That Guy.

You know, I never even saw him coming. It started with a conversation and within the encroaching months I find myself drowning in these overwhelming emotions. He was intense, but with kind eyes and a strong heart. He told me once “I know how amazing we’d be together” and I knew I was in trouble. I want to spend every waking hour tucked away inside his mind. Knowing what he was thinking. Was he thinking of me? What does he want? Would I ever be enough?

I’d say I am normally good at reading people; he was a novel written in another language. I wanted nothing more to understand and love every word he spoke. Our love was unexpected, the kind he believes you should write about; a story worth telling. I wanted nothing more to be flying on a plane, falling hopelessly more in love with him over every mile. The thought gives me hope that good things happen to good people. It gives me hope that I am good. I hold onto every word that he speaks, completely transfixed with his voice. Strong but knows no malice. He’s the kind of guy you know has strong arms, the kind that would make me feel safe. Secure. The moment our fingers intertwined I knew we could take on the world; I didn’t need to be strong by myself because we were stronger together.

Lying next to him I could see is light, the kind that could brighten the darkest thought. Kisses like lightening; intense but exciting. Electrifying the body, every nerve ending alive. His voice alone can make me smile, but that laugh; I swear it’s the only cure anyone needs. He saved me. He continues to save me. He’s the kind of guy who feels like home. No, he’s the kind of guy who makes you feel like you belong; he feels like where I belong, exactly where I am supposed to be.

I spent forever blinded. Hopelessly searching for an escape from myself; fumbling around in the unknown.

And there he was. My light in all of this darkness; the person who felt more safe than my own home.

You, Me + Player 3

If anyone would have asked me where I saw myself at aged 23, the answer would definitely not have been; full time employed, a home owner paying off a mortgage with a baby on the way. All of it sounds so adult and even though I am exactly that: an adult, it always felt like I was waiting for the day I actually was.

It’s peculiar that one day you’re 10 years old, desperately wishing you were 21. A ‘proper adult’ with all this money and no-one telling you how to live your life. Then you reach 21, having spent the last three years drinking too much, falling in and out of love with boys (or girls) and not really understanding the full weight of adulthood and responsibility. Then before you know it, you’re wishing you were 10 years old again where the hardest decision is what colour wax crayon you were going to write your name in today.

Fast forward another two years and you’ve now experienced heart break, the long hours of a full time job, exhausting arguments with your partner and the draining aspect of bills, rent and other adult responsibilities. All of it seems so relentless, disheartening even. Then one day you see the clear words of ‘pregnant’ on that overly priced clear blue test you bought and it all changes.

All of a sudden I welcomed the long hours of work, turns out having a baby is expensive! All the exhaustive arguments showed me we were both fighting to make things better for you. Owning a home allowed us to build somewhere safe for you, a place where you’ll know that the door is always open, a house filled with love; somewhere that was no longer our house but your home. We were no longer just surviving, plodding along every day. We were fighting, fighting to make the best possible life for you: my baby bear.

You soon became my favourite human being, I loved you long before you knew you loved me. I found myself talking to you daily, hourly even and you were my favourite conversation. Family and friends made jokes about how I would walk around rubbing my stomach.  My maternal instinct, that I didn’t think I had, flourished as you grew inside me. I always thought I was content with just Me, your dad and Lola, surrounded by all of our family and friends; but I have never been so happy to be wrong.

You are everything I wanted and more.

October 10th 2017

Today was meant to be one of the happiest days of my life, however I woke early in the morning around 07:45am with the biggest pit in my stomach. A pit that was filling with dread, fear and despair. I looked at my partner, his eyes were wide with excitement and smiled stating ‘today is the day’. I put on my best fake smile and nodded quietly, lowering my eyes.

