A letter to my ex

It’s happened. The day I’ve been half looking forward to but mostly dreading has,arrived. Finally you’ve admitted to being in a new relationship.

The tears came, we both knew they would. It felt like my fragile heart was yet again split in two, and I got angry at the world as it carried on turning.

The news was earth shattering. I felt numb, I felt…nothing. For a split second, which felt like forever, I felt nothing. Then the pain and the tears.

You broke your final promise. You said if you couldn’t be Witt me then you didn’t want to be with anyone. I knew you didn’t really mean it and I knew that I didn’t really want you to spend your life alone. But you promised. You said if you couldn’t have me… And now I find out weeks later you were with someone new.

I looked back in my diary the other day. I read an entry in march. In march you were still claiming you loved me, that you couldn’t be with me, but you loved me. Yet now 8 months later you admit to not only being in a relationship but having been in this relationship for quite a few months. Since summer? Is that June, July..? How many weeks later, cause weeks are all it could have been.

I want to ask you about her. Is she the older, no commitment divorce that I always knew would suit you so; or is she another me, young, hopefully, desperately in love with you? What does she have that I don’t? Why her and not me?

I’m still in love with you. Despite trying every trick I can think of to get over you, I’m still in love with you. But you know that. Your messages give you away. Apologising for having someone else, why? What have you got to apologise for, it’s not your fault it was all a lie; or did you know? Even as you said these words to me did you know they meant nothing? Didn’t I deserve more?.didn’t the memory of us deserve more?

I want to know why you turned up on my doorstep the other night. We had our routine, I never had to see you. You changed the rules, you gave me hope. Did you mean to be that cruel? Or do you just not think?

I did nothing wrong.

I gave you my heart. I bent my will to fit in with yours, there was no pressure…no drama. You did all the running, you made all the first.moves. It’s not fair you did that to me.

I can’t turn off my mind, yet it hurts to think. So I take two painkillers (the headache from the crying is already kicking in) and curl up in the big double bed at my.parents- I couldn’t bear to stay at my house alone. I’ve pilled up pillows on.your side.of the bed so it’s less obvious I’m alone.

Is she asleep on my side? Or could you not do that to me and have you switched sides? You’ve had her in our house… I saw the coffee mugs. That means you’ve had her in our bed…

Turns out you’re not the man I thought you were. Although I knew your “I’ll never love anyone again” promise was a lie, and not something I would want for you. You could have waited a little longer – 3 months just doesn’t quite cut it!

Did the man I love, the man I have cried for ever exist? I trusted you. I loved you. You played me for a fool.


Last night I had to go through ‘our stuff’ and find a way to stop it being ‘our’ stuff and somehow make it mine. It’s shit… I hate it…and I hate him for doing this to me.

Even now, a year on, there is a MASSIVE part of me that just doesn’t want to. I want to stamp my feet and have it all go away. The pain… the heartache… the tears… all of it. I want him to turn up on my doorstep admit to the world that letting me go was the biggest mistake of my life and beg me to forgive him and take him back.

I don’t want to have to be the bigger person. I don’t want to pick up the pieces and move on. I want to go to bed, pull the covers over my head and just have it all go away.

I’m sick of having to behave like an adult. It’s not fair. IT’S NOT FAIR! I didn’t do anything wrong. I gave myself, my heart unconditionally. I trusted him with it. I trusted him with me. I pinned my hopes, plans and dreams for a future on him and he just walked away. He walked away without properly fighting for me. He was selfish, decided he had had enough and he went.

Moving on is… shit. It’s scary and unpredictable. One day I am fine, the next… I thought a year on I would be fine. Turns out I’m not. I thought I had done the hard part. I had found someone; they had fallen in love with me. That was supposed to be complicated bit, finding someone who could be ‘the one’. Love was supposed to conker all. I was supposed to be planning weddings, babies and grandchildren. Turns out love doesn’t conker all, turns out love may not last forever, turns out love matters very little– I still don’t know what to do with that news.

