260 Miles of Emotion.

My head is a fucking mess. Like an actual fucking mess. A disaster zone.

I should probably fill you in on what is happening really. So… we had the breakdown of my relationship with my Beautiful Tattooed Jock. The last post I put up should have been published last night but I didn’t because I was too busy taking care of a 9 week old kitten that had been abandoned by her owner. And crying my heart out.

The night before, Saturday night, I saw My Mr. Grey. He did come and see me. He drove 260 miles to see me for about 5 hours after work. Then, at 11pm at night, he drove for 9 hours to get home in time to go to work. Blimey, he really did want to see me. I can’t get my boyfriend to say the words ‘Please don’t leave me, I love you and we can work it out!” but I can get this guy to drive 260 miles for me. Am I missing something here?

We went for a coffee, then we went for dinner. Then we drove to the marina and just chatted for a bit. He touched my arm and it sent goosebumps all over my body. He placed his hand on the back of my neck like he did in Warning! Explicit Content! and I couldn’t think about anything except the way it felt when he did that in bed. Every touch had so much meaning and every sentence was laced with some sort of badly disguised sexual innuendo. It was foreplay, that’s what it was. Torturous and brilliant foreplay.

We talked about the nights we had spent together and the things we had done. We always do. That’s our foreplay. We reminisce about times gone by and the way we made each other feel, blushing about stolen moments that no one knew about. Well, except for you guys. I’m sure he won’t mind.

He dropped me back at mine and we said our goodbyes. I went to kiss his cheek and hug him goodbye and I didn’t. I just kissed him. Out of the blue I just went for it. It was only for a moment before we pulled apart but that was all we needed. Now I can’t stop thinking about that kiss. Christ, that kiss.

He had his hand on the back of my neck again, and his other hand was caressing my cheek. He’s so dominant with me yet at the same time, he barely touches me. He’s so soft. Firm. Intimidating. Like Mr. Grey in 50 Shades of Grey. Just so you know, I just watched the trailer again. Just so you also know, every time we have sex, its just like that trailer. Fucked up. Fucked up and intensely erotic. Holy shit.

 

We didn’t sleep together. I had some self control at least. I couldn’t keep my hands off him though. In a ‘friendly’ sense, of course. My arm was draped through his as he guided me to the restaurant. Because that’s what he does – he guides me. Because he is a man. He opens doors and helps me when I wear heels. He holds my bag and helps me rearrange my outfit. He pulls strands of hair out of my face and moves them behind my ears. That’s what he does. He’s an old-school erotic-romance kinda guy. It’s insanely hot. For a guy so seemingly uninteresting, he is the most fascinating man I’ve ever met. I’m always mesmerised by him from start to finish. That scar on his forehead, the way he pronounces the ‘h’ in words like ‘w-h-ile’, ‘w-h-ether’, etc., the way he smiles at me from just the side of his mouth. He’s an amazing guy. We have amazing chemistry.

I loved listening to him speak. His voice is like caramel… smooth, calming, Scottish. It’s the accent. It was the Hubby’s accent too. And Jock’s, clearly. And My. Mr. Grey. I can’t keep away from that fucking accent. I don’t even think I like it that much. Well, clearly I do.

When he walked into my work he bound over to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and lifted me up, my legs flailing around in the air, true Hollywood movie style. It was so cute. Cute but completely wasted on the three guys I was working with that day that just kinda took the piss. I knew what My Mr. Grey was doing – he was checking out my incredibly slender frame compared to the last time he saw me, and he was announcing his dominance over the other guys I work with. Because he’s a man. That’s what he does. And that’s how he does it.

I told him that Jock and I were falling apart. He was supportive, of course. I also knew it changed the way the game was played that night. He would never have made his move knowing that I was still with Jock. He has too much respect for that. Oh no. No, he waits for me to get drunk and make my move because I always do. That’s always how it works. He sits there and eats dinner, waiting for me to get pleasantly pissed, knowing full well that later on when he pulls out that lubricant and those love eggs, I’d run right into the toilet and pop them in, just like last time. Funnily enough, we went to that exact same restaurant except this time, I just ordered a Diet Coke. No getting pissed for me.