We got in the car and before I could even think of the worst case scenario, we were already at the Hospital reception stating my name, appointment time and whatever else they make you say. I barely had the chance to sit down before a tiny framed, blonde woman called my name and we followed her silently to a dark-ish room with monitor screens. I could feel the excitement radiating off of my partner, all the while a deep rooted sense of dread started to surface from me; ‘How many weeks pregnant do you think you are?’. I answered ’12 hopefully’ with a hesitant smile and the woman went eerily quiet as she scanned my lower abdomen looking for my baby. I couldn’t tell you how much time went by, but it felt like an eternity; ‘I just want to do an internal scan to get a closer look’. This was all very unfamiliar to me, although I knew that wasn’t good news. I’d seen and knew enough about this process to know that she should have been able to find my baby externally and we should have seen a tiny human on a computer screen; we were meant to be happy. She did the scan and what followed will stay with me for the rest of my life. ‘I’ve found the gestational sac, but there doesn’t seem to be a baby there – I’m so sorry’. I couldn’t really tell you what happened from that point on, I cried – a lot. Where was my baby? What did I do wrong? All these questions were circling in my head but no words could come out of my mouth.

We were then ushered into another room, past women with healthy baby bumps, or babies in their arms. All the while I cried the makeup off my face, trying to hide my face in my coat. Then they left us. All I can really remember is the dull ticking of a clock on the wall behind us that ticked relentlessly in time with my sobbing. A midwife later came with leaflets; words got flown around like ‘Ectopic Pregnancy’, ‘Miscarriage’, ‘7 weeks’. I cried some more and stated that I needed to go home, I begged my partner to take me home. However, they wasn’t finished with me quite yet and I learned they wouldn’t be finished until two weeks passed me by.

They took my blood. ‘We won’t see you again Miss Daniels, every other appointment will be at the Hallamshire now. Now remember, 48 hours and we’ll want some more blood’. Then it seemed I was finally allowed to go; I didn’t say much on the way home. I got changed, got into bed and cried the rest of the day away. That’s the problem with morning appointments; time drags after that. I had nothing to say. I didn’t want to eat. I couldn’t bring myself to sleep. And it hurt when I breathed.

I didn’t move on the 11th. My partner got up, went to work and kissed me on the forehead whilst I laid in bed. He later came home to me laying in the same position; I barely looked at my phone, just laid there occasionally crying but mostly silent. I still couldn’t eat. I struggled to sleep. Every breath still hurt.

Back to the hospital on the 12th. Even more blood taken and I fucking hate needles. 19:00pm was results time. ‘Can you confirm your date of birth Alex? Right, it appears your hormone levels have decreased, but not by the amount we would expect so you’ll have to come back in another 48 hours. We can’t definitively give you an answer on what is happening – we can’t rule out Ectopic pregnancy or viable pregnancy. I still couldn’t eat. I still struggled to sleep. Every breath still hurt.

I was far too poorly on the 14th to go to the hospital, so they told me to go on the 16th. Another vile of blood was taken.  Another nurse talked at me, cause I can’t say I was really listening or processing anything she said. I left and waited for their call again. ‘Can you confirm your date of birth for me Alex? Right, I’ve got your blood results here and your hormone levels have dropped again. At this point the doctor is pretty confident its early onset miscarriage. Something went wrong at 7 weeks and unfortunately your baby died. I’m so sorry, but I can tell you what to expect and we will need to do a repeat blood test in a weeks’ time’.  She talked some more about symptoms, bleeding and pain. Something about needing to ring back if I experienced any of the following things she reeled off to me. I definitely did not want to eat. I don’t think I slept at all that night. I’m honestly surprised I breathed at all.

The pain hit me on the 17th. That was the day I started to physically lose my baby. I thought the emotional pain was going to ruin me, but nothing compared to the physical pain I felt. There was blood – an obscene amount of blood. And then it just stopped. I cried. No, I hysterically sobbed. I’d managed to turn off the emotional pain, I hadn’t cried for days and people believed me when I stated I was fine. It hit me like a tidal wave and the pain and heartache engulfed me. It felt like it was going to suffocate me. It was going to kill me. I slept nearly all night due to being exhausted. I clearly breathed but didn’t notice the pain.

It was finally going to be over.

Then the pain hit me again on the 18th. That pain I knew all so well from the night before. Then came even more blood. And yet again, then it just stopped. I didn’t cry. I didn’t hysterically sob. I was numb again, that deep and dark emptiness that just sat within me. My partner stayed out that night so I didn’t sleep at all. Breathing went back to being automatic and unnoticeable.

