Trip 7, Day five

I awoke at 4.30am to the sound of a howling dog in pain.

Trouble was, I then couldn’t get back to sleep.

I’ve been paid for the first time from my school. It’s not a great wage. A number of things could have affected that: it may not be a full month depending on when their cut off date is; my tax could still be wrong; my SEN payment may not have been added. I also need to remember that as I now get holiday pay, this is no longer calculated into my daily allowance. It still seems low though and even when I put the figures through an online calculator, I’m about £400 down.

This morning when Wildcard came in, I got my accustomed kiss but no hug which I immediately called him out on. He then asked me how I’d slept and I told him the truth: after waking at 4.30am I’d struggled to get back to sleep.

I’d thought about money and work. And I’d thought about him. It was rather indulgent of me: Tolle’s work centres around not thinking about the future. But it’s hard not to, particularly at that time of night.

He of course asked me why I didn’t sleep and I, of course, refused to tell him. Why? Because nothing good comes from repeatedly airing my fears to him. We both know what they are. I’ve learnt my lesson here too, from the past. Talking about my fears in our relationship does nothing but put a black cloud over our week. So I kept quiet.

He asked me, over and over and over again. And I didn’t tell him. I know it is triggering his own anxiety. Despite being closed off in many ways, 3.5 years of being his has taught me something. He will worry about what I was thinking about and I don’t want that. But his silent wonderings are better than an atmosphere and hurt caused by my words. So, I stayed silent.

This morning, he opened his arms so I could rest my face in the place where his neck meets his shoulders, whilst he played his game. And then, I decided to play too, my own way. Living in the now, in the moment, caressing and kissing his body: showing my love.

This is something else I’ve learned. For all his bravado, he is as self conscious about his body as I am of mine. Women, we are stupid if we believe otherwise. He is masculine and beautiful with a dark, hairy chest and stomach and I just love it. He says he looks like a monkey. I say he is masculine and sexy and handsome. He repeats that he looks like a monkey. See what I mean? So I touch and caress and kiss so he knows how much I love every last millimetre of his body just as I love every single fragment of light that is his soul. I love him my way, show him, give to him.

After he holds me and I tell him I love him. He says, “I love you too.”

But then it’s breakfast and it’s time for him to go to work. He asks if I need anything, and I point at him. He then jokes that he will just leave work and sit next to me every day then. I tell him that he asked a question and I answered with the truth. He blows me an elaborate kiss as he walks out the door.

So here I am, with a full head and a full heart and an empty day.


And that’s that. I’m half way through my trip.

My day consisted of washing clothes, listening to a few podcasts, sunbathing of sorts and watching Queen Charlotte again. And missing Wildcard of course.

It was a long day and he didn’t get home until 6pm. I was so glad to see him and I think he was glad to see me too.

He was tired and so again, I just tried to let him relax. He sensed my restlessness though.

So, I tell the truth: I’m waiting for him.

“Waiting for you to be relaxed.”

“Waiting for me to be relaxed? Why?”

“Well, then you might be ready to talk to me or something.”

“Talk to you about what?”

And with my final, ‘I don’t know’, that was that.

Moments later, he was on the verge of sleeping and I can’t blame him. Working solidly in the heat for those long hours, he must be exhausted.

By the time I’d come out of the bathroom however, pondering what to do with myself, I saw he’d moved to the bedroom. So we lay, limbs entwined, whilst he relaxed and we watched things on his phone.


It’s actually Day Six now. I couldn’t finish that post yesterday.

I actually tried to finish it in the early hours of the morning. But I acknowledged that I’d let myself descend into negativity and overthinking, whilst proclaiming I hadn’t.

I’ve spent the time since Wildcard went to work reading the rest of Tolle and writing a reflection. I’ve brought myself round.

And so… back to last night.

We spent the evening on the bed, legs wrapped around each other. He continued on his phone. Sometimes I watched with him, sometimes I focused on the feel of his hand in mine. At one point, he played a game where he wouldn’t hold my hand, instead, resting his fingers on the back of my hand. The more I squirmed to hold his hand, the more he moved back to his position. It made me laugh.