After I told him, he started playing the game. He turned on the charm and we were nostalgic about the treasured memories we had saved from times gone past. Like the time he accidentally fisted me and I squirted all over the bed. Sorry, I probably should have warmed you up for that one. How about the time that he came all over my face in my bedroom, while the guy that later turned out to be my Hubby hoovered my front room just the other side of the door…? How about the time he tied me up with ropes to my wrought iron bed and trailed his fingers all over my body endlessly until I literally couldn’t take it anymore? That’s what he does – that’s how he makes his move. He stirs up all those filed-away memories until my cheeks are flushed red and I’m lusting after him like a big tub of Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food. And it worked this time too. Except I wasn’t drunk and apparently I can control my own urges these days. I’m pretty sure that happened somewhere around the 26/27 mark to be fair.

So there you have it. That’s whats going on in my life. I’m sad of course. My heart is breaking over the breakup with Jock. It really is. But My Mr. Grey proved to be somewhat of an attention-divider for a couple of days. At this point, every little helps. Plus he is really hot. Hot is the wrong word. Mesmerising.

I don’t know why I do this to myself. I really don’t.

The Brutal Stuff-Swapping.

Jock drove to mine. He dumped my stuff on my front doorstep. He ripped the bag containing a few of his things out of my hands and then he drove off without even so much as a backwards glance. It was brutal. As I shut the door after him, tears streamed down my face. I walked to my room, closed my door and fell to my knees. For about fifteen solid minutes I sat there, hugging my own legs, tears silently rolling down my cheeks. The way he did that really, really hurt my feelings.

That’s that then.

It was brutal. It was truly brutal. And I text him to tell him as much. It’s all my fault, of course. I said it was over, etc. He wanted to come over tonight to talk and drop my stuff off. Last night I told him that I would get Bestie to keep an eye out for it because I wasn’t sure I would have wanted to listen to whatever he had to say. I answered the door… not Bestie. I thought that might have given him the suggestion that I was open for talking but all he did was throw my stuff down, hop back in his car, and drive the fuck outta my life.

I was kinda hoping he woulda had more gumption than that. I woulda thought there was more fight in him for me… for us. But there wasn’t. And there never will be. Isn’t that why we broke up in the first place?

I can’t believe how hard I cried when I shut that door and locked myself away in my dark room. Proper tears – tears that stopped me from breathing, to the point where I thought I might throw up. Those were real tears – the first tears I’ve cried since we broke up. My heart is really hurting. Really, really hurting. But it’s OK. I’ll be OK. I’m always OK.

What did I expect? I broke it off. I said those words. I broke his heart… didn’t I? Do you want to know what I really wanted? I wanted him to run up those stairs, hold my face and kiss me like he used to kiss me. Kisses that meant something and were more than just perfunctory or obligatory. We couldn’t get enough of kissing each other once upon a time. When did we stop kissing?

But that never happened. And now I’m just looking longingly at my phone, wishing he’d send me another ‘I love you’ message because above everything, I truly did love him. And I still do. That’s probably why I can’t stop these stupid tears.

He gave the shoes back to me. The shoes he made me for Christmas because he couldn’t find them to buy them. He made me a pair of shoes… Ducati shoes. He painted them and decorated them with pieces of square glass, lovingly encasing them in a glass jar like the one that held the rose in the ‘Beauty and the Beast’ movie. As I unwrapped them, just a few moments ago, I found two of the envelopes that I had once given to him. Remember for our anniversary I wrote him 365 little love notes, each one a separate quote about him from my blog? It was my little way of inviting him into the very heart of me, without actually needing to show him. I didn’t spot them when he I first picked them up. Well, he gave two of them back. I knew which two it would be… They were his favourite ones.

“I know I’ve got something really special right here, in my hands. I’d be a fool to let that go!”

“It just makes me wonder… If he could keep a relationship with a kid that’s not his after 2 years of not being with the mother, he could be the greatest father in the world!”

