Just chillin’

Today has been a mixture of ups and downs..

I got quite a bit done today, irrespective of having the WORST period in existance atm.. They warned me that the first one after the ectopic would be quite bad but having never suffered with them (ever) I’m starting to understand why some people make such a fuss! I’ve just had to send my lovely hubby out to the shop for some tampons (I’m sure he’s happy about it really ;p) and so I thought I’d grab the chance to update here while he’s gone.

Anyhoo, away from the goriness of my pmt…

The kitchen is lovely and clean now! I hate it when it gets into its previous *unloved* state.. It reminds me of how emma’s flat used to be when I babysat for her and spent 3 hours cleaning the kitchen (yuk!) Don’t get me wrong, mine is nowhere near as bad, but when you have dishes piling up because your dishwasher decides that it’s not going to clean the first (or second) time, units covered in muddy cat paws where the 3 rulers of the house decide that the worktops are a better place to walk than the floor, and a microwave that hasn’t been cleaned for a few weeks, it isn’t the most thrilling thing in the world XD

talking of microwaves, we almost ended up with a kitchen fire, courtesy of our microwave.. something must have gotten into the grill vent as after putting Naomi’s tea in there for 4 minutes, I started to smell burning and ran into the kitchen just in time to notice that the microwave was smoking and looking into the air vent, there was definately something glowing red hot in there! I ended up whacking the plug out the wall and spraying the grill down with water to subdue the heat (it burned my hand!) and eventually it calmed down and the glowing stopped…

It scared the bejeebus out of me! I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with it, but if it does it again I’ll be really pissed as we’ll have to get mumsy to take it back *it was a xmas prezzie* and I really don’t wanna do that!

Naomi was good today too, she even did her poo on the toilet today! I think she’s getting the hang of this toilet training lark.. hopefully she’ll decide to go full time with it rather than just every now and then.. I don’t want her in nappies when she starts school!!!
Oh, and then there was the yogurt incident… I bought her a 6-pack down the shop, she had 2 for lunch and then over the course of the next hour, she would NOT stop going into the fridge, getting them down off the top shelf and opening them! cheeky little minx managed to scoff 5 in one afternoon, before I had to hide the rest! she’s my little yogurt fiend! 😛

Anyway, just a short one from me today, hubby’s just got back from the shop (again.. he lost his keys and had to go back and find them- dozy pillock)
Should be able to update at some point tomorrow in amongst all my chores ~washing, cooking, more cleaning and the usual “mummy, I WANT you” moments from lil’ dandelion.. at least she’s not saying “mummy I NEED biccit” anymore XD

Time for me to go watch the Truman show with Alan.

Night all!

 

My Heart

Its been a month now, and finally I feel the words starting to spring into my head..
Last week, I spoke about the storm clouds returning, and although they’re still looming, It’s not all that dark anymore.

One whole month since I lost my babies.. One month of being empty.. Of emotional torture..

… One month since having my child cut out of me and disposed of like a dirty secret.

To say that I feel as though my heart has been ripped out of my chest is somewhat an understatement. I’ve been forcing myself to put on a brave face when all I really want to do is mourn my babies, and to cry my heart out for what I’ve lost.

Now I feel as though I will never have any more children, as though Naomi will be an only child and the last 2 years are gone forever. These thoughts keep me awake at night. Thinking. I may never hold my baby in my arms, that all this time that I’m home with Naomi before she goes to school is just wasted by me having to tell her off..

… yet I never have the energy, or the motivation to do anything more than sit in the house with her.

To be perfectly honest, I’m terrified. Of going outside and seeing all the newborn babies. Of seeing pregnant women, glowing in the sun, knowing that it would have *yet again* been me, trying to squeeze into pretty summer clothes, 3 month baby-belly poking out through my tshirts, people staring as though not sure if I’m pregnant or just chubby.

I’m scared that I will be so overcome with jealousy that I’ll lose sight of what I DO have.