We made love. He teased me with that too: seemingly focused on his phone whilst apparently absent mindedly loving me to a frenzy. Afterwards, I again let my fear add fuel to his simple words and triggered me into a reaction he couldn’t understand. We were on different wavelengths and my overthinking and fear took me there.

This man loves me. He knows my head is negative. He knows I overthink and I worry. Yet he’s still here. He loves me anyway.

Now, right now, I surrender to my current fears. I accept that I have them. I see them. But in seeing them and accepting them, they’re no longer who I am. They are a separate entity. And that’s what Day Six will work on.


Trip 7, Day one (and two) – the positive one

And so, following on from my last post, here’s to positivity!

I arrived in London safely. Unfortunately, despite my scouring, I hadn’t really found anything wanted to do in the free time I had.

Yes yes, that sounds a bit weird since I was visiting the capital. But most of the tourist places I wanted to go to would have been unavailable by the time I arrived, and the rest I wanted to visit when I had my children with me.

So, instead, I braved a new, previously unexplored underground route and went to Oxford Circus and to one of the major shopping streets in London:

And whilst you could argue that most of these shops are also up north, the fact that I braved them and wandered around on my own in what I can only describe as a stampede, well I think I should be praised. So, well done me.

I bought nothing. Ah well.

I contemplated eating somewhere but everywhere was so busy…gluten…nah.

I headed back to the underground and made my way to the hotel.

It’s amazing how confident I now am with this. I remember my first trip to London 10 years ago, feeling totally lost and bewildered by the underground. Whilst it’s definitely true that manners down here are different to those up north, its not as bad as I once imagined. Whilst one slightly crazed Londoner was ranting all over the train, another caught my eye from the other end of the train, rolled his eyes, and smiled at me .

It’s 3.48am. I had planned to wake at 4am but it turns out that I wasn’t able to do that.

Premier Inn has the most amazingly comfortable beds so it wasn’t anything to do with that – you know me, I can’t sleep when I have stuff on my mind.

I’m aiming to be at the airport for 5am in the hope that I have a smooth check in before my 7am flight.


5.54am and I’m now sat in the lounge, waiting for my gate number.

Security was a bit hairy – I can’t believe how busy it was! – as my suitcase was checked for the first time. As I waited my turn, I wracked my brain, thinking what I could possibly have left in my suitcase: I’m a seasoned pro now! In the end, it was the gluten free flour. In 3.5 years, it’s the first time someone has checked it.

I’m feeling the first fluttering of nerves and excitement and anticipation.  Would you think me weird if I told you that I’m trying not to think of him?

I’m now sat on the plane, waiting to taxi to the runway. The butterflies are now a full ballet troup pirrouetting in my stomach.


My first day was just…wonderful.

From holding my hand in the car whilst waiting for his parents, to kisses and affection and hugs, to flirting and passionate intimacy: he’s shown me that he has missed me and loves me.

Happy happy day.


I’ve done the grand sum of nothing this morning. Actually, I dragged myself out of bed to buy milk. And then ate two chocolate bars, one after the other. It didn’t help.

It’s now 11.35am and I’m sat in the relative quiet of my home sipping a late coffee.

I’ve been a hive of activity the last few days and I’m really proud of myself. My little porch is pretty much finished, and I get a gush of happiness every time I see my front door. The last job is to paint the floor but it’s not quite warm enough to do that so I’m keeping an eye on the temperature. Hopefully, this afternoon’s sunshine will be sufficient. I’ve asked my sister to make me a lavender wreath for my now beloved door. I can’t wait.

Today, I don’t know where to start. I could start painting the hall way. I could do some gardening. The kitchen needs cleaning again. I’m frozen. One of those days.

Today, I’m tired. And, ok WordPress, I’m sad too. More like numb and frozen this morning, but there’s sadness there too.

