Tourist at home…


I played tourist in my home town today. It wasn’t a conscious decision, it just happened.  In fact, it was only out of sheer boredom that I decided to leave the house today.  I have everything I need right here and everything I need is enough.  I have enough to read and enough to watch.  I just got bored.

It started when I walked out the door and saw the mountains for the first time. I’ve looked at them a thousand times since I moved here, but today I saw them for the first time.

“and in the naked light I saw, 10 000 people maybe more – people looking without seeing, people hearing without listening, people writing songs, that voices never share, ‘cause no one dares disturb the sound of Silence. Fool, said I, you do not know, silence like a cancer grows…”

That’s how I felt when I saw the mountains – like I am one of those people.

I followed my normal path to the beach, but this time I really saw it all – the colours, the dogs, the people. I discovered a butcher / deli with the most amazing produce.  I must have walked past it a hundred times before.  I carried the air of “I don’t belong here, I’m just passing through your town”

As the tide went out I found myself looking at the rock formations and longingly thinking ‘One day I want to go walk there with someone’.   Something inside me replied ‘why wait?’ so I went.  It was like entering the belly of the beast.  I was intruding in a place that, in just a couple of hours, will be transformed and hidden beneath the waves.

I went to my regular restaurant, but didn’t sit in my regular spot. I didn’t ask for my regular waiter and I didn’t order my regular cream cappuccino.  An old man walked past me and turned to pause at my table.  I smiled, he smiled.  A hundred stories etched along his face.  Big liquid pools of chocolate looked down at me and he said “Do you know how gorgeous you are?” and he walked away.

I walked along the harbour wall and just sat there, right at the edge of the wall, with nothing between me and ocean, admiring the view when a voice said “You’ve picked a good spot”. That’s where I met the German born Mauritian that now calls South Africa home, probably twice my age.  We sat and spoke for the better part of an hour about what life was like before technology swallowed society and we became strangers to everyone around us.

I went to the club, in broad daylight (GASP!) and had lunch time drinks with the girls.

I got invited to two parties – one a birthday and one a farewell – both for people I’ve never met.

I walked home and silliness got the better of me, waving at completely random people, giving them a huge smile as they drive past. The confusion on their faces were priceless (do I know you, should I know you, have a forgotten who you are, shit I better smile and wave right back) and they all smiled and waved back.

I walked past my favourite tree, the one I touch every time I walk past it. This time I stopped, took a photo and did something that would make Luke die of embarrassment.  I hugged my tree.  I love that tree, it is so old and wrinkly and big and strong – never-changing, always there.

Now, I’m back home, enjoying a Cape Town Easter tradition: hot cross buns and pickled fish. You can’t do Easter in Cape Town without discovering this.  And the best part, there’s no one around that I have to share it with.  It’s all mine!

It’s been a beautiful day…


It’s all about Me!

So, I’ve come to know that it is time for me to do something for me. Not just a once-off something, a continual me-thing.


All my life I’ve done things for other people. I’ve put their wants and needs above my own.  So much so that, when (in my recent fragile state of mind) Sailor asked me what I wanted to do, I had no idea what it was that would make be happy / bring me pleasure.  I sat there KNOWING that I need to do something stupidly outrageous, something that would get me out of the funk I was in, but I had no idea what it was that I wanted.  My options varied between taking a backpack and heading into the mountains to going to Israel and work on a Kibbutz for a year and becoming a cocktail waitress at a holiday resort in Zanzibar.  I knew I needed to do something but I had no idea where to even start to figure out what it was that I wanted.  Doing something, for me, just because it’s what I wanted to do?  Get real!  It just feels so … wrong.

Let me just clarify something first. I’m not saying this in a “Poor Me Pitty Party” kind of way.  I love doing things for other people.  I live for it.  I find absolute bliss and satisfaction in seeing how much pleasure they get out of doing what they want.  I’ve just become so used to doing it that way, that I never stopped to consider what I wanted to do and what would make me happy.

