Soul Searching

Before I get back on with my dissertation I feel I need to talk about this for a while...

The passed two years have been the toughest I've ever experienced in my life, my world was completely destroyed and I am still struggling to make sense of it all. I am still struggling to find some kind of peace and understanding. I feel like after all that has happened I am standing completely dazed and somewhat numb surveying the wreckage of what is left of not only my life as I knew it but also me. I no longer know or trust who I am. I am a fairly independent person, I've always taken care of myself and coped with things by myself. I don't find it particularly easy to open up or share my concerns, usually I don't have to because I am more than capable of sorting them out myself.

Between uprooting my life for the man I love because I wanted and needed to be with him more than anything else in the world, falling out with my mum and my elder sister, moving house, attempting to study a Masters, losing two grandparents and failing my driving test 3 times I feel more than a little battered. I don't just feel like the wind has been knocked out of me I feel like my entire world has been destroyed and I am left surveying the devastation left. I feel hurt, vulnerable, exposed, unsure and like I am never going to be the same person again. Nothing is the same any more, and I need things to be the same because I feel so lost and confused. I need familiarity, I need some kind of security and I don't feel that I have any.

I would never have made the decision to get married and cause unbelievable friction with my family if I hadn't been completely in love and sure of what I was doing. But now, after everything that has happened...I don't have that any more. Instead of seeking my husband out when I need to be comforted or need to talk I retreat into myself. I've become this snappy and grumpy and stressed person that lashes out verbally for no apparent reason.

I'm not stupid enough to believe that there can ever be a going back, be it a place or a feeling, no matter how much it is desired it really isn't possible. What I would like however is to regain some of my confidence, not just in myself but in all the things that I did before and now feel like I've taken for granted in the passed. I wish I could open up to people, to be honest about how I feel and stop pushing people away. Do I do this because I'm afraid of needing someone and them not being there for me? I really don't know despite the age old saying of 'people rarely ask questions that they don't already know the answer to'

I find it sad that I feel unable or willing to connect with people, especially with people that I have always gone to for support before. Perhaps it is just going to take time, and for the moment I am still securing the hatches and preparing to be assaulted again by something else. I don't know. I do know that I have a great deal of unanswered questions that do little to make me feel better or to inspire confidence. I want to be able to curl up in my husband's arms, close my eyes and feel like it is the safest place to be in the world, like it doesn't matter what happens I will always have him like I used to. What really upsets me is knowing that I don't feel like this now and not knowing why or when I started to feel like this.

I guess that is enough thinking about all this for one day and I should get on with writing my dissertation.

Venting

Being that there are times that I find I need to vent or rant, whichever way you want to look at it, I thought I would create a place just for that. Create a space where I can hammer away at the keys on my laptop in a designated place that won't spill over into my other... the right word escapes me right now so I'm just going to go with 'stuff'

Unusually I find that I don't have anything to rant about today... but, it's only early and I'm sure I won't be disappointed.

nothing ventured

Once again I seem to find myself in the kind of place where someone else is judging me without really knowing me or my capabilities, the injustice of that is awe inspiring. It really is.

Is it my problem with authority that makes me question who has the right to weigh and measure someone and find them lacking? Or is the fact that I don't think it is anyone's place to do that? Who died and made them judge and jury?

I'll start at the beginning, why fight tradition. I've been studying for a Masters in English Literature for the passed year and to say it has been somewhat of an uphill struggle is an understatement of monumental proportions. Trust me on this one it has been far from a Friday night out on the beer. Understandably as with life I've had a number of 'personal' issues to cope with along the way, after all this life is no Disney. Remind me to take that up with old Walt, not happy about being lied to there. May be this is me making excuses but my grades haven't been my best, I've let 'personal' stuff dominate my focus and my pride being what it is I haven't been forthcoming in asking for help or admitting to them. They're my problems and I'm not a big fan of sharing.

So, contemplating a PhD going back to my Creative Writing (I've missed it this year in conforming to ticking the boxes of requirement in academic essays) I went to see the department secretary... It went well. Everybody likes to hear their marks haven't been encouraging or particularly strong (reading between the lines not sure you'd be offered a place). Thanks for the vote of confidence. My expression must have said a thousand words, either which way it was sufficient in making her backtrack to add that she's in no way the quotable authority. Keep back peddling lovely.

Any way, I feel quite crushed at the moment despite knowing my grades haven't been particularly good. It is one thing to know something but is entirely different hearing someone else voice it in the harsh light of day. What can I say I'm better at communicating in person, when it comes to putting it on the page something gets lost in the translation - my intelligence it would seem - and things don't come out as they should. It infuriates me, worse it makes me sarcastic.