Now I’m here on the 19th. Finally writing it all down, deluding myself that this is going to be therapeutic. Talk about it Alex, write it down – it will make you feel better. Everything I tried to tell myself was a lie. I’m never going to feel better. Nothing is ever going to take this pain away, nothing is ever going to fix this and nothing will ever make me feel like I’m not empty anymore. But I realised, this is not something that can be fixed, I don’t need to feel complete in order to function and life goes on. Nothing is going to stop just because this happened. I’m eventually going to have to go back to work, I’m going to have to face friends and family and I’m going to have to find myself again at some point. But for now, it’s OK that I don’t want to leave the house. It’s OK that I don’t want to talk about how it makes me feel. It’s OK that this is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. It’s OK that I might cry again in a couple of weeks, months or even years.

But most of all, it’s OK to try again. Start again. Move forward.

Nothing is going to take away the amount of love I felt for my unborn child. That love consumed me in a way that I didn’t think was possible. That love is pain for now, it’ll consume me for however long it takes but that love will come back and always remain there.

“I carried you for every second of your life and I will love you for every second of mine”.

A Greek Goddess can’t save me now.

Muse:

1. Each of nine goddesses, the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne, who preside over the arts and sciences.
2. A person or personified force who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist.

As a blogger there has always been a driving force behind everything I’ve ever wrote, whether it worth reading or not.  There has always been some divine inspiration lurking in the background providing me with the passion and indulgence I’ve always needed. However, what happens when all that disappears and you’ve lost your muse?

I find myself with nothing to write. No words worth stringing together. There are a multitude of unfinished blog posts sat in my OneNote crying out to be completed. Some with titles and no body. Some with a skeleton but no flesh. I imagine this is pretty close to what a great author feels trying to finish their best-selling novel. I am drained of all inspirational with nothing of importance to scream and shout about.

Instead, here I am bitching and moaning about the fact I have lost my muse. I’m writing complaint after complaint just to fill the page. Pleading in the abyss of silence within my mind for something to jump out and spit itself across my screen. Desperately trying to find that passion that drives me to passionately type for hours. Battling with each word to make sure its imperfectly perfect.

The gods may have had their uses but a god won’t save me now.

Fallin’

There’s always going to be that one person who has an effect on you.  Someone who wants to make you scream and shout. You might fall for them and fall hard. And in time a type of love will grow. That tone goes on your phone and you get a message. Your heart momentarily stops and you smile when you see their name. The first time you say how your feel, you are left breathless. The colour rising to your cheeks, skin flushed rose pink. You tell yourself to get it together. They say they feel the same way. It’s peaceful this love. Enjoyable. They like to just sit with you, no talking. You catch them looking at you through the corner of your eye. That same old blush returns. You always wanted someone to look at you like that. Love you like that. This love creeps up on you, takes you by surprise and consumes you. You live and breathe this person. The words ‘I love you’ are as easy as breathing to say. But the scary part is, this love might not be enough. They might break your heart. You might break theirs. It feels like this love was worthless, but you know was it wasn’t right? It’s a funny old thing this love.

Wounded Healer.

She knew she had to save the world. No, not save, heal. She knew that all she had become was to save those who couldn’t save themselves. Deep down, something was telling her that this was the great divine; her reason for being. And yet, she had no idea why.

All through her life there were battles much greater than her capacity to defeat them; it didn’t help that she didn’t have an army either. Everything she had faced in the 21 years she had been around, she had faced alone. Her independence was her greatest weakness. Her insecure avoidant attachment issues were out of control.

All she ever wanted was to understand the human race. To understand their inner workings, delve into the deepest and darkest parts of the mind. Understand what makes people tick. All she had done was to just understand. One day her dad had told her that knowledge was power. She wanted all the power that she could consume. She wanted that power to save the world. No not save, heal. Despite all the wounds she had inflicted on herself in the process, her drive was untouchable.

And there she was, 21 years later this wounded healer. The idea states that she is compelled to aid people because she herself is “wounded”. Everything she had experienced, the one or more wounding experiences lead her to where she is now.

Trying to save the human race one person at time. No not save, heal.

Four Words

“I’ll make you choose”

The moment the words left my mouth I knew what I had done, what I had created. This vast rift that I had been trying to patch together was broadening and all it took was four simple words. I know he thinks that I am being irrational; taking away a part of him that has been present for over half of his life. But in my mind it was simple. I honestly couldn’t do it anymore.