I pity the person who comes next. I know I can’t let the next person suffer for his errors, but I know that I have changed and they will. The idea of finding someone new both excites and terrifies me. I’m scared to stop loving the ex. I’m scared to start loving someone new. I wonder how I will find the strength to risk it all again. Don’t worry, I will. But every fibre of me wishes that I didn’t have to.

But I do have to. So last night I finally sat on my kitchen floor and started to slowly unpack the boxes of ‘our’ stuff. With each item I unwrapped a memory, a feeling, a thought that I couldn’t hold back. One by one I lovingly unwrapped the tulip shaped wine glasses which my parents had bought me. I had first spotted them just after he had asked me to live with him, and they were the first things that we chose as a ‘we’. I uncovered the champagne glasses that had been bought for us by my aunty, our first ‘couple’ Christmas present from her. I found my half of the matching mug set we bought to commemorate our first skiing trip together. I don’t know how I’m going to use it, but I know I can’t bear to part with it. Picture frames, some filled some not, ornaments, vases, jugs. All things that I can still see sat in my home with him that don’t yet look at home in my new place. I won’t give them up. I’m stubborn like that. The items I have are dear to me, and just because he broke me doesn’t mean I can take it out on them. I am not going to box up and throw away anything that he touched. I am going to heal; these things are going to help me heal…

I did two boxes last night. I wasn’t alone. I don’t know if I could have done it alone. My parents were there; I think that’s why there were no tears. I don’t want them to see me crying again. They know I am still hurting, they know I still love him.

I have considered telling him. Taking the leap, telling him I still want to try again. But I know I can’t. The trust is gone and you can’t have a relationship without trust.

So I continue to unpack boxes, hoping somehow I will unpack something that finally heals me.

A bad weekend

I’ve had a bad weekend, and the words won’t come. I don’t know what I want to say. I don’t know how to say it. My brain is fried and on some levels I am only just holding things together.

I don’t want to not post today, but everything is so jumbled I don’t know what to say. I don’t know where to start pulling apart the threads.

I went to see Wicked this weekend.

It contains this song….I barely kept it together.

My inability to keep it together lead to a huge fight with a close friend and my kid sister.

To make matter worse, I had to contact the ex about removing my final things from his house and he managed to turn that into a huge fight making me feel like an idiot for ever loving such a heartless jerk…..

Hopefully I’ll be in a better place tomorrow. X


Should I take it out on him?

I sent the ex an arsey message. I know I shouldn’t have but I was upset and annoyed and so took it out on him. Its ok I hid my ‘dig’ slightly with a sticky tongue out face emoticon (does it have a proper name?) so that he would think that I was just kidding and not stop me having Bd.

Believe it or not I have not majorly kicked off at the ex about all that has gone on. I avoid confrontation and so have generally, any time I have been upset, thought “what will it achieve” to which the answer is always “nowt” and so I have held my tongue, taken a deep breath and walked away. I used to do this a lot when we were together as well. I used to think to myself “is it worth the fight” and more often than not decide no so I would keep quiet and take some ‘me time’ to calm down.

Looking back on our relationship I do regret not standing up to him more. I thought maybe had I been less of a push over…..

The day I moved out I left him a card and a gift. Yep, you read that right; I didn’t throw a vase at his head, I wrote down all my feelings, told him to get his shit together, left him a couple of presents and then (somehow) walked out the front door of my house. Well I say walk, more was carried out the door by my amazing family who pretty much packed up my life with him for me, took a million photos of my house and sorted it all while I lay sobbing uncontrollably on the floor of our bedroom.

He wasn’t there to see any of this of course, as he had thought it would be “easier” if he was away when I moved out. In hindsight I realise the only person it was easier for was him, and the fact the morning I moved out I woke up with my head on his shoulder….he should have been stronger. I wanted him to change his mind. I was in no position to be strong – hell I’m still not.

When I sent him a text to inform him I had moved out the response of “I hope it wasn’t too stressful” had my mum spitting feathers. He hasn’t got a clue. He has no idea that I have had to stop drinking more than a glass of two of alcohol as if I drink any more I can’t stop crying. He has no idea that I have and still do hide my tears from my folks (when possible) so as not to worry them. In fact I think he has no idea that there are still tears. He has no idea that the fact he still calls me ‘dear’ makes me want to punch him in his stupid face.

