nipples. Nothing.

We’ve tried me on my back, him literally squatting over my face. Then we tried him kneeling over my chest, thrusting into my mouth. This seemed to get him the closest. But yet, nothing.

We’ve even tried this in the car because he loves outdoor sex. Nothing.

He’s getting a complex out of it now because I think he can see that it frustrates me. I’ve always been renowned for my blowjobs. That makes me sound like a whore but I couldn’t give a shit. My blowjobs are the best. I put so much effort into them and I REALLY enjoy giving head, so they are enthusiastic, wet, sloppy and fucking awesome. I know this. The men that have cum in my mouth know this. There’s a pretty extensive list. What the fuck is it gonna take to get One Ball to know this?!

He says he enjoys my blowjobs of course, but it always feels like he just gives up and fucks me instead. I can see the frustration in his eyes in much the same way that he can see it in mine. Apparently this happens in all of his relationships and no one has ever made him cum in their mouths either. He has cum in mine but that took a bit of work and him basically jerking off into my mouth. It doesn’t count. Not in my eyes anyway.

He said that my mouth has felt really good recently. He always gets to the point where he is going to cum but then can’t seem to top himself over the edge. And neither can I. I’ve figured out how he likes it – he doesn’t like me to use my hands unless I am holding the base of his cock tightly, or lightly grasping his one ball. He seems to really enjoy it when I play with myself at the same time so this is something I’m definitely going to try again.

He likes me to use my lips to rub the top of his huge shaft, not pulling the foreskin back too much. I said the word foreskin. This is actually turning into a fucking theorist’s problem. I may as well bring equations into the mix. Anyway, he likes the top being sucked. Every now and again throw in a bit of deep-throating to make him do these cute little appreciative groans that he does. However, once I pick up speed, there is no mixing things up. I must continue the way I am – sucking the top of his cock hard, making sure my tongue laps it up. Fast and hard. His legs start to shake, his fists grasp my bed sheets and he breathes these tiny, shallow breaths – at this point I have tried keeping up the pace, and slowing things down, as well as mixing it up at the last minute, and still no sign of his orgasm.

I was getting worried at one point but then a few things popped into my head to make me give myself a break. Number one – it takes this guy an age to cum at any time, whether it is my hand, my pussy or my mouth. Number two – apparently I’m not the only girl that has given up on him. I haven’t given up yet though… Number three – he only has one ball. This has got to account for something, right?

I have a plan this time though. The next time I see him, this guy is climaxing into my mouth if it is the last thing I do. He’s going to come in and I’m going to march him up my stairs. I’m going to be in a long sweater dress and my new heeled suede boots that come to just above my knee. You know – the little sexy spot! Under my sweater dress I’m going to be wearing a matching underwear combo. Something black and hot. I’m going to be wearing a suspender belt with stockings. I have the cutest stockings that are black with a red seam up the back and red bows at the top. I’m going to sit him in my computer chair, take my sweater off in front of him so he can see my hooker-like get up, and drop to my knees. I’m going to play with him as well. I’m going to kiss the tops of his legs and groin until he begs me to suck his cock. I’m going to sit back and let him watch me as I play with myself on the floor. If he doesn’t keep his hands to himself, I’ll tie him to my chair. He keeps telling me that he wants me to be more assertive in the bedroom. Well if he wants assertive, he can have assertive.

I’m going to suck his cock like my life depends on it. He’s getting the full treatment – I cleverly bought flavored lubricant. I have a couple of small toys that I can use on him and me. I might pop my love egg in and give him the remote for it. I’m in this for the long haul – I will worship his manhood. He will feel like a fucking King.


I don’t know if this is the sort of thing that I should be freaking out about after six months or whatever of dating. This is pathetic, right? However this is a big fucking deal for me! I love giving head. No, let me rephrase that – I love it when a guy cums in my mouth. My relationship with him is virtually perfect but this has suddenly come to a head. Excuse the pun.