I’ve said many things in this relationship that hasn’t really held any meaning. Some of the words have had a moment of truth in passing thoughts and instantaneous remarks, but nothing like this. Deep down I believe he thinks that I will let it go with time, that I am making brash decisions without considering all the facts. However, there are only a number of facts I need to consider, and underneath them facts are haunting memories that creep into my mind on more occasions than I wish to admit.

He’s a stubborn man. He likes to believe he knows what is best, in topics that ring true to his personal experiences. He’s arrogant at times, with a condescending nuance. I have the degree, but he has all the knowledge. I have an undying love, but not enough to change my mind.

I sometimes picture this life, it comes to me in sort of a reverie. We have a family that is filled with smiles and laughter; with a huge tree and sparkling lights at Christmas or home baked birthday cakes that have slightly wonky candles. Then in a split second it turns into a raging argument, with items been propelled around; I’m furiously packing essentials into a suitcase and throwing it down our stairs, not even turning around to take one last look at the face I’ve grown to adore. In this dream turned to nightmare I remember the four words I spoke on this very night and realise that I had created the second part to my dream like fantasy. That all along I was the one who corrupted the smiles and laughter, and turned it into a broken home with even more broken hearts.

Yet, I cannot bring myself to change my opinion on the matter at hand and potentially stop this inevitable premonition. Four words have potentially transformed my life and I am still unable to change my mind.

I’m a stubborn woman. I like to believe I know what is best, in topics that ring true to my personal experiences. I’m unbearable at times, with a bitchy undertone that’s not really an undertone at all. I have a degree, but in this relationship it doesn’t mean shit. I believe he has an undying love, but not enough to change his mind.

‘X’ Marks the Spot.

You told me one day that you would write something preeminent to the letter you sent so long ago. It seemed unattainable when the first was so raw and filled with the vulnerability of a lonely young man; a vulnerability that was over spilling an inner beauty. You did it though.

You wrote me something that can only be compared to that of classic romance. A piece of literature straight out of a Brontë novel sent from Heathcliff himself. Sat in that lonely room, I found myself hanging on every word you wrote, I was struck by that lightening all over again.

We’ve all done some really smart things in life. We’ve all also fucked up beyond count. But, none of it changes the way friendships and relationships grow. It doesn’t change the impression that people hold of you, the perception I have of you. That conversation we held 5 years ago seems menial now, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. And one day there will be Switzerland or anywhere this world takes us; I honestly believe that. However, for now it doesn’t have to remain abstract. Just low burning in the pit of your heart, knowing that all of this was a success.

I find happiness in the fact that you believe in fate and destiny. However, my sceptical personality is here to tell you that it is cruel. You may be destined to find someone who challenges you, stimulates you and who may eventually turn into your greatest love; but the cruel reality is that destiny doesn’t care of any other variable. As humans we are then left with this destined commodity that we can’t have completely. And in this I want you to believe me when I say it hurts both parties.

So this is me feeding your hope, in my most peculiar way. I may not have quite the way with words you do, or be able to express my feelings the way you can. But, this is hope. This is me acknowledging what you told me and holding it close. Burying it in the hatchet with an X marked on top, so that one day when you are on your fated path, you’ll stumble upon the map and find it.

 

“I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is or should be an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here?” – Emily Brontë

The Fireman.

“The fireman is coming. Stay cool.

No one knows exactly when it began or where it originated. A terrifying new plague is spreading like wildfire across the country, striking cities one by one: Boston, Detroit, Seattle. The doctors call it Draco Incendia Trychophyton. To everyone else it’s Dragonscale, a highly contagious, deadly spore that marks its hosts with beautiful black and gold marks across their bodies—before causing them to burst into flames. Millions are infected; blazes erupt everywhere. There is no antidote. No one is safe.

Harper Grayson, a compassionate, dedicated nurse as pragmatic as Mary Poppins, treated hundreds of infected patients before her hospital burned to the ground. Now she’s discovered the telltale gold-flecked marks on her skin. When the outbreak first began, she and her husband, Jakob, had made a pact: they would take matters into their own hands if they became infected. To Jakob’s dismay, Harper wants to live—at least until the fetus she is carrying comes to term. At the hospital, she witnessed infected mothers give birth to healthy babies and believes hers will be fine too. . . if she can live long enough to deliver the child.