I have a wonderful, clever, beautiful daughter, who makes me so proud to call myself her mummy. She is the light of my life, and I’m scared that she’s growing up too fast and that I’ll never get this time back.

She makes me so happy, My lil’ dandelion. She swam today. For the first time, we got her in the water with her armbands and she swam half the length of the pool by herself and refused to get out. The look of pure joy on her face when she did it was the most amazing thing I have seen.

How can I let myself mourn my lost babies if it will cause me to look away from her for even one second? My Heart aches just from being away from her. Not to be holding my angel hurts me, it aches, cuts deep into my heart and I fear there’s no way out.

I wish that I could give Naomi a little brother or sister to play with. Someone who will be there for her like My Little Sister is for me. Someone with whom she’d have an incredible bond with from the moment they meet.. How can I let her be denied that?

I can’t. And I won’t.

 

New Laptop!

I’m still trying to get back into the habit of having an online life again, and my husband (he IS wonderful) has helped me do that by buying me a new laptop for our anniversary! It’s not our anniversary for another week and a half but he’s given it to me early as he couldn’t figure out how to hide it from me!! Also, I bought him a year’s subscription to sky tv with BOTH sky sports packages so hopefully he’ll stop complaining that he can’t watch the american football/cricket when its on.

So, New Laptop, Profile deleted off the main computer (don’t care about it anyway.. this lappy is more powerful than the desktop!) and shiny new internets with windows 7 home premium!

As far as windows goes, this has got to be the best yet. XP was great, fast, functional etc. Vista= SHIT! I cannot find anything on mumsy’s laptop on vista and its so slow and boring! Windows 7 is awesome! It has a dynamic desktop so my screen pic is different every time I turn it on! plus its got neat little gadgets for the desktop!
Anyway, now that I have my shiny new laptop and internet connection, I *should* be able to make it on here more often. Providing that I don’t get too addicted to the new Super Mario Galaxy 2, which in itself is awesome 😀

So, now that I have the internet, and a new laptop, I am re-aquiring all my old music and am starting to remember some of the old pieces I thought I’d forgotten about, but loved! The heart-pulling tunes and melodies that I quite often forget about if I haven’t heard them for a few weeks! namely, Ayumi Hamasaki, Within temptation, BoA and Dir en Grey.

And now, back to Super Mario Galaxy 2, for I have just had a random stranger call me “emo” for having a musical backgrond and this is soon to turn into a rant XD

night all!

 

Stormclouds

Wow, so we finally have internet sorted, after 6 months of pure talktalk HELL! I won’t go too much into that as it’s likely to give me a headache!

Its so nice to be back, I missed you all so much, and believe it or not, I’ve had so much to say, with no real outlet so if my posts seem a bit erratic over the next month, please just bear with me and I will try to get back to normal very soon!

The last few months have been so extremely difficult, its hard to know where to begin.. “the beginning” is not a very easy place to find..
I suppose I should start with the big stuff first, so here goes…

I fear that I might be slipping back into the darkness again. As some may know, specially those lucky enough to make it to my contact lists or my facebook friend lists, last month, I had an ectopic pregnancy, which i wouldn’t have known about had I not miscarried 2 weeks earlier.
The doctors still can’t tell me what happened, some seem to believe that I was pregnant with twins, and that had I not miscarried one of them, I wouldn’t be here today. Others tell me that I just had an ectopic and that the “tissue” I passed was just a “reaction” in the womb causing cells to multiply. I refuse to believe this explaination. There was nothing TO multiply in my womb so how could it have been there? not only that, I SAW the embryo. I had the horror of disposing of it, holding it on tissue in my hand, I grieved for it, wanted, in some morbid way to save it, to put it back and to let it grow into a fully grown baby…

The surgery itself was pretty uneventful. and hour and a half under general anaesthetic and 6 stitches and it was all over. one minute I was pregnant, the next, nothing. No baby. No twins. No right fallopian tube. To say I feel like half the woman I was is an understatement. Despite the “professionals” saying my chances of conception are only decreased by 20-30% by having a tube removed, that’s still giving me pretty slim odds considering it took a year to get pregnant, and have now lost 3 babies.. After the miscarriage last year, I was told that 90% of couples concieve in their first 12 months of trying, so why is it that it takes me so long, only to have to go through the horror of losing them? I could go on for hours about how unfair it all is, but the reality is that maybe my body just can’t cope with being a mum and that Naomi is destined to be an only child.

