Decisions decisions

First off, I can’t believe its been a month!! A whole month and I DID NOT WRITE anything! Bad bad girl!

Secondly, I don’t think I want to write about my book here – but I would like to share the process with you. The why, how and any interviews etc that I may do…

My first step, of course, was to do some research. Research about Rape. Research about the feelings and emotions of those that have been sexually abused or raped. Not a pretty topic I know, and not one that people would bring into polite conversation.

You see, my book idea is about a woman who was raped and her story – it would be purely fictional – and I would not necessarily be speaking from my own experiences – but rather, I would like to incorporate the feelings and emotions I pick up from my friends who have been abused (most of my good friends were abused as children, or raped later on in life).  I know the behaviour that they exhibit, I have picked up on things, and even when friends have never said anything to me, or mentioned to me what has happened to them – I’ve picked up on it and told them that I know.

This inevitibly brings tears… unfortunately. But at the same time, healing? I know you’re probably thinking “why on earth would she even bring that up!” Why? Because sometimes people need to be honest about it – they need to know that it wasn’t their fault – and they need to be reminded of that, and also of the fact that, despite the shit they’ve been through, despite what happened to them, they do still deserve to be loved and appreciated for the amazing people they are. They shouldn’t feel ashamed or feel the need to hide behind a screen. I guess I just wanted them to know that I knew, and also to know that I wasn’t going anywhere. The fact that they were hurt in such a way didn’t disgust me or make me love them any less. In fact, it may have even increased my respect for them. Knowing that they face their demons every day – that they live with the fact every day, and yet they still smile and talk and participate in life. I am proud to know such brave and extraordinary people – even if others don’t know how brave and extraordinary they are…

So, I know that SanityFound and a few others have started a blog about drugs and alchohol addictions – the battle stories – and how people have braved their addictions and are sharing with others. Perhaps some of you – if you have been raped or abused in any way, I was hoping that you would maybe share with me? Share with me, and I would love to publish – anonymously of course – your story, a safe place, where no-one knows your name or your face. I will create a new blog specifically for this purpose: Silence has a voice.

I will start that blog off my telling you a little bit about my friends and what they have been through – perhaps then those of you that can, will share your stories there as well…

Regret. Guilt.

Today I have had my heart broken. Torn in two. Knowing how someone truly sees you. Understanding the contempt, fear and loathing that they truly hold for you is incredibly, incredibly sad.

I feel as though my best friend has died. Or as though my boyfriend left me. Neither of these has happened (thankfully). But this is how I feel. My heart is broken. I am so sad. I was in the bathroom at work this morning crying my little heart out.

Why? you ask… simple. Two words.

My father.

I think that today is the day that, well, if he were a lover or a friend, after finding out and understanding how he truly sees me, well, knowing this… I don’t think I can call myself his daughter anymore. It doesn’t feel like I am. Not after the way that he spoke to me. Not after this. He is a sperm donor… but he has never taken an active role in my life.  Well… to be fair, he may have… but I don’t think I can remember when.

He has never offered me advice (that I have wanted to take). When I was 19 and moved back home, he let me stay for cheaper rent than I would have paid somewhere else, but within 2 years I was homeless (not in the true sense… but it was either move out and take my shit with me, or stay and put it in storage – oh and share my room with my little sister… so I chose the moving out option). Since then he has only ever called me when he needed something. Either money or for me to drive my sister somewhere or some such.

Today he told me that my sister would rather lie to me than have me get angry (which of course makes things worse for her, because I just don’t trust her or believe anything she says)… all to avoid confrontation. He is protecting her so intensely – which I think is great, at least he’s doing that for her… but at the same time, he’s trying to shut out the rest of the world.

He told me that he had been trying to tell my sisters mom (not my mommy) for the whole week that my sis is not on drugs etc, etc… and that she has made my sis’s life a misery because she wants to take her for drug counselling… and basically my father loathes the very ground that my sisters mom walks on.  And today. Well, today he said something along the lines of “What you people don’t understand about Blondie (my sis)….” meaning that he put me in the same box as her mom. Meaning that what ever transgressions I have done I am now on the “people I hate list” that my father has in his mind.