My head feels weird. As I’ve been so analytically introverted this last few years, trying to fight my way out of this thing I’m going through, whatever it is. And so, of course, I’m trying to name my feelings, acknowledge my state and unpick it.

The problem with this self analysis and self help, as I said in an earlier post this week, is you often go looking for answers in places that are not always helpful. You look for patterns, similarities, forgetting that your mind has already come to a conclusion – right or wrong – and is simply searching for verification it is correct, not searching for other answers.

My Facebook friend – I really need a new codename for her as she has become my best friend over the years – is really struggling in her marriage. We are a source of support for one another, our situations similar in so many ways. We are similar in so many ways. She has understood and supported me through every anxious tirade, talked me down when I’ve let my emotions dictate good sense. She’s clarified the culture and traditions of Wildcard as her own husband is of the same culture. The past six months, I’ve noticed she is not as positive towards Wildcard as she was. I don’t think she believes he will ever propose as, per his customs, it should have happened by now. Anyway, I digress.

Her marriage has been struggling for a few months for a variety of reasons. A long bout of ill health across the family, followed by some mental health concerns for her husband. His moods have fluctuated violently. She’s scared as this is final Visa year, that he is going to leave her. She’s suspicious and anxious. She’s also madly in love with him.

Of course, whilst there are similarities, there are lots of differences too and I would be well placed to remind myself of that.

However. Seeing her struggles terrifies me. She’s made many contacts over the years and is party to many stories from other women married to men of that culture. The issues seem to be along the same line. It’s too frequent to be coincidental and I can only gather it is a cultural norm in reaction to conflict with their women.

And, even though we are not married and Wildcard isn’t even here, I’m living through that now. If it’s like this now, what would it be like if he actually came?

One thing in my favour, and I can ironically thank Wildcard’s hesitance here, I’m aware of this issue before he comes. The longevity of our relationship and his integrity in being true to himself means I’ve seen him, warts and all. Many women have had a heart aching shock when their husbands have moved in: they have been thrown off cloud 9, reality hitting them hard.

Similarly, a blog I have followed for 6 years has given me food for thought. I’ve read as this lady has started again after her divorce. I applauded as she met the love of her life and it gave me hope that it could happen for me too (long before I met Wildcard). But, recently, I’ve been similarly shocked by the relationship’s demise. What sends warning signals is how she describes how she felt about him. Her words could be mine, so easily. Despite that connection and happiness, despite her loving him like no other, it’s over.

Last night, I hit my limit on Wildcard’s coldness. I’ve mentioned it a few times to him this week, and he’s responded with a short reprieve each time. But by the next day, we are still firmly in Antarctica even if the sun is shining a little.

This behaviour is what I’m referring to above. The silent treatment. Iceman. And for some reason, this is Wildcard’s (and his fellow countryman’s) go-to when there are relationship issues. But understand, whilst many people do this in the height of an argument, they seem to prolong it for weeks. Indeed, the slow thaw is exactly that.

In the meantime, there is little attempt to resolve or discuss. They punish with their coldness and silence. I don’t know if it continues so long as a form of punishment. Maybe their inability to emote and share means their healing takes longer. Maybe they are waiting for that finite proof that you truly love them, when you are finally broken and distraught by their continued coldness and love withholding- because who else would put up with that, than a woman truly in love?

My friend is currently living through this and spent the afternoon in bed, distraught and heart broken. Maybe that’s why I finally called Wildcard out on it.

He pushed me, in his cold indifference and non committal responses to putting the phone down on him, me sobbing, and then refusing to answer the phone. I rarely get that bad – perhaps 2 or 3 other times in the course of our relationship. Other than these moments, and my anxiety, we don’t argue.

When you’ve hit breaking-heart-sadness, your mind is in overload. Rushing thoughts of: it’s over, he doesn’t love me; why the hell are you putting up with this?; he will call again, he will; I can’t speak to him.

He did call back again. He always does. And I finally answered, like I always do.

