Family times are hard

 Again. So much to write. Getting the words out is hard. Moving through the stages of grief. Anger. I’m so fucking furious at the moment. With the lies. The mistruths. Being told one thing whilst the actions taken are the opposite. Wanting to be alone. Apparently. But with a new girlfriend lined up waiting in the wings. Better. Shiner. More exciting. And apparently I’m bitter. 

No. I’m seething. 

My life is on pause. Nearly 40. Back with my parents. Not knowing when I can move back to London. Desperately trying to build my work back up whilst looking after a 2 year old. Feeling like a complete fucking failure. 

No house and garden of my own to be loved up in. To have lazy weekends together. With our dog. 

The hurt and betrayal is all encompassing. And I just want to scream into the wind 

What about me?!

I tried so hard. I loved 100% every day. And it wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough. 

But someone else and their children are. 

And it’s devastating. For me. For our little girl. Thank god she’s only 2. Trying to explain this to an older child would be so hard. 

And I’m the one on my own. Trying to navigate it all. Wondering if I will ever find someone. Before it’s too late for another baby. To have someone with me at family events. To be excited about family members weddings and anniversaries. 

Rather than wondering why the fuck it hasn’t happened to me. I’m so sick of being alone  

And so I sit quietly. And smile when it’s appropriate. Whilst my heart breaks into a thousand pieces. 

Family time is hard at the moment. I’ve lost my family.  And now it belongs to someone else. And I don’t know how to forgive that. 

I’m still here

It’s been a while. Years. So many things to say. So much I can’t. Because it’s not my story to tell. It’s ours. We were a we. And now I’m an I. With a little girl. Navigating a new life. On my own again. Processing. Not really letting it all filter through. It’s too much. Being here again. But not just me. Us. She is me and I am her. Everything I do has to be for her. Not just me. 

And out lovely chocolate boy isn’t here anymore. It’s been 14 months. I saw his double today in the park. My heart aches for him. Still. He visits me. He’s still with me. My boy. I need him so much right now. 

And we got a new pup. A girl. I have resented her for not being the same. Of course she won’t be. Different dog. Different breed. Puppies are a nightmare coupled with a baby. So often on my own to manage both of them. With no true understanding of how hard my days are. 

And then we stopped being a we. And the dog isn’t legally mine. But she’s mine. She’s ours. Another thing to sort out. To work out what’s best. And when I don’t have her I miss her so much. And worry about her. 

But she’s not mine. 

And so the days merge into one. 

Someone said to me yesterday how it’s great it’s a short week this week with the Easter weekend. And I looked at them blankly and replied ‘I have a 2 year old’. I don’t get short weeks and long weekends. The days don’t change. She needs the same looking after regardless. I don’t have my person anymore. 

He has someone new. 

And I just can’t get the words out. 

So much I can’t. Because it’s not my story to tell. 

I had hoped. …I still have it. Anyways. This is not the way I thought it would be. This year was going to be so different. Back in London. Work picking up. Baby number 2 which I so desperately want. Still chemo free. Thank you to my magical miracle baby girl for that. I’m sure her stem cells are keeping me safe. 

But no. Temporarily back at my parents. Whilst I piece myself back together.