I am compared to and boxed with her mom. And she wants nothing to do with me (according to my father). So. Not only am I not good enough to help when needed (because I’m clearly not an active member of the family), I am now actually an outsider. I am someone to be called a foe. Someone to fight with. Why? Because I treated my sister with a dose of reality every now and again. Because if she lied, I got angry, if she took without asking, I got angry. Because I didn’t agree with her decisions about things that she was doing in my house, or with my stuff, I got angry.

I won’t defend myself. I know, within my very being, what I have done for her. I know what I haven’t done for my father – when he was in financial difficulty and I didn’t help (firstly because I didn’t have the money to help, and secondly, I can’t really help someone who doesn’t help themselves…). I’m not sure what his reasons are… but I know what I have done. And I have always tried to do the best that I can with what has been available.

Do I regret the things that I’ve done? Do I regret the way that I have behaved? No. But for some reason I feel as though its up to me to fix things. I feel guilty because I no longer want to play this game. I feel guilty because I have had enough… And now?

Now. My heart is broken. Knowing that my father, my father… loathes his own daughter. Because she didn’t take his side. Because she argued back. All he has left now is my sister… my brother has left and I have never been his… all he has is my sister. And I truly am not a member of his family. I’m not sure I ever really was….

My heart is broken.

A blank screen

Sitting at my desk yesterday I know that I had something that I wanted to write about… but I didn’t get a chance to do it yesterday. And as I sit here this morning, I wonder what it was… and why can’t I remember. I also sit here, being almost flabbergasted that I don’t know what to write. I don’t know what I want to write. I have so many ideas flitting back and forth… but nothing jumps at me. Nothing grabs me.

Its a new year… and I sit here, at a loss for words. I guess that “do I really have something to say” part of me is back.

On one hand, I am happier and more content than I have ever been. I don’t want to complain, or be dark or anything, but when I think about writing, and what I want to write about, its as though a dark cloud sweeps over me. And I want to talk about sadness. About things that have and do make me sad. I want to grump and groan. And that’s not me. I’m always the one smiling. Happy about one or another thing… then why am I feeling this sadness? This desire to be sad?

I remember a few years ago when I broke up with my ex boyfriend. That whole relationship would play over and over in my mind – things like, what could I have done differently, what did I do wrong, what did I do right. I completely pulled it apart. Eventually I realised that I was letting 9 to 12 months of my life consume me. I was thinking and  obbsessing over it way to much. So I gave myself a limit. A time limit each day. I could have one memory. And when that memory was done, it was time to stop wasting my energy on that.

Within a few short weeks I’d almost completely stopped bringing it up in my own mind. The powerful tool that is my mind and heart got better and better at pushing those useless energy suckers away. And yet, again, I sit here… wondering what to write…wondering if I want to remember those times. Because the truth is, they really weren’t that bad. But at the same time, some of those memories have affected me and in a way do still affect me.

And I think about things that make me sad. About wasted time. About wasted energy. And I’m not even sure that sadness is the right term for it.

For example, I think about my father and my sister. And I have no desire to say any more on that subject. I’ve said all I needed to say. The energy I used talking about that whole affair is all gone. And I’m done rehashing it.

When I think about my man. I don’t want to write to much for fear of jinxing it. He really is an amazing guy, and yes, every now and again I guess we have our moments, insecure, unsure silly little moments… And I don’t want to complain – because, there’s nothing really to complain about, and you won’t find me saying a mean thing about him ever – oh, I might get frustrated here or there, but my heart is entirely his… some days I just wonder whether his is mine… but again, that’s insecurity and all that crap.

Then we have my mom – who I’ve mentioned is a most amazing woman. But I don’t want to go on to much about her because one day she may read all this and get a big head. No seriously, its almost as though writing about these people that I love so much will make them less real in my heart. It may make me see things about them that I don’t want to see. You know, put things into perspective. I’m not ready to change the dynamics of these close relationships that I have.

My other friends? Are all over the place. Jo’burg, UK, Germany… My cousin is my closest friend in this town – and she’s family, so she doesn’t count. I’ve been here for a year… and I feel more at peace within myself and who I am than I ever have before…. and yet? I haven’t made, or been able to have a real conversation about hopes, dreams, fears etc… (SF, you don’t count anymore because you moved…).

