Helpless

Despite everything that has happened in the last 15 months, I can safely say this day has been the hardest in our relationship.

Not the time when he wouldn’t answer my calls as he was angry. Not the one and only time I ‘lied’ and got caught out. Not even when the myriad of exes have filed in, looking to rekindle their relationship with him.

Today has been the worse. Is the worse, still.

I feel utterly HELPLESS. I have sent texts periodically throughout the day but I have ruminated about every single one of them. How often should I message? Should I leave him to it to give him and his family space? I want him to have the strength to get through the day but feel he can let go with me. How do I word that? How can I show support from thousands of miles away when all I want is to be there with him?

Seeing his pain is torture. Feeling so far away and helpless is torture. Waiting for him to contact me, just so I know he is OK- as ok as you can be – is nearly killing me.

He has always been sensitivity supportive over my grief. His words have comforted. But at the same time, I knew they came from someone who has not experienced the extent of that grief. I wouldn’t wish that grief on anyone.

Yesterday, I saw in his face that he knew it was coming. She was sick, yes, the first round of tests showed that, but her decline had come swiftly before the scans and treatment could be organised.

When he showed me her frail body, she was sat up, and for a moment I had hope that he was just panicking. She would get through this. But I could see it in his eyes.

Later in the evening I messaged to check he was ok and he replied he was. I reminded him that he could call me whenever.

At 3.45am I awoke. I reached for my phone to check the time and could see he has messaged me 2 hours earlier. I took a risk and messaged back. Within minutes he was telling me she was dying.

This morning, grief straining his face, he showed me her sleeping peacefully whilst they waited for the end to come. He looked so lonely. He said how helpless he felt and I just wanted to hug him. I told him I understood.

His calls since have been fleeting. Minutes. He called when she had died and again when she had been buried. He has read each of my texts, eventually, but has rarely responded. I don’t know how to help, don’t know what support I can give. I don’t know if my words are comforting or annoying.

It has been four hours since our last call and two since he read my last message. I know he is not ok, how can he be, but I just need to see him, speak with him. Be there, even though I am not.

I know little about his customs and traditions but I do know that there will be prayers and family at the wake. I know from a previous time that it will go on late. As time passes on, it gets harder and harder to gauge what to do. The man I love more than anything is feeling a pain beyond compare and I am not there. I can’t help.

And so the bizarre and depressing continues.

Last night, our ‘esteemed’ Government decided that all schools will return on March 8th. So, in my case, that means that there will be around 1600 people moving about the building. Oh, and teachers are not important enough to get the vaccine early. The vaccine that reduces the spread when lots of people are together.

Ah well. Maybe this revelation means I can travel to see Wildcard. Nope, it does not.

If I am lucky it will be May 17th and as I am not it will be June 21st or something.

But it’s ok – whilst I am safely in the building with these hundreds of teenagers who constantly -and I will be generous here – forget to socially distance despite signs, stickers and warnings, ‘elite sportsmen’ can travel by plane wherever they like. Because sport is essential whilst visiting loved ones you haven’t seen for a year apparently is not.

So that is all good then. I am learning that I am invincible enough to not need a vaccine whilst everyone else shields at home or jets off for sport to another country. Fabulous.

Endless vultures

Did you read my last post? This is a follow-on.

Pexels

Carrying the weight of so much feeling isn’t easy, particularly when you are insecure and anxious. I hate that part of myself.

I try to spin this positively. I am a sensitive, emotionally perceptive, empathetic person with a huge capacity to love. I have a big heart. The problem with a big heart is that you feel so much, therefore you have increased emotions and anxiety.

That is my theory and I am sticking with it.

Unfortunately, and I don’t know why having come from my mother’s family who are readily affectionate and show emotions, I associate showing these emotions too much as weakness. Is it the British stiff upper lip? Being the eldest? Coming from Dad’s side? I have no idea. All I know is that this in turn creates more anxiety because I think I have shown too much.

This is a thought that runs through my head daily. I tell him that I love him every day. Multiple times. (I do this with my kids too. I will get this wave of love and emotion so I tell them. In my view, you can’t tell someone you love them too much.) Does he get sick of it though? I doubt it when I consider his responses but I still wonder. 

