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I feel like I always come here when things are bad, or at least a little off. I made reference to 2003 entries in one batch, but i cant see them: where are they? That was ten years ago. I bet not that much has changed. My heart never changes. I think I feel a bit alone right now. I feel a bit disjointed from Nic and James: the two people who I love more than anything. And for completely different reasons. I feel like I have no one to talk to, but I think I'm just being mildly melodramatic.
Me and James will have been together five years this month and I love him so much. Honestly, I'm just worried he loves drugs more than me. I'm worried that it's the thing that will break us up. The uppers I don't mind: I'm more than happy to stay up all night. But he's taking a load of Valium. He just sleeps for hours on end. He's asleep now, when we could be together. I remember the way he used to look at me. It's unrealistic to think like that, but I want a little more than this. It's boring.
It's a shame because we're actually really happy together: we still laugh a lot, we still fancy each other, we have the same dysfunctional interests. But I feel like he's on a mission to obliterate himself: if not physically then mentally. I have always seen my drug use as recreational but I think he might a an addict; not of anything specific, but just addicted to getting away from himself. But unfortunately, that means away from me, too. We actually have a really good set up here: I hope he doesn't blow it. I don't want to stop loving him.
Nic is pregnant. Her baby girl is due next month. I feel such a mixture of emotions: happy for her, sad for myself. It is the end of an era; like she's forcing me to grow up. I never really thought it would happen. I wonder how much it will change things. It's already changed things. It's quite terrifying for me. It's the first time I haven't been able to relate to her, and that's hard. I don't understand that desire. I can only see pitfalls. I don't want her to leave me behind. I'm going to try my hardest.
Work is a shitstorm at the moment: I went from Queen Bee to persona non grata in a few short months. I got a new boss that doesn't like me so I went from having smoke blown up my arse to basically being told to fuck off. And honestly, I feel so betrayed by my old boss for letting if happen. I actually thought we were friends. I'm good at my job and my new boss is upsetting everyone. It's just unfair. I feel forced out, and I nearly left but I'm sticking around just to be stubborn right now.
There's also been a whole bunch of family drama which I tried to keep out if and got called 'heartless' for my efforts. My brother tried to top himself: quite a reasonable attempt - 80 tablets. I had to cut him off though; I just can't take it. The strain he's putting on my mum is unreal. And my mum blames his girlfriend. 20 years of if, and she blames his girlfriend, and I just think, 'what planet are you on?' If I let myself get embroiled, I'm lost. So I draw the line and I'm heartless. It's called self-preservation.
And now for the good news. My novel was published last month. I'm so pleased with it and my writing group helped me out so much. It looks really good. What, seven years of work? And it's out there. I've sold like 50 copies already, haha. And you know what, I don't care if it doesn't make any money. It's published. My life's work is done. If I die tomorrow, I leave that behind and it's worth something. It's good. So I just need to plug it and hope for the best. But look. I achieved it. I'm an author.
My mum is really driving me nuts, she's pressuring me to talk to my brother, which I don't want to do because of the drama. I have told her quite clearly several times but she just doesn't get the message. It makes me cut myself off from her, too, which is a shame, as we have a good relationship in general. I wish she'd learn her lesson from the pressure she used to put on me about my dad. I think her and my dad enjoy the drama, I really do. But I don't. I feel forced into a corner.
My mum asked me to text my brother. I said no, I'll speak to him when he gets help, it will be an incentive. She said the immaculate flat with white furniture he moved into is now littered with empty two litre Strongbow bottles, ashtrays and he had no duvet cover on his bed. When she asked why, he said he'd been sick on it. She offered to wash his clothes - which he'd also been sick on - and he went mad at her. My brother is nearly 40. So I went, 'And you want me to text him?' No, ta.
I've been wondering lately if I'm a drug addict. I don't think I am, but then wouldn't any drug addict say that? I do drugs about three times a month, so it's not out of hand, but I definitely look forward to it more than most things. And I've been doing it for 16 years now. This weekend I did some E on my own, which I guess some people would consider weird. But I enjoyed it. I feel quite jittery today. It's our anniversary this week: five years. We'll no doubt take some drugs. Is it different to drinking?