This is the only real place I have… and yet, I am scared to be real. I am scared to give my all. To throw myself into it. I’m scared of revealing to much about who I am and what I think – I don’t think I’m so scared of what you may think… but more of how it may change me.  Will this all still be enough once I’ve pushed myself inside out and backwards and really had a look at who I am. When I stand naked before me, am I going to be the me that I thought I was, the me that I would like to be? Or am I going to be something different?

I guess that its time to find out. Different isn’t necesarily all bad…

And when you see I haven’t written in a day or two… please feel free to give me a gentle nudge and/or to ask questions…

Chapter 7 – the love stories

Where do I begin?    (Could all be a bit muddled… I’ve just written it, and am publishing now…)

After Chap 6. I was a bit of a wreck. As I’ve mentioned, I didn’t trust myself, or anyone else. I really had to find my feet again, and learn to believe in what I felt, what I believed again. It wasn’t an easy time for me. My friends were there for me, but I’m not, and never really have been a very good talker. I don’t seem to be able to express what I’m feeling really well – not by word of mouth at any rate.

I realised that I needed to find a hobby – something outdoors, with down to earth people. My friends weren’t what you would call down to earth. Or they were, but they weren’t what I was looking for – they were my friends because of time, time spent and time made to get to know each other. I needed to spend some time with people who didn’t care that you wore make-up or not, who didn’t care what car you drove, or what brand of clothes you happened to be wearing. I wanted to spend time with people who had more important things to do with their time than to talk about other people. (Shame, not to say that my friends weren’t real… they just didn’t have the same sense of things that I did at that stage. I needed a new place to find my feet. I couldn’t do it with them herding or cajoling me. I just wanted to be me – not the me they thought they knew).

I started doing something called rap jumping. And through this I became friends with the most amazing people. I joined the group. I was one of them. This is where I met my man. You pay money, and you get to jump 3 times. Running face down along a building… a building that’s about 70 metres high. What a feeling. So my first two jumps were good. You let yourself down slowly… then on the third jump you do something that’s called an Angel. Basically, about 2/3rds down the building, you let go of the rope, and you let your brake man stop you (they have all the power), and they bring you down as fast or as slow as they want. And of course, being the cheeky me that I am, they let me have it. And as I came closer to the ground, I met my brake man. I wrapped my arms around him, and he lowered me down some more, so I wrapped my legs around him and I hung on to him for dear life. “Thank-you for saving my life”. That is how I met my man.

Of course, he was seeing someone else at the time. But I wasn’t really interested then. I was interested in the jumping. It was such an awesome feeling. No matter what you were thinking, no matter what was going through your mind, the minute you looked over the edge of the building, you had to be in the moment. You had to be living that time. Now. Right here. Right now. I was hooked. I came back again and again and again… eventually becoming an instructor.

I was an instructor for about 6 months when Monkey (aka Chap 7… ) first kissed me. My housemate at the time was also an instructor, and some of the instructors had come round to our place for some reason. I went to some or other party with some other friends and came back home horribly drunk. And Monkey kissed me.

It was such a yummy kiss. What I can remember of it… I was a bit surprised by it… but also happy. It was such a nice tender kiss, filled with all sorts of feelings and emotions. It made me look at him very differently. And then, within a week, he’d told me (basically), that he wasn’t looking for anything, he just wanted to have some fun, and if I was keen, then cool, if not, that was cool to. Now I know me… There are some people you can have a fling with, and then there are others that you can’t. He was one that you can’t. cos you’d start falling for him… He’s one of the nice guys. One of the few decent ones left. I knew that I couldn’t just have a fling with him. So I said, well, thanks but no thanks. I can’t do that. Not with you.

And about a month later… he kissed me again (once more when I was drunk)… Only this time, the whole jumping crowd was going away for a weekend… and for about a week he and I were kissing surreptiously on the side, holding hands where no-one could see us… because they would have teased the crap out of us. And neither of us needed that. So we got back home, and again… he said the same thing “You’re a nice girl, and I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t do a relationship”. “No problem,” I said “Just make sure that the next time you kiss me, you mean it. Because I won’t let you back out so easily”.