I couldn’t look at him. I continued to sob. He asked why I was crying and I struggled to speak. He told me he had given a stupid answer to my stupid question. He then, of course brought up the root of the issue.

As expected, he brought up the issue from last week. He again reiterated that he didn’t believe what I had said. I asked him what he thought I was doing then, if I was indeed lying. He didn’t answer. “You thought I was talking to another man?” He didn’t answer.

Of course it was that. Because if it was the other way round, I would think that too. So is the insecurity of a long distance relationship.

I exclaimed my love for him in as much detail as I could. I told him that I had never, ever, betrayed a man like that and never would. I told him that he was the love of my life and I had eyes for no one but him. And every word I said was the truth.

I then told him, that if in fact I was telling the truth, then he’d been cold with me for a whole week for no reason. He’d withheld his love and made me sad and nervous for nothing. I think that hit home.

He asked for a kiss and the argument ended. As always, he wouldn’t let me off the phone until he was sure I was calm. I know he loves me. Despite his coldness, there have been many signs that he still loves me in our calls this week.

One issue that I have, and I think it represents a true cultural crisis, is that I have no model relationship to aspire to. My parents separated. All my siblings, bar one, are divorced. Many of my cousins likewise.

Why is that?

Do we marry too soon? Do we not hold out for real love? Are we too quick to give up? Is it too easy to divorce? Are we too immoral and quick to have affairs? I just don’t know.

I’ve messaged my friend and she hasn’t replied. I hope she is OK.

I hope I will be ok too.

Trip 6, Day 7 – 10pm

True to his word, around 10pm when he heard one of his parents, he had got up bleary-eyed and mussed-haired. He checked the time, kissed me and said goodnight then left.

After some time being consoled by my friend and being brought back down to earth, I calmed. But of course I didn’t sleep well.

I woke a number of times, wondering what time it was, wondering how things would be in the morning. I also had my first school dream of the New Year – I start my new job on Monday. In my dream I was lost but kept finding ex pupils who wanted to speak to me. There was a moment of me climbing through a window, escorted by my agency manager, as I tried to get to my new classroom.

Eventually, I woke at 8.30am. I made my morning rituals and fully expected him to not come in until later. He came in before 9am.

I attempt to apologise but he shushed me, held me, and took out his phone. We lay, cuddling for some time.

It was not forgotten though. As we waited for breakfast, he joked that he was going to tell his mum that I thought she went to bed too early. I didn’t like that.

He didn’t tell her but I was a little quiet of breakfast, tired from the poor sleep and the nerves.

Today, he didn’t go to work. We’ve had a nice day relaxing and spent some time on the roof terrace, goofing about. We had a dinner for two as his mum was fasting and dad was out. He blew me kisses throughout the day which made me smile.

By the evening, I was again a little contemplative. At some point, I will need to write this all down. But not now.

As the sun went down, his mum invited to me to eat with her. I wasn’t hungry but I felt she didn’t want to eat alone so joined her. I didn’t eat much, but I think she appreciated me being there.

Then there was tea. I knew what was coming and had no real plan of how to play this. As always, once finished, his mother and father went to bed. There was then silence in our room, other than the TV.

Part of me considered just going to bed (it was 8pm) but then I’d have just made last night seem like it hadn’t mattered. But I also didn’t want to force him to stay up.

Eventually, he put his phone and cup down and beckoned me to him. He teased me for some time, frustrating the hell out of me, but also gave me sweet sweet kisses.

Just after 9pm, I decided to admit defeat and told him I would let him sleep. We tidied away, and I waited for him to say goodnight by the window in my bedroom.

He came in and stood with me, arm around my waist and looking out into the night before smacking my bottom in jest.

I sat on the bed and he joined me, leaning in for a kiss and then tormenting me by pulling away, repeatedly.

He joked that I must be asking myself, why do I have this crazy boyfriend even as my heart is happy. I told him no, that is not what I think. After prompting I whispered, “I ask myself, why am I not good enough?” I don’t even know where that came from and I was as surprised as him except….I know it holds the truth.