This last year with Covid has been so hard for everyone. Putting the tragedy of deaths related to the virus to one side, those of us lucky enough to be ‘just struggling with lockdown rules and feeling the impact on our wellbeing and mental health. Add a LDR onto that and you can see why this is augmenting what it already difficult because of lockdown and because I am an emotive person with anxiety issues. God help him. How does he put up with me?!

If all was right in the world, I would have visited him countless times and my kids would have met him too. I think we would both know by now where this is truly heading. We don’t. We both think we want to make this work but are conscious that more physical time is needed together and there is a lot to talk about. Our life together is on hold whilst we spend every day of our life together virtually. Confusing stuff.

Like any relationship, there are good days and bad days. There are days when our life outside each other weighs in and interferes with mood. There are days when we – ok, I – struggle with missing him so much and the constant waiting and hoping for a time we can be together again. There’s jealousy from time to time and insecurity from both of us.

Occasionally, very occasionally, I wonder how this could work out. Whether I feel too much, and does he feel the same? Will he wait for me?

There is 9 years between us and my life is midway. I have the kids, the divorce, the house, the career. Whilst he is settled and well-placed compared to some in his country, I know he is not where he wants to be (metaphorically speaking). As the weeks roll on – a year now since we were last together- I wonder how long he will wait to decide upon where he wants to be.

And the vultures are still flying round. Exes, new conquests, old conquests. He tells me because he ‘wants to be clear’ with me and hide nothing. He tells me they mean nothing. Just friends. Only  we both know they want more.

And I know some of them can offer more than I can. They’re closer, younger, prettier etc etc. I can’t help but be insecure. I can’t help but panic.

He tells me I have nothing to worry about, he loves me. He won’t delete them because they haven’t done anything wrong (just major hinting, grrr). I love that he wants to stay friends. I love that he doesn’t want to hurt them unnecessary.  I hate that they keep trying.

I hate that we are not further along in our relationship, because of stupid covid, so that our status is out there and celebrated. Being a Muslim, you don’t have a girlfriend. He can’t celebrate me in the wider world because I shouldn’t exist. The fact that his parents and brothers know about me should be enough and means a lot. But I cannot wait until our relationship puts a great big metaphorical bullet through each and every attempt to woo him back.

One ex does know about me although it hasn’t stopped her trying periodically. Others don’t.

I don’t blame them for trying. He is wonderful and amazing and handsome and funny.

I…well, I kind of blame him.

He can’t go against his culture and his sensitive nature. He isn’t encouraging them. But he isn’t putting a stop to it either. He won’t tell one of them outright about me because ‘it is none of her business’ plus he ‘will not push it in her face’. ‘If she asks, I will tell her.’ He ghosts her instead if her messages become too familiar. He worked with her and is friends with a cousin of hers so he doesn’t want to offend either of them. He keeps it friendly and doesn’t initiate any conversation. (I want him to rub her face right in it by professing his undying love for me to her in every which way he can.) But as she doesn’t know I exist, I can hardly blame her, can I?

I want to be important enough that he tells everyone. I want to be important enough that he would choose blocking them rather than hurt me. Unfair and selfish I know.

I don’t want to change him or make him block someone who has innocently fallen for him – the man of my, and clearly their, dreams.

So yes, occasionally I wonder if it is all worth it. Because in those moments I believe that it is only a matter of time until my heart is broken.

Insecurity is a relationship killer.

But just the hint of a thought of losing him makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t walk away when I love him so much.

So, the vultures can keep circling because it isn’t dead yet. Endless circles because it isn’t going to end.

They can keep circling until they fall out of the sky for all I care. My focus is going to be on him and us and battling my insecurities, not on them.

My endless love

Our love consumes me.

Every night, every night without fail, I lie in bed and close my eyes and he is there. I remember his kisses and his touch. I remember his arms around me. Making love. His smile and the warmth of his arms around me. Sometimes I imagine, carving out a new memory for the future. My hopes and dreams.

And each morning I wake and he is the first thing in my mind. I check the time to see how long it will be until I can message him. Or until he will call me. Until I see his face and hear his voice. I’m addicted to him and his love.

