Guilty.

I can't help but feel a sense of guilt creeping up behind me at times. I shed a tear for someone other than myself, and immediately, I wonder why. I know why my sadness is felt, but there's something alien about it. Something stolen, wrong somehow. It's like, maybe that person wouldn't be grateful for the tears I shed for them. I mean, it's not like it's the best thing you can receive from someone. A bitterly shed tear. It's pathetic, in one sense. It's criminal. Right now, I feel like every time I agonise on someone else's behalf, I'm committing a crime. Those tears aren't mine to shed, and yet I seem to have some sort of entitlement towards my feeling of upset. It's strange. But hey, what can I say, I'm very strange myself. My chest feels like it's caving inwards today. My emotions are poles apart. I want to smile and cry and punch a wall for how goddamn unfair life is, and yet toast it at the same time. Nothing about life is fair. But sometimes, it tests you, because you can handle it. Well, I'm kind of getting that feeling right now. Nothing we come up against in our lives is too much to get over. We are, as a race, resilient by force, rather than choice. We don't give up. We don't have the luxury of a choice like that. If you're kicked forcefully in the stomach, you get the fuck back on your feet, because you're bloody well good at standing on your feet. If you're tested by something, it's only because you're well equipped to deal with the problem in front of you. I can't even breathe. Just this.

Stop crying your heart out.

To say last night was horrific would be an understatement. "Shit" someone muttered. Awful. I'm lost for words. I feel like the biggest mug on the planet. It's so humiliating, being so positive and gushing about someone for them to throw it back in your face, and make you look stupid and naive and totally gullible. Evidently I am all of those things. Just when you think life is going to deal you a good hand at last, a lucky hand, someone comes along and grabs it and snatches it away. Last night was spent in tears, so, yeah, not a great start. I could probably punch a wall I'm so angry today. Seems like my judgement is as bad as people say. Yet I seem to be the only one who can't see it. So even after all of this upset, why am I sitting here trying to smile? Why am I here knowing that I'm not prepared to walk away from something I care about, even though the risk of being hurt is higher than ever. Maybe this is it though. It doesn't get worse. I was brought up to fight for what you wanted, and work at it, and don't give up at the first sign of trouble. Maybe that's overly optimistic in this scenario, I really don't know. I have so much to get through today and you've messed my head up so much I could just scream. I hope you're happy. Better yet, I hope you're fucking miserable. 

Breathe.

It never just rains, it pours.
How true that is.
Especially today.

Don't kick me when I'm down.

The human body is only as resilient as the beating heart, or so it would seem. Humans, by default, are supposed to be resilient, easy-going creatures, who have the ability to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and plaster a smile on their not-so happy faces. But, how many times can you fall before you hurt yourself, how many times can you be kicked before you fall down, never to get up again?

Recently, I have experienced a handful of things, a huge variation of events, which opened my eyes to the fact that I, am not as resilient and adaptable as I'd like to believe. I'm what you could call a pessimist by default, but not without reason. Lately, I've had so many knock-backs (both mentally and physically) that I've found it hard to not dwell on the all-encompassing negativity in my life. Don't get me wrong, I fully realise the extent to which I am lucky, and appreciate what and who I have in my life, but for the last few weeks, I've been totally, utterly and completely miserable. There's only so many times that you can break down before it starts to get to you. I recently lost someone very special to me, which I have previously blogged about, and which I suppose, as it were, the last straw, the final, hard-hitting piece of news that would shatter my soul and my whole belief system, if only temporarily. To say I've had a really bad couple of weeks, would be like sugar-coating Hell, or putting lipstick on a Doberman (any shade) It just isn't right. It doesn't work.

You could say I haven't had much luck when it comes to romance. So much so, that that word makes me draw back with repulsion. For every time I've ever been lead on, or let down, or told I wasn't right, or good enough, I've come to HATE that beautiful thing we call romance. Cynically, I don't believe in it. I don't believe that there's such thing as soul mates or fated plans, written in our stars, because, if there is, why are there so many good people, unhappy and lonely? Is it just simply because they haven't found The One? I've been screwed over too many times to just think it coincidental, or a mere work of fate. It came to the point where I didn't know whether I believed in it at all. I was sat down with some of my friends, and we were discussing boys, and the conversation came to The Keeper, as it were, the relationship that belittles all predecessors. Cue another disgusted face, because frankly, sometimes, it's necessary. There's nothing more condescending or aggravating than when someone who's in a relationship just tells you "you just haven't met them yet" (to paraphrase Michael Bublé.) Especially when you're in a wounded sorta phase. 

