This wasn’t an argument, and it wasn’t over breakfast

So you left, and yanked door behind you so loud, I can still hear the noise in my ears.

It started off with you waking me up at 8am to go gym with you. I hate when you wake me up so early, for literally no reason. You call my name trying to attract me to the idea of exercise and a walk to the gym on a freezing cold February morning. No, thanks.

I hate that feeling when I’m still paralysed and cat even open my eyelids, and you’re talking to me as if I was wide awake. I can’t even tell you to shut up, no muscle on my body is awake yet.

You end up going to the gym alone, and honestly the silence after you leave is a blessing I worship. It’s that silence that puts me in a good mood. I do a few cat cows before sliding off the bed and turning to bathroom for morning toilet. I’m not worse than you, so I’ve decided to do yoga- both for me and you. I can imagine how happy you’ll be seeing the matt, and knowing I have done something more productive than scrolling through Instagram all morning.

But I can’t find my mat anywhere... I give you a quick call to ask if you know where it is. I’m half asleep but determined to have a good morning. I end the call with high peached ‘bye’ because you sound like you can’t be bothered to talk and not being helpful at all. No yoga then.

I make a cup of geeen tea and get s magazine out if my bag. I remind myself that there are other ways of self care that can work on this glorious morning. And it does work, sort of you know. I’m not angry, I’ll Yoga later, after you’ve gone to work. And it’ll be fine.

You came from gym and gave me a kiss. We did a silly Rock Paper Scissors battle to establish who’s going shopping for breakfast- I was sure we had everything in the house but apparently not. I’m glad to wing as I’m still on no mood to go outside. You come back with eggs and veggie sausages quickly and we dance in the kitchen. I put on some music and you put call food, in olive oil, then put the job on. WRONG. Ew. I try to explain why this is not the way to cook it but you’re annoying and not letting me talk, because it’s your preference. I’m angry, not at your stupid preference but that you won’t let me talk. I sit down and you ask me how do I like ‘my’ sausages cooked, which is annoying again because again you think its a preference thing, making me look like a unbearable bitch with high standards. ... meanwhile the frying olive oil is stinking the room and I can’t breath freely. I’m frustrated already and don’t want to talk to you because it’s hard to breath this toxic smell. My mum calls and it give ms me a chance to leave the room. I can hear the oil boiling from the other room. Unfortunately I can smell it too. My is asking me about my new job and I don’t tell her anything about it, the smell is too much and I can’t concentrate on anything else but it.

You shout that breakfast is ready and I’m think off vomiting. I hung up on my mum and enter the room. Let’s try again.

You tell me how my food was cooked in sunflower oil and I’m happy to know at least my won’t be soaked in oil, let’s forget the smell... but then you go again, it’s how I like ‘mine’. And I try to tell you about the smell and how olive is not for frying but you shut me up, ‘okay okay I know now I know now’. You don’t.

I look at my food. Looks good. Smells disgusting. I have a suddenly tummy twitch and quick gag reflex and I know I won’t be able to stomach a single bite from my plate. I look down and say I’m not hungry. I thought this would be a better alter to saying I’m going to throw up if I eat this, but you’re already offended. I feel bad and did appreciate your effort, but you’re not looking like you would want to listen if. I’m rude, and ungrateful ‘after all this you just prepared’. So we’re not talking and you’re offended. You took your plate and ate in silence by the table. I grabbed the magazine I finished this morning and pretended to read the article about food trends in 2019 (nothing about frying in olive oil, btw).

Then you start getting ready. I squir my eyes to see and the clock says it’s 11 am. 3 hours till your shift. And it hurts, that you’re looking to leave way before normal time. I questioned you on this and you’re saying that I’m clearly angry and need space and you laugh. I’m don’t need this space without you, but leave. Go on.

You trying kissing me, giving me a hug goodbye Nope, not interested. I wander if you will always have no problems leaving me. And then you leave, and yank the door behind you.

Sleep’s for the weak, right?

Another early night, and another night when Jack falls asleep at the speed of lighting, and I’m left listening to his loud breathing. In... out.. in... and out. Louder and louder until i realise he’s snoring like a bear. I give him a gentle shake. ‘I love you, baby’ he says as I grab his hand, and I squeeze it in response. He know I mean it, too.

I’m trying to think of what it is that I’m feeling. Name it. Spell it. Feel it. Out. Loud.

