Dear Dobson,
After much anticipation and anxiety, my day at court finally arrived. I felt sick, nervous at the prospect of seeing The Man after all this time. Despite my desire to be anywhere but the witness care 'suite' (and I use that word very loosely), there was a sensible voice in my head that kept repeating what had happened was fundamentally wrong and this would be my opportunity to voice that belief.
Three and a half hours later, and after many trips to the lavatory, I was informed the case would be adjourned for another six months. The judges were delayed by the morning's case and they do not, ever, work beyond 4 o'clock.
Upset, disappointed, angry... etc. I know you've heard it all before. So given those feelings, plus the absence of my children and SG Guy who was in Europe, I embarked on a three day binge.
I took my finger off the self-destruct button on Sunday afternoon. It was then reality managed to sneak its way in. I wish I'd managed to shut the door in time, but I failed. It's been a quiet week and numb is where things currently feel most comfortable. I'm hoping it's a temporary state of mind, it's not a pleasant place.
Frankie
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Sunday, 7 December 2014
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
Hanging Up The Towels
Dear Dobson,
Given that these are stressful times, it was inevitable that my old friend 'Insomnia' would rock up at some point, hence me hanging up the towels and loitering here at 1 o'clock in the morning. I am so tired, in fact, I'm exhausted. I've been fighting the lurgy for over a week now with no sign of it abating. My body is telling me to slow down but it's difficult; I've children, singing rehearsals, gym and a soirée to organise for Saturday night. My libido is suffering too and I feel terrible for cancelling my tryst with SG Guy tonight, but what's the point if I'm not up to it? I'm no faker.
In view of my cancellation I considered a wank but lethargy and apathy won the day. My glass of 14.5% Merlot remains unfinished, the lid is firmly on my 'Berlin XXX' poppers and the batteries in my bunny are on their last (hind) legs. It's tragic.
Ten days and counting. Then who knows where I'll be at - a better place hopefully, with some fresh batteries...
Frankie
Given that these are stressful times, it was inevitable that my old friend 'Insomnia' would rock up at some point, hence me hanging up the towels and loitering here at 1 o'clock in the morning. I am so tired, in fact, I'm exhausted. I've been fighting the lurgy for over a week now with no sign of it abating. My body is telling me to slow down but it's difficult; I've children, singing rehearsals, gym and a soirée to organise for Saturday night. My libido is suffering too and I feel terrible for cancelling my tryst with SG Guy tonight, but what's the point if I'm not up to it? I'm no faker.
In view of my cancellation I considered a wank but lethargy and apathy won the day. My glass of 14.5% Merlot remains unfinished, the lid is firmly on my 'Berlin XXX' poppers and the batteries in my bunny are on their last (hind) legs. It's tragic.
Ten days and counting. Then who knows where I'll be at - a better place hopefully, with some fresh batteries...
Frankie
Saturday, 1 November 2014
Resurrection
Dear Dobson,
We need to get back to doing this shit.
In my mind, I don't care whether we're simply writing for you and me. I don't care how many followers we have, what the figures are, who's interested or not. This bloggage, as I understand it, is ultimately for us.
I think, whilst desperately trying not to sound like Tammy Wynette, sometimes it's hard to be a woman. It's fucking hard.
As you know Dobson, I'm up in court this month - a witness for the CPS. Partly I've been reluctant to write because I don't know who's going to read this. 'The Man' is aware of this blog and he may well come across its content. I've reached the point where I don't care if he does or not.
Our relationship ended in the messiest of ways. He hurt me, physically as well as emotionally, and as you know after a period of contemplation I went to the police. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but ultimately, at the very heart of it, was the belief that what he had done was wrong. Very wrong.
I have done my best since things ended, to get on with my life. I've successfully gigged, I've achieved a Certificate in Counselling, I've tentatively embarked on a new relationship and yet life feels 'stuck'. Until the trial is over I'm unable to move on. We still have a connection, even if it's in the most negative of ways. I want to be liberated. I want it to be over and I acknowledge that, soon, it will be.
I hope that with the end of the trial - no matter what the outcome is - I will be able to disconnect. In spite of everything, I still feel tied to him, as if this trial binds us in the unhealthiest of ways.
Obviously it's been a long time and there's much more I could divulge but I feel I need to be economical with what I share right now. The time will come when it feels safe again, but until then this is the best I can offer.
Frankie
We need to get back to doing this shit.