I want to let him see my tears. I want to cry on his shoulder and hit out at him, and I want him to hold me and tell me it’s all going to be ok.

I know I can’t go on like this. I don’t want to. I want to fall in love, get married and have children. I want this dull ache inside to go away. That’s why I’m making a stand. I have tried many times before, but this time it feels different. I won’t be seeing him anymore. I’ll still see BD but I have many times successfully collected and deposited BD without seeing him, the only times I do see him is when he has made an effort to see me – I have never made the effort to see him. I may have put something nice on so I look hot if I do, but I have never intentionally made the effort to see him.

I wanted to get to a place where I could see him and it wouldn’t hurt. However a conversation with my mum has made me realise that might not be possible. And so instead I will just run away from him. I will bury any feelings I have deep down inside. I will move on. Not yet to dating anyone else – I’m so not ready for that. But I will tell him I don’t want to see him. I’m not sure when, but I will

I still want to see BD and so I try not to rock the boat. When we next discuss me having him I will ask him to be out of the house when I collect him and drop him off …..for the rest of eternity (because BD is going to live forever, and so is Mity while you’re asking!). However for now I hold my tongue and hide the tears. Well most of the time. Well until today when he told me I couldn’t see BD on later this week as he is away and I responded “Ah yes you did say. I’d forgotten your life had become a none stop holiday now :0P”

He hasn’t responded.


I forgot.

I forgot. I frigging forgot. I have no idea how. In fact even now I can’t quite believe I was that stupid. I can’t tell you if it was for a few minutes or for a couple of hours, I really don’t know. But somehow I forgot that the ex is my ex. For a short while the pain and heartache went away and I felt butterflies at the idea of him coming back from his holiday. Back to BD. Back to me.

The kicker is I was pasting wallpaper to put on the walls of my shoe room….. in my new house….. in my new house that I only have because he kicked me out. But yet I forgot.

I have done a lot of soul searching this weekend. I had a very interesting conversation with my mum which basically involved her telling me she doesn’t think I’ll ever be over him, she worries about my future and if he has completely broken me and she still can’t accept that we have broken up because, to use her words, “we just seemed to fit together, like two parts of a whole.”

This may sound crazy but it helped to hear her admit that. Not the loving him forever or the worry that I am properly broken, but that we were so right together. That I wasn’t kidding myself. And also that someone else is taking this relationship break-up hard.

Ok granted it would be preferable that it was him, but it’s still helped.

not good enough

I know I’m not the only one out there who thinks that about themselves but at the moment that’s all that seems to be going through my head.

I was thinking back to the very first wedding I visited without parents the other day. It was my very good friend from Uni and I can remember being impressed that she was brave enough to take this step. Even though I knew that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, I wasn’t in a place where I was ready for married. But yet here was one of my best friends becoming a proper grown up. It was the evening do and my and another friend were sat around with our respective other halves and she asked him how we had met and he said ” I walked into the office at work one day and she was sat at her desk. Her beauty stopped me in my tracks and when I went back to the office I worked in I admitted to my colleagues I had just met the most beautiful woman ever and we had had a conversation which I couldn’t remember because I couldn’t get over how stunning she was.” I felt so amazing, not only that he had felt like this about me, but that he was willing to declare his feelings for me loudly to anyone who would listen.

I remember the first time he told me he loved me. We had been at my folks house and were driving back to his. I was sober (and driving) and he was a little ‘merry’ he looked at me for the longest time and said “You know I don’t believe in being in love and all that rubbish? Well if I did – I am”. It may not sound like much, but to me it was perfect.

I remember when he asked me to live with him. We were walking home after a meal out at our local Indian restaurant and as I was gazing at the stars he asked me to move in. I told him he was drunk (although I knew him well enough that I knew he wasn’t) and asked if he was sure, and said if he was he had to ask me again the next morning, which he did. Eight times I asked him if I was sure… and eight times he told me he was.