Another 6 months went past, I started seeing one guy, that ended, started seeing another one… this one came with me to a few of the jumping things, to a jump site, out for drinks etc. But for one or other reason I just knew that I actually couldn’t date him. So I ended things one Saturday night (the fact that I’d rather read Harry Potter than spend an evening with him kinda gave me a clue). The following weekend I went out dancing and drinking with two of my dearest Jo’burg friends. Monkey and some other people joined us. My one friend had driven the three of us, and the other was staying at my place. The driver friend wanted to leave, and I was having such a good time. Just enjoying myself and happy to be free once again… I asked Monkey if he’d give friend 2 and I a lift home, he said no problem (now by this time, there really was nothing between me and him – the last time we’d kissed had been months previously, and we were just friends…).

So he gave us a lift home. And his house was in the opposite direction to my place, so I said to him, if you want, you are welcome to sleep at my place, you’re a bit drunk, your place is far, nothing kinky, just sleep. So he climbed into my bed, and we started falling asleep… and then he kissed me.

And he really hasn’t stopped kissing me since. He is not my usual “type”. He cares, he feels, he listens, and he tries to understand – actually succeeds most times. He and I come from scarily similar backgrounds. I can’t categorize him or how I feel about him. I just know that I ever never been happier or more sure of or with something or someone in my life. The minute he hugs me, the second he puts his arms around me, the whole world and any shit just fades into the background. He is the haven I can call home. Wherever he is, is my home.  I can’t picture my life without him.

My one friend once told me it’ll never last. You’re to different. And yes, I guess we come across quite different. I’m a lot louder than he is… although these days, he’s really come out of his shell. He use to be so quiet, but now, now he takes to everyone … he didn’t used to sing… not even in his own car, when he was alone… now he sings in public… I wish that I could take the credit for all of this. But I don’t. I can’t. And I won’t. He is who he is despite me. Not because of me. I perhaps allowed him to just be him. Because the him that is, is just beautiful.

I can get very soppy when it comes to Monkey. Don’t get me wrong, our relationship isn’t perfect. We don’t exactly argue, but neither do we always agree.  And he can frustrate the hell out of me simply because he doesn’t say enough sometimes – I almost have to guess when something is wrong…

But I’ve come to realise, understand and accept that he is who he is. And I can’t change it. Not only can’t I change it,  but I shouldn’t want to. I shouldn’t even try. The things that are important to me are the things that are important to him. And if something really bothers him, then he’ll have to open his mouth, because he knows I’m not a mind reader. Although we can and do read each other pretty well…

He is just as he is. And to me… that is what makes it beautiful. That is what makes him beautiful. Its not often you meet someone that makes you want to be a better you. He instills that in me. I am worthy. And I will be the best that I can be. No, that doesn’t mean I am not “allowed” to do things… it just means that where, for example, in some instances you would want to test someone, to see how far you can push them? Well, I’ve never done that to him. Never needed to. Never wanted to. We are just as we are. Together.

I want to be a better me. And having known him, and knowing him like I do, I hope that that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

p.s. did I tell you that 7 was one of my favourite numbers???

The art of procrastination – part of the love stories

I’m a good procrastinator. I like to leave things until the last minute, and, well, then I work super furiously at something. It doesn’t really matter when I seem to start something, for example, when I was studying, I would start some of my written assignments well before they were do, and would write a whole lot of stuff, and then, two days before it was due I would practically start from scratch.

I don’t seem to focus very well on something unless its due “now”. even when studying for exams, I would open my books and start making notes at least two weeks before the exams, but my heart wasn’t in it – only when I had 48 hours left would I really start paying attention and focus. I’m amazed I passed at all!

I seem to be procrastinating on Chapter 7. The reason? Its twofold really:

1. I spent 18 months alone after Chap 6 and I broke up, and I built on on the lesson that I learnt there. I really started putting things into practice – I started building myself up and realised that I couldn’t really be there for someone until I could be there for myself. I had also lost the ability to trust. I couldn’t even trust myself – I had allowed myself to be treated so badly by so many different men – in one way or another – and I didn’t trust myself to not let that happen again. I had also lost the ability to trust others. To believe what they were saying. To believe that what was coming out of their mouth was in fact a truth. And not a lie – as I had become accustomed. Its really crazy how quickly you can get used to something, and then how long it takes you to get “un used to” that very same thing. It took 9 months with someone to stop trusting them entirely – and more than 2 years to realise that there still are some people who are worthy of it.  This section needs to be spoken about, written about, before I can start writing about Chapter 7.
2. If I talk or write about this relationship I may jinx it. You know, the others are all over – and this isn’t. This is ongoing. I am seeing him, living with him. And we have a puppy together.  And ever time I look at him, my heart seems to overflow with the feelings, the emotions that I have for him. He is the most amazing, incredible man my heart has ever known. I don’t know how to write about that? To write about that amazing feeling. That love, that just pours out of you when you look at someone. I have never been this happy, or this settled, or this “at home” any where, with anyone. Sometimes I’m not sure I deserve it. But at the same time, I know that I’ve come a long way to find it. Now I’m not saying he’s perfect, he has his faults – but they’re not bad ones, not like the others. I was going to give an example, but I think I should leave all that for when I do actually write about him… about how we met… and where we were both at…