{Note to self: Perhaps on some stupid irrational deep psychological level you don’t think you deserve to enjoy anything….  Just a thought for another day}

As I always do, I’ve made a list. Apart from the first one, which is a NOW thing (as in within the next week NOW), the rest have no specific order of importance – just a list of things that would give me pleasure.  (At this point I giggle with glee – and that is so not like me)

Some of them might sound stupid to you – the reader who has all their shit together. Some of them might sound overly ambitious.  I don’t care.  It’s my list.  It’s what I want.

I need to do something outrageous NOW.  It could be Shark Cage Diving or Paragliding or just getting dressed up for no reason whatsoever, go somewhere and have a big party – something different from what I do every day, something weird and outside the norm of what encompasses my life.  I’m working on a couple of ideas and I’m sure I will figure it out soon…

Make some friends (now for the readers who have their shit together, this one will be stupid, but bear with me).  I’m not talking about casual acquaintances.  I’m talking about real friends, people who have seen the best of you and the worst of you, people who you can call up at 3 in the morning when you are stuck in Put Sonder Water and you know you messed up but they will be there to bail you out (literally or figuratively).  You see, every time I go into a relationship I make friends.  Then, when it ends, I withdraw completely.  I stay away from the places we used to go to, I avoid the people I’ve met.  I just disappear from the scene altogether.  That’s wrong.  I need to make me some friends that are my friends.

Keep doing the things I love and start something new.  On the day Sailor and I broke up, I texted my Jiu Jitsu instructor to let him know I won’t be back.  (Part of the disappearing act above)  Well, I’m going back there.  I loved every second of it.  It was good for me.  I’m going back there.  And also, I’m taking up Latin dancing.  I’ve always said that in a previously life (if that sort of thing existed) I was of some Latin decent.  I’ve always wanted to learn the Tango and Samba and anything ballroom-like, but I’ve always said that I will wait until I can meet a partner willing to do it with me.  BS!!!  I’ve found Solo Latin Dancing classes just around the corner from my house and I start next week.  #Excited!!!

Go on holiday.  The one and only time in my adult life that I took a holiday was my honeymoon in January 1999.  That is 17 years ago!  I take leave every year, but I never go anywhere or do anything.  I live in the most beautiful country in the world and I never visit any of the amazing places that tourists pay thousands to see.  I will take myself on holiday.  Perhaps I will go to Spain or Israel or Peru.  Perhaps I will just go to Knysna.  Even if it is just a week in a place 2 hours from here, but it will be a holiday and it will be all about me.

Get a boob job.  My mom, my sister, my gran – every female in my family in fact – has boobs and they name them.  I mean, my mom has Deloris and Delilah (her set of DD-twin sisters).  They all have boobs.  Big boobs.  I got booty and brain.  I want me some boobs.  When I was pregnant with Luke I had the most amazing set of boobs and I just wanted to show them off (never did, but wanted to).  After he was born I went to a very normal, boring B-cup called Blertsie and Blapsie (there is unfortunately not a way to properly translate it to English to have the same effect, but think in the line of dab of toothpaste – never too much, just enough).  Now, thanks to weight loss (and age I suppose) I have regressed to a pitiful Aaah-shame.  I have no aspiration to get to where my mom’s at, that’s just way too much for me to handle, but a nice full B or small C will do.  I’m gonna get me some boobs.

Get another tattoo (and fix the one I’ve got – the one that was never supposed to be).  I know what it is, I have the picture.  It’s long overdue.  I’m going to get it done

I’m going to take up sailing.  Now this one sort of ties in with Do something outrageous, Start something new and Go on a Holiday.  But the plan is so outrageous and big and overly ambitious and just downright scary that I think it deserves a special place on my list.  This is a 3-part project with one major goal at the end.  I’ll tell you more as it progresses, but it’s going to be big.  I just figured that I’ve overcome this super irrational life-long fear I had of the water and I thoroughly enjoyed the sailing part.  So why not carry on with it?  Why not give it a special place in my life and make something big out of it?