In my mind, I don't care whether we're simply writing for you and me. I don't care how many followers we have, what the figures are, who's interested or not. This bloggage, as I understand it, is ultimately for us.
I think, whilst desperately trying not to sound like Tammy Wynette, sometimes it's hard to be a woman. It's fucking hard.
As you know Dobson, I'm up in court this month - a witness for the CPS. Partly I've been reluctant to write because I don't know who's going to read this. 'The Man' is aware of this blog and he may well come across its content. I've reached the point where I don't care if he does or not.
Our relationship ended in the messiest of ways. He hurt me, physically as well as emotionally, and as you know after a period of contemplation I went to the police. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but ultimately, at the very heart of it, was the belief that what he had done was wrong. Very wrong.
I have done my best since things ended, to get on with my life. I've successfully gigged, I've achieved a Certificate in Counselling, I've tentatively embarked on a new relationship and yet life feels 'stuck'. Until the trial is over I'm unable to move on. We still have a connection, even if it's in the most negative of ways. I want to be liberated. I want it to be over and I acknowledge that, soon, it will be.
I hope that with the end of the trial - no matter what the outcome is - I will be able to disconnect. In spite of everything, I still feel tied to him, as if this trial binds us in the unhealthiest of ways.
Obviously it's been a long time and there's much more I could divulge but I feel I need to be economical with what I share right now. The time will come when it feels safe again, but until then this is the best I can offer.
Frankie
Monday, 10 February 2014
Spiralling
Dear Dobson,
I have an essay to produce in sixteen days and as you might predict motivation is low, so I thought it was time to pay a visit to our sacred space.
I have found myself wondering if this complete lack of focus is what it's like to have ADHD? If so, it must be exhausting. My brain only seems to be able to cope with minute pieces of information and I'm finding it frustrating. In a bid to change this state of affairs and given my surplus of singleton hours, I have taken to watching series after series of anything in a foreign language. As you know I'm a fan of anything dark and Scandinavian, so both series of 'The Bridge' (Bron || Broen) have been an absolute godsend. I'm now into the third series of 'Spiral', which is also dark but French. Watching this kind of thing forces me to engage.
My heart remains broken; my emotions feel as if they've been blasted into a million pieces - someone has kindly scooped them up and plopped them in a bucket for me, but now they have to be sifted through. That's proving more painful than the initial blasting itself.
I am doing my utmost to be 'normal' and do 'normal' things. Parenthood offers little space for indulgence which can be both a blessing and a curse, my singing is on the up, college is going well (essay aside), I'm back running regularly and support from friends and family is forthcoming. However...
Going through the motions has never been my bag and there is a distinct lack of joy in most of what I do right now. Where is the fucking joy Dobson?
Speaking of fucking, the last time that happened was Christmas night and I miss the physical contact. Though having said that, the idea of being intimate with anyone ever again terrifies me and it all feels a bit dead from the waist down.
As I said, where is the fucking joy Dobson?
Right, I'm off to watch another couple of episodes of Spiral. The essay can wait.
Frankie
I have an essay to produce in sixteen days and as you might predict motivation is low, so I thought it was time to pay a visit to our sacred space.
I have found myself wondering if this complete lack of focus is what it's like to have ADHD? If so, it must be exhausting. My brain only seems to be able to cope with minute pieces of information and I'm finding it frustrating. In a bid to change this state of affairs and given my surplus of singleton hours, I have taken to watching series after series of anything in a foreign language. As you know I'm a fan of anything dark and Scandinavian, so both series of 'The Bridge' (Bron || Broen) have been an absolute godsend. I'm now into the third series of 'Spiral', which is also dark but French. Watching this kind of thing forces me to engage.
My heart remains broken; my emotions feel as if they've been blasted into a million pieces - someone has kindly scooped them up and plopped them in a bucket for me, but now they have to be sifted through. That's proving more painful than the initial blasting itself.
I am doing my utmost to be 'normal' and do 'normal' things. Parenthood offers little space for indulgence which can be both a blessing and a curse, my singing is on the up, college is going well (essay aside), I'm back running regularly and support from friends and family is forthcoming. However...
Going through the motions has never been my bag and there is a distinct lack of joy in most of what I do right now. Where is the fucking joy Dobson?
Speaking of fucking, the last time that happened was Christmas night and I miss the physical contact. Though having said that, the idea of being intimate with anyone ever again terrifies me and it all feels a bit dead from the waist down.
As I said, where is the fucking joy Dobson?
Right, I'm off to watch another couple of episodes of Spiral. The essay can wait.