I actually blame my ever-so-trusting self. That makes me want to curse in itself, because I feel like i'm being punished for being a normal (cue the laughter from anyone who personally knows me) trusting human being. However, it can and has been said, I have a slight tendency to be gullible. I trust people too easily, and then, for some mad reason, I'm surprised when they let me down. In a world where we're surrounded by romantic, lovey-dovey propaganda, it's hard not to fall into the jaws of The Romantic. I know this too easily. Something happened quite recently that not only maddened me to my core, but temporarily lose faith in that so-called True Love concept. I put my trust in someone who I believed to care about me, and instead, after months of lies and mockery, I realised that it was just one big, hilarious joke to him. This isn't the first, or probably the last time something like this will happen to me, but all the same, it was unnecessarily cruel. I don't understand why anyone, male or female, would lead someone on, lead them to believe that they felt something they didn't, and then, dispose of them when they've served whatever sick purpose that may be.

It's hard to put your feelings on the line. It's even harder if every time you do, you get hurt and treated badly. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, or how long you persevere, there's always someone waiting to spoil your fun, break your neck or kick you when you're down. But, as we are, by default and necessity (with the combination of an open heart and a dash of hope) resilient, controlled little figures, we do what we know how to. We cry when we're upset, then seek consolation. We scream and shout and throw things and swear under your breath, or get drunk and stupid, rely on sarcastic texts and down-trodden glances. And in the end, we repeat. We DO pick ourselves back up, we DO dust ourselves off, and we DO slap a smile on our faces, and show them that no matter how much they try, or how hard they kick us, we will always, get back up again.

"YOU CAN'T BREAK ME."

Always ours, Molly.

This post is well overdue, but there’s a very good reason. To say I’ve had a bad few days would be a huge understatement. I’ve deliberated writing this since Wednesday, but didn’t have the strength or the mental capacity to deal with what I felt I must say. This post isn’t for anyone else. It’s for me. It’s for my own mind. My own satisfaction. My own way of coping. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Very recently, we lost our family dog, Molly. I won’t go into the details, but we had to make the decision to end her suffering, the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do. She was more than a dog, by far, she was part of our family. Loved, cherished, and deeply missed.

I’m writing this because I don’t know what else to do. For anyone who may come across this and dare to utter/think “she was just a dog” then fuck you, because frankly, your opinion doesn’t matter to me. Whether this is articulate or not, I won’t comment on. If no one else reads this, that’s fine by me, because it’s my own.

Anyway, I got to thinking, amidst the crying and harsh silences, about grief. It’s a funny thing. Everyone reacts differently, but there’s always a similar feeling. The loss is unbearable. You don’t know how to react. Are you supposed to cry, or do you keep yourself busy? Do you talk about it? Do you forget and move on? There’s no right answer when it comes to losing someone you love. The excruciating numbness, as if you want to pinch yourself and wake up from a horrendous nightmare. That empty, painful feeling in the pit of your stomach, that makes you not want to eat or sleep or even think. You’ve got nothing to say but you can’t stop thinking.

Over the last few days, I’ve felt so down, so lost. Hours afterwards, I never spoke to anyone. Never uttered a single word, looked on Facebook or Twitter and turned off my phone. It suddenly didn’t matter what kind of support system I had (an amazing group of friends, all ready to console me) because when something like that happens, there is no consolation. There is absolutely nothing that anyone can say to make you feel better. I got to the point where I didn’t want to feel better, I wanted to cry, and scream and lock myself in my room in the dark and be able to turn off my brain and my emotions and just sit there, staring into nothingness. I wanted to be out of myself, I wanted to be someone else, or anyone other than me, someone who wasn’t feeling these feelings, or going through these things.

In a word, these last three days have been horrific. No matter what people say to you, to try and help, it doesn’t. I’d never wish this on even my worst enemy. Deafening silence seems to haunt every step you take. Your family are all in some sort of bubble, this is the only topic of conversation (not that anyone really speaks.) Everyone feels the same yet so different at the same time. The house feels emptier without you. I catch myself forgetting for a split second, then silently cursing myself for doing so. I walk through the door expecting you to greet me, and when you don’t, my heart plummets. It seemed so sudden, so soon. I’m still getting to grips with it all, even if it is reluctantly. I never want to forget you, and I don’t think there’s any chance you ever will be forgotten.

For anyone suffering right now, loss, grief, loneliness. I know how you feel. The agonising feeling of wanting everything to be how it was before. The sacrifices you’d make for their return. The sheer enormity of the hole left behind, that will never be filled. You wish for one more chance, one more day, one more smile, but not for now at least.