When your dreams stop you know your mind is trying hard not to exist

Another day done. Yes, im keeping track. Another night of 5 hour sleep. Im starting to look like an old tramp. Ive decided to not be alone for a bit though. Apparently thats bad for you. I cant see how sitting on the sofa crying and reading soft porn about Scottish highlander could ever be bad for you but they say it is.

Im bad being on my own. Im nordic gloomy. Left to my own my mind goes bananas. I dont like me very much if i think too much. I definitely dont like my choices. So im planning to pinballing myself between friends. Until ill collapse in exhaustion. Probably around Sunday.

Going out with Unibet crew tomorrow. Tommy is my wing man. He is sending me pepping texts about how awesome I am, how much fun we will have this summer, how we will laugh in the face of life in 20 year when we sit on a beach drinking cocktails being happy we narrowly escaped being tied down and instead travel the world. I need that. I need someone who keeps reminding me ITS GOING TO BE ALRIGHT.

(yes, im trying very hard to see the positives here. Dont mind that slightly forced tone. You do what you have to do to survive. In the light of my latest reading habit (seriously, scottish highlander might even be better than vampires) i feel like Braveheart screaming Freedom (well, he died but i will survive screaming ‘Ill be fucking alright’ from the top of my lungs))

All thats going down

Im thinking I shouldnt be writing here too much, that its self indulgent and no one cares and then i think ‘fuck it’. This is my space. My place to deal with Shit. That. Is. Going. Down. Like breaking up with your boyfriend. That is shit of epic proportions.

So, here goes. Another mind vomit of heart broken nonsense. Yes, still there. Still only 3 days. Even if this hurt makes it feel like its been at least 2 weeks. How can i still only be 3 days in? My calendar says it will be better in 3 months and that is another 90 days. I hope it starts getting better before that, i dont think i can do 90 days of this. My skin is broken up in pimples, my stomach hurts, my eyes are puffy from tears and I dont sleep.

I feel a bit numb. Like this isnt real. Like ill come home and miraculously it will all be fine. My house wont feel achingly empty and Oliver and me will smile at each other and say ‘how silly we are, of course its supposed to be us’. But its not. Deal with it.

Work. What a joke. I cry in the bathroom and pretend to care when my team mate asks me about emails. I dont. At all. I want to go to a dark bar and drink too many beers and smoke cigarettes and have a friend that says ‘its enough now’ and helps me home to put me in bed and put a glass of water by my bedside.¬†

I remember last time i was here. I kept thinking that i can never do this to myself again. It took 3 years before i let anyone in. I remember being angry at my friends telling me to stop, the ones i trusted to be carefree and stupid with me told me that this wasnt the way. Drinking until oblivion and behave like a kid wasnt the answer. I wonder if i will be told that again?

My thoughts go along the way of giving up. That maybe, finally, im allowed to. I fought my way through my depression, therapy, the realisation that something needs to change. I fought through it and just did it. Got out of bed, went to work, functioned. Am i allowed to not now? Ive taken the hardest decision of my life. Left what kept me sane and entered the fear of falling back into chaos and nothingness. Am i done now? I guess not.

Words churning. That is what they do. They dont help. Time, its only fucking time that will heal. I wish there was a short cut, a bear hibernating cave, an eternal sunshine on a spotless mind machine, anything to make this go away. Instead  I collect quotes on pinterest, listen to sad songs, cry to silly movies and read fantasy to try and make sense, chase away the demons and survive.

Breaking into smithereens

I walk around like a ghost in our home. Me and Woolly both. None of us can sleep and he toss and turn next to me and I toss and turn next to him. I feel very lonely. And so so sad. I cry all the time, everything sets me off. Your scent on the pillow, realising that we will never buy a Christmas tree again and know that its the best tree ever, remembering walks along the river laughing and planning for our life together, knowing that that life will never happen.

‘It will be better’, they say. ‘Its better this way’, you say. I know. I know the pain will fade into lightly coloured memories of us. But right now I dont want that. I want us. We were going to start a family, now we plan to break apart our lives.

I hurt knowing I did this. You tell me it wasnt just me and I know it wasnt. It was us. I still hurt knowing I couldnt keep the happiness of us alive. That my worries and my need for something carried all that doubt in. You say it was for the best and that it would have happened eventually, that you dont want to trap me, that all my worries are valid and you are probably right. It doesnt matter, I still hurt so much i cant sleep, eat or function.

This will be ok, we will be ok and one day we will look at our lives and be very happy at the decision taken but a piece of me will always wonder if we could have been just as happy together.

Blueberry soup

Ive been having an iffy couple of days. Third time this year, not so sure its a charm. Ive been properly taken out three times this year already. Think its stress. Losing hair, tired and sick. Feels like stress to me. Guessing its the whole ‘move back to Sweden or not’ question.

Im contemplating herbs, vitamins and anything that could work. But being lazy and inheritable bad at looking after myself (might come from my mums sentiment that being sick is just imagination) I probably wont do anything about it and keep getting taken out from time to time.

Since i have an awesome boyfriend (that cares more for my well being than i do) he walked to Barnes and got me the necessary sick food. Blueberry soup. This is what I remember being given as a kid being sick. It made me instantly better so im kind of ready to take on weekend.

Jules and Masken is here and we are going for Chicken Kiev at Ffionas on Sunday. That chicken Kiev is the bane of my ‘taking care of guests’ existence. Mum loves it and talks about every time she comes here and now Jules as well. If i ever start a restaurant it will only serve Chicken Kiev. Period.

Dance with Me