I thought I was ok. I have been trying SO hard to keep a smile on my face and to act normal around everyone, but the truth is that I feel empty. I can feel the depression creeping back in, worming its way through to my core, tugging at my heart as if beckoning me to join it… I’ve already had one breakdown and I don’t think I can handle another…

I guess what makes it worse is that yet again, I began getting my hopes up that it would give me a starting point to rebulid my relationship with my family. Every step of the way I told my mum what was going on.. afterall, I felt as though she needed to know that her daughter was in hospital yet all she could muster was “I’m sorry”. No visit, not even a “how are you” the next day. She didn’t ask me how the op went, didn’t consider that my life was literally at risk if the ectopic had ruptured and she sure as hell didn’t make any effort to repair things.

What would have happened had the pregnancy ruptured and I bled to death? Part of me, a very big part of me, believes that she wouldn’t even attend my funeral. She’d not send a single flower, not even a note through the front door to my (and her) family. Of course, my beautiful sister would be there, mumsy would be there. My new family would be there by the dozen, flowers spread door to door, tears and emotions out for all to see.. but my own mother? she’d probably not even acknowledge that I was ever alive.

Noone can ever understand how deeply this saddens me. Two years in a row now my birthday has come and gone without a single message from “mother” and I’ve started to realise that she no longer deserves that title. A mother does not abandon her kids. A mother doesn’t stay at home while her daughter goes through hell in the hospital. A mother doesn’t see her child cry and turn her back.
A mother cuddles her child,
A mother says “I love you”
A mother comforts her daughter in her darkest hours.
A mother is there on your wedding day,
A mother holds your hand during the birth of your child
A mother stands up for you
A mother waits with open arms
but most of all, A mother never, EVER forgets her child…

As you can probably tell by now, there seems to be a huge storm cloud hovering over my head and it’s about to pour. I had one breakdown the day after I left the hospital, at mumsy’s and now i get the impression that everyone is tiptoeing around me.. I know it’s not true but I can’t shake the feeling that they know something is wrong..
It is quite strange that through all of this, through all the bad things that keep happening, through my mini-breakdown last night (more later) all I could think was how much I wanted to talk to her. How my heart ached as though shattered into pieces because Mumsy wasn’t there to give me a hug and tell me that it’s all going to be ok.. I’ve gotten that so backwards and it kills me. My own mother, discarding me to the gutter, My wonderful mother (in law) picking up the pieces and rescuing me from my own inner hell.. I said it before, but she (and the rest of the family) are my saving grace.. the light in the darkness, guiding me out of what appears to be a bottomless pit of self-loathing.

This leads me to last night’s episode. I’d just returned from Mumsy’s and had a headache so disappeared upstairs to bed.. All of a sudden, an insatiable wave of sorrow hit me and I ended up back where I started after the operation. Only this time, there was noone there to talk to.. I’m deeply ashamed of it but I actually wanted to self-harm again. I’d thought I’d put a stop to that 2 years ago, but last night I just couldn’t help but feel powerless to it. I wrote a poem, to try and help but instead, I just got myself worked up, gave myself a headache and wanted the sharp pointy pain sticks even more. What really got me though was how much, in that one moment, I wanted a hug from Mumsy. I have never needed anyone so badly in my whole life. I am usually the type of person who struggles alone, wandering round in my own mind until I find the way out, but last night was so different. I felt like I would die if I didn’t do something about it. Why her though? out of everyone, in the whole world..

Maybe it was my desire to have a mother figure in my life.
Maybe my mourning for my lost babies has made me need a surrogate mother figure more than i thought I did…

Or maybe I’m just really going crazy.