That’s a list of 7 things – 7 things that would bring me joy, 7 things that are just about me and what I want.

It’s small, but it’s a start.

It’s my story, my life, my journey and I can’t wait for the next chapter.

How I got my groove back (from a most unexpected source)


“I am at your gate” came the familiar message. By the time Sailor walks in, as he has every day for the past 5 days, I am ready with our wine.

Since Thursday, when we both realized that it was over, he has been here every day. Like a trooper, facing the storm – and it has been a storm, an emotional one that is – he came every day. “Cheers to my easiest break-up ever” I said at some point during the week and he concurred.  It has been painful and agonizing, but as far as the battle goes, it has been… so very grown-up.

There was no screaming or cursing or accusations. There was no fighting or throwing of things or hurtful words that could never be taken back.  There was no retaliation or revenge.  It was all so very grown-up.

We’ve probably talked more in the past 5 days than in all our time spent together. We got to know parts of the other’s soul that were guarded before behind emotion we couldn’t dare share.  We talked and laughed and we both cried.  He patiently and quietly sat there allowing my acute verbal diarrhoea to wash over and through him.  He listened when he needed to and talked we I had nothing left to say.  He never angered at me ignoring his alternative point of view.  He highlighted points I made that got him thinking.  He absorbed my questions like a dishtowel, even when they came flooding from all directions and contradicted each other.  He held me when I needed to be near him and sat far away when he instinctively knew touching me would be the worst thing to do.  He never once raised his voice or got tired of it all.  He simply sat there and took it all in until I ran out of steam, day after day after day.  Until this afternoon…

I was midway through a tirade, a passionate philosophical purging of fears, shoving the road map of past relationships (the one I made last night) across the floor trying to make him see things the way that I was seeing it. Trying to make him understand the point of hopelessness I had reached and that none of it makes any sense and it would be irrational to even consider the idea of another relationship somewhere in the future with some sap who knew nothing about the carnage that represents my past relationships and what’s the point of it all then?

“Stop” – his voice came, barely audible over my own, but it had such finality to it that it stopped me mid-sentence. “You are not looking for reasons.  You are looking for a reason to blame yourself for everything that has gone wrong in every relationship you have had.  If you keep looking, you will find a reason to blame yourself.  You will find many reasons.  But it still won’t be true.”  Those big blue eyes reached into the deepest, darkest corner of my soul “You did nothing wrong.”

And with that it was over. My tears dried up.  My mind came to a quiet halt.  The dark and broody storm that was my soul came through the eye of the storm and there was nothing but calm, clear water ahead.  I reached a “Blue Skies and Sunshine” moment.

I didn’t realize it for what it was at the time, but that was when my soul knew it would be OK.

He stayed a while longer, we talked and laughed and exchanged stories and shared a drink or three and then talked some more. He left with a hug and a kiss and “see you tomorrow”.  I closed the door behind him and for the first time since Thursday, I did not crumble to the floor as his car pulled away.  The sobs didn’t come.  The sorrow stayed away.  I simply turned around and smiled – really smiled – for the first time in days.

I’m not naïve. I know that it this calm acceptance is not the last of it.  I know that Depression and Loneliness will rear their ugly heads and Self-Doubt will soon follow trying to smear its ugly black inky ideas through every corner of my brain.  I know I will still have moments of sadness and a question every now and then.  I know that next time around (and there will be a next time around) Fear will come right along and try to take me off course. (In sheer rebellious defiance of all these mongrels I am sitting here in a dead quiet pitch dark house, all by myself, and I am able to smile)

But for now, I got my groove back.

The reason of my undoing became my voice of reason.

Cheers Sailor!

Taking Resume’s Now


So, I’ve found the (so-claimed) equivalent of NZT 48. Only problem it’s on the Internet, in America.  Now I’ve just got to find a doctor over here willing to give me some…

Seriously, I need something to gain some clarity.