So I’m giving myself a deadline. Not one that I’m going to put up here. Ok, ok, I say I will have the interim 18 months and Chapter 7 up here within 1 week. He is working this weekend, and if I don’t get a chance during the next week, I will do it by the latest, over the weekend. We have a deadline. I must stick to it…

The love stories – A recap

Today is not going to be a love story per se, but rather a recap of the last 6 chapters.This may include info that wasn’t added in the first round…

1. Chapter 1 – Aged 16 – 19.  Relationship length: 2 years, 9 months. I was at school. He was my first “love”. At the end of matric (grade 12), I left Johannesburg, moved back down to Cape Town and started Teachers training college. Within 2 months, I was back in Joeys living with him. I was 18. There’s no one single reason exactly that I can put my finger on as to why this didn’t work. I guess he was maybe too controlling. He wanted me to be a certain way, and I never knew what that way was… and I was losing myself. There was a big black pit where my heart should have been. I was being manipulated into having sex when it was sore or I just plain didn’t want to, because it was easier to roll over and open my legs. I was being shouted at and screamed at like an I was an idiot. I guess all these things just added up… And before they managed to break me, I walked out. It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. But I guess that’s what I can say to all my breakups. (oh, and did I mention the break-up at 6 months… so I guess you could say I didn’t trust him).
2. Chapter 2: Aged 19 – 20. Relationship length: 1 year. It was fun. And I had gone from a serious relationship into this, and didn’t quite know how to handle it. I think I got to serious to quickly. He was just looking for fun. And I fell for him. I went straight into “relationship” mode. I was no longer welcome at his house. And I had to fetch and carry him. I started resenting him – he would only call for a booty call. Otherwise, he would prefer to see his friends. I realised that, not only was I not what he wanted. He was not what I wanted. He also apparently kissed a girl when I was in Cape Town one weekend. So the trust dissappeared here to.
3. Chapter 3: Aged 20 – 21. Length: 1 year. This was also supposed to be a fun fling – from my side at least, and I guess from his. He was supposed to leave within a month or two of us getting together. And he didn’t. Which wasn’t a bad thing… but I’m not sure I would have dated him if I knew he was staying. I had just been in two relationships, one after the other, spanning nearly 4 years. I wanted to have some fun. I didn’t want to get to serious… but he stayed, and we stayed together. I’ve been told that I broke him. That he has never been the same since I ended things with him. I guess the reason here was that I was tired of having the same discussions over and over again (you have a wall up, why won’t you let me past your wall. I’m here, just talk to me… ). I wasn’t ready to let someone in that much. He was trying to hard to know me. To know the me that makes me tick. He didn’t want to take the time – he wanted me to tell him? I guess?
4. Chapter 4: Spent 6 months being single. Yay me. Then: Aged 21/22. Length: 6 months. As usual, great at first. We were good friends before we started seeing each other. But we were in each others faces to much. To often. He used to get upset when I wanted me time. So I may have over reacted, and ended things. But I don’t think it was an over reaction. If he was like that after 6 months, I would hate to know what he would have been like now. I needed my space, and it was almost as though he was trying to cage me. I’m fiercly independent. I hold on to that. And he seemed to be trying to take it away. He also complained once or twice of not being able to get to a part of me. But, sometimes, all someone needs is patience. I didn’t want to know everything about them… not right off the bat. I knew that I would know what I needed to when I needed to know it. So the reason for break-up – to clingy, to jealous (ain’t it funny that sometimes relationships end because of the very things that bring you together??? – I’ve been told I’m a flirt (I say friendly, affectionate even – if I know you) … And they loved it when I flirted with them, or was affectionate in a friendly way with them… and then it becomes a problem! Of MASSIVE proportions). Anyways…
5. Chapter 5: Again I was single for 6 months. Aged: 23. length: 6 months. He was amazing. He really was. He was my knight in shining armour. He really swept me off my feet. I’d never met or dated anyone like him. But hey, I was attracted to him, so there had to be something wrong with him right? lol. He really did treat me like a princess… until he broke-up with me. I was crushed. But learnt to live with it. And now, I’m really glad he broke-up with me, because looking back. He was surface. I never really got under his skin. He liked me, yes, and found me attractive, yes. I thought he did love me. But thinking about it now. It really was surface. He didn’t love me. He didn’t know me. And he never really took the time, or wanted to know me. And you know what, I’m ok with that. Grateful really. Because if it wasn’t for him, I may have missed out on 2 very important people and 1 life changing lesson.
6. Chapter 6: Single again for 6 months (habit or something). Age: 24. length: About 9 or 10 months? Year: 2003 going into 2004. I started studying at the beginning of 2003. And this started in about the August. The reason for break-up? I didn’t trust him. Why? Cocaine. He was addicted. And he lied as often as he could. We lived together from day one. And I got to see things I never wanted to. It was a very passionate relationship, fighting, screaming, shouting, loving. The lows were very low, and the highs were incredible. But the highs never lasted, and the lows were getting lower. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t believe a word that was coming out of his mouth. I did what I could to try and help him. And then I realised that I can’t help him. He must want to help himself. And he wasn’t going to do that with me holding his hand. He needed to sort himself out alone. Or should I say, without me. I couldn’t watch it anymore.  I never mentioned this: But my mom and her husband of 12 years – the man who was more involved in my life than my father – were getting divorced. My mom had also “given up”. My step father was, and still is a practicing alchoholic. No, he doesn’t black out, or do crazy shit. He just doesn’t stop drinking. And my mom couldn’t do it any more either. I was cross at the time… but it seems we both had a similar lesson to learn.  When I say I was cross – I was so angry at her for taking away the one example of a relationship that I had in my life. A solid, stable (ish) marraige. And she threw it away. That was the child part of me. The adult in me was happy for her. She’d been talking about it for years. Wanting more for herself than a partner who loved beer more than her. I was proud of her for standing up and getting out. But I was sore. And I will never tell her I was sore. Ok, maybe one day I will. But not now.