Either way, I really do hope that the cloud lifts soon.. My Fibro is starting to kick in (as I knew it would) and I can already feel the fog descending. At times like these, I wonder if I’m actually meant to be with people, or whether the world, and I, would be a better place if I was on my own so that other people didn’t have to suffer…

I have to add though, that had it not been for My wonderful little sister Amber, being at the hospital after I came out of theatre, I might not have had the strength to cope. It was such a lovely surprise and knowing that I have someone care for me as much as she, it means the world to me.. I don’t think you’ll ever know how much I love you sis, you are everything to me and one day, I hope, I can repay you.

Thank you also to Emily and her mum for bringing her up there. It was lovely to see you both.

Thinking back on this whole post, I actually have a lot to be thankful for. I still have my sister (one out of 3 ain’t bad) and I have some amazing friends and family propping me up when I start to fall apart.. thank you, all of you!

 

idle musings of an irratic mind

Backdate: 2nd Apr 2010

Again, I’ve found myself drifting off into those past memories. I spoke last time about my family, and what an impact they have had on the person I am today, and last week, something even weirder happened that has made me really question who I am and why I feel so out of place in society…

My sister actually added me on Facebook, and commented on one of my statuses re: my daughter’s schooling. At the time, I wasn’t sure what to do. I was tempted to send her a message asking her why the hell she has decided to have another sister after over a year of cutting me out completely, refusing to acknowledge my existence. As it happened, I spoke to Mumsy about it all (who very kindly reminded me about the consequences of missed opportunities) and decided that I shall accept her “friendship request” and say no more, waiting for her to approach me.

I am still waiting; however I find that it bothers me less now than ever. Have I suddenly hit a wall of complacency, only to be mentally devoid of any emotion for those outside the safety of my home? Sure seems that way… Or maybe I’m exaggerating a little, too preoccupied by my current fibro flare to notice anything outside my insomnia filled dreamless state of oblivion.

Any of you who know me well will know that I am possibly the least religious person on the planet. Not through a lack of understanding or an unwillingness to learn, I simply cannot abide the thought that someone other than me is in control of my actions. I cannot fathom the idea that there is a higher “being” responsible for this cataclysmic coincidental existence I have acquired. An existence which I feel is false. I do not belong in today’s society. There is no place for me in this over-dramatised world, stripped of all its natural beauty and completely lacking in any appreciation for language. If there was ever a time for me to contemplate the idea of reincarnation, this would be it. Only through this concept would I be able to begin to understand why I ended up here.

Now, before you get the wrong idea, I’m not saying that am I in any way better or superior to anyone, in fact my opinion of myself is somewhat the complete opposite! No, I simply mean that I have two ways to express myself- music and language, be it English or Japanese. Both of these things have been diminishing for longer than I care imagine. I walk down the street, watching “teenagers” (I’m not that long out of that category myself) strutting down the road in their gaudy “fashion” clothes, swearing like troupers, yelling profanities at passers-by, with some high pitched, computer digitized “music” spewing from their tinny earplugs. Whatever happened to proper music? You know the stuff with actual instruments and people with enough musical knowledge to string together at least the basic chord sequences, and overlay a melody? It’s really not that hard, but instead, we have now got unintelligent pageant tarts fronting a “band” made up of gangsters, prison escapees and Barbie dolls. These days, the closest we get to real music is the lessons that the younger generation are forced to sit through while some poorly educated teacher tries to explain the difference between a major and minor chord, and what a treble clef is. Its simple kids: Major chords are made of a 2 tone interval followed by an interval of 3 half tones. For a minor chord, just flip it. Example: Cmaj = CEG
Cmin = CEbG (yes, the little “b” means a “flat” or, one semitone (half note) down)

Now what is so difficult about that? Once you have that knowledge as a basis, start from any note and keep going. Even something as basic as that is enough to start writing a simple piece of music. As long as you know the basis of keys, you can sit at a piano and write anything, and it’ll be in tune. Then all you have to do is write a few words and sing them and you’re done. God knows I’ve done it myself countless times; I’ve just never recorded any of them.

