Sunday evening blues

Seven stages of grief. Or is it twelve? Who knows. I'm going through anger at the moment. Fuck you Fiona. If you fucked your husband a bit more often maybe he wouldn't have started speaking to me. Fuck you. Just fuck you.

Lovely summer day

I'm lying here in the gorgeous sunshine and normally I'd feel incredibly content with life, feeling the sun baking my skin, listening to music. But I'm not sure there is much to be content about.  Three years of my life. What opportunities have I missed? Would I have tried harder at internet dating? Gone out more? Perhaps had a proper relationship?

Knowing me probably not but still. I'm almost 33 and what do I have? Fuck all. My life is fucked up and I blame you for not being able to keep it in your fucking pants. Why the fuck did you start talking to me? You fucked up not only three years of my life but you have mentally fucked me over for life.

I will never trust any man. But you? You will go back to your perfect fucking family and it'll be like I was never part of your life. Wonderful. Just fucking marvellous.

Hope it was worth it for you. Fuck you Julian. Just fuck you.

And so it ends

They say all good things must come to an end. It's true. Doesn't always end when you want it to, or when it should. Fate sometimes intervenes in the most astonishing ways. I'm angry. I didn't want it to end yet.

But I'm also relieved. Because maybe this means I can finally move on with my life. Although every fear I've had for the last three years might come true. I might never find love again. I might never have mind blowing sex again.

I feel numb. I think I should feel more sad but mostly I just feel numb. Mostly I just want this massive big hole in my life to close and to go back to normal. But what is normal? Working 12 hours a day? Spending all my free time studying? Waiting for a magical love affair to find me but never venturing outside my comfort zone to help fate along?

I am definitely my mother's child. Totally bonkers in the head. Why would I ever have thought having an affair is something I'm mentally equipped to handle.

J. I told you I loved you. And maybe in the beginning I did. Or thought I did. But in the end you were merely a representation of a fantasy and bloody good sex. I never would want you to leave Fiona for me. I could not imagine introducing you to any of my friends and I think I'd be ashamed to introduce you to my family.

That's a terrible thing to say I know.

I've spent the last few months trying to prove to you that you didn't love me. I think you were getting there quite quickly.  It was an eye opener for me too. I really wanted to believe you loved me but in the end it was nothing but sex. Which would have been fine if you hadn't filled my head with ideas about love. Totally fucked with my head you did.

And part of me hates you for that. Because before you I had so many ideological notions about love. But now I don't think I could ever trust a man again. If you could cheat on a wife you love dearly and who loves you, what makes me think the next man I'm with wouldn't cheat on me?

I hope things settle for you and you live happily ever after. Or maybe I don't. I don't know yet, I'm a mix of very tired and just numb. And also very very tired.

I'm going to try and sleep now although I'm sure that's a hopeful notion. I'm sorry you ever started talking to me. My life could have turned out so differently.