And perhaps tomorrow… will be chapter 7. Or it might be the 18 months I spent alone. Single. Misbehaving. The 18 months I spent learning… about me… but that… is for tomorrow…

Chapter 6 – the love stories

(a warning – its long – and may jump all over the place. I haven’t had as much time to think this one through as I have with the others. This is about my ex. My last ex. I wouldn’t change the relationship I had with him in any way. I learnt a lot – as you will see…)

So, as I said, after Chap 5, I was devestated. There had been no warning. Just love. And then nothing. I didn’t know what had hit me, I didn’t know what was going on. Looking back now, it was one of the best things to have happened to me. I wasn’t really ready to be with someone. I still needed time alone. But I didn’t know it then.

The new year started, and so did my studies. I threw myself into work and school and partying of course. A house with 2 other girls and my brother, well, there was always something going on. Something happening. I was never home, but I was enjoying myself. Monday nights were my “home nights” – where I kept to myself and recharged the batteries. My exes sister came round one night to visit my brother, and I told her that we were looking for a new housemate. One of the girls wanted to move out.

She said she knew someone. So, within a month he was all moved in. Little did I know, but he had a bit of a crush on me. I was enjoying spending a night or two with another guy – nothing serious, just a booty call type of thing (we spoke about it – that’s all we both wanted)… and then another male friend asked if I would go away with him to some work thing, I said sure. No problem. I spent time on the phone that weekend to both my new housemate and the booty call guy. It was entertaining. Flirting with one guy who I didn’t really know was interested, and then another who had seen me naked…

Anyways, so I got back from the weekend, to find the housemate had missed me. He used to do small things, like wait until I had come home from school in the evening (when I say school I mean college – I was doing a BCom), and eat dinner/supper with me. He’d make sure I had some food, and then we’d sit and eat together. I thought he was just being nice, mean time… he was crazy about me.