He consumes me.

I cannot get enough. No amount of time, no number of calls. It is never enough, never too much. And as he is the one who calls me 75% of the time, I assume he feels the same. No, not an asumption. He has told me that – he has never done this before and for so long and so much.

I feel like he awoke something in me. Everything now is in ultra HD… Every feeling and emotion, every promise and possibility.

I think about my life with him and, for the first time ever, I think about how much I want to make him happy: the life I want us to lead. This is new for me because before it was about the life my man would give me – the ideals and stereotypes that I wished for. I didn’t realise that until I met Wildcard and felt this.

I feel as if my whole life has led to this moment. Clues along the way now slot into place, leading me to him.

This is a love like no other. And every man that I have loved before just a lesson, a step towards loving him.

I once thought Lost Soul was my soul mate, the one who got away. What I felt for Lost Soul is nothing in comparison to the way I feel about Wildcard. And that terrifies me. It took me years to get over Lost Soul. But he was the one who got away for a reason – he wasn’t the right one. Sure, he opened my mind to possibilities of which led me to Wildcard. I have him to thank for that at least.

I know a part of me would never recover if I lost Wildcard. Because all the pieces in my life now fit and they’ve made a picture that I was forever looking for whilst barely knowing it existed.

But now I do.

My love for him is endless. I know that now from the depths of my soul to beyond.

Time for the truth.

I always believed that time flies when you’re having fun. I am not having fun. Lockdown is not fun, and yet time is flying.

I have one week left until half term and I’m exhausted. I’m really enjoying my new role and I like the new leadership at my school. Work is hard though. On the plus side, it’s keeping me busy and helping time to pass.

I’d had the mildest hope of travelling in February, 1-year after I had last saw him. I think I knew all along it wasn’t going to happen. When we discussed it some months ago – well let’s face it, when I accused him of not wanting me to go – he talked about the vaccines in both our countries and the hope that we would all be vaccinated in the UK by April. Easter is the perfect time: I have two weeks off,off therefore I can spend some time with Wildcard and with my children. There’s also enough time to quarantine and be tested ready to go back to work. So, after that discussion I booked flights for the beginning of the Easter holiday.

So you see, time flying wasn’t a bad thing. And then the new variant came. Lockdown 2 came, well, lockdown 2 for teachers. And I actually felt a bit of relief: some time to get myself together, focus on my job and myself. And, yeah, lockdown means I have more opportunities to talk with Wildcard each day. I was still hopeful. I accepted quickly that February was a no go. But April, April was the time. Flights booked, Vaccines promised and time.

Sure his country shut borders to the UK. There was still time though. Vaccination was going a-pace in the UK, plus we were in lockdown and the cases were starting to fall. There was still time.

On Thursday night, hope died. An email telling me my flights were cancelled. Worse, was when I opened the app to see that all flights to his country have been cancelled for the next 6 months.

I can’t describe the shock, the pain, the fear. I sobbed.

All hope was gone. In that moment, the future was gone. There’s no way he would wait all that time and surely he wouldn’t put his life on hold for another 6 months. Another 6-months of waiting. My heart broke. There’s nothing I can do about it.

Somehow I got through Friday in work. I actually think seeing the children and my colleagues helped a little; even the mask hid my swollen eyes a little.

The moment I saw him, when I got home from work and he called me, I cried again. I told him what had happened and he laughed because he was right, again. He laughed in disbelief that I would cry over it. Which made me cry even more because it felt like he didn’t care. I do him an injustice: he’s just more pragmatic, you’re coming summer” he said. His view is that it is life and there’s nothing we can do so there is no point getting upset.

Maybe he’s right – of course he is. But it doesn’t stop it from hurting. 6-months seems a long time now, a lot can happen and of course, in my mind, it’s all bad.

I know he loves me. He tells me he loves me, he shows me he loves me. If I dare to let myself believe it and experience it without fear then I know he loves me to my very soul.

But you want to know the truth? Finally, do you want to know entirely where all the fear comes from?

He wants a baby.

And you know what else? I want to give him one. I want a baby with him. I want us to have a baby together.

Here’s the thing: I love my children with all my heart and I wouldn’t change having them for anything. But I didn’t have them because I wanted a baby with their dad.