Update tbc

Continued on the 15th April 2010

Had to take Naomi (my daughter) to the eye hospital today, we have been waiting quite a while for an appointment so we got up and left the house at 8am to make sure we made her 9.45 appointment… which we did… just!

Anyway, the whole reason I thought that this post should tag on the end of the previously unfinished spiel about music and today’s youths, is that my little angel just did something that bought a tear to my eye.

Playing out in the garden, she likes to smell the flowers (we only have dandelions but they’re all the same to a 2 year old!) and I was upstairs in the bathroom. I could hear her shouting something at me. As I walked back down, I noticed that she had very carefully placed a little dandelion on the 4th step from the bottom (which is as far as she can reach through the stairgate)!! How sweet of her to do something like that!

It was such a lovely gesture I decided that we should put it in a pot of water, so that it might last a little longer… however My little Angel had other plans. She stole the pot of water off me, took it into the garden and came back two minutes later, with the whole pot FILLED with dandelions, closely followed by a second, and then third cup full!!! She is such a sweet little girl, I don’t know where I’d be without her! All the dandelions are now sat on the desk next to me, a little splash of colour amongst all the drab white paperwork!

 

Perfection Through Silence

Backdate: 23rd feb 2010

“What am I supposed to do, Should I sit, wait for you, Listen to me screaming more!”

I thought the last post needed a bit of a follow up as I left on a subdued note of reminiscence, most unlike me.

Have you ever had a moment, where you sit in complete silence, close your eyes and allow thoughtlessness to overcome you? You sit in an empty void, knowing not where it may take you, neither caring nor pondering the meaning behind such a moment?

I seem to be having too many of these lately, and I find myself pondering my own existence. For years, I have felt broken, shattered even; unable to decide whether or not I should be angry with everyone who has hurt me, or just accept that it is part of who I am and I should just be grateful that I am once again on a level plain with the whole world at my feet. However, when these “silent” moments wash over me, I feel completely at ease, in a state of pure bliss and I find myself hypothesising everybody else’s choices, trying to determine what prompted them to do as they have.

Today, for the first time in a year, I looked up my sister’s profile page on Facebook. Heaven knows why. She hurt me so badly that I no longer consider her blood the same as mine. I do not wish to go back to civility with her, as I do not believe that people can change. She hurt me once, and I allowed her back in, only for her to repeat her behaviour a few years down the line, yet I found myself drawn to her today. Compelled, even, to click on her profile, to see her picture, to find out what she’s doing with her life, despite not caring.

Now I sit here contemplating why I did this. I know it wasn’t out of curiosity as the only reason she has the title of my “sister” is the blood running through our veins. There is no love at all between us and though it pains me to say, I doubt that there would be a tear shed if one of us were to depart this life tomorrow. The only emotional ties I have to her are to my 2 beautiful nieces, whom I fear I may never see again, lest they were to one day find out what kind of monster their mother really is.

So, love wasn’t my inspiration, neither was curiosity, yet still I looked into her eyes, scanned her photos and profile for even a glimmer of hope that she may still recall I exist.

A similar thing happened with my brother’s profile the other day. Again, I looked at his picture, read his posts, not knowing what it was I was looking for, yet never ceasing to search for it.

Mumsy reckons I should be angry with them all, to yell my head off and tell them all exactly what I think of them in the vain hopes that they may understand my feelings towards them and hence apologize for the pressure that they have put on not only my marriage, but my life in general. I want to say that I agree with her, that I will put my hand on my heart and tell my “family” just how much they have hurt me; however, I pride myself on my ability to use words and I know that were I to just have an outburst of pure emotion, I shall say things so horrific that I myself would recoil at their sounding. I also know for a certainty, that should I begin to confront my family, it would not end until every last horrific detail of my entire downwards spiralling life was out in the open, ready to be loaded into a metaphorical shotgun and the trigger pulled, aiming right at my heart and shredding my very fibre into pieces too small to piece back together. The fear alone is enough to halt my anger. The fear of having to relive the nights where my parents would tape our mouths shut when I was only 3 or 4, that my father would walk naked into my bedroom at 6 in the morning to tell me to keep the volume on the television down; that he’d take his belt off to me, forcing me to bend bare-bottomed over the bed on many occasions and beat me, using the metal buckled belt as a whip until I was too sore to sit down.