Frankie
Monday, 20 January 2014
Dignity or Dignitas?
Dear Dobson,
Life seems to be meandering from one day to the next, so I suppose that's evidence I'm hanging on in there somehow. It's an existence of sorts but I'm aware I'm lurking in the shadows, courting anonymity instead of the spotlight for the first time in my life. I feel jaded, used, discarded.
The Man ignores the odd phone call I chance, my e-mails and occasional texts. All fall on deaf ears. I've a feeling he doesn't even read the words I carefully construct. Each agonising phrase dusted with a whiff of hope - hope that he'll be sufficiently moved to reconnect. I realise it's futile. My services are no longer required.
Sadness is a constant, disappointment a regular visitor and anger an unwelcome one. Then there are the dark thoughts; the powerful fantasies of revenge countered by those of pitiful self-destruction. I am lost. Broken.
As you know Dobson, this isn't just a case of heartbreak. It's more complicated than that. It's old wounds revisited. I didn't want to have to go to 'Rejectionville' again but I'm fresh off the bus, suitcase in hand and the locals seem to know who I am. All because someone said 'trust me', and I took a chance.
January is nearly over ergo I have been single for almost a month. Time flies when you're empty and numb. I miss The Man - I miss 'us' and 'we' and I miss 'my boyfriend'.
Frankie
Life seems to be meandering from one day to the next, so I suppose that's evidence I'm hanging on in there somehow. It's an existence of sorts but I'm aware I'm lurking in the shadows, courting anonymity instead of the spotlight for the first time in my life. I feel jaded, used, discarded.
The Man ignores the odd phone call I chance, my e-mails and occasional texts. All fall on deaf ears. I've a feeling he doesn't even read the words I carefully construct. Each agonising phrase dusted with a whiff of hope - hope that he'll be sufficiently moved to reconnect. I realise it's futile. My services are no longer required.
Sadness is a constant, disappointment a regular visitor and anger an unwelcome one. Then there are the dark thoughts; the powerful fantasies of revenge countered by those of pitiful self-destruction. I am lost. Broken.
As you know Dobson, this isn't just a case of heartbreak. It's more complicated than that. It's old wounds revisited. I didn't want to have to go to 'Rejectionville' again but I'm fresh off the bus, suitcase in hand and the locals seem to know who I am. All because someone said 'trust me', and I took a chance.
January is nearly over ergo I have been single for almost a month. Time flies when you're empty and numb. I miss The Man - I miss 'us' and 'we' and I miss 'my boyfriend'.
Frankie
Saturday, 11 January 2014
Happy New Year My Arse
Dear Dobson,
These are difficult, desperate days and in the face of such adversity, resurrecting our online tête-à-tête seemed like the only thing to do to preserve a modicum of sanity.
When last we spoke I was on board the Love Train and life was good. It continued to be so until just after Christmas when the stoker decided to throw me off. Nothing was negotiable. Perhaps he thought I'd dodged the fare but I can honestly say I hadn't.
Heartbreak over the Christmas / New Year period is possibly the worst kind. It's that time of year when couples strive to outdo each other with overt, gaudy displays of bile-inducing affection and being involuntarily single amidst all this is akin to having bubonic plague. No-one wants to get too close in case they catch it.
This wasn't what I anticipated going into 2014. I feel as if I missed a big clue along the way; the one that said 'He's going to dump you'. And let me tell you, the man is as stubborn as his Taurus the Bull birth sign - he won't be changing his mind or compromising in any way.
I'm shocked and saddened. I believed we were good together / for each other. Our experience was obviously very different.
Initially I will try and fix myself by taking on board what the Bee Gees have to say above, but luckily for me, I've been broken before so have a few tried and tested methods of my own; good people, running, singing, my course, this blog and strength of character. To be honest I'd have preferred to be planning a holiday with my boyfriend in the new year instead of my solitary emotional recovery, but needs must.
Despite the miserable overtures, it feels good to be back here.
Frankie
These are difficult, desperate days and in the face of such adversity, resurrecting our online tête-à-tête seemed like the only thing to do to preserve a modicum of sanity.
When last we spoke I was on board the Love Train and life was good. It continued to be so until just after Christmas when the stoker decided to throw me off. Nothing was negotiable. Perhaps he thought I'd dodged the fare but I can honestly say I hadn't.
Heartbreak over the Christmas / New Year period is possibly the worst kind. It's that time of year when couples strive to outdo each other with overt, gaudy displays of bile-inducing affection and being involuntarily single amidst all this is akin to having bubonic plague. No-one wants to get too close in case they catch it.