Did he give them back to me because they were too powerful for him to keep? Or is he trying to tug on my heartstrings. It’s worked if that was the intention. I messaged him asking why he gave those two back to me. I want to message him again. There has been so much I have wanted to tell him over the past week or so. In fact, longer than that. We’ve not communicated properly for a really long time. I can’t remember the last time we had a proper conversation about anything. Not about anything that matters. We’ve done the idle chit chat and small-talk, but we’ve not really talked. Not really.

I can’t believe this is actually happening.

This sucks.

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So… I’m Stuck.

I guess it’s over then. I hadn’t heard from him for a couple of days. The last thing he said to me was:

“I hate fighting too.

Two strong characters

If it was easy, it would be boring.

We are both on the same page, trust me.

You’re my future”

I didn’t respond and that was two days ago. This morning I woke up with the right hump again, and decided to ask him if he wanted me to post his charger back or if he had already gotten a new one. He asked when I wanted my stuff back as it would appear that I’ve ‘made my decision’. He was trying to start a fight, I think, with the jagged little edges found within the sentences, but I simply responded with a classy yet firm:

“You don’t listen to anything else other than whatever. What’s the point in me saying anything other than whatever? I’ve repeated myself over and over again for the last year or so. Anyway, I’m not cruising for a fight. you go enjoy your daughter’s birthday and have a great weekend.”

Likewise” was his simple and to-the-point response.

It’s over then. It’s really over. Is it? No, it can’t be. Not over something this small. Not over a fucking theme park. Really? Have I gone a little too far? Am I being a bit melodramatic?

I know I’m not. I know that this is months and months of built-up tension – arguments we needed to have but didn’t, things I needed to say but couldn’t, feelings I needed to share with him but wouldn’t. Ah the shoulda, woulda, coulda’s. They’re always fucking around, aren’t they?

I did what I normally do when I’m hurting. I self harm. This time I didn’t pull out a razor blade and slide it across my legs. Nope, I’m better than that these days. I decided to go and get my septum pierced instead. Apparently that’s a much more socially acceptable form of self harm, hence why I always find myself getting a little something new.

I did something else I always find myself doing when things are getting a little rough…

I’m seeing My Mr. Grey tomorrow. He started messaging me last week. He has this habit of popping up when things are going bad. It’s like he has this built-in radar that he uses to zone in on me when I’m in shitty places. Like the shitty place I’m in with Jock right now. He’s down my way for an event with his friend so why doesn’t he come and see me on Saturday night?

Oh shit. For a start, I’m on my period right now. I couldn’t do anything even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. Do I? No, I can’t. I have much more respect for Jock than to just run and jump into bed with someone new. I have more dignity than that. I have more will-power. I have more self respect.

Except we all know I won’t. Not in the hands of My Mr. Grey. Once he gets his hands on me, that’s it. I’m fucked. Literally. In more ways than one. Shit. What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t say no to My Mr. Grey now. He’s already made arrangements. What if he wants to stay at mine? I suggested us going for dinner. He suggested finding somewhere to stay. It will be really rude and frankly, quite bizarre for me not to invite him to stay at mine. We’ve been friends for over ten years for fucks sake.

If he stays at mine, period or no period, shit will go down. It really will. In my bed with his warmth and his smell, the way his hands feel on my arm as he makes in to make his move, which we all know he will. In that moment, with that man in my bed, I don’t know if I would find whatever will-power and self-respect needed to push him away. He has this intoxicating power over me. He always has done. I’m pretty sure he always will do.

If I fuck My Mr. Grey, it really will be over for Jock and I. Although I mean it when I say I won’t put up with this shit anymore and I would rather be single, I don’t know if I would want to put a full stop at the end of it and underline it. We are over.

I wouldn’t not be able to tell Jock about it either. He’d know that he was here, and I’d have to tell him if he was staying at mine. Or did stay at mine. And we all know that Jock wouldn’t like that in the slightest. He doesn’t know an awful lot about My Mr. Grey but what he does know has already made him hate the poor guy.