Perhaps fear is the reason behind most of my actions, the reason I can’t sleep at night and maybe it is the intense fear of my childhood that stops me being who I am really meant to be.

I dream to be recognized as an intelligent individual. I know I am intellectual. I know that I have a grasp of the English language that not many people seem to uphold these days. I know that if I put my mind to it, I can do anything, yet I scraped through college, dropped out of Uni and do not strive for more, as doing so would put me in the spotlight and that people would start asking questions. What sort of answers would I give? I chose books instead of people because of one day when I was 8 and abused by two 13 year old boys, causing me to lose all faith in humanity? I chose music and arts because it took my mind off the anger that was always present in our house as a child and that if I listened to the screaming for too long it made me feel as if I was slipping into insanity?

Or do I tell everyone that the real reason I hide behind psychology and intellect is because I have been told since the age of 3 that I am naturally gifted and that I am expected to be this way and failing to adhere to that would mean I am just a failure to myself and those around me?

I often find myself wondering if that is the reason my family have disowned me; Because I prefer to use my brain rather than expecting everyone else to do so for me. Because I chose to be with someone who will accept me as who I am and not expect anymore, therefore I am failing to uphold the family tradition of settling for second best, living in a council house expecting everyone else to pick up after me. I do not see how any of my choices in life should make me a failure in anyone’s eyes. Ok, I don’t currently have a degree or a highly paid job, but I have too many goals in life, too many jobs I wish to do and deciding that at this moment in time is not something I want to readily throw myself at.

So why did I find myself drawn back to them? Why can’t I just forget that they ever existed and throw myself behind my own beliefs about family being the ones who love you rather than whose blood you share?

I have so many questions that I find unanswered. If I try to seek the answers, all that I find are more questions. I don’t like being left without definitive answers. Supposition and conjecture do nothing for me. I am the type of person who prefers all the facts to be displayed clearly and concise, out in the open so that I may, when ready, begin to evaluate and conclude the most logical explanation. All these maybes and unknown answers are sure to drive me insane but what other choice do I have?

Yes, I can go through life with the book closed on my past, accepting that I may never know why things happened as they did, but the whole point of remembering the past is so that you do not make the same mistakes that you have been subject to. How can I ensure that my daughter and future children do not grow up with similar questions in their heads? If there are no answers in my life, there will always be a part of theirs which is too, left open to interpretation, leaving them vulnerable to wondering why my family plays no part in theirs.

That is no life I want for my children. I want to protect them from the harsh realities of divorce and anger. I want them to never find out what blood they share, for it doesn’t sit so well with myself and I’d hate them to think that they too are descended from people who’s own benefits outweigh those of their children.
That isn’t the way the world is supposed to work and despite it being a harsh reality of today, I will not let it be the basis of my future. All I can do for now is strive for answers, go knocking on the door of uncertainty and hoping that it doesn’t slam in my face.

Maybe this is the reason behind all my musings of late. I’m getting too close to crazy and I need to find a way out. If that means I need to fight the shadows hiding in the corners of my memories then so be it. Anything to protect my little angels from the cruel nature of my family.

I am grateful however, that I only have one family to fight, and knowing that I have another waiting to back me up makes the burden a little lighter, even if they don’t know the full extent of the ammunition. To be part of something so beautiful has been a real blessing and I am honoured they have accepted me so readily.

A popular saying states that there is a silver lining to every cloud, and be that the truth I wish to believe, then Mumsy and the rest of my new family are the sunshine behind the storm that has been hovering over me like a bad omen since my birth.

I cannot forgive what has happened in my past, and maybe I can never forget, but I shall endeavour to keep it exactly where it is, adding answers as little footnotes on the pages of history, so that when the time comes, I have some reasoning behind who I am and how I got here.