A supposed “feel-good” movie last night opened a fresh Pandora’s box of wailing and sobbing and question upon question and that ridiculous monotone neon-light that keeps flashing “Alone, Alone, Alone” in front of my eyes every time I blink or pause to breathe. By 3 o’clock I was exhausted and reached for my Smartie Box with an assortment of medication.  By 4 o’clock it was one Trepiline, one Ponstan pain-killer and two strong G&T’s later, but my brain was still running at a million miles an hour thoughts and ideas spilling out of me and Mission Self-Destruct going at full force.  I’ve not slept yet…

My lounge floor this morning resembles a kindergarten art fair with endless list upon list highlighting and colouring the road map of all my past relationships. I’ve got it narrowed down to three categories:

The lost cases

The WTF went wrong cases and

The ever elusive case that is me

I’m none the wiser and it still makes no sense.

I need some real answers. I’m not talking about any Freudian Ghandi mambo jumbo that leaves you more confused than when you started, intent on making you think things through and see it from a different perspective.

I’m plenty confused and I am soooooooooooooooooooooo over thinking and trying to see it from a different perspective.

I need some Elizabeth Gilbert kind of insight into this situation. Unfortunately not all of us have the luxury or packing it all up and travelling for a year to find the answers.  We have to work and keep it all together for the sake of our children, for the sake of our family who fret and worry about our state of mind.  We have bills and responsibilities and things that need to get done.  If I could go, where would I go?  Spain for its passion and siestas, Israel (if God won’t come to me and answer my sobbing prayers, I will go there and find Him) and lastly Peru, don’t ask me why, I don’t know, there is just something about that place that draws me like a magnet.

Someone told me that I should really stop trying to understand, because I never will. It was said in that quiet Ghandi like tone resembling an ancient Chinese profit saying something stupid like “The eagle flaps it’s wings to soar not to float” and in my mind I could actually see the smoke the drifting up for his pipe disappearing into thin air..  It made me want to puke.

There is one little fact that I have to face and all my questions resound around that. I’ll give a lifetime of servitude to the person who can answer that.

I don’t want to know why this happened to me. I don’t want to know how many times I will have to go through this.  I don’t want to know if there is a happy ever after for me.

What did I do wrong?

It’s such a simple little question. You see, for me it is as clear-cut as this.  I am the common denominator in all of this.  You can only fail at love so many times before you have to stop and start looking for the pattern.  Establish the pattern and break away from that.  But that is where I get stuck.

I have the lost cases, which I now (with the help of crayons and highlighters) can recognize as being doomed from the start.

I have the WTF went wrong cases, which is exactly that: WTF?!

I have me

So I we take the lost cases out of the equation we are left with the WTF’s and me. The WTF’s tells me I did nothing wrong and I am amazing and bla-bla-bla.  But then WTF went wrong, so we are left with ME!

You see, if I cannot figure out where I went wrong, how could I even consider going into another relationship and give my all and try to do it right and attempt to trust and give my already battered and bruised and stitched up second-hand heart away again? That would just be a suicidal, irresponsible and downright stupid thing to do.

Yet, on the other hand, I am most definitely not ready to settle for the idea that I will grow old alone with a dog by my feet and the leaves dancing in the wind as I stare into the distance with hollow eyes that can cry no more. Honestly, shoot me please.  Wait, hand me a gun I’ll do it myself.

So I’m back to NZT 48 or the human equivalent in the form of a Guru / Mentor / Wise Ass with real answers.  Any takers for the job?

On a German, a Fat Cat, a Bear, a Superman and a Sailor


A couple of weeks ago, a long long time ago, I came across ‘Eat Pray Love’ at a book sale. It’s not your everyday run of the mill book sale.  No one mans the table, a poster above the table lists the prices (divided in hard cover, paperback and something else that I can’t remember right now), an honesty box serves as cash register and the funds go to the NSRI.

