The streets will lead me anywhere but here

It's weird to think about my "old" life now. To think that I used to include him in all my decisions and go to him with my worries. When we talk now it's via wobbly skype-calls. All smiles and unsaid words, for both of us.
Every decision I make now is down to me and me alone. It's almost a relief to have no one else to take in to account. It's also a little bit empty.

That’s what the water gave me

I'm slowly making my peace with my home town (we have a fraught relationship).
I can feel that it's a whole new healing process I didn't even knew I needed to go through. I never understood that I had to forgive the cobbled streets, the salty air, the streets with so many memories linked to them. I just LEFT and hoped that it would be enough.
It never is, it seems. You actually have to work through every kind of breakup, including the ones with cities, places, countries. I always knew I'd be back sooner or later, just not.... This soon. Not under these circumstances.
I enjoy forgiving these streets. I enjoy seeing my town for what it is instead of everything is wasn't. I hope that I can look back at my former relationship the same way eventually. At the moment I can feel anger bubble up inside of me, anger directed at little things he did ages ago. Times when he didn't care enough, times when he let me carry the both of us. Times when I could have done with something more than what ha gave me. It's like I'm angry at the person he was then, while being able to stay amicable with the person he is now.
It doesn't even make sense. To be so angry with someone and still care. To have internal monologues where I scream but still never feel the need to when I actually speak to him. To miss someone and still be glad that it's time to move on.
We're such complicated creatures. Maybe I should just quit the human race all together, join a pride of lions and roam the savannah (as long as there's spf 50).
Maybe I should just stop thinking about him.

Take me anywhere but home

I'm curing that old familiar Sunday-angst with cups of strong coffee and a big bucket of white paint.
The latter is obviously not for snacking but for re-decorating my brother's room. Little by little it's being turned into a studio for my Dad. A place to paint, create and enjoy the view of the fields and apple trees.

I wish I had a safe place to call my own. I love that I can stay here, heal here, but I miss having my own space to hide in. My own books up in the shelves, my own food in the fridge. I gave all of that up as I was terrified of becoming something I didn't want to be. I gave it up as I hated the thought of changing nothing but my relationship-status and I was afraid of falling so deep into the darkness that I would have winded up calling round to his flat at 3 in the morning, drunk out of my mind.
So I gave it up to start again, and when the rainstorms and thunder wakes me up early in the morning and you can smell the garden and the ozone as you pull your window shut it's not that bad.
I just need to find a new city.

Late nights and dry martinis

I feel blessed that I have such amazing people in my life.
Don't get me wrong, I always felt blessed. I am lucky enough to have a lot of close, smart, funny, kind and lovely friends and family members in my life. People who will sit with me and talk about the important things, listen to my stories about heartache and drink wine with me until the small hours. They will also happily talk about nothing and just watch the world go by. Either way, I am lucky to be so loved.
I do feel loved. Not a day goes by without me feeling loved. Someone will tell me that they miss me, someone will tell me they're happy to see me. I guess what I'm trying to say is that in spite of missing that couple feeling I can see just how blessed I am.

But I must say, that doesn't stop me from going though my afore mentioned amazing friend's lists of facebook/twitter friends to double check if they know someone snogable. Just in case.

Coffee makes everything better

After 2 massive cups of coffee I would probably be able to take over the world. Today I stuck to inland revenue and 3 of the local advertising firms (but with all the energy I had I could have wrestled a grizzly!).

It's sunny outside and still about 20 degrees. The harvest has started and the evenings smell of... well, wheat, oatmeal, sunshine, grass, smoke. It's that summer vs. autumn smell that is one of my favourite smells in the world. Riding my bike from the shop I made a mental note of how I felt in that very moment.

I feel OK. I feel better. In spite of thinking about him every hour of the day I feel OK.  

Also:

It would be a hell of a lot easier to get myself sorted if I only knew HOW THINGS WORK IN THIS COUNTRY.
It makes me feel like a complete idiot sometimes. If I had moved across the globe or even to another European country I would have cut myself some slack, it takes time to figure out how the system operates in a foreign country. But this is MY country, my homeland.
But I have never truly been a grown-up here. I guess a lot changes in 7 years.

Momma said there would be days like this, there will be days like this my Momma said

I think I compare myself too much.

To others, to friends, family and complete strangers.... I can't help it! A few months ago I read in some glossy magazine that in the age of facebook/twitter/instagram it's easy to get a warped image of how the other half lives.
I'm guilty as charged, of facebook-envy.
I can't help it, I stalk the pages and fill up with a sense of being incomplete, not fun enough, not brave enough, not pretty enough. I feel like my life is a complete failure and that everyone else is having a FUCKING GREAT TIME.