Until then, I have you, my friends, and my new family to thank for holding me high when I am starting to struggle under the weight of it all, and for that, I am eternally grateful and indebted to you.

Ariga

 

Reminiscence ~ Feelings Not Erased

Backdate: 22nd feb 2010

I’ve been thinking about the past quite a bit recently, and for some reason, I have found that in the most random of ways, my mind tends to spring memories on me at such odd frequency that I start considering the significance of the events.

Today’s random memory started as a dream and had me shivering… Not in fear, or despair, but pleasure. Immense pleasure at a memory that has me blushing even now, years later…

Almost Eight years ago (Christ! Makes me feel old!), I fell, quite hard, for someone I knew I shouldn’t have. I’d recently started at a new school, made a few new friends, one of whom I believe will always play a major part in my life – Rose. How we met and became best friends isn’t of huge significance to this story, but it was meeting her which led to the start of something.

It was a Wednesday and I was invited to her house for tea, as usual, we were playing games and chatting/ranting about school, parents and life in general (as any 14 year old girl does, I’m sure!) when she said she wanted to play Super Smash Brothers, but she had to ask Her Brother as it would mean we’d need to sit in his room to play their shared gamecube…

I had never met Her Brother before and wasn’t sure what to expect, as I haven’t exactly had much exposure to older siblings, with mine in care and mentally blocking out the events leading to their dismissal from the family. Nevertheless, we went into the bedroom and being polite, I said hello, feeling a bit odd about invading the bedroom of a guy I’d never met! (cue awkward stances and whispered speech)

Sat with his back to the door, and headphones on, he waved us in and said a brief “hi” before turning to help Rose plug the correct scart into the back of the television.

I believe that that was the first time I experienced such raw feeling, I was left speechless, breathless and as if my inner core had been exposed for the world to see.
Whether anyone realised or not, I don’t know but I was staring. I was staring right at him, feeling my legs turn to jelly, my pulse racing, blood pounding in my head. It took all my strength to tear my eyes away from him long enough to notice that Rose was waiting to start the game. Looking away, I noticed there was nowhere to sit, and that Rose was pointing to Her Brother’s bed *his BED!!!* so unsure of what to do, I cautiously sat on the edge and started playing.

It took an hour or so, but eventually I relaxed and started enjoying myself, secretly glancing over from time to time, while they both beat me severely at Super Smash Brothers, it mattered not, I was just having a good time, relishing the closeness between us.
Our Wednesdays became a weekly event, and were pretty similar to each other… Rose’s boyfriend Steve would be there most weeks and it would be the 4 of us sat in the bedroom playing games, laughing, joking around…

Yet nothing changed.

There were still feelings bouncing around inside me, and I was certain that the others had noticed it too.

After long, we were off to college and Rose informed me that Her Brother would be starting there at the same time as we. This was when Rose’s mum hinted that she knew my secret. The secret which up until then had been, or so I thought, all mine. Sure, some of the kids at school had figured something out, as I was always over Rose’s and they made sly comments about Her Brother being older than us all and that I’d recently split with a guy and was so determined to stay single “because of Her Brother” they’d assume.

But Rose’s mum?! I didn’t want her to know! It was my secret and I feared that should it become common knowledge, Rose would hate me and not talk to me anymore. It’s not the done thing to “fall for” your best friend’s brother.

It all started very quickly once we had begun our college lives. Rose’s mum would often take me home whilst picking Rose and Her Brother up, she’d notice my flushed cheeks as I walked to the car, realising that He was there. She started to make some comments to me while taking me home from the house on a Wednesday (“He’s good with his hands” and “You’d make such a nice couple” being my favourite) She’d figured it out and was actively encouraging me!!

Throughout the first few weeks of college, I felt myself falling faster and faster, imagining how things would be, wondering if I dared allow myself to let other people know how I felt.