The only time I ever miss my dad - and not even my dad, but the concept of having a dad - is when I see proud parents welling up with pride on reality shows. I wonder why I don't have a dad to be proud of me. I wonder why I have a dad who cared so little about me he didn't give a shit about beating up my mum in front of me when I was a kid. Me and James both act like we don't care about our fucked up families. But we just bury it. Along with ourselves.
I've been having CBT for anxiety but I'm going to quit it. I feel like the woman doing it is completely incompetent, she never even offers me a glass of water. I always have to fill in these stupid forms asking me to rate this and that. Fuck off. I want to see a proper counsellor again. I feel like an experiment in there. It's obvious the doctor send you there because it's measurable, but I don't want my feelings measured. I want to see my counsellor I saw through work last year but I have to wait until August.
It's quite stupid what caused my anxiety; partly it was work and stuff, but another part was my cats. I was starting to feel so worried about them all the time, picturing them dying in grisly ways. It didn't help when my friend's cat was killed by being crushed under a bird bath. I love my cats so much. I will never have children, so they are my babies, but it's got irrational, like I don't even want to go on holiday or away for a weekend. I feel anxiety about other things too; just a general sense of dread.
I definitely overdid it on the weekend because I just had an 'ecstasy nightmare'. If happened within 5 minutes of falling asleep. It's horrible because you get paralysed, you know it's a dream and you try to wake yourself up but nothing happens. Someone was trying to strangle me in bed and I was reaching for the light but it didn't work. I could also hear really loud noises. I guess it's the brain's way of trying to expel the toxins. It's so realistic, though. Nic used to get electric shocks in her head, like her brain cells were fizzling.
I suppose someone reading that would wonder why a person would ever do drugs, as those dreams are terrifying. But the truth is, the high outweighs the low. It's definitely put me off doing it two nights in a row again, though. I think I'm getting too old, although I've always had those dreams off and on: always about two nights after doing ecstasy. It's funny because my boyfriend joked about me having them tonight and then I did. But he's not here and it's just me and the cats and the nightmares. So I just took a sleeping pill.
It's five years since I met James at Brick Lane. I remember everything about that day because we've picked over it so much; chatting in that bar, him smoking outside, and him winking at me in Underworld in Camden, which absolutely stank. This year, we had a lovely anniversary and just spent time together. I bought him some petrol station flowers and he wrote a nice message on Facebook for me. He said, 'Best thing I ever did was meeting you, so glad I found you.' It doesn't sound like much, but he's not one for public declarations of love.
The next day I couldn't sleep so I took one of his Valium or Xanax or whatever it was. That stuff is crazy, it's like being hit over the head with a sledgehammer. James tried to get me up for six hours, and in the end forced some food down me, and I went straight back to bed. That stuff is so strong! No wonder he can't wake up when he takes it. I don't get the point of that stuff. It steals days away! I don't like it at all, it scares me. What if you never wake up?
Our garden has been butchered, which is heartbreaking. They cut our trees down because they were making the walls crack. It's so sad to see the garden so bare. It looks like someone's driven through it with a bulldozer. They also crushed our garden shed with one of the trees, so it was a total bodge job. We were so happy when we got the kittens and we were all sheltered by trees. I have to get used to it not being that way. I can't grow two giant trees back. You can get used to anything, though, given time.
They are going to do building work on the whole house, so it's going to be a massive upheaval, which is not good for me, as I'm a homebody and I like things to stay the same. The cats are also going to be pissed off; I'm worried they'll run away. I can't imagine moving now, even though we're only renting. It does feel like home here. Somehow we'll just have to grit our teeth and get through it. The walls are cracked; I have to hope the ceiling doesn't fall in. The disadvantages of being the ground floor flat.
They're also knocking down the library where I go to my writing group, so I guess demolition is the theme of the month. I've been going to the group over ten years, so it's a bit of a shock to lose it, even though these days I only go two or three times a year as it's so far away. It's like we're losing our spiritual home. I never fucked anyone from writing group, which seems weird. I suppose I've always been in other relationships. But I have made some great friends there; from some odd demographics. But brilliant writers.
