Let me lament for a moment ....

On how I loved her.

I loved the way she said randonly " I love the smell of pussy" when we were in the car driving back from a weekend away one time.

I love the way her face looked when it lit up - so many times - when a sting ray flew over her head at the aqaurium, when the kids made her laugh, when I said something stupid only she would understand.

Oh, how I loved her.

When she touched me. Her fngers had a direct connection to my soul.

Her hoody wrapped around her head.

Her doing a school project, the joy she found in it.

Her, after a few, giggling.

Her, reaching for me in the night.

Her arms around me, cupping my breast.

Her hand between my legs, fucking me while I watched her.

Her.

Her.

Her.

Her who got into my soul like no other.

Her.

There's no mirrors in cupboards, her who saw beyond my external appearance, her who loved me in spite of it.

Holding Chaney down to get his stitches.

Getting lost in the freakin' maze and me (trying) to fuck her with the strap on.

NEW

YEARS

EVE.

Cooking.

Me being so mad at her that I want to kill her and her saying "It's OK, it's alright".

Me singing drunkenly and her thinking I'm such a wicked singer.

HER

OMG HER.

My heart, my head, my cunt. Engaged, rearranged, never the same.

Does she know what part she played in bringing me to me?

I doubt she ever will.

Those nights. "So what brings a girl like you to a place like this?" "Got a light?" "Do you came here often?" "I'm here, I'm fucking queer, GET USED TO IT".

I've never been so free, so safe, so me.

I'm not gonna talk about the flip side now 'cos I don't fucking feel like it. I want to REJOICE in the love we had, I miss it so much, already.

"You have the charisma of a hooker"

I miss you, I love you, I will NEVER get over you.

Your mouth on my mouth, taking me places.... showing me the way.

Me riding you, fucking you, showing you who I am.

Why isn't this enough? This kaleidescope of memories, this tapestry of feeling, this montage of moments?

This is a celebration of the good times, a celebration of the unboundless love.

Your fingers in my hair, me pouring you a shot, filling the fucking pool, barbeques, sausages, chops, the look in your eyes that said forever.

I need you to see me, baby - can you see me? The tears in my eyes that will be there forever?

The big one, the pink one, the speculum; all of this was for you. The collar, the lead, the whip, the harness, the beads, all for you.

Do you weep for me, little one? Do you see me in your minds eye before you sleep?

Can you feel me?

Can you feel my soul as it wanders night after night; looking, searching for a place to rest? Do you understand how close we came?

Do you?

Do you know, do you understand how my fingers reach for you but you're already gone?
Can you feel the pounding of my heart when you're so far away?
Do you understand I'm going under?
Do you get that I needed you?

So many mistakes, so much anger. I'm sorry this is how it was.

Your fingers holding mine under that threadbare caravan blanket; I can still feel it. I can still hear you snoring.

You think I don't feel, you think I'm robotic. I thought you knew who I was. the pain that sears my insides; I can feel my organs colliding. They have eaten my feet. they have eaten my tongue. I canot walk, I cannot talk. I am consumed.

They carry me.

I don't like it, I can feel my insides tearing, bleeding. My mind a tangled mess of emotions I know you can't understand. I'm floating, I'm in a place you've never been. It's scary to me. I'M FRIGHTENED.

You eating KFC, you making my drinks, you never stirred them but I still liked them. You never turn the taps off properly, you always leave chewed up gum all over my house I still love you.

What you don't understand is and never will is this ... I love you too much to share. Regardless of what you say, regardless of what you do, I am who I am. This is what makes my love so powerful. I know you want it.

You pissed on me. You saw inside my cunt. You saw inside my head. This is powerful stuff. It cannot be shared.

I am femme. I am Candy 2 Shoogs.

I amthe one who will see into your soul and take you places no one else could.

I am the one who will sing to you whilst looking into your eyes and mean every word, even when I'm dissing you.

I am the one who will cook you lasagne and meatballs and toasties and bacon and eggs even though you dont like it.

I am the one who will let you feel when I am ovulating.

I am a work in progess; I am shifting, I am changing. I am feeling.

I'm in trouble like only you know and I will rise above like only you know I can.

It was a secret story, you and I. Full of secrets, full of inside information, full of things no one else could know.

Feel it.

It's complicated, it's fucked up, IT FUCKING HURTS,. The sleepless nights; the restless days, the tears, the anguish the torment. All stiches in the pattern of what we made. It's precious, it's priceless, I cover myself with it when I sleep.

My mouth on your neck, pressed so hard my teeth are pressing up against my gums. I can't breathe but I don't care.
Me getting a cut under my eye from licking your pussy and you grinding your cunt into my mouth so hard that again, I can't breathe.

The man shaking his fist in the caravan park. His akubra.

Big Brother and the meals we used to cook to watch it.

Fucking Woolly at Blonde.

Julie and John next door.