He didnt try to discuss that with me for long. Seeing the raw emotion I felt, instead he kissed me gently over and over and over. But before long we were kissing passionately and not long after that, making love.

He left me just after 10pm.

Trip 6, day 1 (part 2)

I guess what doesn’t change, is how I feel as we get closer to his country. I spend the first few hours listening to music and playing games on my phone. I’d be lying if I say I don’t think of him, but I try to stay busy.

In the last hour with announcements of ‘last chance refreshments/duty free’, and ‘get ready for landing’…well, the excitement just grows. I’m sick of games by then and so I gaze out the window and just imagine…his face, his eyes, his lips and his kisses. I feel like my body is made of butterflies.

We landed, and sitting on the last row paid off as I was soon through passport control.

He called as I was walking through the doors and then I saw him. And the butterflies turned to heat, to magnetic force, and I just needed to be near him. He gave ne the customary European kisses, but he lingered a little longer and I could see his smiles.

As we walked out toward the car, he told me he had only had time to change before rushing out to get me. I joked that he must smell like work, and leant over to sniff dramatically in jest. And..he kissed my cheek again. “Is that what you want?” He asked. Well, yes, of course I thought but that was pretty unexpected.

Seeing his parents was like coming home. They’re such lovely people. And this time, his dad went straight in for a hug ❤️.

And even though he was exhausted, having worked 12 hours straight before coming for me, we went the longer way home so he could show me the centre of his beautiful city by night.

We arrived at his apartment and got to business with unpacking and settling in.

And then it was time for kisses. Worth every daydream, every second of travelling and waiting.

In jest again though, I wouldn’t let him go, and kept going back for more hugs and kisses, and whilst he isn’t always demonstrable like that, I could see that he loved it and was laughing.

We had a lovely dinner although Wildcard was pale with exhaustion by this point. He stroked my back and just feeling him near made my whole body and soul fill with happiness.

I gave out the presents I had bought and there were more hugs all round from his parents, and tender beautiful kisses from him.

And whilst I longed for more…I wasn’t dissatisfied. In fact, I am very very happy.


My days plod on.

My brave face lens is working most of the time. I may have to ‘gee’ myself up, but after some time I have been taking action.

I’ve cleaned my bedroom. I’ve phoned and emailed my son’s school and dealt best I can with an education establishment that appears not to care. Tomorrow, hopefully, he will go back.

I’ve contacted the agencies. I’ve been sent application emails. No, I’ve not yet dealt with them. But I will.

I’ve got out of bed every day. I’ve tried.

My brave face appears to be working with Wildcard. Things, on the outside at least, seem to have slipped back to where they were. Almost. Kind of. I’m not sure, really.

It’s hard not to question everything in this dark place. Is it me? Is it him? Are we just not meant to be?? Should I give up? How would I cope if he leaves? Should I back off so he misses me? What if he doesn’t? Am I actually happy or not? What the hell is going on?

Yesterday, my sister and her friend came round. We ended up discussing my business idea – my sister’s friend has experience in this line of work and was a great motivator. I was nervous and scared at times but hope began to blossom again.

She said… she said it appears that a lot of my fear is because I’m doing something for myself. That hit home. A lot of my angst about leaving my career was around how I’d let down others, not bringing in that managerial wage. This business is for me…except, my business is to help others. It is a risk though. In today’s financial climate…

I’m back to feeling a little indecisive…about the big things anyway.

But I’m trying. And that’s the best I can do.

Trip 5, day 3: The switch.

I can hear the crackle of the open fire. Something delicious is on its way for dinner.

It’s been another lazy day. So far, apart from a mild hiccup last night, Day 3 wobbles have not surfaced. That’s not to say they’re not there- they are – but I’m managing them. Just about.

I’ve read two books, doodled, listened to music, played online games, played cards, and stared at Wildcard any chance I get.

It’s very hot here. Too hot to venture out. I’m enjoying relaxing, I really am. Honest.

