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 the past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the past. Show all posts
Sunday, 7 December 2014
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
Tuesday, 5 March 2013
Ghosts
Dearest Frankie,
Lovely to be back. Motherhood and workeyhood have indeed got in the way, but like a 1990s girlband, I've re-grouped, am back in the lycra and raring to go.
I suggest you make a Mother's Day card for said person. Make it look like a ransom note but then decorate it with bunnies, roses and kittens and it'll confuse the fuck out of her. See if you can find the 'bunny ears' you described earlier and pop them in for good measure. It'll be like getting a card from Michael Madsden AND Blue Peter. Worth a thought...
I don't believe in ghosts, but I've seen a lot of the feckers in the last month. Coming back from the dead like the Sixth Sense. Or Scooby Doo.
It was doable on Facebook. You didn't have to actually see them, and sometimes it was rather lovely to be reunited with a few.
But in person...
So. What do you do when someone you haven't seen for years is in the room with you? Next to you? Then you see them again. By accident. Third time lucky? Who knows? They may disappear once more.
But do you know what. I ain't spooked. In fact. It's ok. It's ok to see people that I may have been fearful of in the past (not good enough / thin enough / happy enough). I'm not spooked because, as Cheryl says "I'm worth it". Take me or leave me. Seriously. Enough pussyfooting around. (I've put that in for the dirty readers).
I'm kinda enjoying work too - feeling more in control, more worthy, more like me. That's good. I want to be able to move on from there, when I want to, on my terms. Sod 'em.
Right. That's enough from the Iron Curtain.
Love you more,
Dobson
PS. When you see that Justin Timberlake, tell him he left his Oyster Card here last time.
Lovely to be back. Motherhood and workeyhood have indeed got in the way, but like a 1990s girlband, I've re-grouped, am back in the lycra and raring to go.
I suggest you make a Mother's Day card for said person. Make it look like a ransom note but then decorate it with bunnies, roses and kittens and it'll confuse the fuck out of her. See if you can find the 'bunny ears' you described earlier and pop them in for good measure. It'll be like getting a card from Michael Madsden AND Blue Peter. Worth a thought...
I don't believe in ghosts, but I've seen a lot of the feckers in the last month. Coming back from the dead like the Sixth Sense. Or Scooby Doo.
It was doable on Facebook. You didn't have to actually see them, and sometimes it was rather lovely to be reunited with a few.
But in person...
So. What do you do when someone you haven't seen for years is in the room with you? Next to you? Then you see them again. By accident. Third time lucky? Who knows? They may disappear once more.
But do you know what. I ain't spooked. In fact. It's ok. It's ok to see people that I may have been fearful of in the past (not good enough / thin enough / happy enough). I'm not spooked because, as Cheryl says "I'm worth it". Take me or leave me. Seriously. Enough pussyfooting around. (I've put that in for the dirty readers).
I'm kinda enjoying work too - feeling more in control, more worthy, more like me. That's good. I want to be able to move on from there, when I want to, on my terms. Sod 'em.
Right. That's enough from the Iron Curtain.
Love you more,
Dobson
PS. When you see that Justin Timberlake, tell him he left his Oyster Card here last time.
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