This wasn't what I anticipated going into 2014. I feel as if I missed a big clue along the way; the one that said 'He's going to dump you'. And let me tell you, the man is as stubborn as his Taurus the Bull birth sign - he won't be changing his mind or compromising in any way.
I'm shocked and saddened. I believed we were good together / for each other. Our experience was obviously very different.
Initially I will try and fix myself by taking on board what the Bee Gees have to say above, but luckily for me, I've been broken before so have a few tried and tested methods of my own; good people, running, singing, my course, this blog and strength of character. To be honest I'd have preferred to be planning a holiday with my boyfriend in the new year instead of my solitary emotional recovery, but needs must.
Despite the miserable overtures, it feels good to be back here.
Frankie
Sunday, 17 March 2013
The Big Thaw
Dear Dobson,
I cannot believe yet another respective birthday has been and gone. I must confess I've been thinking a lot this evening about the passing of time - a classic symptom of getting older. Unfortunately I've reached no earth shattering conclusions, other than time seems to be accelerating a little too quickly for my liking, especially the good stuff which seems to be gone in the blink of an eye.
And please don't interpret my ruminations as sad or maudlin, if anything, what I've said above makes me value the good stuff even more.
Could I have injected more clichés into the preceding paragraphs?
I must congratulate you on your purchase of 'Orgasm' blusher, I shall pay close attention to your flush when we next meet, but don't go overboard will you? I imagine the Aunt Sally look would probably have an adverse effect... Luckily, and without wanting to sound like I'm bragging, I have no need for such cosmetic indulgences at the moment. My cheeks are aglow like two enormous Belisha Beacons and my Bunny™ lies redundant in the drawer underneath my bed; just for the record, there are many other reasons I think The Man is wonderful. The Ice Queen never stood a chance in such company.
On that note, it's time for me to retire to the boudoir where I shall slip under the covers and inhale what remnants are left of the weekend spent with him. Defrosted...
Night Dobson.
Frankie
PS. Happy frickin' Anniversary, this is our fiftieth post.
I cannot believe yet another respective birthday has been and gone. I must confess I've been thinking a lot this evening about the passing of time - a classic symptom of getting older. Unfortunately I've reached no earth shattering conclusions, other than time seems to be accelerating a little too quickly for my liking, especially the good stuff which seems to be gone in the blink of an eye.
And please don't interpret my ruminations as sad or maudlin, if anything, what I've said above makes me value the good stuff even more.
Could I have injected more clichés into the preceding paragraphs?
I must congratulate you on your purchase of 'Orgasm' blusher, I shall pay close attention to your flush when we next meet, but don't go overboard will you? I imagine the Aunt Sally look would probably have an adverse effect... Luckily, and without wanting to sound like I'm bragging, I have no need for such cosmetic indulgences at the moment. My cheeks are aglow like two enormous Belisha Beacons and my Bunny™ lies redundant in the drawer underneath my bed; just for the record, there are many other reasons I think The Man is wonderful. The Ice Queen never stood a chance in such company.
On that note, it's time for me to retire to the boudoir where I shall slip under the covers and inhale what remnants are left of the weekend spent with him. Defrosted...
Night Dobson.
Frankie
PS. Happy frickin' Anniversary, this is our fiftieth post.
Tuesday, 19 February 2013
I'm Bringing Sexy Back
Dear Frankie
I'm going to layer this blog like a Mary Berry Cake, or probably more like a Findus Lasagne.
First layer. Your enjoyment of your relationship. To most, this is a good thing. A wee gift from The Gods. A big 'hurrah' for you. A lucky man.
I know that that is not how you roll. Most of the time. I have learned that you may be searching for the self-destruct button.
You must not do this.
You must instead go back and re-read some of your blogs. Think about the negatives of not feeling this way. Also, don't read about couples on Facebook. We all know they are bastards. That Valentine's stuff gives me the dry boak. What a waste of money and time. And mostly it's from people who can only function when told to, or show love through a shit teddy, cheap chocolate and a crappy card. When the fuck did they gig to a packed house in town, or run a marathon? They don't do, that's why they pepper Facebook with that stuff.
Enjoy it all. A fucking bus might mow you down tomorrow or some other clichéd death. I am very, very happy for you.
Probably best to keep wanking though or we may lose our fan.
Which leads me nicely unto layer two.
Sexy.