It’s funny how this became such a big thing. It’s been a reoccurring bug throughout our relationship, but we recently had a Skype conversation with me high, reading him what I had said about him in 10 Things I Hate About You. I chose not to say a few choice points, and he got annoyed by this because it just made him felt that there were things that I couldn’t tell him and he didn’t want a relationship like that. I chose not to tell him that his kisses were sometimes more sloppy than they should be. I wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings and if anyone said that to me, I would be devastated. It’s not a big problem anymore – I said that we were adapting together.

Apparently it bothered him enough for us to have our first fight today. He told me that I was making him paranoid and shitty because there were things I “hated” about him that I couldn’t tell him to his face. I got annoyed because he should have been grateful for the tiny little insight I was giving him into my blog, and he shouldn’t have to dig for anymore. It is still personal to me – it’s still my own little space. I may talk about it from time to time with him, but that isn’t giving him an open pass to find out what he likes.

I said to him today, after we had made up and calmed down, that if he really wanted to know them, he should Skype me later and I would tell him. If he’s brave enough to want to hear whatever horrible little things I have to say about him, good luck to him. Although to be honest, none of them are particularly bad in nature.

Let’s just hope I have a boyfriend left to dress up for and dominate, desperately trying to get him to cum in my mouth once this conversation is done with.

Oh and I did a bad thing. I text The Lapdog…..


The Ghosts of Valentine’s Past.

After a slightly depressing last post, I decided to move things to a more upbeat nature. I detest being miserable for long. Life is too short to dwell on the old times, right?

So what’s been happening with me? Well Mother Nature has come to visit. Seriously, this bitch wants to fuck off. My uterus hurts and I want to snuggle with OB but he’s hours away from me. Of course, this instantly makes him an asshole. He did, however, surprise me by giving me the perfect Valentine’s Day gifts. Well, almost perfect. They weren’t Jimmy Choo’s. He got me a massive Soap & Glory gift set, and he had a beautiful bouquet of flowers delivered to my house at lunchtime on V-Day. They were amazing, and not a red rose in sight. I think red roses are so tacky and cliché. OB got my flowers spot on. Well, the florist did anyway. He even bought me a card with a badge. I didn’t wear the badge as I didn’t leave the house, but I fucking love badges.

I was pissed off that he went to spent Valentine’s Day with his kids, but he more than redeemed himself so my Huff is finished with.

It made me think about some of my past Valentine’s Days but to be fair, I can’t really remember that many. My first V-Day with The Big Love sprung to mind of course. Only I could find a hotel in a War Zone, manage to have a beautiful white stocking and suspender set delivered to the War Zone, and give him a night that he would never forget. Admittedly it was a couple weeks too late because he went on holiday to Australia for a month, but still, it was fucking fantastic. We had a lot of sex, I remember that. I also remember how nervous I was when I text him on his return saying “Meet me at our spot. I have a surprise for you!” I then remember him texting me saying he was there. I sent him back a text giving him step by step directions to the hotel…. and then the room…. and then him tapping on the door…. and then me answering it, dressed in a white corset which made my boobs look super awesome, a white thong, white stockings with white suspenders. The look on his face was golden. He kissed me and pushed me back into the room, and we fucked all night long. Literally. I was so in love with him that night. It was amazing. It still makes me smile. That’s one of our good memories. I love remembering those little things you used to do with exes and smiling because the moment gave you that “Feel Good Factor”

The other Valentine’s Day we were together, he bought me home white roses because he knew that I believed red roses were tacky and cliché. It’s funny how both him and OB bought me white roses. Maybe that’s a sign that OB could ne my next great love? Remember that scene in Sex and the City where Charlotte was telling Carrie that the magazine in the dentist’s said that you can only have two great loves in your life? Maybe OB is my second. Maybe I should try harder to cling on to him?

I don’t think I remember any V-Day’s with The Hubby. He was probably away somewhere, neck deep in hooker-clunge. I don’t really remember any other V-Day’s. I think this one with OB will stick in my mind.

It’s going to be 2 weeks until I see OB again. It seems to be going so slowly. I actually really miss him. Even when I’m just writing and he’s just playing the X-Box or whatever behind me, it just feels really natural and I love it. I hope the next two weeks just fly by.

Survivor? Me?

My friend said something to me today that made me take a step back. She called me a “survivor”. I apparently “survived” domestic abuse. Did I? Am I a survivor?