So I’m stuck. Stuck between two guys, and My Mr. Grey somehow, some way is always that other fucking guy! How does he do this! How does he know?! Why the fuck do I always fall for it?!

So there. Now what do I do?

I’m not even sure I like this new septum piercing.

Do You Like Theme Parks?

Jock invited me to go a theme park on Sunday. It was his step-daughter’s birthday. We had already discussed me meeting the daughter and her batshit crazy mother and to be honest, I thought I’d be able to put it off for longer than this but apparently not.

Anyway, I couldn’t go because I was covering a shift for a work colleague but despite that, I wouldn’t have gone anyway. Do you know why? Let me fucking tell you.

My birthday was in June and for the event, I wanted my closest friends and some of my family to go to one of the bigger theme parks here. Jock categorically said no, despite all of my friends and relatives agreeing to come and even going as far as trying to arrange mass transport for us all. He point blank refused to go because he doesn’t like theme parks, and he doesn’t like the rides in them either. I didn’t really want birthday celebrations without him. He was my boyfriend and all. Plus other things ended up getting in the way. That’s not the point. That was weeks later.

Would you please like to tell me how a twat can refuse to go to the theme park for my birthday just a couple of months ago, yet it’s OK for him to invite me to a theme park for his daughter’s birthday? How fucking double-standard.

I stewed on it for a couple of days until this morning. I woke up in the foulest mood and I let all of my rage go in one staggering message to him:

“I’m trying to find out at what point I give up on a relationship that clearly isn’t going anywhere fast. You’re a hypocrite. You’re a hypocrite and an asshole. Refusing to go to the theme park with your girlfriend for her birthday and then inviting her to go with your ex and her daughter just a couple of months later is a tosser move and it just goes to show how little you’d actually do for me. Yet for them, anything on earth. I know that your kid will always be the most important person in your life but I’m so sick of this bullshit. And you had the nerve to say ‘whatever’ to me last night when I mentioned exactly that? Fuck off. That’s appalling behavior to expect your girlfriend to just deal with, and what makes it worse is that I’m not allowed to get angry about ANYTHING. You never let me. You just tell me ‘shut up and put up’ or ‘I’ll sort it’ and you never actually sort anything. At what point do I stop being a mug here? Next time I invited you somewhere and you say no, only to go a couple of months later because someone else asked you?

What makes it worse is you didn’t even get me a fucking birthday present!”

What I didn’t expect was the reply…

“If you think it’s that bad then don’t be in it”

I had nothing else to say to that. Nothing else at all. So I didn’t I said “Fine.”

I think this means we’re breaking up.

I don’t want to break up with him. I don’t want him not to be in my life anymore. But I deserve so much better than this, don’t I? Things have been shit recently. I’m always working or he’s always skint. If I don’t pay for it, it doesn’t happen, so it means we rarely do anything as an actual couple. He took out that loan to sort his car situation out and pay/not pay for his ex and her daughter to go to Disneyland, depending on what story you choose to believe. I think that loan is crippling him with the repayment amounts. He got a parking ticket back in July and he still hasn’t paid it. What infuriates me even more than his bad admin and shit sense of money-handling, is the fact that I offered to pay for the fucking parking ticket on the day that he actually got it and he point blank refused. What the fuck Jock? Come on!?

I’m basically in a relationship with a child. All those comments on my blog over the last few months – they’re all true, aren’t they? He is a child. He doesn’t want the responsibility of a real grown-up relationship with kids and marriage and all that bullshit. That’s not the kinda guy he is. He’s a guy that drags his heels and never gets anything done and I’m sorry, but I don’t want to waste any more time on something that isn’t going to go my way. I know that his step-daughter means the world to him but I can’t deal with it. I can’t deal with all the shit that goes along with it. I didn’t sign up for all of that. I knew he had a daughter. What I didn’t know is how double-standard everything would be. How double-standard he would be. If a guy so much as thinks about looking in my direction, he goes all silverback gorilla on me, yet when I bitch that his ex is ruining our plans, our future, and he’s being a fucking moron by letting her, it’s not OK. I’m not allowed to bitch and moan. I’m a woman. What did he fucking expect?