I'm sure they have shit days too though. Don't they? They must. Days when they feel lost, fat or lonely. Surely everyone feels like this sometimes?
I had a friend who once said that she could put up with our shit job and the general feeling of being adrift if only she had someone to come home to. A man.
I feel myself sympathising more and more with her now.  I'm so used to being someone's girlfriend, so now that I'm not I feel like half a person. This is most likely linked to my facebook-envy as well, we live in a society which puts being a COUPLE on a pedestal. It's a sign of success somehow, someone LOVES you.
So when you're a serial monogamist like me finding yourself single feels like a failure. I know full well how horrid this sounds, but at least writing it down helps me to realise just HOW ridiculous it is.

Man, sometimes I really think I need a hard slap across the face.

"The age of anguish is over"

"I love that we can do this"
He said as we rounded up our Skype conversation. I smiled in agreement and he continued:
"As long as you're ok with it, I really don't want to cause you anguish. More anguish I mean..."

You know those moments when you hear yourself say something and in that very moment it's like a light has been switched on? An aha-moment I suppose? It's an odd sensation, almost like an out of body experience, or like you're your own therapist.

"Well, darling, I think the age of anguish is over. It's time for progress now. Repair and renewal."
And I smiled again. As I said it I realised it was true. The anguish, at least the one related to my broken heart, is over. We spoke for half an hour and I never once felt like my stomach was about to turn into ice, or like my face would crumble and leave me crying. I felt calm. The sight and sound of him made me feel happy,  but more because I can really see us being friends once this whole thing has passed.
But I felt safer in myself than I have in a long time.

The age of anguish IS over. It's time to heal, without him. I will most likely have days when I feel like calling him, when I miss him and feel sad. But at least I have had this one moment of clarity, my aha-moment.
It's starting to happen. The whole healing thing everyone tells you about..
'Bout bloody time too.

Getting there

One might say I'm emotionally unstable.
Just a wee bit.

Autumn is drawing closer, I can feel it in the air when I have my morning coffee in the garden. Taste it on the winds.
I think that autumn is more of a chance for a new start than New Years. Maybe that's part of why I'm feeling so fragile. There's almost a pressure to get it right. Or maybe my hormones are just going crazy after nearly 10 years of being on the pill. Maybe I'm just a little bit mad.
Either way. A cry, a chat and some soup helps.

Oh my dear lord I need to be able to turn my brain off

I don't know why I thought this would be easier back here. Job hunting is soul crushing no matter in which country you live in.

Like clockwork I start to miss my home on the other side of the North Sea. I miss Scotland, I miss my friends, I miss the comfort of knowing how things work. It's that 'fight of flee' instinct kicking in, and all I want to do is flee. I want what I know and what I trust.
Filling out all these forms and confronting all these practicalities makes it feel so final. Like there's no return.
My boxes are still in Scotland. My books, my winter clothes. Is it too late now? Did I make a rushed decision?
Or is it just fear? Basic, gut-wrenching fear of the unknown and of failure? There's so many question marks and I feel like I'm going to be sick.
I want to talk to him about it, and at the same time he's the reason why I'm in this situation.
Life.
Is.
Too.
Fucking.
Hard.

I just want to hide away and watch ever John Cusack film ever made and for the world to become less difficult to navigate. I want to turn off all my feelings and thoughts and stop weeping.
God dammit, I just want a hug.

Operation LIFE, day 1

I have called every single governmental office/organisation that people normally try to avoid speaking to (in Sweden, that is, the UK ones might have the pleasure of talking to me tomorrow) and what can I say?
Getting back into the game after 7 years abroad is difficult. Getting hold of someone who wants to help me with my student loan repayments is even harder (how on EARTH am I meant to pay them back without an income?). There's not enough coffee in the world.
I have very little clue as to how things work here, I'm not even written on a Swedish address. I don't have money, I don't have work, I don't have time to sit about and wait for the right form to be sent out to me, or for the Swedish student loan people to go about their insanely dated ways of dealing with repayments (meanwhile they add more late charges to my loan).

Basically, this sucks.
But it's getting done, and there's very little emotional space to feel anything else when you're wanting to bang your head against the wall in pure frustration.
Please, please, please, let me get what I want.

Sundays. I fucking hate Sundays

Today's not been a good day for me, in spite of a massage and sunshine.
So screw it, I will just have to shake it off. It will feel better. IT HAS TO.
So sweet dreams lovelies. Here's to a new week, a new day and sun-warm skin.