And I remember the night he broke up with me. half way through our holiday, he had been withdrawn and I knew it was coming. We were sat outside the apartment we were staying in, gazing at the most beautiful sky I have ever seen and a star shot past and we both made a wish. Mine was that there was some way we could make it through this. We had already discussed us spending a few nights apart when we got home. I was stood wrapped in a blanket and he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. I asked him his wish and he told me it was ” that I would be happy” in that moment my heart broke. That wasn’t a wish for a future with me. He had made his mind up and was giving up on me, and on us.

I spent the entire night crying inconsolably. He also cried.

People have told me that he didn’t really love me and I am afraid I don’t for one second buy that. But for whatever reason he decided that I wasn’t worth fighting for. I can’t help but wonder how he could take his cheating wife back….and yet walk away from me? I don’t get how in less than a year we went from planning children to living apart. I can’t help but wonder why I wasn’t good enough.

What worries me more is that if someone can feel that strongly about me and walk away what does this mean for future relationships? If I can’t tell when someone loves me how will I ever know if I’ve found the one? More worryingly what the hell do I do to get ride of the voice that tells me I have found the one but I lost him.

And this doubt is creeping into other areas of my life. Rather than reassuring me, my blog is starting to worry me. I’ve become obsessed with stats and comments. Worrying that I am not funny enough, thought provoking enough…. just not good enough. Rather than writing about what I need to say I worry how people will read something, if people will read something? What they will think of me when they do?

I think part of my problem is that the constant DIY is leaving me shattered. I have never slept so well but yet I am SO tired.

I am struggling to know my purpose. I am struggling to know anything any more. I want to get away but yet the idea of going away without him makes me feel nauseous! I am trying to move on. He is so I bloody well deserve to. Yet I still get into my car and cry. I still miss him every second. I am doing much better and I have a couple of friends who often get “I want to text him but can’t text him cause he’s a prat so I’m texting you” messages but somewhere deep down it doesn’t help.

I went to my counselor last week, and paid more money than I can afford to spend an hour ranting about work. And when I left she questioned “what I was avoiding”. The truth is I have learnt to survive on a superficial level because if I don’t I cry. I have had to stop drinking any more than a glass of wine (on the occasions when I drink) because if I get tipsy I cry.

I want to get over this. I want to move on. I can’t continue like this….. but how?


God, the universe or some other ass is working against me! Every time I make a stand and say that’s it, I’m moving on. Something happens to make me doubt that I will ever feel normal again. Something happens to make me think maybe the universe doesn’t want me to give up on him quite yet – yes I know!! :0)

Last night, I was in a late meeting for work at a local big city. The big city in question is one that always makes me think of him. I visited it before there was a him, but very rarely and then only the main shopping bit. As he lived close by we explored it together. Venturing away from the shops I discovered architecture, scenic walks, tourist locations that I had never taken the time to visit, a whole new side to what I had assumed was a grey and dismal place. Whilst with him I did venture into the city occasionally without him to meet friends for dinner or shop, but I even walking around with them I would always remember my times with him. Even now I can’t walk through the centre without remembering with a smile the ‘proper mans’ pub he introduced me to where he ordered half a cider shandy from the tattooed hells angle behind (which I would not have ordered had he not point blank refused to order me a dry martini and lemonade!) And after all these girlie sessions I would go back to him, he would drive in to collect me or I would get a train to his. This town is our town.

Driving into the town had me thinking all about him and our good times; the place we spotted the prostitutes, the car garage we played mini punch in front of. I was already fighting the need to text him when I came out of the meeting (and so ended up texting half my phone book instead!). The meeting had over run by half an hour, it was pitch black, pissing it down and I hadn’t had any tea. It was at this point my sat nav decided it didn’t want to play and having sat for half an hour with the ‘searching for a GPS’ message twirling in front of me I decided I was going to have to do it alone. The problem was I have only once driven from this city and not headed to his old house and I was on the wrong side of the city to the road I knew I needed to take to head home, I had no idea to get from where I was to where I needed to be to get home. The only place I knew how to get to was the station and from the station I only knew how to get to his. So I set off heading towards his old house assuming along the way I would see a sign for somewhere I knew and could follow that sign home. I didn’t.