I keep remembering that this is his holiday too. He needs to relax even more than me. He’s not had a holiday in two years. And believe me, it’s not that I want to be pff out every day either. I love just being close to him. It’s just…I don’t have the means to entertain myself like I do at home. At home there is always something to be done. Here? Nothing.

There’s always thinking. I have the time and capacity for that. I love him with an astounding complexity. There’s no other way to describe it.

He’s sleeping now.


The meal was delicious.

I will admit, I did start to feel a little…restless. We played cards briefly, but I didn’t find a game that he would latch onto so it was a couple of games and then he’d had enough. I drew, I read. Yup- restless.

Maybe ‘restless’ is another cause of Day 3 wobbles.

I tried hard, I really did. I acknowledged that my big feelings were affecting me. I tried my best not to let them escalate or alter my behaviour. Admittedly, I was a little quieter today. But that’s ok. No outbursts, reduced sulking, no arguments.

And then, it happened.

In one of our jokey moments, I’d whined about wanting affection ( I literally whine to torment him – very fun). He didn’t understand however, so I explained it to him by stroking his arm and squeezing his hand. He replied that I wanted to be treated like a pet? That man has a real sense of humour. 😆

He must have taken it on board though. A few hours later, to my surprise, he reached out and stroked my hand and arm. I couldn’t believe it.

Let’s be clear here, he does touch me. His feet always find themselves in my lap or nestled behind my back. He will sometimes steal a kiss as he walks past. He slaps my bottom. When we are alone we cuddle and entwine legs and arms but we’re just not alone very much. To put this in context, it’s not his culture to have regular PDA. And I probably want far more than my fair share as I figure I’ve missed out on it for months and I’m a romantic. And he is irresistible. But…well, there isn’t a lot of it. Or, enough of it.

So, as I stared dumbfounded our hands, his hand swirling patterns on my skin, I got a lump in my throat. I turned away and admittedly…there were few tears. The fan was the most interesting thing in the room. As always, he noticed. He asked why I was upset and after a pause I replied, “because you don’t touch me like that very often.” He was a little shocked.

Since then? Woah. I’ve had stolen kisses at every opportunity. In the car he grabbed my hand in between gear changes (he has never done that before). He’s caressed my skin. It’s like I’ve flipped the switch somehow.

And I wonder if, in this circumstance, it’s about what you don’t know. They’re not a physically demonstrative family outside the European norm of two kisses on the cheeks. He’s never brought a girlfriend home before – probably never spent such a prolonged time with one. He’s a man set in his ways each day.

Of course, there’s a good chance he will forget this all tomorrow. But for today? We’ve survived Day 3 wonderfully.

One said he loved me

One said he loved me, but played me like a game,

One said he loved me, but loved another just the same,

One said loved me, but later laughed upon my face,

One said he loved me, then disappeared without a trace.

When you say you love me, don’t be surprised if I do fear.

When you say you love me, speak to my heart not just my ear.

When you say you love me, say it loud so the world does know,

For perhaps when you say you love me, I won’t be afraid you’ll go.


There is a hard stone in the middle of my chest, weighing me down. I feel like it’s threatening to pull me over and then down, down, down in to the earth.

Very little seems to take away the sensation. I’m binge eating like never before: each day telling myself that tomorrow I will eat better. But my non-hunger is insatiable. Nothing helps so I keep cramming it in. I crave salt and then sugar. I am thirsty. Nothing satisfies me.

I miss him.

I always miss him. Every day. And every time I go, I don’t want to leave him. But this time was different. I didn’t want to come home.

When I did, the world seemed dull. Like all the colours were muted. Cold seems to seep from the ground and into my bones. I walked into my home, and I hated it. I hated everything about it.

My children arrived and for a moment, when they hugged me and kissed me, my heart was light again. But soon they were bickering and arguing…the dishwasher needed emptying, food needed cooking, and needed to unpack…and I didn’t want to. I don’t want this life.

Just thinking that makes me feel bad. Another stone drops into my heart, heavy and aching. How can I be happy leaving my children behind? I’m not.

