Moving on

The light at the end of the tunnel always seems far and distant. Unreachable almost. Pain and suffering have been the only constant for months, alcohol the only supressor, the only agent I can use to numb myself. I cry oceans of tears, my heart feels as if it was ripped from my chest, but I’m still alive, still breathing. The hole in my chest open and raw. Almost like a blister. Clinging onto the last bit of hope I have, I shed another tear.

I gave my everything, and was left with nothing. Just left. I seldom thought I’d feel like this. And it happened. Knowing I cannot change the past, but I can change the future brings me comfort. Hope.

I smile, everyday. Until it hurts. Until my smile becomes true. Until I no longer have to fake my feelings. It became easier. Simpler. Still hurt. The pain is now bearable. Easier everyday.

I used to write about my amazing life, holidays and clubbing, clothes and money. Heartbreak changes a person. Maybe I’m not so superficial anymore. Maybe it changed me for the better. Made me stronger. I don’t know. I think I’m more serious in a way. All I know is that I was falling, and had nobody to catch me.


It no longer hurts

When you break up with someone it can be hard. When your life was with that person and you lose them it can be devastating. It feels as if your heart has been ripped savagely from your chest. The pain is unreal. It gets easier as the days go by. It doesn’t hurt so much. Crying yourself to sleep is now an option not an obligation. You learn how to live alone again, eat alone, sleep alone, just being alone. You move on.

The first contact after a break up is hard. There is always a winner. Luckily it was me. When we broke up I went through hell and came back. The day after the break up he had already moved on. I knew her. It cained like a bitch.

It took me time to move on. I didn’t start dating straight away. I grieved the relationship, and started to go out with my friends. Start to laugh again, a genuine laugh. A genuine smile. It was no longer forced. I could be happy again, back to me. I still thought about him but not as regularly.

About 2 months after the break up I saw him. I was on my way to the dentist, in my own little world I guess. I was not expecting to see him. I was accompanied by a friend, male, and if I might add, very good looking. He drove slowly past me, I could feel my face turning bright red. I felt bad, I was with someone. Even though there was nothing going on with this friend, I felt guilty. I didn’t want him to hurt. Atleast not the way he hurt me. At this point I was still not seeing anyone. It didn’t matter. No one deserves to hurt.

About another month passed. I was mising him. Just missing the company. Even though we would argue. He was still there. Someone I could let it all out with. He sent me a message. It read Please can you call me when you have a chance. I thought maybe I had something of his and he wanted it back, or vice-versa. He told me that it was all my fault, he had moved on because he thought I had too. He told me he was sure I was with someone. He told me how much he loved me and how he wanted to fight to get me back. I told him I’ve moved on, and that I was with someone else. And I was. I was finally happy again. Why did he have to text me?

He threw me off guard. I was so confused. I did love him at one point. But I felt I could never get back with him. Although I had missed him, it didn’t mean that he was a good person. Or that it was a good idea to get back together. IMG_E0439

There’s only 1

I’m a firm believer that there is someone for everyone. The problem is, is that I believe there is only one person out there for each person. And when you loose this person everyone else you date after that are just there to fill the gaping hole of loneliness and pain. You can’t love anyone like your first. That person will always be on your mind.

I envy those who fall in love and stay with each other for the rest of their lives. They found their person. Everyone needs a person. A partner in crime, someone who can love you unconditionally and you love them the same way back.

Sometimes I look back, when I had my person. And I wish I could have all the bad stuff back. Just so I could have the good. When you lose your person it’s the most painful experience anyone could ever imagine. I feel like I’ve lost half myself and the only thing that can take the pain away is drowning my blood in licor. At least I can’t feel the pain at that moment. But the alcohol wears off. And I’m just left with pain. Hurt. Sometimes I think it would be easier letting go, of everything. Ending it. But I’m too weak for that. I would give my life for him, and so much more. I just can’t believe he’s gone. And that we no longer exist.

The struggle

Part 4

I know I had needed him. He was my constant. My rock. My everything. I gave him everything and got left with nothing.

I changed my whole life for him. Stopped talking to my best friends. My family. I dressed up less, wore less make up just to please him. And what for? To be left. To have him speaking to other girls and lying to me. I realized I needed out. I needed to run away.

I’m hurting. I hurt so much. How can I love someone who hurts me so much? I’ve always been a strong woman, independent. And now I feel broken inside. I feel as if my heart has been ripped from my chest and I’m still breathing. When someone breaks you downslowly oer arious years its hard to build yourself back up. Start talking to my people again. Start being me again and enjoy life . Im sick of being scared. Scared of unwanted opinions and comments. Scared to talk to eiople and being accused of fucking them. Scared to see him in the street.

Its been 2 months now since we’ve broken up. Ive had a few slip ups and called him. I almost was going to get back together with him. All my scars were bear for him to see. Visible.

The struggle

Part 3

Things were getting harder by the day. We would argue constantly. I would tell him to leave, and he would. He would call me and beg for forgiveness. I would cry and apologize too. He would come home and the next day we would repeat it all over again.

I fell ill, I started to get sharp pains in my stomach all the time. I lost weight, and had no appetite. It was the stress of the relationship. I once put a picture on Facebook of my new outfit, black trousers and a white off the shoulder shirt. He told me I was a whore for putting those pictures on Facebook. I became afraid of what was acceptable, what I could or couldn’t like, who I could speak too. This feeling overwhelmed me. I felt trapped in a cage. I felt lonely. No one understood my pain nor could I tell anyone.