I’m probably going to repeat things that I have already mentioned in this blog, but I had to talk about this. Yes, I agree that I was in a violent relationship. It was violent, abusive and very soul-destroying, or so I thought. Was my relationship as bad as those crazy women say on the Jeremy Kyle Show, or those horrifying stories that you read in crappy women’s mags. Was my relationship really that bad?

I told my friend that I didn’t think I was a survivor. Not in the way that she made it sound. She looked at me like I was insane. She told me to remember all the things that he had done to me and then tell myself I wasn’t a survivor. The “Him” I am referring to, of course, is the Hubby.

Let’s take a good hard look at what he did to me and then make the decision of whether I am a survivor. Maybe it’ll do some good and show someone else that they don’t deserve to be in the abusive relationship that they are in. If I can help just one woman believe that she deserves better, I have done a good job.

He pulled me around a parking lot by my hair because I asked him to buy me a burger in the kebab shop after a particularly heavy night out. He scraped the skin from the tops of both my feet to the point where they were bleeding pretty bad, and I still have scars 7 years later. And he broke my shoes. The cock.

He had this thing where he used to put his hands around my throat. I have one photo that I have decided to share with you.

bruised neck

This was his “thing” – it was his way of shutting me up when he had enough of me and what I had to say. He used to squeeze my throat so tight that on many occasions, I vomited on myself. I passed out once too. He used to leave amazing hand prints on my neck to the point where I had to phone in sick at work for a whole week because I couldn’t risk people seeing what he had done to me.

He punched me in the face once. This was when he left his knuckle in my top lip and seriously deformed my face. I had to eat and drink through a straw for a week, and I needed 5 stitches in my top lip because the gaping hole was so big, you could see my teeth through it. The punch made me bite through my own bottom lip, and my teeth almost went through the entire thickness of it. The left side of my face was purple, blue and brown. He really did a number on me that night. I had never seen so much blood before in my life.

He stabbed me with a screwdriver once because I tried to get in the spare bedroom to feed my pet snake. He was in there sorting out his work gear and I was in the way. That same occasion, he pushed me backwards out of the room, embedding the door handle in my back. That left a pretty deep gash. He also slammed the door back so hard, it smashed the glass tank that my snake was in; the same snake that he had bought me for Valentine’s Day the previous year.

I remember him having me by the throat pushed down into the bed once and I honestly thought he was going to kill me. I had been out with the girls and had high stiletto boots on. I kicked my boot and the heel embedded into his leg. He tried to have me arrested for assault that night. The cops laughed in his face. The cops were called to our home on so many occasions that they warned me the last time before I headed to the War Zone and we broke up, that if he did it again and they were called, they would press charges on my behalf… regardless of what I said or did.

He trashed my flat once; the one I shared with The Bestie I’ve Never Had a Dalliance with. After he had done this, he shoved me into my closet, trying to shut me in. I lashed out because I’m claustrophobic. I punched him that night and I broke my own knuckle. I ended up with hand marks around my neck, fingerprints on the top of my arms where he had held me so tight, and a smashed front door which he had put his hand through. I cut myself up pretty bad that night and I couldn’t go to work for a week because my wrists were so bad.

The night he found my razor blades; the ones that I used to cut myself with, he told me that I had better shut myself in the bedroom with my “best friends” and sort myself out because that’s the only thing I was good for. He cut my arm with my own razor.

He went away to another country for 4 months to work and snapped all of the bank cards so I was left with no money. He slept with more prostitutes than I can count. He caught an STD and then blamed it on me. He used to grab my hands and arms with such force, he left visible bruises on me.

Bruised arm

He once stamped on my foot so bad while we were out because someone else tried to buy me a drink, he left an imprint that was a perfect replica of his shoe. You could even make out the brand of the shoe. He also smashed the guy so hard in the face that he knocked his three front teeth out. We left the bar fairly swiftly that night, and we had a blazing row. A lot of pushing and shoving followed. He smashed my head off the wall in the hallway, and kicked me in the stomach while I was crying on the floor. He spat in my face, in fact, he used to do that a lot.