So it took probably about 3 months of him and I living together before we actually kissed. And the relationship progressed from there… so basically, we were living together before we started dating, and then, instead of sleeping in our own rooms, we just stayed in one room – one night in his room, one night in my room. I tried to keep us sleeping in our own rooms, apart, at least one night a week. But that didn’t really work. Knowing we were so close together, well, ya. Anyways.

I knew before we started dating that he was involved with drugs. I knew he took cocaine. And I was almost oblivious to it. We would go out and have some fun. Laughing, drinking, and little did I know, but he would be drugging. I didn’t realise it – he always told me that he wasn’t, but a friend of his would tell me that he was. And he would say that she’s just jealous, that she wanted to break us up because she wanted him. And of course, I believed him over her – why not? I wasn’t sleeping with her.

After one night of serious drinking – tequila… He woke me, “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” “No, my alarm hasn’t gone off yet”, “But its 9 o’clock,” “No, it can’t be, my alarm hasn’t gone off,” “Look here – its 9am.” “Shit!!!!” I was showered and at work by 9.30! (it took me 20 minutes to get to work at that stage! I FLEW!). My boss walked into the office 10 minutes after me. And I had half day because I was going away for the weekend. It was after this that I decided to cut back on the drinking. You would have thought that black-outs and unusual behaviour when drunk would have made me cut back sooner, but it didn’t. Even when I had passed out in his car one night, and found myself in the car with him and two of his drug taking friends going with them to his dealer – to get more drugs. Being told to “Stay down”. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. This had interferred with my career. I couldn’t let that happen.

We’d been seeing each other for about 4 months. His friend had moved in with us because he needed a place to stay.  Now, my man worked in the film industry, actually they both kind of did. So their working hours were odd, and they worked maybe two or three days a week. I started noticing things. Things like a sweet smell on my man on somedays when he’d been drinking (I love smelling my man. The smell is so unique, so special, so intimate. Just at the nape of the neck. I do it now even. Its my favourite part to smell). The same smell which was absent when just he and I went out and he was drinking. After some time, I realised that it was the cocaine I could smell. Very sweet when he had just snorted it, but fading away within an hour or two.

This man and I fought about his drugs. I tried to throw him out twice – my big brother said “No, give him another chance”. And so I did. He lied to me constantly – how did I know? He could never tell me the same story twice. If he didn’t come home at night, I would ask him where he’d been, and he’d tell me one thing. I’d ask the same question the next day and get a completely different answer. I couldn’t believe him. I couldn’t trust him.

One thing though. He never ever asked me to do it with him. It was as though he knew it wasn’t good, and didn’t want to “damage” me with it. Not that I would have said yes. I saw enough and knew enough watching him. It was not something I wanted for myself. He used to say that I didn’t know what it was like being him. That he had been to hell and back. Seen people shot, joined a gang, beat up people. He was a thug. And I of course, just didn’t understand. He almost looked down at me because I hadn’t chosen that path. I tried to tell him that I could just have easily been on that path. I had had choices to make. But I made different ones. And he should respect that – not look down on me for it.

Of course he never understood it. After 6 months of living together, up and down because of the drugs and the lies and the arguments – There were just 3 of us living in the house. Myself, my brother and my man. I told them both that I wanted to live alone. It was time for my brother to stand on his own two feet (my older brother), for him to find his own way. And it was time for me to see whether my man was with me because it was convenient or because he cared. I was also tired of seeing him high. I thought to myself, well, he’ll either make the effort and if he doesn’t, then I don’t have to see the highs and lows. If he wants to get high and stay out all night, I don’t need to know about it.

My brother understood. He moved out and in with his girlfriend at the time. And Chap 6, he moved back in with his folks. He couldn’t understand that I did still want to date him, I just didn’t want to live with him. I needed to see whether or not he would put in the effort. To see whether or not he would come round to visit. To take me out on dates. Everything gets so easy when you live with someone. You can just stay home so much. There is no effort involved in seeing someone. Because they are right there, at your beck and call.

He was so up and down that last month in the house, going from one extreme (of I love you and we’ll make it work, even though you’re moving out) to another (I hate you. You don’t love me anymore and I don’t want to be with you because of it). After about 3 weeks of this, I ended it. I couldn’t take the yes no yes no yes no constantly. I tried to explain over and over that I did still want to date him. I just didn’t want to live with him. I wanted to date. Not go straight into living together.

