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Crawling Back.

Yes it’s me, I’m the one that’s hated,
Not gonna lie to you, it’s overrated,
There are many things I’ve contemplated,
Like a bullet going through my brain.

It takes a while to start eating at your soul,
Not too long after you start to lose control,
I don’t how some people can be so cold,
It was slowly driving me insane.

Lucky for you, I’ve developed a thick skin,
God, you don’t know the states I’ve been in,
I’ve got a middle finger that says fuck you,
I’m crawling back and there’s nothing you can do. 

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I have to except it’s over and set you free.

But honestly, I just can’t.

I was never the girl that was supposed to have a boyfriend. I was that girl who went out and kissed tonnes of boys, got drunk in the middle of the day if I felt like it, and loved falling asleep alone to Sex and the City. I was the girl who hated the idea of being caged, refused to let anybody tame me, made countless mistakes and got tonnes of stupid piercings because I was young and it was fun.

Then all of a sudden I met him. He was lovely. We had great sex, lots of laughs and he treated me like a fucking princess. He thought I was beautiful when I had no make up on, made sure to tell me every day and always wanted to do things for me. He was comfortable that the relationship was a little one sided, was perfectly happy that I was just that teensy bit selfish. It was perfect. I ended up being quite happy being a twosome and it didn’t take me long to fall in love.

So what the hell happened?

Now I have ‘intellectual debates’ forced upon me, everything I do is monitored and he makes up complete lies. He all of a sudden has no money when I’ve seen receipts crumpled up on his desk that suggest otherwise. He continually tells me that I have an alcohol problem just because I drank three glasses of Peach Schnapps in the time it took him to have one. He keeps threatening to break up with me if I don’t go to AA meetings, falls out with me for little things like playing on Draw Something instead of paying attention to him and we haven’t had sex in two months.

I can’t do it. I’m going to the doctors tomorrow because it’s brought on my depression again. At three this morning I was curled up on the bathroom floor sobbing, wanting desperately to let him go, but there’s just something there that can’t go through with it. I don’t know what it is. It’s not for lack of courage, I know that.

It’s for that little sparkle he gets in his eyes when he sees me, it’s for that little comfort I have of knowing he’ll be there all the time. It’s for that once a week when we get along and laugh at stupid things. It’s for the ring on my finger and the chain around my neck.

But being happy once a week just isn’t enough. I can’t live my life that way and he can’t either. One of us has to do it, for the sake of both of our sanity. One of us needs to take a deep breath and walk away from the other. That person has to be me.

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I did the right thing, I did the right thing, I did the right thing.

I have to keep telling myself over and over again that coming home early from Download festival was the right thing. Before any bands started. After I paid 200 pounds for a ticket.

It was a decision that I chose to make, that I thought would ultimately make me happier. I knew that I would come home and be miserable and that the weather would brighten up the second I got back. I knew that. But I also knew that I could not stand another night there. I couldn’t lay shivering in a tent, watching my own breath, feeling the stones on my back underneath my two ground sheets and knowing that my feet were slowly turning to ice. I was getting sicker by the hour, to a point where I was sobbing in my tent and not caring about missing Corey Taylor, only caring about my health.

My mum once gave me a great piece of advice. She said it’s OK to sit around and feel sorry for yourself, but you have to give yourself a cut off point. You need to draw a line and stick to it, then pick yourself back up and move the fuck on. So I’m going to feel sorry for myself, wallow around and think of all the money that’s gone to waste until tonight, then after that I have to move on and put it behind me. It’s a fucking great piece of advice, god bless my mother.

So, the question is, did I do the right thing? I certainly felt better after sleeping for 12 hours, after lying on a bed and being warm. I feel healthier and a little happier, and I’m not stood in the cold and the mud any more. I’m pretty sure I did the right thing. The only thought that is making me think otherwise is all the money that was thrown at this. I feel guilty as fuck, but I’m happy to be home, and all my family are happy that they know I’m safe. I know next year I’ll probably just buy a day ticket.

I also got a lovely reminder (not that I needed reminding) at how lucky I am to share my life with such amazing friends. As soon as I got home, Becky made me tea, Doogle gave me a hug and Chris ran me a bath and made me pancakes. I am so unbelievably blessed to have such amazing friends in my life, I really don’t deserve them.

So, moral of the story? Buy a fucking day ticket next time, you giant dickhead.

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I’ve never felt so alone.

Literally sobbing alone in my room on a beautiful day because of something that could have been resolved if she’d have just cleaned the bathroom.

Two of us wrote the note and feel the same way.

I get told off, I get told that I’m the bad guy, I get told that he did because it would piss me off the most. I get hurt the most out of all of this.

I tell Chris what happened, he tells me ‘I told you so’ which is exactly what I want to hear.

Chris yells at me and tells me to spend the day alone.

I have nobody to talk to.

I end up alone in my room, sobbing my heart out.

I’m completely alone. I now know how all my friends see me.

Maybe I deserve everything I got.

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Breakaway.

Everything that’s happening is just building up to the inevitable breakup that’s going to happen. I can feel it.

All we do is scream at each other, the sex has gone more or less completely and I find him to be arrogant and into boring games that I would normally laugh at other people for playing. I dealt with it because I love him, but because I know that we’ll be breaking up soon without a doubt, I just find the cute, nerdy things I loved about him to be tedious and infuriating.

He treated me like a princess, he thinks I’m the most beautiful girl in the world without glasses and no make up. He used to shower me with gifts, want to take me out all the time and show me off, and I would do those things right back. Now the only time he wants to leave the house is to go to Outpost to trade and buy action figures and play board games, hates going out for anything else and now expects me to pay for everything.

My love for him, that feeling of not being able to live without him is slowly fading. Sometimes I catch myself scowling, frowning and wishing I was somewhere else when I’m around him. I used to hate his friends tagging along on our outings because I wanted him all to myself, but now I encourage them to come along. I want other people’s company because I detest hearing his arrogant points of view drone on and on.

I knew I wasn’t ready for a relationship, knew I couldn’t handle it. I’ve given it nearly a year and a half, and I think it’s the best I can do. I miss being single and not having to go home early in fear of pissing him off. I can let other guys buy me drinks and have fucking conversations with me without feeling guilty. I can check the money in my bank account without having him over my shoulder calculating what I can spend on him.

But then who the fuck am I going to share my dreams with? I’ll be alone in this god awful country without anyone to fly away with me. Sure, I have amazing friends here, but I know everyone wants to stay here, where it rains all the time, where the culture is ridiculous, where houses are built in disgusting places and where the beaches are rank. I know none of them want to go away with me and I can’t force them to come.

The only person that shares this dream, this hungry, desperate need to flee England and live somewhere beautiful is him, and we’re slipping away from each other. I give it three months. Maybe a lot less.

I’m just crumbling, falling into a hole of depression again and nothing is going to get me back out. I don’t know how to save myself this time and I’ll be damned if I use medication. 

Back to square one.

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