Getting pissed with Jen and Kenny. You banging on and ON about how much you love Jen.

Robmacca.

For she's a jolly good lezzo and so say Anne and Jess.

Dead pidgeons in pools.

QUEST.

You have been loved.

Rereading this blog ...

I feel really angry with myself! It's all about C!!!

What about the other things I'm passionate about that I could write about??? What about sexuality? What about gender roles? What about my passion for equality for women? There's so many other things I could say and yet I bang on and on about one individual person who seems to let me down pretty regularly.

This has to change.

Here I am again - fucking Pollyanna

C is entering into a business partnership with N.

That sound you just heard was the bottom dropping out of my world or my safety net being yanked from me.

God, it hurts.

Before anyone wants to email me and tell me what a FUCKING IDIOT I am for continuing to see her - please don't - believe me I already know. I feel pretty stupid.

C. The name that stabs me and soothes me at the same time. How many times can I put myself through this? I don't handle this shit well.

My initial coping mechanism was to pour the vodka. I kept pouring it two nights running - it helped actually, I felt the pain but it was on the peripheral of y vision; I knew it was there but I couldn't really feel it.

I didn't drink last night, I decided on cigarettes solely instead. Today I have a very sore throat and an even sorer heart.

I feel wounded and I'm bleeding.

I don't think I can get past this. I'm gonna have to let her go. (yeah, right! sigh my non existant readers)

I'm starting to think I haver a serious self esteem issue; my sister and BFF think I have a problem with wanting to hurt myself which I obviously do. But not consciously - well not with C consciously I don't. The booze and the bingeing I know I do on purpose.

I just want to stop crying.

My kids have been sick all week; my ex husband is on the phone out of his mind on drugs constantly, I guess you could say I'm pretty fucking alienated and alone.

This blog is actually nad for me in a way - its fucking depressing seeing all the shit facts about me written down.

I really, really despise myself for being so dumb.
WHY oh WHY did I keep sleeping with her and slowly let my guard down.


I'm a fucking moron.

I'm not like the other Mums....

They always seem so hapy, so smiley, so on top of things.

Why can't I be like them?

Is it just the way I'm prgrammmed to function (to quite Lilly Allem) or am i soo fucked up that this is just how its supposed to be for me.

I'veneevr been particualr;y haopy in my life, I guess the closest ive ever come to it is in the earlydays of my marriage, and superceeding that (inevery way) my early days with claire.

Of course, my children surpass every thing. Without them, i wouldn't be here. no doubt.

I find myself at times, bordering on crazy. i can see this within myself and recognise it but it doestne make it any easier to live with. I drove today to buy the kids easter egs and i had to pull the car over to the side of the road so i wouldnt swerve into tohe oncoming. i bet the other mums dont feel like this.

my onlyoytlet is sex.

dirty, hardcore, xxx rated sex.

and secind life.

wtf i worng with me.

oh eah and booze.

im bulimis, except that i fdont always throw up - i eat and i eat and i eat. by rights i should be obese, but for some reason the ody can tak e it and snaps back everyday, still lookingfuckable - gauging the responses it earns me everytime i walk out of my house 0 which isnt often - i find it frigthening to bein public - too many eyes looking my way. what are they looking at??? i can understandit if the hair and makeup is in place, id look too - but whatabout when im not waerint the mask? why then?

what is it that makes ppl look at me? can they smell the despaor?

i had a metdoen today at my mums place, normally a place of refuge, but today for some reason ipanicjd and had toget home - racing out of the plav like a bat out of hell and offending all inthe process.

what the fuck is eron with me.

im starting to thing i might be biolar? im starting t think i need serios medficatrion. but how can i front up to some random doctor and tell him/her what is really going o with me. it goes against evrything isatdn for, keep everything to myself at all costs.

which i am aware is stupid, i am aware its not helping me - but where do i pul the fucking courage from to tell someone how it really is?????

I am the walking wounded.

I am the person with no skin, no protection to shield a heart which is but a gaping, bleeding wound.



I feel alien. My eyes seek solace when I am out walking, looking for something I can feel some kind of affinity with.



I feel an unnatural amount of relief if someone says something I can relate to. I hold onto it and go over it at night in my bed before I sleep.



Yet there is joy in sorrow. I feel. At least I feel.



This is who I am. I don't think I am programmed to be happy.



Yet I have moments of joy and sanctity. My children I thank for these - they keep me breathing.



Some days I want to die - I fantasise about driving my car off the road. Today I smoked a cigarette crouched next to my car so the neighbour wouldnt try to engage me in any kind of conversation - i thought if he looked at me he would know how fucked up i really am - and i stared at the one of the tires on my car and i thought about what my head would look like squashed underneath it.



I feel lost and so, so alone.



My body hurts. My ears hurt, the sound of the television is making me feel crazy. There is never silence in this house, always screaming, always pulling at me.