I want to have a baby with Wildcard.

In 2 months time, I turn 41. Time is running out – hell, it probably already has – but I still had hope. In a time where coronavirus didn’t exist I imagined 3 or 4 trips to his country in 2020. I pictured him meeting my children. And provided it all went well, I thought that maybe this year we would be married.

So whilst I recognised it would be difficult, there was a chance.

This, this is the root of my anxiety. The more time passes, the less likely that I can give him a baby. Whilst young, beautiful girls swarm around him, and family members try to set him up, I’m thousands of miles away, ageing.

Sometimes I guilt myself that I should do the right thing and let him go because it’s highly likely I can’t give him what he wants.

Just stop and think about that for a second.

Finally, I meet the man of my dreams. He is everything I want, I love everything about him. He makes me feel more alive than any other man has ever done and I want to share a wonderful life with him. And I want to give him a baby.

But despite that, despite all that love and attraction we both feel …I should let him go.

He is not stupid and his job has something to do with reproduction in animals – he must know, I tell myself, he must know and he still wants me. Maybe he is just hoping as I do.

Truly, I believe if our relationship ends it will because of this, if not directly then indirectly, because of my fear and my jealousy.

So there you have it: the truth.

Envy

I have done well today. No tears until an hour ago. I want to think that is an achievement of some sorts.

Today would have been my dad’s 81st birthday. He died nearly three years ago.

I’m going to state a rather blunt fact.

I am not envious of people my age who still have their parents. Good for them. And besides, their dad is not my dad.

No, I envy them because they haven’t felt this. They have no idea, no comprehension of what this is.

My Dad’s illness and death broke me. I know that. And when I got put back together, I wasn’t the same – a bit like a broken teacup. I might look roughly the same but I am not and never will be. I don’t work the same. I’m weaker, more fragile.

Time will heal. Sure. This is kind of true. Time has taught me to go about my day to day life. It has shown me how to carry on, put one foot in front of another. Eventually, you learn not to cry every day.

The pain though, the pain never goes away. You just learn to deal with it. To sink it so deep in your soul that you can manage living again. But it is still there and it demands its time.

What happens then, is special days and holidays become the trigger. His birthday. Your birthday. His death. Fathers’ Day. And when those days creep in like a dark shadow, you feel the life you are clinging to, slowly being overwhelmed by that shadow.

So, yes, I am proud that I didn’t cry all day. But I am not surprised that I cried or that it hurts or that I miss him as much as the day he died.

The sting in the tail though is what this does to you. The repercussions. It makes you value your remaining loved ones with a vehemence you didn’t know existed. You demand more from your life, because death has taught you how precious this is. And you realise that actually, some people are not as important to you as you thought. And so you let them go.

The fear though, the fear of further loss, that is the most difficult. The ones that are left after your heartless, grief stricken cull…those that are left are cherished beyond belief and the fear of losing them crushes you. It wracks you with an anxiety that weaves around your veins reaching every part of you.

And so, you who have not know loss and grief yet, I envy you.

Games

During a particular tricky period in our relationship (Ramadan in April last year – my first cancelled trip due to Covid), we started to play an online game.

I’ve never really been one for computer games. Occasionally, when bored, I lay download a couple for a while then delete. I like games involving strategy  – those that make my mind work and make me feel a sense of accomplishment when I solve them.

We started with a game of online Ludo. He had only recently downloaded it through Facebook and asked me to do the same. The first few games he absolutely destroyed me but I didn’t care. In this delicate period of our relationship, it brought us together and gave us something to do, to talk about and laugh about. Eventually … and I mean eventually, I started to win a few games which added to the fun. He won most of the time but whilst I am competitive I didn’t mind because I enjoyed it all so much.

During a recent conversation, chess was brought up and how he would like to play. We discovered that neither of us really knew how but that it may be too difficult to learn together due to the language barrier. He then suggested draughts.

My dad taught me how to play draughts  . Dad always won, but I soon started to learn and would win some games and I liked the strategy and cunning of the game.

So you understand, I was quite happy to find an online version of this game.