He used to say a lot of horrible stuff too. He told me that my figure repulsed him and that my stretch marks reminded him of a map of the London Underground. He said my breasts were saggy. He said I had a horrible shaped ass. My double chin used to disgust him. I would just like to point out that my double chin runs in my family. My Mama and my Lil Sis are the skinniest bitches I’ve ever met and they both have the same double chin. He used to say a lot of things to me that made me feel shit about myself. He also told me I was bad in bad and I bored him. He wanted a skinnier, prettier wife and that’s why he cheated on me so much. He used to hurt me because he could. He used to shut me in my broom closet until I had a panic attack, at which point, he would throw a plastic bag at me and tell me to sort myself out. I started having panic attacks on a regular basis, and was very depressed. The doctor put me on Prozac. I was on them for a while, but they made me a monster. That’s what he told me anyway. He encouraged me to stop taking them so I did. I just stopped. It was hell for a few weeks but once they were out of my system, things went back to normal. We started fighting again and the pushing and shoving started.

As I write these things down, it’s almost as though they didn’t happen to me. It feels like I am writing a story about another girl in another lifetime. Technically, it’s true – that was a totally different girl in a completely different lifetime. It’s like a smack in the face (excuse the pun) when I see all the things that he did to me written down in black and white. Did I think that he would kill me? No, of course not. There were times where I thought he might go too far, like the time he had me by the throat on the bed, and also when he was pushing and shoving during fights so that I hit my head or almost fell down the stairs, but I don’t think he was purposely trying to kill me. I just think he couldn’t handle his own temper or anger. I think we were a recipe for disaster.

I was one of the lucky ones and I managed to scurry away as fast as my little legs would take me. It took a six month stint in a War Zone to make me realize that I could manage life by myself, but that, in my eyes, was one of the best decisions I ever made. I met Big Love, left the Hubby and … well you kinda know the story from there I guess.

Seeing all this and reading it back to myself, I realize that technically, I was a survivor of domestic abuse. And it wasn’t all physical either – it was mental. And it was utter torture. If I hadn’t left when I did, I would still be there now and we would still be going around in the big circle of disaster. I think that if we stayed together, one of us would have seriously hurt the other. If he hadn’t have gone too far and landed me in hospital, I would have ended up losing it at him and probably stabbing him with one of the kitchen knives that we argued about buying.

The people I feel for the most, however, are not him or I; it’s the people that had to listen to this hell. Towards the end, these abusive, hitting, punching, pushing, shoving fights were on an almost daily basis. What started as violence and abuse when he was drinking turned into an almost every day event. People had to listen to these fights. My downstairs neighbour once described to me how she heard every word that he had shouted at me and every thump as I hit the doorframe in the living room, was pushed onto the floor in the hallway, and dragged by my hair into the bedroom. She heard all of that. So did her young children. That’s not something that anyone should have to listen to, let alone deal with.

I feel sorry for my family. My downstairs neighbor started calling my Mama to tell her what was going on as she was sure that he was going to kill me. She went through hell and I never realized. She had sleepless nights, long and tearful conversations with my Papa and Aunt to figure out how to get me to leave, and in the end, gave up and refused to listen to anymore in a bid to shock me into leaving him myself. What makes me laugh is that she is in a similar predicament now. He doesn’t beat her on a regular basis, but he has laid his hands on her, and more than once. And the funniest thing ever is the fact that they are talking about getting married. What a fucking joke.

In conclusion, I think everyone involved in this horrid situation was a survivor. And yes, after this long and complicated debate with myself, I realize that I am too a survivor. I survived a guy that may have loved me, but sure didn’t show it. And every day I hope and pray that he never does to another girl what he did to me. I am also thankful to him – I would never stand for that shit now. I may still have nightmares and the panic attacks still creep up when I least expect them, but I am a much stronger person now.

It’s because I’m a fucking survivor!


Happy Valentine’s Day!

I have so much going on right now that I don’t have time to blog! Ahhhh! Just thought I’d pop by and say a wee Happy Valentine’s Day to you beautiful peeps. I love each and every one of you. I will catch up soon I promise!

Not So Sex in the City!