So late last night I was driving in the rain past the restaurant we had one of our earliest dates, past the park that we used to walk BD in, past the spot where a simple comment he made confirmed to me that despite his numerous flaws I wanted to hang onto him and never let him go, past the spot that I stopped to sit down in when we tried our first run together, past the restaurant where he had fish and chips and I said I wasn’t hungry and proceeded to eat the lion share of his tea, past the airport that we had set off on so many holidays together….

Shouldn’t it have stopped hurting this much by now? Shouldn’t I be able to drive past these places without having to pull over because I can’t see through my tears? I was sobbing so hard I felt someone could rip out my heart and it would hurt less. Couldn’t I have had a few more days of feeling confident and pretending the ache in my stomach is just a bug?

On the positive I didn’t text him!

not my morning

So last night I got to look after BD for the entire evening – it was lovely! I loved every second and it was so lovely to feel happy for the first time in a long time!!

This morning was brilliant as for the first time in weeks I woke up and wanted to get out of bed, I showered quickly and raced downstairs to say good morning to BD. I got all his stuff together (and my rain gear) and we headed out the door – this mornings walk was amazing, I loved every second of it. BD ran around with a massive smile on his face, which was mirrored by mine. He wasn’t very good at answering the questions as to “what has OH said about me” or “do you think I’m ever coming home” well I say he wasn’t good, the look on his face and the wagg in his tail reminded me to live in the moment (Pamela you would be proud!) and I did. For a brilliant 40 minutes I didn’t worry, I didn’t cry(much), I didn’t stress back and forward about where I am going to live, what’s going to happen, I was truly happy. I was wet through, with the rain dripping off my hood and I was happy!

Unfortunately this happiness could not last all day, and it ended pretty much as soon as we got to the car – BD started to shake and wouldn’t eat the biscuit I offered him when he finally got into the boot. I am a massive panicker and that nearly had me calling in sick and taking him to the nearest vet, but I saw sense and decided to give him some time and see what happened. So having safely put BD in the boot I peeled off my wet coat and waterproof trousers and flung my phone onto the passenger seat, where it promptly fell onto the floor between the door and the seat. My five minute search for the phone achieved nothing except making me slightly later than I wanted to be setting off for work.

On pulling out of the car park for the walk, and sitting stationary in traffic for 20 minutes I had reached full blown panic attack. I raced to work and arrived only a few minutes late. I fed BD who was staying in my boot until OH was picking him up, and grabbed my lunch from my very full passenger seat to discover that my vegetable soup had spilled out of the sealed container I had put it in, into the plastic bag, onto my handbag and the passenger seat of my car.

I swore (not for the first time) grabbed up my bag, lunch and water bottle and raced into the office, where on putting everything in my arms onto my desk I promptly poured the contents of the water bottle onto myself, my desk and what was left of my lunch.

And today started so well!

How can he do this to me?

That is the one question I have avoided asking throughout this entire process. I have had people ‘helpfully’ point out that if he really loves.. (loved?).. me then he shouldn’t have put me through this. However I have always answered “because he needs so space to sort his head out, he has been hurt and he is now trying to fix himself so that he can possibly fix us” or “we couldn’t go on as we were, I was doubting his feelings for me, he was withdrawn and grumpy…we need this. It’ll do us good” and although I still strongly believe this in my heart last night I muttered the immortal words “how can he do this to me” while stood outside the house I used to live in, sobbing uncontrollably and feeling my heartbreak into even smaller fragments.

Yesterday morning I got a text from OH ironically saying that he hadn’t slept at all last night and so would not be able to the 30 minutes journey to pick up BD from my parents house so that I could see him. However generously he did say that I could collect him and walk him around the village that I used to call home, in the dark, alone, praying not to run into any of the neighbours to have to explain why I was there! All day the decision chewed me up, but I decided that I wanted to see BD. I already feel like I have let him down massively, and to not come and see him last night was not an option. So I drove home.