Fucking word

"But I'm too much of a coward to say anything."

Red wine and cowboys

They say that when God closes a door he opens a window.
Well. I don't believe in God. I don't believe anyone closed that fricking door but me. So here I am, not trying to find the open window but knocking down a whole damn wall. Changing everything. Some people say I'm brave but I feel scared as hell and a little bit foolish.

Sunday is the kind of day when I think about my failures and death. Angst and my broken heart. Lost loves and my student loan.... You know, that kind of cheerful stuff. It used to be a day of all day cuddling on the sofa, a roast and general smug-couple quality time. In all fairness this new life is a lot healthier. Less pork crackling, more yoga. (woo-fucking-whoo).

I don't know if I'm brave or foolish, I don't even know where I will live in a months time. Hell, maybe I'll move to Argentina and live of red wine and take myself a cowboy-lover. Maybe I decide to grow up and act my age. Right now I just want to turn my brain off, forget about my feelings and soak in a tub of gin.

"That terrible, secret feeling of being alone when you're with someone"

"You look really pretty. I bet you have Swedish guys dropping at your feet."

I don't know why he's saying things like that. Is it to find out if I'm seeing other guys? Or is it just to be nice, to patch up the wounds he has caused me? I don't know.
I know he fancies me, even after he made it clear we couldn't have a future together I knew that. I know he still does. Obviously that doesn't make me feel WORSE.
But I don't know why we are playing this game, being so nice, nearly flirtatious. Are we just THAT mature that we can break up without a single fight?

I can't help but feel that it's like he knows he's made the biggest mistake of his life but he is too stubborn to ever turn back and change his mind. There are some things you can't change your mind about.

Yesterday I saw 70ish people from my Grandfather's side of the family. Loads of great aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins, loads of little blond children running wild on a football pitch. It made me realise that I want that too. The family. The children.The feeling of belonging, pride and unconditional love.
Not now. Not within the near future. But I DO want it.

He could see it in me and that is what tore us apart in the end. Not lack of love, not fighting. The fact that he can't ever see himself wanting to be a father. He has no biological clock, he has had nearly 37 years to figure that out.
And when I was a student, ignoring real life, it was fine. But it was like he could sense that damn biological clock ticking ever louder, could feel our time running out.
He said he didn't want to deprive me of the chance to live that life.
Instead he decided to deprive me of him.

Go to sleep my little baby

I got lost in a sunny city for a few days.
It is becoming a bit of a morning routine to wake up and wonder which country/city I am in. Once I manage to figure it out I make coffee and drink it slowly, taking stock of my emotional state, judging my stability with every sip while twisting my hair around my fingers.
I spoke to him for ages today and throughout the whole conversation we both smiled (Skype is a wonderful thing). I'm not sure this whole smiling thing is good.

Being loved is such a drug and I crave it more than I crave anything else.
And I love him, I still do. I don't know just how I love him, or if loving him automatically means wanting to be with him.
I just know there is nothing I can do about this feeling.
So I guess I have to get lost in more sunny cities, guess I have to focus on me, and see if this feeling fades away eventually.
I just can't turn it off.

You've done alright, darling

My younger cousin got hear heart broken by a boy she loved a few days ago.
I made me realise how far I've come. How fucking weird a a breakup really is, how it affects you body and soul. You start of thinking you will never ever be OK again. Never laugh, love or live.
But somehow, against all odds, your survival instinct kicks in.

Yes, the thought of him still gives me that sinking feeling, but at least I'm not chain smoking, crying hysterically and gulping for air. I don't feel like I'm falling down a pitch black pit of darkness. Rather than falling I'm walking along a long road, unsure of the destination but more sure of myself.
I obviously still feel sad. It's mourning, at the end of the day. And I do find myself humming along to "Never ever" by All Saints (the 90s has been my breakup drug of choice).
But yeah, I have managed to get myself together to a certain extent.
Now, on to the rest of it. Like loosing loads of weight, cutting my hair, discovering new cities and making new friends. Piece of cake (cake I can't have).

How I fool myself

Everything I say is true. I DO want to move on. I DO feel like I should erase the memory of him. I DID feel lonely.
Still doesn't stop me from feeling happy when he sends me a text or sad when he tells me he feels low.
Because humans are the daftest animals on earth.

Sunshine

Sunshine, wine and escapism. Realizing how LONELY I was with him. Going for a swim in at a quiet lake, eating grilled corn on a cob and sleeping in. Having long discussions with him in my head (which will never happen in real life).
It's like I'm on a holiday from life.
And yes, I WAS lonely with him. So even though I miss him I'd rather feel lonely when I'm actually on my own.