At the time I bought the book because it had such a huge impact on me the last time I read it, which coincidentally was right after my divorce. When I bought it, it never crossed my mind that I might need to refer to it so soon again.

Obviously I have been doing a lot (and by that I mean really a shitload) of thinking over the last couple of days. Thus far I have managed to categorize it in the following.  It is a work in progress, so bear with me as I am sure these categories will be added to and re-arranged and what not over the next couple of weeks.

How do I love

That one is easy to answer. I love completely and utterly with all that I am.  Like a junkie I lose myself completely in love.  I crave it like my life depends on it.  I am addicted to love.  It is irrational and complete and it makes sense.  Love is where I feel save, love is where I belong.  I was made to love.

Page 21 in Eat Pray Love describes it best:

“Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never even dared to admit that you wanted – an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement.  Soon you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie.  When the drug is withheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but who now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore – despite the fact that you know he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he used to give it to you for free!).  Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbours just to have that thing even one more time.  Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you.  He looks at you like you’re someone he’s never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion.  The irony is, you can hardly blame him.  I mean, check yourself out.  You’re a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even to your own eyes.  So that’s it.  You have now reached infatuation’s final destination – the complete and merciless devaluation of self.”

I could not possibly have put it better. A couple of days ago I tried to explain to Sailor what falling in love is like for me, I tried to explain to him how I completely lose myself in that beautiful torment, but words failed me.  I wish I had started reading the book earlier, and then I could have described it to him like this.

Is it a “type” thing

No it’s not.   Well for the most part it was, but no.  Let me explain.

No 1 and 5 were special, different… 2, 3 and 4 – yea, they were just about the same

My dating history goes back just short of 21 years

My German lasted 2 years. I was still crying over everything that brought me to this new city when I met my German.  I was all wrong for him.  I had too many issues to deal with and too many insecurities and a stubborn and rebellious streak that defied everything about him and our relationship.  I was the downfall of that one and still wonder how things would have been different had I not punished him for all the wrongs that came before he even knew of my existence.  Eventually I got fed-up of the battle and ran.

My FatCat lasted 14 years (married for 12). I was still crying over No 1 when No 2 walked in the door and swept me off my feet.  The first couple of years were amazing but 10 years in it started go south and then just followed the plummet to that Wasteland of accusations and guilt and denial and resentment.  Eventually I got fed-up of the battle and ran.

My Teddy Bear lasted 1 year. I was still crying over No 2 when No 3 came along saying all the right things and being there to listen and encourage and support and before I knew it I was so in love with him that I was blind to everything that was wrong about him.  Support and encouragement soon turned into leaching and sapping the life out of me.   We went the same route as with the previous one and that Wasteland became the battle ground of our relationship.  Eventually I got fed-up of the battle and ran.

At this point I decided I will never love again. Never again will I entrust my heart to someone else.  Never again will I allow myself to fall into the abyss of love.  I spent 2 years alone, finding myself again, figuring out what I want – trying to persuade myself that I was happy alone.  I wasn’t.  The constant nagging desire to have someone there in my life kept throwing me back into the arms of despair every night I went to bed alone.

The next year and a bit were confusing and messed up and exhilarating and exhausting, it took me to highs I’ve never known to be possible and depths of despair I wish I never knew existed. For the first time in my life I knew the absolutes that this drug I crave so much can do to you.  Sailor came first but only for a while then Superman and back to Sailor so for the purpose of this I will put Superman first.  (Keep going, you’ll understand later).