What do I want? I'd like and I'm sure I can blame this one on Disney too, boy are we going to have one hell of a debate when I catch up with him, to be seen. Truly seen, to have someone look beyond the fact that perhaps I'm not the best at writing essays but it doesn't mean I should be written off. Isn't there anyone out there who can see beyond the clumsy and at times awkward style and see 'work in progress' see that I might be average now but with a little bit of time and attention I could be great? Evidently not. Okay I admit I'm opinionated, sarcastic and disobedient at the best of times - I wont mention what I can be at the worst of times I'm attempting to persuade of my finer qualities - but I prefer to think of it as being independent and spirited with a dry sense of humour. Feel free to agree with me here. Entertaining traits if not good. I just don't want one trouble fueled and intense year to be the thing that is stamped upon me and that I'm known for. Surely the sarcasm should count for something?

I'm not sure I should even bother to apply now, never mind I should more to the point I'm not sure I want to. What's the point? Why set yourself up to be told you're not good enough? I'm a sadistic person most of the time it's true but... well I do have my pride and I'd like it relatively in one piece too.

Food for thought I suppose... better get back to conforming to academic modes of expression and ticking those oh so important boxes of acceptance.

Questions for you...

...what do you do if you have the monkey on your back and he doesn't seem to be finding someone else to bother any time soon?

Why is it that it is always those that you love the most that manage to hurt you the most?

Why is it the one thing that you are looking for is the one thing that you'll never find or get?

Didn't Allanis Morrisette (excuse the guessed spelling not particularly in the mood for correctness at the moment) write a song about such things?

Any way moving on... I don't understand why when you need people they let you down and in such a spectacular manner that you're left reeling. Left a burnt out husk of a person with a gaping wound that just won't heal. It doesn't matter how many tears you shed over it, or how much time passes the level of pain and the degree of hurt just doesn't lessen or go away. It's always there, like that proverbial bad penny or the white elephant in the room that you deliberately fail to acknowledge.

As the tone may well testify I'm in the angry stage (crying stage is getting a tad tedious and boring now, besides that a red and flaky nose isn't particularly attractive on me). A heads up on what stage follows this would be good, so I'll leave you with that to ponder.

Guilty Secret

One Night Stand

Dumped. But I'd kept my dignity and not let him see me cry. I’d made out that I’d agreed we should break up, it was a way of keeping a shred of dignity and pride. There was more pride than anything else, if I think about it. What I did after not only leaves a lot to be desired but has no dignity or pride in it. I’d like to say that I was on the rebound, not thinking, drunk and stoned. On a generous day I nod my head sagely to being all of those things, well maybe not stoned, but still, there is no excuse for what I did and I can’t say that I am proud of it either. It is funny though, if you think about it...

What did I do? I had a one night stand. Not really note worthy in this day and age and with my generation, but for me absolutely one hundred percent one of my guilty secrets. Oh it isn’t the deed itself that I feel guilty about, good God no. That, in itself is a non-entity. I guess if I’m going to make a full confession and do it properly, I’d best start at the beginning. Oh, well here we go...

I was nineteen, or twenty, my exact age isn’t important and to be perfectly honest I can't remember. The point is I was young enough to be excused the mistake and old enough to have known better (I sound just like my mother). Let’s call him Ben because I have to protect people and myself here, and Ben is as good a name as any. Ben was my on-off boyfriend of nearly two years. We met at college in Philosophy; me twirling my hair in the sunlight for the best effect, you understand (never underestimate the vanity of a teenager, well anyone for that matter really). He was opposite me, perfecting that bored look of feigned disinterest, the way they do when trying to impress. I can’t say that I'd noticed his efforts at the time; I was preoccupied with thinking about scoring at lunch time. That and I fancied his mate next to him. What can I say... teenage hormones at their best. I knew he was interested in me but I didn't give it a second thought, well what could I do about it? Listening to myself this sounds like a terrible teen flick. Oh well in for a penny in for a pound.

Any way, we went out for drinks together, got stoned together, I led him on and then bottled out before I got out of my depth or had to commit to any act. I don't think I like the teenage me much at the moment. Eventually we did get together, in our second year and just before he left to join the army. For a while the sex, drink and drugs suited us perfectly. Like most relationships where passion is fuelled by substances it all went wrong - but I’d fallen in love, hopelessly in love. Idiot.

What had started as a little ego boost for me turned into a nightmare. This guy did all the usual things that break your heart; he stood me up, he kept secrets from me, he kept me waiting while he was out getting pissed with his mates, he paraded me around like I was some trophy to show off when he felt like it and I’m pretty sure there are a whole lot more other things I let the skinny wretch get away with. Not at all pleased with myself. Not even a little bit. He even had the cheek to come back from being away and not tell me he was back and then expect me to drop everything to be with him, as if him being there was all that mattered. As if. And I was the stupid imbecilic creature that let him do it. Ggrrr. Not in any way, shape, or form impressed.

So, it ended in tears and they were mostly mine but, like I'd said, I'd cried alone and didn’t show Ben just how much my world had tumbled down around me. It’s a self preservation thing that, I still do it now. I was all over the place after he dumped me the shit, but like the Murphy’s I’m not bitter. But like an elephant I never forget either. Hell hath no fury and all at.