We broke up and all moved out. About a month later, Chap 6 and I got back together. We actually started dating. It was good. For a few weeks. Until I realised that I just didn’t believe him. I was going through his phone, checking numbers, becoming a person again that I didn’t want to be. I had no faith that he was ever telling me the truth. And after one night, and a particularly bad fight. I ended things. We broke up. It was over. Or so I thought.

We broke up, but stayed in contact. Always a mistake. You need some time to heal apart. Some time alone to sort your head and heart out. I remember, I went out with my friends the one night, and I reckon my drink was spiked. It was just after my exams, and I had only had a few drinks (much less than normal), but there are about 3 hours of the night that I don’t remember. All I remember is that I went to my friend, very agitated and told her that we had to leave. I wanted to go home. Now, I know that one of two things gets me agitated like that – 1. I was vomiting in the bathroom or 2. I was getting unwanted attention. Only these got me angry and itchy when I was drinking. It was time to go.

For some reason, my ex was outside my house when my friend dropped me at home, he helped me into bed, made sure I was ok, and then I think he left? Or he slept on my couch? I’m not sure. I just know that the next day I felt so ill. I couldn’t move without vomiting. I had had maybe 6 drinks that night? Not enough to have that kind of reaction. He was livid. So cross with me. I didn’t care. I was seeing through a haze. A fog of nausea. I felt crap.

Shortly after this I tore all the ligaments in my ankle. I was living alone, and was unable to drive. And in South Africa, I wasn’t going to start taking public transport. So I had to beg borrow plead anything for lifts to work and school. And of course home. Chap 6, even though we had broken up, was really great. He would come and pick me up from work some days, take me gracery shopping. He even cleaned my place. He was amazing. He really looked after me. Made sure that I was ok.

And then one night, he went out drinking. And called me. And told me that I didn’t appreciate anything he was doing. I think he wanted sex in payment. But I couldn’t sleep with him anymore. Not after I stopped believing him. Not after I stopped trusting him. I couldn’t do it because I still loved him. The break up with him was a head break up. Not a heart one. I know that one should always follow ones heart. But this time my heart was in such a mess and so sore it couldn’t make the choice. My head had to. I even made lists – pros and cons. But I knew that I couldn’t date someone I didn’t trust. I didn’t believe. The feelings were still all there. So close to the surface.

That night he called, he told me how ungrateful I was and what a bitch I was and he ranted and raved and went on and on. My wall came up. I had finally had enough. I told him that I didn’t want to see him or hear from him for a while. I looked at myself, and thought “What the fuck is going on? How can you ALLOW someone to treat you like this? Have you no respect for yourself?”

The lesson had finally hit home. I realised that I didn’t think very highly of myself. I mean seriously, Chap 6 was trying to teach me the same as Chaps 1 through 5. But this time it was severe. It was hard. And it was harsh. The universe had been trying to show me this all along. And I just wasn’t paying attention. This time I had no choice. I had to sit up and take note. It was like I had been hit in the head with a baseball bat, and the film over my eyes had been knocked loose.

It was time for me to give to me. To stop being there for everyone else. To stop giving out all my energy to those in need. I had to give it to me. I needed it. I needed it so I could give in a better more loving way. Not in a symbiotic way – where I needed to be needed and they needed to need. It was time to stop. I realised that I had been LETTING people (aka men) treat me like crap, because, for some reason, I though that that is what I deserved. It was bullshit. I’m a good person. And it was time I started seeing that in myself. No more shits.

It was time for me. Time for me to find me and to love me. To accept me for who I am and to allow myself to be me. To stop trying so hard to help people. Time to have my say and step away. Time to not take everything so personally. Time to find my balance. Time to say goodbye. All the energy I had been using to focus on my relationships, friends, family, etc. It was time I called it back. It was time for others to be there for me. For me to, not just accept, but ask for, Help. Because I needed it. I needed my friends to carry me a while. And there are three or four people in my life that really stepped up to the plate and did it. They were there for me. They put up with me.

I think that they were just so glad that Chap 6 and I were finally over. I was 24. And I realised that I had no self respect. And my self esteem was so low that I couldn’t even find it on the floor. It was time.