BD greeted me happily at the door and hurried to bring me inside the house, I stood on the doorstep, unable to look OH in the face as I tool BDs lead and told him I wouldn’t be long. I couldn’t face the village so instead I headed down a track to a local field. BD ran around like a crazy thing and loved every minute, he chased sticks (yep even in the dark he wanted to play with sticks) chased sniffs, and ran around like a loon, occasionally barking loudly at me when my sobbing got too loud – this is always his way to cheer someone up, although it will then involve a tennis ball and some growls! (Please don’t think I sobbed the entire time – just a few minutes here and there of heart wrenching, stand still whole body shaking tears, then I would resume playing and talking to BD). It was during one of these moments that I muttered the words, although to who I don’t know.

The break-up I get, the time apart, the burying his feeling over the last relationship and letting it screw up ours, the completely ruining my life fine, but to be so selfish and/or thoughtless that I had to go through that last night…..?


A picture of my carrot cupcakes, to end on something a bit more yummy!

2 Mini’s & a Jimny cause a breakdown

One of the many things that I am struggling with at the moment is who entwined our lives were with each other. The cereal I have on a morning, is the one that OH introduced me to and I am now addicted to. The way I make my salad up for lunch, is because OH was so fussy about having his salad a certain way.

We had started picking up on each others habits and worryingly we were slowly turning into each other. OH has picked up a few of my often used phrases…”massively”….. “the problem is”….. and my personal favourite was the time he mutter “uh oh spaghetti oh’s” when he was out rock-climbing with his friends and lost his footing. (I am very impressed there weren’t more expletives – there would have been for me!)

And I picked up 101 little things which when I say or do I wait to tell him, look around to see his reaction knowing he will laugh only he’s not there any more.

One of the many things OH has given me is the love of the outdoors and the drive to spend my evenings out on my bike, walking the dog through beautiful countryside or swimming in a river. I am scared that with winter coming, I am going to loose this motivation and spend my evenings as a couch potato – it was only last night that I went to bed at 8am and watched mind-numbingly bad television for a few hours until bedtime. When we lived together, I would have walked the dog, made lunch, played with the dog and then if nothing was on we would have gone for an early night (get your minds out of the gutter) and read our books.

I am worried that people think I should be over it, the move out was a long time coming, and it has been a week. I’ll meet someone new, and live happily ever after – although well meant it is those comments that cut the deepest. Had we spent months arguing… if we were splitting up for a good reason… if we had both just stopped loving each other.. then I could tell myself to be strong, to move on. But the truth is he still loves me and I am still in love with him.

The days continue to pass, and annoyingly I am counting down until he returns from holiday and takes me home. I worry that I am in so much denial. However there are times when it all gets too much and I break down, when the tears fall and I am sobbing uncontrollably – at least I feel that is healthy!

When OH and I went on our first holiday together we hired a Jimny, and had two amazing days discovering Fuerteventura. We saw everything, including the local rubbish tip, and returned home vowing that the next car we bought would be a Jimny. From that holiday forwards, every time we saw a Jimny we would point it out to each other and laugh. Prior to the split, I have pointed a Jimny out to other friends and family members, but they just don’t get it… now I see a Jimny and feel a small stab in my chest, and it goes by unmentioned.

On our final holiday, I taught OH the game ‘Mini-punch’ if you haven’t played it then you are missing out. It is a game my sister and I used to play as children. The rules are very simple the first person to spot a mini punches the other person in the arm (you can decide how hard, I will admit when playing this with OH my punches were significantly harder, and sometimes without a mini in sight – but he broke my heart so to-ma-toes to-mar-toes right?!) The only rule is you can’t punch for the same mini and a mis-identification results in the wrong party receiving two punches. OH and I added our own rules, that spotting an original mini results in 5 punches, and we took to counting how many mini’s had driven past us that day. (If you do decide to play this game feel free to add your own.)

Playing ‘Mini-punch’ means that not only can I now identify a mini at 100 paces, but I can identify them in the dark (although that was slightly more fluke and good luck!) The negative to this game is that now it is not only Jimny’s which give me the chest pains.

I wouldn’t trade the memories I have for all the tea in china, and once the pain has gone I usually smile at the brilliant memories I have. But the other day, watching two mini’s and then a Jimny drive past………….