Well, yes.. I guess, one could say that I’m sad. Upset with my life. Unhappy for sure. I just remembered that I always wanted to live oin London to be able to participate in london’s cultural scene. Enjoy theatre, music evens, art exhibitions and all sorts of cultural events that London has to offer on daily basis. And I also just remembered that since we moved here I haven’t been too involved it the Art scene of the capital at all. Maybe at the beginning, we tried to do something once a week. But then I would make excuses and we’d stay at home. ‘Let’s save money’, ‘I’m so tired’, ‘a movie night in’, ‘maybe tomorrow’, ‘let’s make home made food tonight’, ‘Netflix and chill’. I’d always say something and pretend it’s not because I can’t bare the thought of being outside with other people. It’s not like I had a panic attack every time I happened to be in a crowd.The tube is really bad, especially in the evening. Rush hour kills me. Everyone walks with such a purpose, like they know where they are going and why, and they seem like they figured it all out. I watch people’s clothes, the way they fill them, they way they look good, and how they look after the whole day at work, and somehow they don’t look like they just spent the last 10 hours being tortured. Like their hair is shiny and pteretty. And I feel like maybe it’s just me. The weird one. The one who gave up. Beaten up by the hours spent on the phone, time spent in the pointless meetings, fake smiles given to colleagues in corridas.

More often I blame myself than the company. Yes, there are fundamental principles which I disagree with in my job. Things agains my own ethics. However, I sometimes think that I’m simply useless. I am not succeeding in my role, and it’s demotivating. What’s more, I’m not particularly up for celebrating any successes that I have there. I hate the fake chit chat. I hate listening to my colleagues’ bullshit about how this job has changed their lives for better, when I get Migraines just thinking about staring a fresh week.

I hate the judgment in the voices of my bosses when they ask me how I am and I don’t scream with happiness that I just made them lots of money. I hate the pity in voices of my teammates when they ask me how I am and I give them high piched ‘amazing’ and fake smile until my dry lips crack. I hate the embarrassment I see in the mirror every time I go to the bathroom to hide from everyone and pass some time and forget that I probably burst into tears for any reason.

My clothes look bigger on me than when I first bought them. I don’t look pretty and my skin is grey. My hair is messy and matte no matter how hard I try. I look like someone who could clean the office space rather than an

Associate consultate from the office in the 10th floor of the shard. I sometimes see raised eyebrows in the lift, as I run in on closing doors. Me oversized bag slipping off my shoulder, my jacket dirty not fitting me properly and my scarf, too long, dragging on the floor.

This is how I imagine other people see a failure and I wish I could see what my director saw in me the day he gave me the job. I also wish I knew how stupid he felt now.

I don’t like going to bed mid week. I can’t relax and I keep thinking about Cvs, conversations, situations from the day in my job. It feels like an annoying advert and I can’t skip though it, nor can I exit it. I have to watch it if I want to fall asleep eventually but I can’t control how long it is going to be. Stressed? I think so. Useless? Yes, actually.

If it’s both terrifying and amazing then you should pursue it.

Erada (via onlinecounsellingcollege)

1.

I haven’t tried to write anything in a million years. Probably because I am not very good at it. Why am I doing it now? Because I am alone. 

It does sound dramatic, even in my own ears. I am not sure why I said it. I am not an teenage orphan, I haven’t lost my family. They are all alive and well ( I hope so, at least). I have a boyfriend, who I know loves me truly. I have a few best friends, the kind that you can always count on, and I have a job which requires me to socialise with many people on daily basis. But it felt like the word “alone” would fit. I still think it does.

Despite all being well nothing is great, really. 

To start with: I don’t even talk to my family. I haven’t heard from my mother in about two months. It was a sill remark on her side. Some overreaction on mine..and I am too proud and maybe a little too afraid to make the first move to get back in touch. We have always had a very difficult relationship and things aren’t easier now when I finally accepted myself for what she never did. And I mean for being me, obviously.. Now that I have Jack in my life I finally know what it is to be unconditionally loved by someone. The kind of love that you experience from you birth giver.. or so I’ve heard it’s the way it should be. I wasn’t lucky enough to have that. My mum is more of the cold type. I know she loves me. I don’t need pity. I am old enough to understand that now. Took me over twenty years to see that my own mother was not a monster with no feelings. I began to believe that deep down my mum has a place for me in her stone cold heart. This post was never meant to be about her - but somehow I can easily see it turning into one. I’ll stop now before of little brain filled with my mummy issues starts dictating the story of how I have never been given hugs or kisses or bed time stories as a child, who cares anyway? I don’t, anymore. 