How lucky are the dead!

Too much time to think about death, failures and how my life compares to those of others. The ANGST made a spectacular return yesterday and it's that familiar dark feeling gnawing on my heart. The stinging tears, the shortness of breath, the feeling of being utterly LOST.
If it wasn't for the fact that this is a familiar feeling I would blame it on him, but angst is my old pal. We've hung out before. Such a crap companion.

But I can't help but to doubt my decisions.
If I had stayed in Scotland I would probably have a full on depression/fatal liver issues by now. But at least my failure would be far away from everyone, they wouldn't know how shit my wage was, how much mould there is in Scottish bathrooms, how horrid the men I could pull really were.
They would not be able to see my failure, I would still be living abroad (which, in this part of the world, is still seen as an accomplishment).
Now it's like I'm on show. The only one of the kids back on the west coast. The only one without a job. The one with all the wasted potential.
Fuck this. I really need a job.

Well, Miss Parker, I think we could have been friends.

"I was always sweet, at first. Oh, It's so easy to be sweet to people before you love them."

Note to self:

Do not blog/tweet/facebook/text after the type of alcohol intake Friday and Saturday involved. It's better for all of us this way.

Dancing//With tears in my eyes

Going out in Gothenburg was probably one of the best/worse things I could have done.
Amazing, because the drinks were free, the sun was shining, the friends lovely and because it was the first 'going out'  night since me and my ex broke up.
Bad because it made me realize I don't WANT to kiss someone else but him yet, most men in clubs are sleaze bags and well... shots of cinnamon whiskey will make me feel like throwing myself out a window, no matter who buys it for me.
3 hours sleep and a massive family reunion in the sun later I feel oddly optimistic. Maybe it's the sun, the love I can feel from my extended family. Maybe it's the fact that my best friend in the world is flying over in a months time (!) or maybe it's the dry martini I had with my mum while watching sports (I never watch sports... What's wrong with me?) but I feel OK. Right now, I feel good.
I feel optimistic, lucky and brave. Silly and reckless and blessed. I feel like a fricking catch to be honest.


This totally has NOTHING to do with my favourite band tweeting me back after my road trip dvd-tips.

Nothing WHATSOEVER.
(I just love them so much. AND ALSO, dry martini. Yumyumyum).

Focus, for Christ's sake

When other people talk about their boyfriends I can feel a stab of pain. Maybe jealousy. I don't want to feel it but somehow it's like I'm excluded from this club of happy people, a club I used to rule and now I'm cast out.
All I can do is send my CV to every job available in my newly chosen cities, hope for money, friendship and love and for adventures which will make these last few months worthwhile. I've been home for 2 weeks now, single for a month and a half, and I'm only just starting to feel strong enough to smile.

I want to talk like lovers do

I spoke to him twice last night. A bad phone call and a better Skype call.
The distance makes it easier for me to see him clearly, to see his flaws as well as his good sides. It also makes it harder to for me to trust a word he's saying.
But I think the distance is a good thing. The lines becomes clearer and the feelings cooler. When you haven't got that constant oxytocin rush of being physically close it's easier to look at a realtionship with clearer eyes.

And truth is I don't miss him half as much as I miss my friends anymore. I don't miss being in that relationship. What I miss is his voice, his touch, his body next to mine at night. The comfort of his arms when I'm upset or lost, the light in his eyes when I make him laugh.
It will take some time to stop missing that, but I know that too shall pass. It always does. Someone else's eyes will light up at the sigh of me and someone else will have the arms to comfort me.
I know I want his friendship. I want to be able to sit down with him over a glass of wine in a few years time and feel like I can tell him everything about my life. I want him to meet my future loves, be a part of my life.
We were always good together. I hope we can be good together as friends as well. It might be naive to hope for that kind of friendship, but naivety is all I've got to hope for at the moment.

I want you to want me//I need you to need me

I'm developing a slight tan over my face and chest. My hair is even blonder, my skin has more of a glow and my body gets to move again. Walk up to my grandparents, swim in the ocean, ride a bike in the wind and the rain. The salt in the air leaves a thin layer over my skin and hair, I breathe in the North Sea daily.
My jacket becomes a sail when I cycle home and I'm pushed forward.

So, the amount of wine I drink and the occasional cigarette might keep me from becoming a bronzed gym bunny-goddess (HA!) but the air, the grass under my bare feet and the salt sea is helping. It makes it easier to take care of my body while my mind stays numb.
And so what if a new perfume and a time booked with the hairdresser isn't the cure for all that is hurtful. It sure as hell doesn't make it worse.