Along comes Superman. That lasted 8 months.  Superman falls perfectly into the same “type” as Teddy Bear and FatCat.  If you had to put the three of them together in a room, you would basically have three versions of the exact same thing.  So there it was obviously a “type” thing.  I just didn’t see it.  With him I discovered an adventurous and fun side of myself I never knew existed.  I discovered so much about myself and he drank up everything there was about me.  He showered me with love and adoration and kisses out of nowhere and hugs at the most appropriate and inappropriate times.  We shared music and cooking and laughing and wrestling and driving fast and walking slow.  He ticked every box in the list that I made during the two years I spent alone – every single one of them and then some.  By the time I realized it was over I hit a never-ending pit of self-destruction.  The levels of despair that I experienced were something I couldn’t possibly put into words.  I was lost and rejected and thrown away without us having reached the Wasteland I knew so well.  I was still in love and happy.  On the Saturday we were still laughing and wrestling and cooking for his family and doing the things that made us “us” and the Sunday he walked out.  Just like that.  No warning, no nothing.  He just left.  For two months after that he kept playing the game of “no we are still on, I’m just too busy to see you right now.  Just be patient I have to sort out some things, he said” and like that it faded into nothing.  The worst part, I couldn’t even run – he left.  I didn’t even have reason to want to run.  I didn’t even have a reason to want to hate him.  It just … faded into nothing.

Sailor, now that one was (is) different. Sailor popped into my life out of nowhere.  At a place I didn’t want to be on a day I wanted to forget existed.  He was the life of the party, eyeballing me from across the room all night long, with the most radiant smile I have ever seen and eyes that could see right to the bottom of my soul.  By the end of the night he jokingly proposed on the dance floor with a serviette ring, I accepted and we exchanged numbers.  I was his Pocahontas and we would marry in Croatia.  He has the perfect smile, one that reaches your soul.  It was great fun.  The next couple of weeks he did all the things a man is supposed to do.  I was showered with flowers, he would hold my hand every opportunity he had, he showed up at my house with flowers for me and ice-cream for my mom and my son.  He would call or text all the time.  He would take me to dinner and for drinks.  He refused to let me pay for anything.  He loves the big blue ocean and I feared it.  He did everything right.  He was perfection.  And I ran.  It was just too much.  I didn’t know how to handle a man wanting to be a man.  I didn’t know how to handle the fact that I didn’t have to pay for anything.  I didn’t know what to do with this guy that was just so different from anything I have ever known.  I didn’t know what to expect so I ran and banished him from my life.  Dumbass?  Yes, I know, believe me, I know.  Then came a blimp on my radar and the whole episode with Superman.  By the end of it I needed of voice of reason and Sailor stepped right in.  I fell for him before I knew it happened.  I got over my fear of water, because I know he loves it so.  I fell hard and deep and kept telling myself that I didn’t.  I kept telling myself that if this had to end I would be fine, because it doesn’t really matter.  Every day the fear of us reaching the end got bigger and the voice inside me that told me that I love him got louder.  I kept trying to figure him out.  I kept trying to figure out where we were and where we were heading.   I was driving myself insane with trying to figure it all out.  He was just so different and I didn’t know what to expect.  And just like that, before I could figure it out, it was over.  I’m sitting here and I’ve got to tell my heart to stop feeling the way it does.  I’ve got to tell myself that it’s over when I don’t want it to be that way.  I somehow have to convince myself that it wasn’t real and we never really had a chance.  I see him and his smile punctures my heart.  I have to stop and tell myself to not feel.  I have to get back into the friend-zone because that’s where I belong.

What went wrong

With No 1 and 2 I know what mistakes I had made. I know where I went wrong and I fully accept my portion of blame.  With No 3 I tried to do it different, but in retrospect he had more issues than the Cosmoplitan magazine and it was doomed from the start.  Two years single gave me plenty of opportunity to figure out what I had to do different.  The most maddening thing right now is trying to figure out what went wrong with Superman and Sailor.  Superman, fair enough he was part of the “type” so just another douche that I picked.  But Sailor?  I don’t know what went wrong.  I don’t know what happened to bring us to this point.  It drives me insane.