He hasn’t messaged me back since then. I feel bad for having this fight by text but I genuinely can’t put up with it anymore. It’s not OK to treat me like this. I’ve been through enough shit. Lesson learned perhaps? Guys + kids = not good for me.

All over a fucking trip to the theme park.

Something’s Not Right.

Something’s not right at all. You want to know how I know that something isn’t right? I’ve not blogged in ages, I’m smoking far too much pot, and I started stalking Big Love on Facebook again. It’s funny how he comes creeping around every now and again. In my head at least, anyway.

I was having a look through my messages to find something form a while back, and I came across the last lot of messages we had sent each other. I can’t remember if I told you but the night of the Summer Ball with Jock (where he abandoned me all by myself, with people I didn’t know for the entire evening), I took a gram of coke and started a conversation with Big Love. That’s what happens when I take cocaine. Everything reminds me of him.

Something was different when I reminisced through the little chat we had. And the chats we had before that, before I left, when everything was falling apart. This time there was no picture. Plus his name was greyed out. It would appear that his Facebook profile is on lockdown.

I wonder why? I know what I think it is, of course. The trouble is I’m not really sure why I care. I’m not sure why I felt he need to read those messages. I don’t know why I felt the need to delve a little bit deeper. In fact, that’s all utter bullshit. It’s because I’m bored.

Jock and I are just poodling along. Nothing is really wrong but nothing seems really right either. I’m not feeling the spark that we had between us right at the beginning. I think I’m starting to lose patience. I’m starting to get bored of waiting for him to get his act together. I’m bored of waiting to have kids. I’m bored of waiting to move in together. I’m bored of waiting. It’s coming up to a year and a half now and it’s still like we’re dating. One thing has changed… He is pushing forward the idea of me meeting his step-kid. Apparently, after another shitty spell with the ex, he has put his foot down and ‘told her how it is’ – I WILL be meeting the brat, and we WILL be starting a family. He says he’s done that but honestly, I don’t think he has. He has no gumption when it comes to her. Not in the slightest. It’s pathetic.

I want to have kids. My biological clock has been ticking away and doing it’s thing for a while now and that has been evident to us both. I’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m going to want to have a baby in the next 18 months or so. I don’t want to be over thirty when I fall pregnant. That wasn’t in my plans. I need him to sort himself out financially and he is showing absolutely no signs of doing so. He still hasn’t paid a parking ticket that he got months ago. It’s like watching a child. When is he gonna sort himself out? He keeps telling me he’s going to, but he’s not doing it. Maybe you guys are right. Maybe he is nothing more than a child himself, avoiding the responsibility of actual responsibility? Something needs to change soon. I’m getting super bored. Super bored of the routine that I make no effort of getting us out of. I didn’t even enjoy sex the last time he was here. I mean, I enjoyed it because I came, but I don’t feel like there was much of an emotional connection. I know that sounds like bullshit but girls out there – you know what I mean, right?

I said I’d give it six more months. When was that? Maybe I should take a look back and see when I said that. It’s gotta be getting close. Too close?

Big Cheese

I’ve not been around for a while because I’m traumatised quite frankly. I’m traumatised because of my country’s healthcare system. I’m traumatised because my boyfriend wasn’t around when I needed him the most. I’m traumatised because I might have cancer.

Fuck. Remember I said that the doc had told me I was suffering with IBS – Irritable Bowel Syndrome? Well, he sent me for blood tests and a stool sample to rule anything else sinister out. This is where the problems first started…

I needed two lots of tests – bloods and a stool sample, yet the doc only gave me one form telling me the receptionist would give me a second form. I’d need to give one away to the nurses that later took my blood, and one would need to be sent away with the stool sample. Off I trotted to the receptionist and requested a pot to do my business in, plus a second form.

“I can’t give you another form but the nurses will be able to photocopy that one for you when you go to get your bloods done”

The very next day I went to the nurses to get my bloods done. I’m not very good with needles so it was a pretty nerve-wracking experience for me. They couldn’t give me the second form I needed and I would need to get back in touch with my doctors surgery to get them to print me out another one. For fucks sake.