I have been told that I am the fall guy to your dirty stuff on the blog, so I am going to sex this puppy up. Here goes.
Ooohhh, that boiler is leaking. Dirty git. Better get a plumber out, eh? Yeah, big old plumber. With tools. Ohhh. When's he coming? Get it? Coming. Cumming. See what I did there. What do you mean he's cancelled? But I swapped stuff at work to get back early and picked up the kids for this. I can't believe this.
Oh wait. Spoiled that slightly. Will try again.
Ooooohhh, that's right, oooh yeah, oh hang on, my bingo wing is trapped, move, fucking move, ahhhh, ok, I'm fine, ooh right, so, hang on, that's the baby crying, get up, no its your turn...
Bollocks.
Layer three.
I can't write sexy.
I like 'sexy' and I am not a prude. Rude stuff makes me laugh, I am unshockable.
But dear reader I am unable to put it down on paper. I guess it's a part of my life I like to keep private, even though I can voyeur with the best of them. Everything else about me is laid bare, in my job, on here, in counselling, in my limited stand-up stuff.
But you must be brave and soldier on. Sex it up for me. Except I know that it ain't sexing up. It's actually you. And that's what makes you so darn fab.
Dobbers. x
I'm going to layer this blog like a Mary Berry Cake, or probably more like a Findus Lasagne.
First layer. Your enjoyment of your relationship. To most, this is a good thing. A wee gift from The Gods. A big 'hurrah' for you. A lucky man.
I know that that is not how you roll. Most of the time. I have learned that you may be searching for the self-destruct button.
You must not do this.
You must instead go back and re-read some of your blogs. Think about the negatives of not feeling this way. Also, don't read about couples on Facebook. We all know they are bastards. That Valentine's stuff gives me the dry boak. What a waste of money and time. And mostly it's from people who can only function when told to, or show love through a shit teddy, cheap chocolate and a crappy card. When the fuck did they gig to a packed house in town, or run a marathon? They don't do, that's why they pepper Facebook with that stuff.
Enjoy it all. A fucking bus might mow you down tomorrow or some other clichéd death. I am very, very happy for you.
Probably best to keep wanking though or we may lose our fan.
Which leads me nicely unto layer two.
Sexy.
I have been told that I am the fall guy to your dirty stuff on the blog, so I am going to sex this puppy up. Here goes.
Ooohhh, that boiler is leaking. Dirty git. Better get a plumber out, eh? Yeah, big old plumber. With tools. Ohhh. When's he coming? Get it? Coming. Cumming. See what I did there. What do you mean he's cancelled? But I swapped stuff at work to get back early and picked up the kids for this. I can't believe this.
Oh wait. Spoiled that slightly. Will try again.
Ooooohhh, that's right, oooh yeah, oh hang on, my bingo wing is trapped, move, fucking move, ahhhh, ok, I'm fine, ooh right, so, hang on, that's the baby crying, get up, no its your turn...
Bollocks.
Layer three.
I can't write sexy.
I like 'sexy' and I am not a prude. Rude stuff makes me laugh, I am unshockable.
But dear reader I am unable to put it down on paper. I guess it's a part of my life I like to keep private, even though I can voyeur with the best of them. Everything else about me is laid bare, in my job, on here, in counselling, in my limited stand-up stuff.
But you must be brave and soldier on. Sex it up for me. Except I know that it ain't sexing up. It's actually you. And that's what makes you so darn fab.
Dobbers. x
Monday, 18 February 2013
Consternation
Dear Dobson,
It happened last night and it has terrified me.
As you are aware, my dear friend, there is a certain
someone I have been spending a significant amount of time with. Yesterday evening he took me out for
dinner. He’s the kind of man who opens
doors for you and helps you with your coat even though you're not a septuagenarian.
He is thoughtful, attentive, has a wickedly dry sense of humour and is
easy going.
Post-dinner, whilst lying wrapped in my lover’s arms I
felt a stirring which was nothing to do with sex or fucking. It was a warm, hormonal surge which prompted
me to press myself further into him, he responded by tightening his
well-defined arms around me.
Each time I see him, the fondness I feel for him intensifies
a little. We’re not talking the ‘L’ word
but these old familiar feelings – the ones which have led to so much hurt in
the past – are certainly making their uncomfortable presence felt.
I am deeply concerned that my cynical writing style will
be affected by the presence of emotions and the like. Help me Dobson, you’re my only hope...
Frankie
PS. Having
monopolised our blog for so long, I now refuse to write any more until you have
made an entry. Fnar.
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