But nothing, even them, is erasing that heaviness in my chest.

Last night, for a moment, I was free.

As I do sometimes, towards the end of our call, I ask him to tell me something nice. He usually does the opposite in jest and makes me laugh, or acts like a pantomime dame in his over exaggeration.

But last night, he told me he misses me. He misses my lips and my kisses. He misses my face and my smile. He misses my eyes, he misses my laugh.

And my heart felt light. I felt my soul soar, I was surprised at his honesty, his tone, his rush of words like he had no control. And I told him, “you sound serious this time baby.” And this time, this time he was.


Sometimes my emotions come out of nowhere. Don’t get me wrong, I have a vague awareness of them. They dance about at the edge of my consciousness: teasing, hinting then disappearing temporarily with my metaphorical flick of disdain.

So when they do return, they return stronger than ever. My emotions and I may run the dance a few times before they explode into my vision, refusing to be subdued any longer.

I have known this about myself ever since my breakdown. My highly skilled counsellor made me see this – how dampening them down for so long just prolongs the inevitable .

I have learnt a little since then. I’ve learnt that I need time alone sometimes. In these moments, I may allow an emotion to float to the surface. I may even write about it on here a little. My technique is nowhere near perfected though. That is a definite.

All this information isn’t new. And it kind of depresses me (excuse the pun) that at 41, I still haven’t figured it all out. Is that what life is?

Tonight I had two realisations that may help my journey of helping myself.

I have talked of my eldest son previously: he has ADHD and is likely to have autism too although this is still being investigated.  Over the years, I have learned his triggers and have become better at understanding and managing them.

What I’ve never realised, is that I have my own too. Odd, as I have also written that I suspect that I have something too.

Tonight’s trigger resulted in another emotion filled dialogue with Wild Card. It’s not an argument.  But it’s not nice either.

In hindsight,  I realised the following:

  • There’s an external trigger.
  • I mull over it in my head
  • I try not to – try to be positive, ignore it
  • I fail and it turns in to either a spontaneous outburst or
  • He notices I’m mulling and makes me tell him
  • I tell him the surface issue
  • He doesn’t react how I want him to
  • The floodgates open – defences come down, and all sorts of buried thoughts and emotions erupt
  • He talks me down
  • I think that he is better off without me/I’m ruining our relationship
  • He calms me and eventually tell me what I needed to hear
  • I ponder and realise he was right all along

Of course, I wonder why he can’t tell me what I want to hear straight away. Cut out the middle man. Go straight to the soothing part.

I love everything about him. Yes, sometimes I wish he was a little more forthcoming. But I wouldn’t change him. Who he is now, is who I love. What I think I wish for says more about me than him.

And one of the things I love about him is the way he makes me think differently. Yes, it’s tough. He just to wade through emotions and preconditioned thoughts and ideas…but eventually he gets there. And when he does, something in my head shifts, just a little.

He tells me what I need to hear.

Truth is, I realise that I do indeed have triggers. Now I need to learn how to self soothe them. Deal with them. Not push them away, because then they grow stronger – from a two headed monster to a multi headed monster.

The second realisation, which again was pretty obvious now I know it, is that I try to self soothe with food.

The food numbs my brain, just a little. Some attention is siphoned off my problem and onto the food. The saltiness of the tortilla chips. The sweetness of the chocolate. My brain goes into an involuntary tug of war between problem and taste sensations. The more my problem wins, the more I cram into my mouth to balance it.

Then, one of two things happens.

A tsunami of binge-created guilt hits me. Success! My problem is now forgotten in the complete self loathing that is dominating my every thought. It’s a week trodden path of working out how much I’ve blown it, hating myself for doing it…etc etc.

The other is that I eat to the point of fullness or sickness. Once again, bingo! My physical feelings overpower anything else in my head. This is a pretty nasty one because it is a two hitter- the guilt surely follows the physical feeling.

Therefore, my realisation is that I eat to feel not to numb.

Now, I need to find out what to do about it