My bloods went off and two weeks later I realised that I had forgotten to get back in touch with them to get the form for a poo sample. Plus I didn’t poo for like five days. It was traumatic.

I got a letter from the doctors saying that I needed to get in touch with them to follow up my blood tests yet they sent it to the wrong address. They didn’t have the right phone number on file for me even though I’ve updated it with them like three times. On Friday I called them and they told me there was something wrong with my bloods, and the letter stated that I need to make an appointment at my ‘earliest possible convenience’. Despite all of this, they made me wait until 7pm on Monday – three days later, for the appointment to find out what was wrong.

Now what we were ruling in or out with these tests were things like Crohn’s disease, Coeliac disease, gut infections, etc. This meant that there was something wrong – last time I went for bloods there was nothing wrong with them and they told me over the phone there was nothing wrong with them.

For three days I paced anxiously. Monday came and Jock was meant to have come with me to the docs. He didn’t. He blew me out on Sunday night and I was fuming on Monday so I told him not to bother coming. Clearly his ex and her daughter was more important than coming with me to the doctors. I ended up going to the docs on my own where I was told there were signs of  inflammation, an infection, there was something wrong with my white blood count, and I needed to be referred for some more tests. The three things my doctor said to me were – diverticulitis, Crohn’s disease and bowel cancer.

Bowel cancer? I’m 28 for fucks sake. Bestie can’t say those words. We’ve started calling it ‘Big Cheese’. I can’t get it into my head that I might have cancer. I’ve been referred for a colonoscopy plus given antibiotics to get rid of the infection whatever it is has given me.

I’ve been off work all week. For two days the antibiotics gave me a real nasty gut and I was in tears with the pain for most of the time. The rest of the time I was glued to the toilet. This was followed by a day of incredibly painful constipation (today), and I’ve still got to wait three more days to find out the results of the poo sample that I eventually managed to send away.

This condition is mortifying. I can’t talk about this with anyone. Bestie tries but honestly, it’s a really difficult conversation to have. He’s scared. I know he is. I am too. It’s so embarrassing. How am I meant to tell my new male, kinda hot new boss of about two weeks that I’ve had chronic diarrhoea for two days, and gut-wrenching constipation following on from that? I can’t. The whole phoning-in-sick business has been a nightmare too. My manager didn’t get my voicemail and the guys at work kept calling me to find out where I was, unaware that I had already called in sick.

Between the nausea, paranoia, symptom-googling, severe abdomen pain that feels as if I’m carrying a bowling ball in my intestines somewhere and weird stomach-gurgling-noises, I’ve had enough. I’m sorry for talking about my embarrassing problem but I need to write it down somewhere. I can’t handle it. Fuck my life. I hate being sick at the best of times but this feels sinister. It really does. The twinges in the lower left hand side of my abdomen even feel sinister. I’m petrified.

How could something as common as IBS have turned into what could end up being cancer? Big cheese? Is this really something I’m going to need to come to terms with? The doctor seemed panicked by the results of my bloods and was eager to poke and prod me, listening to my stomach with his stethoscope as I writhed around in pain. He’s referred me for a colonoscopy. I’ve got to go back after my antibiotics for more bloods to see if the infection and temperature has gone. What makes things even crazier is that I’ve had this infection for almost two weeks without knowing and the second he told me I was ill, I got every symptom in one go. What the fuck? Aside from feeling very under the weather and aching all the time, I was perfectly fine. Well, apparently not.

After the colonoscopy, I might need to go for a scan. Is this really happening to me? Really? They’re gonna shove tubes up my ass! Do you have any idea how much that idea terrifies me? I’ve not even let Jock go up my ass yet and a complete stranger is going to be rooting around up there. Ugh.

So that’s where we are. I’m waiting for a call back for my anal raping appointment, and I’m four days into antibiotics that are, quite frankly, killing me. If this nausea is what morning sickness is like, fuck ever having kids.

But seriously though… I might have cancer?