He destroys me. Nearly every time. We both started on 500 points – he is now on 27500ish and I am on 7500ish. We have drawn a few times, I have won occasionally. I don’t care though.

Or rather, I didn’t. 

I love that about him – his intelligence, the way his mind works. I don’t mind that I lose because we keep playing and having fun. Am I surprised I lost a lot? Sure. I thought I was reasonably ok at draughts and thought we would be more evenly matched, but it’s ok.

Then, this morning after I lost again, he commented that I always lose and maybe he needs to play with someone else- a stronger player.

Wow, that hurt. He was joking, it was trash talk. But it really stung and – as per goddam usual – my eyes filled up. I thought I had got away with it – it was the end of the call and he wasn’t playing full attention but he noticed as he always does.

How to explain? How to tell him that his comment felt like a knife in my gut – that I am not good enough. That my mind rolled and played with that idea…that I am stupid, not good enough and I never will be. That every moment of my anxiety comes from that – that I am not good enough for him and that one day he will find someone better and I will be left alone.

It is not the winning. I genuinely didn’t care about that because I loved the fact that he won, that he is so intelligent, and that made me more. But his comment – however much he was joking – just made me love myself less.

Is it his job to make me feel good about myself?

If you pay attention to the many online relationship and coaching gurus, no it is not. And I do get that. Confidence comes from within. You have to have pride in yourself, see your own worth – dampen down you inner critic. If I don’t feel positive about myself, how can I expect anyone else to?

But.

I can’t believe this is the entirety of the situation.  Surely, part of feeling loved is feeling that you are special to that person? That they love all of you: They value your strengths. They find you attractive and sexy.  They love your flaws and your faults because they make you who you are.

In making the person you love feel that love and attraction you feel for them, they feel good about themselves.

So…how does that work then? For someone to love you, you need to feel good about yourself but someone loving you makes you feel good about yourself.  Chicken and egg I think.

Does he make me feel good about myself?

Sometimes. Every call makes me happy. When he tells me misses me – which is not often. When he tells me I look beautiful or that he wants me. When he mentions something about our future.

These things don’t happen every day and I don’t expect them to.

But every day he calls me, every day he kisses me, every day he tells me he loves me. He makes me feel loved.

So what’s my problem? I have absolutely no idea.

His loving me has made me feel better about myself. It has made me want to improve myself more.

I try very hard to be a good person. I work hard. I am successful – I have achieved. I try my best when I can. I try to look after myself – make the best of who and what I am. I have a lot to offer someone.

So why do I feel this way? Why can a throwaway comment make me feel so bad – make me feel like I am not good enough for him?

Time for words

I am assuming that I am right in saying that anyone who comes on to WordPress, as a reader or a writer, must love words.

I love words. I’m a reader and a writer. I love the spoken word, the written word, the drawn word, the sung word. Even the implied word. Words fascinate me.

It is hardly surprising then, that my apparent love language is words of affirmation.

Sure, physical touch is important too. I like to be hugged and kissed and caressed. I like making love as an expression of commitment and affection and the sharing and giving of physical pleasure. But, there is a time and a place for such things whereas words are much more flexible. A quick text. A voicemail. An email. A little note on the fridge. A card or letter. A whisper in the ear or against lips in a kiss.

In some ways then, a long distance relationship is a good fit for me. All you really have is conversation and time. You have to talk more because it is so much harder to do anything else. Physical is out the question in between visits, gift buying is more challenging for so many reasons, as are acts of service. So, yes, talking and time are the key things.

Wildcard’s love language is definitely time. So again, this works well. He gives me lots of time, we talk a lot. Jackpot.

Almost.

The things about love languages, if you believe it – and the more I think about it, the more I do – is you often give the love language you like to receive.

I tell Wildcard every day that I love him. Repeatedly. Whenever I feel like it in fact. And if he doesn’t like that, well it is tough. I didn’t start the relationship saying it. But the more I love him, the more I say it. I tell him when I miss him. I tell him when he looks good. I tell him when I am horny.

Ironically, he is the better communicator. He fills the gaps and the silences. And there are some – mainly because we talk so often and because of covid there isn’t much to talk about sometimes.