My friends and family all advised me to leave him even though I love him. I didn’t want to end a relationship of 2 years. I hoped he could change and prove everybody wrong. He could provide, he could work, he could look after me. I told them all that they were wrong and he was a good person deep down. He meant no harm and I knew that.

I was always a very dramatic person, big fake nails, big eyelashes and an extrovert. I loved to go out to the club and dress up in my best clothes and loved to dance. Somewhere along those 2 years I had lost my identity completely, I no longer went out and when I did I was an alcoholic if I drank a glass of wine. I couldn’t wear short dresses or high heels. I felt almost ashamed of myself and would look at the other beautiful girls in a jealous manner. Because he would look at them and not at me.

One night I had a slip up. We had had an argument and he decided to sleep at his dads house and I went out for dinner with my mum and dad. They invited some friends and the wine was flowing. We decided to have a drink before we all went home. He turned up at the bar. He saw me talking to an older guy called J. He starts to scream at everyone, calling me a whore in front of the whole bar. Assuming I had done something or cheated on him. I know I didn’t. I could never do something like that to him. I loved him.

The struggle

Part 2

We hadn’t been dating long, maybe about 1 month before he moved in, it just happened. He brought his things to my tiny studio apartment and stayed.

At the time he was working for his mother who owns breakfast restaurants inside of hotels. He would work from 8am until around about midday. His mother hardly paid him. He would bring home 100€ a week, leaving me to pay for everything. I earn very well so it wasn’t a problem for the moment.

The summer was upon us and I suggested he quit working for his mother as I could no longer afford paying for everything on my own. We both smoke, food and bills and it was starting to pile up. Everyday he would need money for lunch as I was working. I was starting to get annoyed.

He moved from his mothers breakfast bar to a pool bar she owned in the same hotel. However the pay stayed basically the same and he was working more hours. Growing frustrated with this I made him quit. Leaving him therefore jobless and leaving me fucked.

The sex was great. He would pull my body closer to his, and start fondling me. The sweat beaded off his forehead as he played with me as I moaned for more. I’d grab his big cock in my hand and squeeze it in my hand and start rubbing up and down his long shaft. Pulling my sex away from his hand I turn and place my ass on his knees and bend down and reach out for his cock and put in my mouth and start sucking, licking and groping it. He nearly came, and pushed me off him. I landed back down and legs in the air. He pulled me closer to him, and pushed his cock inside me. I was wet. And my clit was throbbing for him. I could feel him rubbing against my g spot. More intense every time. I cried out “harder” and he pushed in so deep i started to cum. He made my body tremble. As I came he came inside me.

I constantly nagged and moaned for him to get a job, and he would take up waitering or temping but could not stay in one place for long. I was growing more and more aggitated as the days went on, and he still had no money coming in. Occasionally his mother or father would lend him some money.

Our arguments were the worst. As I’d explain my feelings he’d get angry. He would say that when you love someone there is no my money or your money. It was OUR money. I should pay for him if I loved him. This made me nervous. A fire grew in my belly. He would call me selfish, a liar, a bitch. I’d hurt him even more by saying I don’t love you, I like someone else, it’s over, I fucked your mates. He’d viciously reply before me you was a whore, you had a bad reputation, guys only want you for sex. I felt degraded. I felt weak. I could never win an argument. He’d go on and on and on until I was too tired to talk anymore. I’d give in.  I did love him but I couldn’t agree with his mentality. I had worked since I was 14 years old. And he at 25 years old couldn’t.

There was one particular occasion I can remember, and I am not proud of my actions. We were arguing one day, everytime I’d speak he would speak over me, not letting me talk. Constantly degrading me and belittling me making me feel stupid and worthless. An anger grew over my body and took over me. I pulled my hand back, and smacked him straight across the face. He pushed me, I’d push him back. I never thought I would be in this situation. I was wrong. I should never have put my hand upon him.

The danger of the mirror

Looking in the mirror I think to myself I can stop whenever I want. I’m in control. My stomach says otherwise. My fat bulges over my trousers, seeps through my T-shirt and out into plain view.

I see a girl my age walking along eating a burger. She can eat what she likes. She doesn’t gain weight. I hate her and love her. She is who I want to be. Confident. Skinny. Pretty. Attractive to men. I think of how she looks so effortlessly beautiful. How my boyfriend would prefer her to me. How I bet he would stare at her. Leaving me feeling even worse and comforting myself to an extra large milka bar.

I look in the mirror a daily reminder of how disgusting I am. A reminder that I will never be that skinny girl. That girl that can wear short shorts and not think twice about it. I visit a doctor, I want a diet plan.

Standing on the scales in the cold doctors room I look around. I see the nurse standing looking at me judging me. Not realizing the doctor was speaking to me. I zoned out, staring at the nurse.

The doctor repeats himself even louder. “Miss, to get through this you need help and support. We can make a meal plan for you, your boyfriend has offered to help watch you. Help you take back control. I’m afraid you need to change your lifestyle before it’s too late”. I understood and nodded to him. Almost crying. I couldn’t believe I was that fat he actually told me I need to change quick before “it’s too late”.

I go home skip dinner and cry myself to sleep. When I wake up the next day I need to eat. I make myself a toast and a hot cup of coffee. I look in the mirror and see nothing but a skeleton of myself. Bones sticking out, legs as thin as ski poles.

I was sick and I didn’t even know it.

If only I had listened to my boyfriend when he told me I was perfect.