Anxiety, depression, mental health, Uncategorized

There are 2 sides to every story. I have 2 sides just for 1: Side 1.

I’ve made reference to the fact that I’m, along with all my other fun mental health issues, going through a break-up.

It’s common in these situations to say “There are two sides to every story.” Which, yes there is, and it’s time now I shared my side.

It’s intertwined with a deterioration in my mental health, family input, and the bitterness of arguing over who gets custody of the caravan holiday in Prestatyn. (Luckily we didn’t need to settle this in court, I don’t own a suit.)

I was 18, a month away from hitting 19. I was dressed as a 118 runner and in a foul mood (just one of my low days, which was rare at the time.) According to him (he who shall not be named- but not Voldemort, although he does share Voldemort’s real name. Coincidence? I think not!) I had a face like a slapped arse. Now most of the time I can’t help this, thanks to my fathers genes I have chubby cheeks. And due to my mothers genes I have resting bitch face. Which results in me looking like a pissed off toddler most of the time.

We were on a pub crawl for a mutual friend’s birthday. Which turned into a flat party (we were freshers at uni, that’s standard practice.) and we started talking about music, turned out we had the same taste, and I hadn’t really met anyone else at uni who did. Long story short, as freshers do, he came back to my flat. The next day, he asked for my number! The long standing anxiety and issues with abandonment screamed in excitement “What?! He wants to talk to me again? Play it cool.” The anxiety parrot chirped in with “He’s just trying to be polite you won’t hear off him again.”

That night he added me on Facebook! He was messaging me! And he even text me too the next day. What sort of sorcery was this!? Turned out, back at home, we lived 60 miles apart and he had family in my hometown. We met up and talked every day over the summer break. In the August we became a couple.

Now, I couldn’t believe my luck, I had met someone that made me snort laugh, had the same interests and he was good looking – despite his questionable hair cut at the time. He then split up with me in the December (1st strike) I was devastated. Not quite heartbroken. I still can’t remember the reason. But he broke up with me and stayed at my house that night (weird). Long story short, as they tend to do a month later he comes back, we meet up, he tells me he made a mistake and wants to be with me. We were then together until we graduated in 2013.

There had been times I had fallen in my well at uni, especially during my dissertation writing – some self harm (that’s for another time) where his reaction was to not contact me for a weekend and tell his parents (pattern emerging here). But the last straw was when we had both moved home, he made me drive the 60 miles to be told he’s just not in the place for a relationship, that my mental health caused me to rely on him too much (Strike 2).I drove home in bits.

I got on with my job, 2 weeks later my second grandad suddenly passed away. I remember texting him to tell him, to which he said “I hope you don’t think telling me this will change my mind about being together.” CHARMING.

I began to move on, but every 2 months I’d hear from him, and I’d go running. He was using me and I was willing to let him, grasping so desperately at the chance of keeping him. My family knew what I was doing, my friends knew, they all told me not to, that I was just hurting myself. Would I listen? Would I F**k!

I then had enough when he asked me for relationship advice. I couldn’t put myself through this anymore. I was doing my nursing degree, I joined slimming world and the gym, I lost weight. And I met someone I really liked.

And as men do… they can smell when you’re happy again (seriously they’re like beagles!) and we arranged to see The Courteeners together. As friends. And low and behold at that gig we bumped into the guy I was seeing – and I chose to stay with this guy. He who shall not be named stormed off.

He had wriggled himself into my world like a tapeworm. And the whole night with my new boo was spent thinking about him.

I text him the next day – telling him I still loved him, despite us being split up for 18months. And we met up, he told me he felt the same.

I remember standing in a multi story car park with him (romantic scene to imagine, carrier bags and urine stains). Where he promised me, that this time we get back together as adults, for the long run. When we have problems, either of us. We face them together as a team. That I’m the person he wanted to be the mother of his children.

And that was the end of part 1 and the beginning of part 2. A new chapter. With so much hope….

Funny how words can mean nothing.