Where to from here

For starters, I want to run. I know how to run.  I’m good at running.  Sailor doesn’t seem to think running is the best solution here.  He says I’m more resilient that I think and I don’t give myself enough credit.  But running seems like a good option.  O, and I’m also good at being a friend when it’s all over.  How do I go from here and open myself up to someone again?  How do I trust someone with my heart?  How do I try again if I can’t figure out what went wrong the last time?  I almost want to say I don’t to have a next time, but even thinking it, I have to laugh at myself because I know it’s not true.  I will forever want a happy ever after.  I will forever hope that “The One” is out there for me.  I will forever go to bed wanting to have someone to snuggle up to.  I will forever dream about the memories there are to be made with someone who will love and accept me for who I am.  I will forever cling to the thought of someone loving me and me alone for as long as we both shall live.

But do I still believe it to be possible?  I’m afraid I’ve reached a point where it has turned from a belief that it is possible to a realization that it is all just an illusion.   And I want to run.

Perhaps go work on a kibbutz in Israel (do people still do that?)

Perhaps become a crew member on a yacht and go sailing to find new places and people and meaning

Perhaps sell everything and move to Put Sonder Water

Perhaps take up a new hobby

What happens from here remains to be seen…

Musings from my bathroom floor

Turns out the things I needed to say was too little (or too much) too late. Hence, I now, once again, (and yes I don’t mind of you pause here to laugh – we all knew it was coming, for me it always comes down to this) in a little mess on the bathroom floor.  All of the big moments in my life seem to go down on my bathroom floor and I find myself hiding between the basin and the bath – hiding from the memories, the thoughts and emotions, the questions…  Perhaps I should think about making it cozier. Would it have made a difference if I had summoned up the guts to say it sooner?  No one knows and that, my friend, is probably the most agonizing part of situations like these: the questions that will remain for eternity unanswered.

bathroom floor

What is the worst part about going through a rough patch? For me it is all the motivational shit people through at you during those times in an effort to make you feel better.

“Hey hun, are you OK? Shame sweetie”  I mean seriously!?  Can you not hear the crack in my voice and see how the mascara has been streaked by tears?

“You are such a strong woman, don’t allow this to get you down” Well, I am not feeling particularly strong right now, but thanks for reminding me.  Whatever!  What if I don’t want to be strong anymore?  What if I am tired of being strong?

“This too shall pass” Really, can you promise me that? How do you know that?  Maybe this was the last straw for me, maybe this one will break the camel’s back.  If you know so well that this too shall pass, you must be able to see into the future.  Tell me then, what happens next?

“One day you will look back on this and laugh” This is one of my favourites.  So if you crash your car (you know, that one you’ve had your eye on since you left college and finally managed to finance and now treats it like the love of your life) into the back of an 18-wheeler, I should remind you that one day you will laugh about it.  No one has ever stopped to laugh about something that caused them great loss and heartache.

“Things can only get better from here” Again with the crystal ball.  What if this gaping hole where my heart used to sit gets to be so big that I can never pick up those pieces and fill that whole again?  What if the pain gets to be so bad that I decided I just don’t want to do this stupid game called life anymore?

“You are an amazing woman and you will be a true catch for some guy someday” What if for me there is no ‘some guy’?  What if for me there is no next time?  Maybe I should stop being my amazing self that has the uncanny ability to repel men.  Maybe I should just go through life pretending to be something that I am not and wanting the things that I don’t. That seems to be working very well for everyone else.

“You are much better of this way, you deserve so much better”  Really, so me being here hurting and frustrated with a million questions and insecurities running through my head is a better place for me to be in?  I never would have thought that possible.

“Just remember Jesus loves you” Well, now there is the deal breaker.  When God made me, He had a plan for my life.  He birthed in me this unquenchable want for a life partner, someone to share a life and dreams and hopes and memories and fears with.  Yet, He refuses to answer me or lead me to “The One”

Jesus can’t wrap His arms around me as I fall asleep. Can He?

I can’t call up Awesome in the middle of the day when things are going south and I need some support, can I?

I can’t put love and effort into a meal that I thought about and planned and prepared especially for Strong, can I?

What if I am tired of waiting for the someday when some great guy is going to come along and make all my dreams come true? What if I am at a point where I am tired of having to figure things out by myself?  What if I have lost hope and my dreams have become hazy behind all the tears?