A couple of months later I bumped into Steven. He was another ex, someone I had also seen while at college, although only for a few months. At college he hadn’t struck me as having much personality; he was too eager to please and too agreeable. In short boring. What teenager wants to go out with a boy who has perfected the answer ‘yes’ and doesn’t know his own mind? God you couldn’t get any more dull. At the time of seeing Steven I was sixteen, studying for my A Levels and finding myself; I wanted someone with a little more spice. Steven’s drinking and weed smoking just wasn’t spicy enough for me; everyone was doing it. I needed more. I needed the element of danger and he didn’t come with it.

Within a few weeks of seeing him my feelings had changed and I spent most of the time crouched down behind parked cars getting my friends to lie for me; it was amazing how little everyone seemed to see of them then. Truly amazing; amusing, too, if you think about it. How they kept a straight face and lied whilst I sat at their feet smoking a cigarette I have no idea. Huh, and not one drama student among us. I suppose, being largely vacant from smoking the weed helped. Eventually I told him the clichéd words hat it wasn’t him, it was me and he deserved someone better, and I thought of more like a brother now. So original, you’ll agree, but if it works who am I to complain?

Any way, a few months after the Ben business (the exact details are hazy, that’ll be the weed then) Steven and I bumped into each other again and we went for a drink. It was somewhere in Paddington, I think, not that he exact details or location matter much. While we sat there I got to thinking about us, as in Steven and me and how we’d never actually had sex. His conversation must have been riveting. You see, I’d never bothered before because I’d always assumed he wasn’t going to be worth the time or effort. But sitting there it occurred to me that I should bother, just to find out and to make sure that I hadn’t missed out on anything.

We went back to his place to drink some more and get stoned; he still lived with his mum – no surprise that. Looking around the flat in St. John’s Wood, I could tell my mum would love me to start seeing him again – his mum was an antiques dealer. There would have been a great deal of ecstatic sighs and hands run lovingly over polished surfaces had she been there. Mind you, if she had I wouldn’t have done what I did. Amusing that.

He gear was crap, the vodka was cheap, and his mother saw right through me, calling me petite Aphrodite. I’ve been called worse. The event? To say it was tiresome is an understatement. The guy was as boring in bed as he was elsewhere in life, worse really, because he wasn’t as eager to please in that department and it was certainly over before I’d even got started. No real surprise there, then. So not wanting to waste any more time than I already had and certainly not wanting to do the cuddle thing after, well there wasn’t an after for me, so why bother? I got him to give me a fiver and I got a cab home. And, I had no intention of paying the money back since I hadn’t got anything else out of the evening. Guess what, I never called after.

What am I ashamed of? It’s not that I had a one night stand. As I said before, that’s hardly worth mentioning in this day and age, what with depravity and debauchery for breakfast for most. It’s the way that I treated him. It’s the fact I slept with him just to make sure he was crap as I’d always assumed and to make sure I really hadn’t missed out on anything. Oh, and the money thing, that was cheap. I should have held out for at least a tenner. May be then I would have got all the way home instead of only to Kings Cross where I had to take the night bus. I could say something about the appropriateness of where my fiver got me to... but I can’t keep a straight face when I do.

Getting back to shame part, it’s the carelessness in it all that I’m ashamed of; my mum didn’t raise me to be like that or to be that type of girl. If I saw him again would I feel the need to apologise or make redress? Probably not. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember, so what difference would it make? Besides, I like having things like this on my conscience, makes me feel interesting. It’s one of those vanity things.

Problem

If you've heard your neighbours having an argument in the early hours, don't know them at all but have heard 'things' about the husband, do you knock the next day to see if the wife is okay?

When I heard her scream it didn't sound fearful, or frustrated, rather kind of lacking in emotion if I think about it. When he shouted 'What do you want from me?' I didn't hear her response and the truth of it is I didn't want to either. In fact I would have much preferred not to have been woken and privy to it at all, not because I don't want to get involved (I don't but that isn't the point) and not because no one wants to be woken at that time (which I also didn't), but more to do with it being an entirely personal exchange. Of course the question of how personal can an exchange had at the top of you lungs be does begged to be answered but... I feel completely uncomfortable about it all.

I spent years in London living next door to a man who regularly beat his wife and shouted abuse at her, and I didn't get involved. When the letters from the police of a disturbance reported came to us by mistaken I posted them through the right door and that was that. No involvement, no thoughts, no feelings, no nightmares after, it just simply wasn't any of my business or my place to get involved.

Today feeling tired and with my imagination filling in the blanks I feel like I should just knock and make sure all is good, but I'm reluctant to get involved. Arguments between a husband and wife, be them just clearing the air or something more really are in the private domain. Would I appreciate someone having overheard me in a heated debate jumping to conclusions? Would I want someone knocking on my door and poking around in things that didn't concern them? Absolutely not!

Still...