And then I made up my mind. He was studying Sociology in the room next to my Psychology class (in which I met, and fell in love with my husband >_<) and I felt crushed, as if I couldn’t escape him, as we’d wait outside to be let into our lesson, I’d stand in the corridor, I could see Him through his classroom window… and I made up my mind.

One week over Rose’s, I told her everything. How I felt, how long for, and I asked her if she’d be too awkward if I asked him to lunch…

She laughed!

Apparently, she’d known all along and didn’t care what I said to him as her boyfriend had been Her Brother’s best friend.
So the next day, I saw him outside the biology labs, and holding my breath, trying to maintain composure, I walked up to him, unable to look in his eyes and asked him straight out – “Would you, um, like to go for lunch sometime”
Eternity seemed to pass as I stood, knowing what was about to be said, yet somehow wishing I had just turned and ran away.

“I would, but uhh… I don’t think it’s a good idea… you’re my sister’s best friend and if things umm….” His voice trailed off…

I was heartbroken, but at the same time, relived. I’d bitten the bullet and said what I’d wanted to for 3 whole years! Walking away was the hardest thing I’d had to endure, and I think maybe, I left a little part of me along the way.

I know this all sounds a little weird, considering a few days later, I started a friendship with my now-husband and we fell madly in love with each other, but that instant adrenaline rush you get when your breath first gets stolen by someone, when you least expect it, is something I would not have missed for the world.

That was 4 years ago now, and though not at the front of my mind everyday, I cannot help remembering when I visit Rose, sit in her bedroom playing games, knowing that He is only in the room next-door. I still find myself unable to talk to him, unable to look into his eyes, to hold my head up, to keep composed when I’m in the same room with him.

At those times, I feel like a 14 year old, in the first throes of her first school-boy crush, knowing that this is different.
Sure I’ve had a crush, but this was – is – different.
I’ve fallen madly in love. Again, this is different.

8 years passed and there is still something there. Some part of me who will always think “what if…”

What ifs… they’re just the conscious mind trying to map out the different paths your life could have taken, analysing if the decisions you have made have indeed been the right ones. They’re your psyche’s way of confirming that the life we lead is the life we were always meant to lead, that we are indeed on the correct path, confirming that events we experienced have led to where we are now.

I don’t regret the way things worked out, not for a single second. I have a beautiful daughter, a wonderful husband and the best in-laws in the world, but every now and then it’s nice to remember the first love. After all, they say that you never forget them.

Was He my first? I don’t know. Maybe I never will, but I do know that at the time, I thought I was in love with him, maybe that 14 year old girl inside always will be… How do we determine what love is? What I felt for Him and how I feel about my Husband are completely different, yet similar in the way that there’s a part of me who can’t forget either of them. The problem I have is determining how prominent an emotion needs to be to be significant enough to declare as “love”. Can such a broad term be simplified to such an extent that most people can understand? If My Husband were to read this, it would most likely upset him. If Rose or Her Brother read this, I fear I shall never be able to show my face again as they’d finally learn how deep the river of feelings runs. (present tense noted… such feelings never truly leave)

All emotions leave scars. Good ones, bad ones, we never really forget. The feelings I have, and have had, will never disappear, but may one day fade until I cannot accurately replay the memory, until it becomes a ghost, somewhere in the back of my subconscious mind. I don’t think I will ever be ready for that day. My husband will always be with me, mind body and soul forever entwined regardless of what happens in the future and for that I am grateful. I have so much love for him I cannot fathom what should happen to my heart if he was one day to leave.

But there will always be a tiny piece of my heart out there with Him. With Her Brother. We never went for lunch. We never touched, our lips never joined, yet He has some hold over me, as though part of my heart will always remain in that room, where I felt as if I could just reach out and touch his face, put my lips to his and get forever lost, absorbed by emotion.

I hope that it stays safe. That somehow, the memory will always be clear in my mind… After 8 years, I thought I was over it, that I had forgotten about the feelings I had. Yet if one thing my dreams have taught me recently, it’s this:

I’m not yet ready to forget. I don’t think I ever want to.