I know it’s meant well, but it really does not help!!!

In fact, I would even go as far as saying that the only time ever that motivational quotes and books and stuff works, is when you are in a good place. Point in case?  It is easy for a Pastor to preach about prosperity and blessings and stuff, when he drives a state of the art BMW and lives in a mansion.  It becomes a little less easy to believe when you don’t know what you will be feeding your kids after church.  It is easy for someone to tell how that love still exists when he has just returned from an overseas holiday with his wife and children.  It becomes a little less easy when you reach the point where you finally understand that you are just unlovable and will never be.  It is easy to look at a quote and like and re-post it with a fist pump in the air, when you are high on life.  It becomes a little less easy when you are down and out and the mere sight of a quote like that makes you want to vomit after you have said “whatever”.

And to the guys…

With a hug you say sorry and goodbye and walk out my door, leaving me crumbling to the floor as all the energy drains from my body and my legs refuse to hold me upright for another second. You go home and carry on with your life as if nothing has changed, nothing even happened.  You carry on as if I was just a temporary blimp on your radar.  Are guys really that shallow?

Do you ever stop to think about the chaos left behind by your wave of destruction that swept through my life? Do you ever consider the fact that your actions have left me a little more hurt and broken then when you found me?  Do you even think about the fact that my dreams have become hazier and my perception of love and trust has once again been changed on a fundamental level by what you have said and done?  

I hope you do, and I hope you learn something from it, and I hope you decide to do things different the next time around.  Don’t leave another girl feeling the way you made feel please.

I know I have probably offended a couple of people with this. Let me say this:  if you are an offended one, please call me up next time the shit hits the fan in your life just so I can shove all this nonsense down your throat.  Then we debate the validity of my points again.  Agreed?

Wake up and see that it’s all just a myth…


How do you say goodbye, when all you’ve ever wanted was “forever”?

How do you believe in forever, when everything you’ve done and said, your good intentions, your hopes and dreams nothing has ever been enough?

How do you say hello again when you know you’ve never been enough and it will just lead to goodbye in the end?

How do you say goodbye, when you had plans in your head: plans for a future, plans for things you wanted to do?

How do you go past a date or event in future, when all you can remember is what you wanted to do or share with someone at that place in time?

How do you say goodbye, when the feeling inside have not died, but just got eaten by a monster?

How to you tell the feelings that it is not real, it never was?

How do you pick up the broken pieces and trust and love and hope and dream again…

Is it even worth it or is it all just a myth…

I listen to love songs and watch those corny fuckin movies and I wonder to myself: why do they sell that sh!t to us? Why do they make us believe that it’s possible when it’s obviously not?

Why do they make us believe that there is someone out there who is willing and able and capable of loving you and you and just you when it doesn’t exist.

I’ll tell you why.

It’s been said that sex sells.

It’s not sex.

It’s love.

We all want love and acceptance. They sell us the idea that we can be desirable and loveable despite the fact that we are not.  They want us to believe that, despite having brains and being able to think for yourself and not being a slut and just wanting the real deal, there is someone out there who will accept you and want to be with you. They want us to believe that all of that is real when it’s not.

Stop believing in what the media tells you. Listen to your heart.  Your heart will remind you of the shattered hopes and dreams.  Your heart will remind you that the only memories you will ever have are of tears shed in the dark over bottles of wine while making sense of a million questions.  Your heart will remind you that all it’s there for is to get broken again and again and again and again…

You can’t ever expect anyone to ever really love you forever.  The white picket fence is a myth.  The guy that calls you beautiful as if it’s your name is a myth.  The person who will walk through hell for you is a myth.

So get comfortably and happy with having nothing more than those memories and a knowing that the dreams will never come to pass, cause you simply are not enough. Some girls are meant to be loved and cherished.  Some of us aren’t.  The sooner you accept that, the better off you will be.

That’s the bottom line my dear…