I said I don’t talk with my family. which is mostly true, except for the fact that my dad is trying to talk to me. I would put emphasis on the word trying by using bold text if I only knew how to do that. I am not so advanced at blogging yet. The reason why I’m highlighting the world “trying” rather than doing so is because he doesn’t know how to communicate with his own children. He texted me earlier today that he’ll “come at 6pm”. Three words. No explanation nor expanding on where he’ll come, why and why again... was that his invitation to spend more time together or an announcement that he will pick me up from work and take shopping? I was left no choice but to get to his car at 1803. He was already waiting. There was the usual awkward “hello” as I was fastening my followed by the uncomfortable “how are you” as I was pretending to look for my keys in my bag. There was also a long, embarrassing silence while he was pretending to have troubles getting us out of the car park. I am most certain he had a speech ready for me when he decided to force our meeting today. I am also sure that it all seemed stupid to him the moment he saw me. This is the way we are with my dad. We don’t talk because we can’t. We talked briefly about the weather and politics, but I know that he wanted to know our plans. Mine and Jack’s. We are meant to move out in just over two weeks to Manchester. With no jobs. No flat to stay at. And no money. 

Obviously the original plan sounded much better.  We both agreed that this town is too small for us, too dull and that we need a change. He suggested Manchester and I agreed without thinking. I don’t need to think about it - I’d follow him to the end of the world. He finished his job earlier than it was first planned. It’s a sign, we thought. What a better chance are we waiting for? A week later I was sat on our double bed as he was packing his massive suitcases. “We will be together in the new flat sooner than we think”, we told each other. I was sad, but I trusted him this was a good idea. It’s thee weeks later now and I am still on the same bed, alone in this flat. Our love cave. I’m alone here with so many fears and no one to talk to right now. He still has not found a job. It’s only been three weeks and I am sure he will find something soon, but we have rushed the deadline of moving out date! My family are asking questions, they think it’s stupid that we want to move so far away. They take it personally and think that he’s manipulating me...  I know they are worried about me - I know, but so am I, I need them to support me for once in my life.

I can’t even talk to Jack. I tried  ti tell him how i feel but he stopped replying. If I tell him that I’m scared he will probably get angry at me. Does he think I blame him for us not having it all yet? I can’t even ask. He keeps saying trust me. Believe in me. We will be okay. And he wants me to move out in two weeks, quit my job... 

I need him to understand that what he says now is impossible. I can’t just leave everything when I have no where to go! Without a place to stay at... We can’t all live in one room with his little brother in a student accommodation. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say? I cannot turn to my parents who already think that all my life choices are wrong. They are only waiting for me to admit that I am a failure. I cannot speak to my friends, because they see me as the successful one: independent, happy, with good job, in a great relationship. And don’t get me wrong, all these things are true, but I can’t show that I am also a human, a weak one to be precise and I am scared. Talking to colleagues is also not an option. Even though we have became quite good friends in the recent months I can’t mention my current problems because no one knows that I am planning on leaving work soon. I don’t even know if I am? 

I can’t stop myself from checking if he has messaged me. I keep squeezing my poor, old iphone and my hands are turning blue. I’m trying to send him telepathic signals to comfort me. To tell me exactly what I need to hear. He does it so often that I am almost convinced he can read my mind. I need Jack to tell me that we are okay, and that I don’t need to move out so soon. I don’t want to rush it. It’s scaring me to death that he wants me to pack up my mess in a huge suitcase and begin my northern life in only two weeks! I need some sense of security, and the promise of “we will work it out, baby” as romantic as it is, does not make the  sleep at night very easy. I am scared. I think it’s okay to be scared. He expects me to be mentally homeless for now. I mean that I have the moving out date but I have no moving in date. And there is no sign that there will be a moving in date very soon. And it’s not his fault. I just wish he understood that after my fucked up childhood it’s hard for me to be so spontaneous as he is right now. I don’t have the experience of things just working out for me easily. Nothing ever comes to me with ease. I was not born under the lucky star as we say in my mother land. I need to work for everything. Jack and I are from completely different universes. And before we have met we’ve had different lives. I am not assuming his was easy, all I am saying is that my life was brutal to me.

I cry a lot these days. I am constantly scared.  I feel like I am shrinking again. Like I am not good enough. And it is not something I like to talk about. I don’t like being seen as weak. I have been typing for at least an hour now and my tears have dried. I feel a slight relief. There is something very therapeutic about wording your thoughts. It’s been a difficult hour, that’s something I am not able to deny. If practice does’t make perfect, here’s me hoping that it will make me better at writing and expressing myself. I feel like I will soon come back here as I am alone a lot lately. 

Bella