Talking of fucking - there's a way to make you read my previous entry - I have been completely faithful to James for the whole time we've been together. I've never done that before, or definitely not for this long. I was always on the lookout for something better one way or another. But I'm not with James. Not that he's perfect; he is bad for me in a way, but he understands me. There's no one who could fit me better. We speak the same language; the parents, our interests, the music, the way we speak, the things we laugh at.
Ha, I just read my batch from November 2011 and said the house was cracked and falling down. It's now almost May 2013, so I guess I'm not in too much danger. Shit, I didn't realise this saga had been dragging on this long. That's ridiculous. They've been promising to do the building work for months; all they've done is cut down our trees and cut the heart out of our garden. Maybe we should move? I should start saving. I need to make some proper money first. I'm still on charity wages. Need to sell copies of my book!
Did you know my ex went mad? It happened a couple of years back. His sister emailed me to ask if he'd ever taken drugs. He'd been quite anti-drugs, but he had smoked weed a couple of times and done pills a couple of times, but that was it. He was one of these 'don't like losing control' types - don't you just hate those? I said he'd just tried weed, but Nic remembered a time he'd smoked a spliff and looked at her with hate in his eyes and called her the devil. Still, it wasn't our fault, right?
So how did this madness manifest itself? He started quoting from the Bible (Old Testament) and gave himself a home circumcision after the doctor refused. Then he drove his car into a tree. Pretty hardcore. I was so shocked when I heard. I wondered what happened to him in those months after I left him, after our cat died, and he was alone in London, with no friends, because he never bothered to make any. What happened to him? Who got to him? His sister said he'd walked the streets for hours, talking nonsense. What made him snap like that?
I know he wasn't mad when we were together; just controlling and irrational. He didn't like Nic or my mum. He didn't want to do anything. But he wasn't mad. I felt sorry for him when we split; sorrier still when our cat died from a parasite on the brain. Was he thinking about that when he went crazy? Was he thinking about me? How is he now? I heard he's 'back to normal'; but how can you be back to normal after something like that? 'Oh, sorry about butchering myself, I'm fine now!' Do you come back from that?
He was a 25 and a virgin when we met, so that was pretty strange, especially as he was beautiful. He was wonderful at first. I wonder if I'm the only girlfriend he's ever had. I wonder if he hates me for something. He probably doesn't think of me at all. When I told my mum what happened she said, 'thank God you weren't still with him.' Before that, I always expected to bump into him somewhere, but now I know he's back overseas, back with his family, who he couldn't stand. I don't think I'll ever see him again.
I do hope he is OK, though, I wish him no ill will, and I hope he has found some peace of mind. He's super intelligent and thoughtful, and maybe he's found himself in a better place now. In my heart though, I feel he's probably still lost. In retrospect, I don't think I was the right 'first girlfriend' for him; with a bunch of exes behind me, and a taste for drugs. He was a boy from an island, 25 or not. I think he needed someone more innocent than me. But I felt we could have been happy.
How can you not 'know yourself' and the effect you have on people. I honestly feel like she's draining the life out of me. All the huffing and puffing and sighing and talking and questions and incompetence. I just can't stand it. I've convinced myself there's some light at the end of the tunnel, but how long is the tunnel? The job isn't even that bad. She's stressing herself out. At least I got some vindication this week. But it doesn't really make up for the weeks of anxiety and depression and this ongoing saga. Just make it end, soon.
By the time I write my next batch of words, Nicís baby might be a little person. I canít even imagine it as I write this; by the time that stage comes, Iíll have forgotten how it was to feel like this. Children are timebombs. Nicís daughter will think weíre freaks when she sees our old phones, when she finds out we never used to have the internet, when she sees a Walkman. I remember my granny being so baffled by a Walkman; the sheer futuristic-ness of it. Now Iíll be that relic.
I learnt from my childhood cat that territory is more important than family. Whilst we all moved out, one after another Ė mum first, me towards the end Ė the cat remained. Just one cat where there had once been two: Charlie had beat Lucy into submission years before, and sheíd swanned off and found a more pleasant family. It couldnít have been hard. We left Charlie with the neighbour, and years later I found him meowing in the front garden; still his turf, his home. The trees and tarmac were more important than us to him; I convinced myself.
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