But, as we both like his love language of time, it really doesn’t matter. When Wildcard places his phone on the dining table so that I join him and his family virtually, I love it. It doesn’t matter than I have no idea what they are talking about most of the time. I just love being with him. I don’t mind some of the quiet times and the silences because we will find something to talk about eventually, or we will joke with one another.

He isn’t as forthcoming with his words of affirmation though. Oh, he tells me he loves me – every day, at the end of every video call. Occasionally he will tell me he misses me or that he wants me. Sometimes he will tell me I look beautiful. He is, however, more likely to tease and joke with me because that is who he is.

I love who he is – every little thing about him.

But occasionally…sometimes… I just need to hear it a little more. Maybe I am having a bad day. Maybe I am really missing him. Maybe I am just premenstrual. Just sometimes I need to hear it. Because I can’t just go up to him for a hug or a kiss or hold his hand. I know he gives me his time – so much of it – but sometimes I just need a little more.

I can be in a bit of battle with myself sometimes. Not to get upset or disappointed or panicky when I don’t hear it. I have to remind myself that he shows his love in other ways…

Like, playing an extra game – even though he was about to say goodbye – because he knows I am anxious about something.

Like, going late for his dinner because we are talking.

Like, always returning calls and messages, always checking in regularly.

Like, going for a walk in the cold and wet – which he hates- because we talk less when he doesn’t go out walking.

I could go on and on.

Unfortunately, tonight, I lost the battle a little.

He had put a story on Facebook and it contained the lyrics of a song – first in his language then in English.

I didn’t know the song but the lyrics were along the lines of ‘girl, don’t be a fool. You don’t own me. All I want for you is to walk away’

And in that moment that I read them, my heart sank. So, what did I do in that heart sinking moment? I sent him an exclamation mark in response to his story.

I regretted it straight away but I didn’t have much time for that because he called immediately to ask what was wrong.

I had to answer of course. It was hard to explain so I kept it simple: I didn’t like his lyrics. He could see I was nervous. He assured me that they were not directed at me or anyone else and he even asked me what a couple of the words meant. He said he just liked the song. I told him it was fine and to ignore me but he asked me if he should delete it. I said no repeatedly, but as he saw my nerves he did it anyway.

After we said goodnight again, I sat contemplating the last five minutes and what had just happened.

Why? Why should those words effect me in this way? He has sent me songs directly with written lyrics in both languages, just for me. They’ve been romantic and heartfelt.

This story wasn’t directed at me, but it felt like it. Because…It’s like my worst nightmare come true. Him telling me that he doesn’t feel the way I do about him.

And then I think about time and actions – his love language. All those moments and minutes and hours devoted to me.

I also think about the occasions when he ‘slips up’ and utters something…that when I question him, he claims not to have said. Like they way he likes my beautiful eyes, or the thing I do with my lips (he wouldn’t elaborate on that one so I have no idea) or that he likes everything about me. They are fleeting, unexpected and often so guarded that they mean all the more in that instant – as if he couldn’t help himself from saying them. Or when he mentions a plan for the future unexpectedly… A trip he has thought about maybe.

So, with all these words, what am I saying?

Part of getting to know someone is learning how they love. And it can be hard sometimes if they way they love is different to you. You can’t change someone in that instance and neither should you want to: you’ve fallen in love with them.

Words are so very powerful. They’re so telling. And yet they can also hide and decieve and lie from the mouths of someone distrustful.

Time doesn’t lie. It can’t hide anything. And yet, it says so much.

I wish I understood PMS. As in, I wish I understood the science of it.

Yes I know, it is something to do with hormones blah blah blah, but how does it manage to send women crazy?

My Dad used to say that he was a bast@#d once a month, every month due to my mum’s period.

I’ve never been oblivious to my pms, but I am much more aware of it now. A day of irritability – I’m insensitive, impatient and far too blunt. A day or two of heightened emotions – I could cry at pretty much everything and anything.

Wildcard started to notice the signs of my monthly cycle long before I did. He knew when I was ‘hot’ and therefore ovulating (that was a new one on me) and started to predict my period. When I counted to check he was right.

For the past few months I have started to use a tracking app to monitor my moods and symptoms. My periods have always been irregular due to my PCOS but they have been more regular this past few years.

