#raceya

Six not-so-long years.
Not a word.
Three hundred and twelve(ish) weeks.
Barely a sideways glance.
Two thousand, one hundred and eighty four(or thereabouts) days.
Like I don't exist.

Two words.
Out of the blue.
Two syllables.
Like nothing happened.
Six letters.
No one saw it coming.



She's back in my dreams.

Lost.

This is (as far as I can tell) the first time I've ever felt like this.

I'm currently sitting at my desk, at work, earning a wage.  I have a nice, modern car.  I have a nice (if broken) classic car.  I have a lush custom electric guitar.  I've customised my own bass guitar.  I have a roof over my head.  I eat well.  I exercise three times a week.  I have the starting point for a deposit on a house.  I don't owe anyone any money.

Yet I still feel like this.  I feel like I have no purpose.  Like I have achieved nothing.

I cannot decide if I am enjoying being single or not.

I enjoy being able to come and go as I please, spend my money on whatever I want and spend my time doing whatever I want, yet I miss that companionship.  I miss going home to someone who is happy to see me.  I miss having someone to tell about my day, however slow, hectic or frustrating it might have been.

I feel like if I don't get up and do something, anything, to change the course of my life, I'm going to be one of those sad, strange little men, who go home to no one and talk to themselves because they have no other choice.

The thought of that terrifies me, yet it seems oddly appealing too.

Tidbits, ramblings and self loathing.

I know full well it's been over a year since I moved out and it was called a day.

I used to tell myself that a simple conversation would've fixed it.

Now I've realised it shouldn't have gotten to that point in the first place.

I'm left questioning if I'm actually worthy of a proper relationship.  With anyone, let alone her.

I've just turned 24, I've had two (what I would call "long-term") relationships, one of over 2 years, and one of about 18 months.  Not a long time, I know, but they were both people I treasured above all else.

The first I ruined on my own and the second, I simply didn't try hard enough and she got bored.

I've come to terms with that.

Which leaves me wondering if I'm even capable of making a woman happy.  In the short term, apparently so, but the evidence is piling up that I can't for any longer than 24 months.  That's my time-limit.  My barrier.

And when I reach that wall, the carpet gets pulled out from under my feet, and I'm left reeling.  For what can easily be labeled as far too long.  I can identify it now.  I can almost, ALMOST, put my finger on the feelings and describe them.

For the first week or so, it's shock.  Your whole world gets tipped upside down and shaken, like some sort of snow globe.  That then changes to the actual heartbreak.  When you've been set back down and watching all of the pieces swirl around you, trying to make sense of it all.  After a little while, when the dust has settled, and you've moved out, come to terms with the change and started to get yourself back on track, from the outside everything looks fine.  Back to normal.  Hunky Dorey.  Just waiting to get shaken up all over again.

On the inside though, you feel dizzy.  You miss that companionship, that normality before the storm.

I'd like to say that it's not being with her I miss anymore, it's having that trust in someone.  Someone to share a bed with.  Someone to go home to.

I definitely miss her.  Just as a person.  We just don't see/talk to each other anymore  With her new guy, I guess that's expected, but I still miss her all the same.
I wonder if I could be her back-up plan.
I think about her everyday.  More recently, I've been thinking about the first one too.  What she does now, how much she's changed.  I'm entirely over that one, I'm just intrigued.  I keep wondering how she would react if we passed in the street.

Thinking about both of them is what has led me back here.  Trying, ever so hard, to straighten my thoughts by getting them down for anyone to stumble across.

At the moment, I doubt I will ever reach my goal, of simply growing old with a woman who I can make as happy as she makes me.  I just don't think I'm wired the right way.  I'm going to grow old alone, and no matter what anyone says, I can't see any other way at the moment.

Move.

I wish I could run away with you. Start a new life else where.

Respect.

Earning some self-respect.

It seems like such a simple task.  Stand up for yourself.  Be honest with yourself.

Watch this space.

Hair.

I honestly think I'm coming to the end of my senses.

He is my best friend, so I'm going to hate writing this.

I cannot stand it here.  I feel like I should be bald, from the frustration and the number of times I tug at my hair trying to calm down.  It feels like ripping clumps of this untidy, unfashionable mop from my scalp might just, somehow, make things better.

Epiphany.

"Come forth bear witness, see the profit from your loss.  Beg for forgiveness, only after you tally the cost.  We arrive at this place of no return my sisters, only to discover that our values ran us aground on the shoal in the sea of what we could be."

The tight knot of fear in your stomach.  Or is it excitement?
The moment when you feel like your future hangs on one decision.
The adrenaline rush that comes from looking into the unknown.
The prospect of changing yourself for good.

Some may call it an epiphany.
Some may call it change.
Some may call it common sense.
Some may call it self help.