The comfort of clishés

There's something about knowing that other people have felt the same way you have which is oddly comforting. Something about other people telling you that in spite of the pain, the heartache and the hard work you will wake up one day feeling OK.

You're my star, I pin you to my chest

I wish I could have all my friends in one room. I miss my UK friends so much it hurts, hurts more than I thought it would. I'm used to having them round the corner, used to weekly meet-ups and gossip sessions. Used to the support and the outlet.
And as I can't imagine flying back over until this wound has healed or until I have a plan (this whole life thing is turning out to be a lot more complicated than what people made it out to be) and feel strong enough to bump into him without a full scale panic attack I'm having to count of cheap flights for them to come over here.

SO. Really. Scientists really need to get on the case and provide me with some form of teleportation device. Preferably before the end of the week.

There's no men in this town

I need some kind of cheap closeness to start stamping out the physical memory of him.
But there is no one in this town which could live up to my (increasingly low) standards. No one who catches my interest what so ever. And maybe that's a good thing, I guess that at the end of the day you're not meant to pee where you eat.
Still.
I wish this feeling would stop affecting me like an open wound and develop into an itchy scab you want to pick until it falls off and your new, pink skin is visible. I want to leave the heavy, panic inducing feeling behind and feel happy again.
I'm so sick of missing him.

Please please

 

I just want to snog a strangers face off.

And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back

Translating my CV from English into Swedish makes me realize how long it has been since I first left this country. Nearly 7 years in Scotland. 5 flats, 3 boyfriends, several jobs, 1 degree and many tears and laughs later I find myself here. Back home in my parents kitchen (I'm damn lucky they're the kind of parents who happily mix he g&t's and pay for me to hang out in Berlin), where it all began.
I guess people might wonder why I decided to leave, it probably seems like a rushed decision to pack up and move across the North Sea.
It wasn't.
I always knew that if me and him broke up I would need to leave in order to get over him, in order not to sink in to the darkness and drink myself into oblivion. My previous breakups were never this hard, I made the decision to leave those men (boys). I was happy to. I guess a way to explain it is that my last breakup song was "Dog days are over" by Florence and the machine, while now "Shake it out" might describe me better. (describe where I am NOW that is. Before it would have been some kind of depressing 90's mutant of a tearjerker tune).

So I left.
I was sick of the rain, of the rubbish in the streets, of the lack of jobs and the rate of pay.
Sweden is like a safe bubble, nothing can touch me here. And once I'm strong enough I will venture back out into the real world.
But tonight I'm drinking wine in my garden with my oldest friend. And life could be a hell of a lot worse.

"Too young to hold on and too old to just break free and run"

Now, when I cry, it feel like I'm doing it because I should. Like I should get it out of my system.
I've shut down the part of me that cared about him. I avoid thinking about my old home, my old life, my city, my streets. Try to focus on the green grass underneath my feet, the 80s club night in Gothenburg, the wine by the sea, the universities in other countries.
I can feel the stress of what I should do pile up inside of me. I should do so very much... I should apply for schools, jobs, flats. I should know what I want to do, who I want to be. I should act my age and not ten years younger. Maybe I should find a nice guy, a decent job, a home and start a family. Get a car, a garden, a pet. Catch up with my friends who have children and husbands.
Or maybe I should say screw it all and move to a new city, go dancing, drinking, laughing, crying. Find a new love every week and squeeze the most out of my 20's.
Both options have some appeal. Neither one feels right.
So what the hell.
It must start to make sense eventually? Until then I might enjoy the sunshine, have a glass of red and flirt shamelessly with strangers (and cry myself to sleep as I'm mourning the loss of a life).

I am guided by this birthmark on my skin

Berlin in the summer is like a massive playground and although I knew he was returning to the UK and our empty flat I couldn't cry. It was too sunny, I drank too much beer and I had too many thoughts of what this city might be like once the summer ends and the 'real' life starts back up.
Is this where I am meant to be? Is this where I should have my boxes shipped, is this where I will feel happy again?
Happiness eludes me, it's like I'm empty. Maybe because there is a massive void where my love for him used to be, an emptiness. Not having somebody to love is heartbreaking (Freddie Mercury was right all along) and such an unfamiliar feeling after years and years of being a girlfriend.
I'm empty. Not even his voice makes me feel anything, not even sadness. Maybe that's a good thing. But I miss my feelings. I miss looking myself in the mirror and seeing light behind my eyes.