And the reason for my tracking at the age of 40? To see if I can avoid or at least acknowledge my PMS when it arrives. Save some tears. Prevent some arguments.

This month I wasn’t so lucky, although I did tell him that I was due to start my period as I cried again.

I had spent the day deep in thoughts of the unpleasant variety. This is never going to work. What am I doing? I’m too old for him. He probably has someone else on the go anyway. I am going to get hurt. He will get bored of me.

The level of PMS paranoia and suspicion needs to be documented here. He ends a call suddenly, I am convinced it is because another girl is calling. I call him and he is on the phone so it must be to another girl. He hasn’t called me beautiful in a few days- he doesn’t like me anymore. He is quiet so he must be bored of me and wondering how to end it. He hasn’t said he loves me in the past few hours so he mustn’t love me at all. He is stressed so it must be about me.

He doesn’t like the cold so he will never move to my country. In his culture they are usually married relatively quickly but he hasn’t asked me so he can’t want me. I’m just a good friend to him – a distraction in these troubled times. By the time I can actually visit him he will have forgotten how good we are together and won’t want me to come. He is sick of my crying. He thinks I am crazy. He is put off when he hears my kids fighting.

He is going to walk away, straight in to the arms of another girl and I will cry and be alone for the rest of my life.

Do you get the picture?

This isn’t the first time I have written about this and I’m sorry to my regular readers if I am boring you. But how the hell can I get away from these thoughts? I’d hoped by pinning them to my period I could at least acknowledge and ignore them.

There have been times when he has ended a call quicker than I expected so I have called back after a few moments to see if he is on the phone. He never is and then I have to come up with some stupid excuse.

A few times when he has been on the phone when I called and I have convinced myself it is to another woman, I’ve later realised that his mum has been with him so it is impossible.

He is as blunt as hell. If it is me, he will tell me it is me. So most of the time when I am worrying it is me, it isn’t and deep down I know that.

If he was so desperate to be with another woman, he would be. It would be the easiest thing in the world to get rid of me. We will never bump into each other again. He would find someone quickly.

But no, he is still with me, every day. I am desperate to see him and be with him. That + PMS + insecurity = me in a mess. And it never seems to end.

Stressed to self-satisfaction

It snowed last night. Not excessively, but enough to cover the ground and add an extra chill to the house.

Problem is, I have ran out of wood.

My house is heated by a multi-fuel stove which is attached to the central heating system. Dad always maintained the heating. You’d hear the familiar sound of him making a fire every morning and the sound of him cutting wood in the afternoon. It was a source of pride for him to do that until he became too ill to.

From that moment until now, I have bought wood. It is not cheap and a bone of contention as there is wood stored in my Dad’s shed but most is too big for the fire. The log splitter broke recently, as did the mitre saw.

I have replaced the mitre saw. But it is still in its box since I discovered there would be some assembly needed and I have no idea what I am doing and am scared of cutting my hand off.

This last week or so, I’ve been going out and breaking up wood with a rather blunt axe. Obviously, this has limitations. Up until yesterday, there was enough narrow wood for me to use.

Today, I woke up to the beauty of the snow and the sinking feeling that I have no wood.

Why have I not bought wood, I hear you ask?

I tried to. I ordered some over a week ago. It still hasn’t arrived and I have no idea why. The man is now ignoring my texts. It is Bank Holiday Monday and I refuse to pay £6 for a small bag of logs at the garage that won’t last half a day when I have a shed full of wood outside.

So, I glumly stayed in bed this morning, stressed and wondering what I was to do. I felt sorry for myself. I felt alone. I missed my Dad and the knowledge that he was always there to help me and I have no one to ask for help.

Eventually, I got up, put on my warm coat, walking boots and bobble hat and made myself go outside. Maybe, maybe, I would find some if I looked hard enough.

The brightness of the day, the crunch of the snow underfoot and probably the pride in myself for getting up and trying, put a little bounce in my step.

I searched, I put some effort in and managed to fill a large bag with wood. I also managed to find a bag of coal which I also thought I had ran out of.

I could have stayed in bed sulking and feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I made myself get up and get motivated and this time it paid off.

I’m stronger than I think.