Convinced that his do-gooding wife has made him sick, Jakob becomes unhinged, and eventually abandons her as their placid New England community collapses in terror. The chaos gives rise to ruthless Cremation Squads—armed, self-appointed posses roaming the streets and woods to exterminate those who they believe carry the spore. But Harper isn’t as alone as she fears: a mysterious and compelling stranger she briefly met at the hospital, a man in a dirty yellow fire fighter’s jacket, carrying a hooked iron bar, straddles the abyss between insanity and death. Known as The Fireman, he strolls the ruins of New Hampshire, a madman afflicted with Dragonscale who has learned to control the fire within himself, using it as a shield to protect the hunted . . . and as a weapon to avenge the wronged.

In the desperate season to come, as the world burns out of control, Harper must learn the Fireman’s secrets before her life—and that of her unborn child—goes up in smoke.” -Joe Hill

There are many who complain that Horror books are no longer a powerhouse genre; struggling to please new readers with new mind sets. Now, I don’t normally post reviews on books, movies etc., however I felt the need to say a few words on Joe Hill’s new novel The Fireman. After recently receiving this as a Graduation present from my partner I become over excited at the thought of a new book. I have read previous Joe Hill novels and fell completely in love with the writer. Given that I am only 12 chapters into the book, I will fail to give a complete review, although it’s more of a review of the reaction received by the book itself.

Not only has Hill grown with his books, but his concepts and writing have grown with him. He’s able to express Dragonscale with the use of witness accounts and social communication that not only explain the apocalyptic plague, but also makes the reader feel it. There is a cast that is every growing but each individual has time to shine and give purpose to the overall story, yet there is still the underlying tension that grows with the progression of the plot. Joe Hill demonstrates his most wonderful writing whilst channelling the human moments that would occur in us all. Despite being often compared to that of his father (Stephen King), not only in this novel (but especially in this one) it is quite clear he is capable and deserves his own standing.

I was nothing more of surprised when I discovered that a proportion of his fans were disappointed in the book. After being disappointed with the premise, many reviews claimed it lacked that of a zombie apocalypse (to which it never claimed to be) and provided too much depth and not enough action. Furthermore, others have claimed there are stereotypical characters and plot line; as you can see fans are starting to contradict themselves. It is quite well known that Hill is not a fan of Zombie apocalypse plots, to which in this novel (as far as I can tell) the story is far more superior to that of a Zombie infection where the human race turn on themselves. Although the novel will clearly have the dramatic moments and drama apparent in his other novels, this work particularly focuses on expressing dynamics in the current world; highlighting mass hysteria, mental health and the impact of social media.

Overall, I am already in love. And I not only look forward to the remaining chapters, but further work Joe Hill will produce. If you are a fan of his previous work, or are a reader who is looking to delve into a different genre that provides insight into pandemic conflict that I suspect you will not be disappointed. Even if, you do not thoroughly enjoy the book, I can honestly say I think it would not be a book someone would start and not finish.

All of the stars will guide us home.

“I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasures of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and there will come a day when all our labour has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.”

It’s remarkable that a source of fiction pries so deep into human emotion that it leaves the reader feeling inevitably lost in the notions that the author is trying to portray. I used this quote from The Fault in Our Stars which is written by one of my favourite authors; he explains love in the most beautiful way that even someone like myself, (who happens to be one cold hearted woman!) gets lost in the sentiment. The suggestion that mankind’s inevitable oblivion refuses to diminish this love that Augustus has for Hazel Grace. The ability to find meaning in this life, despite being fully aware that one day you will cease to exist explains love in the most fundamental terms possible.

John Green highlights through Augustus that some people feel the need to do something extraordinary to give life meaning, but isn’t giving yourself completely to someone extraordinary? Being so vulnerable to another human being, to be left easily broken if this other person chooses to break you and to be utterly lost in someone proves (especially to me) to be something which is unprecedented, even if oblivion is inevitable.

Choosing to stand by someone even when knowing that death will eventually catch up with us all, allowing yourself to be left broken and in pain, will be a trait of the human race that will never cease to amaze me. Despite all the negativity that occurs, all the conflict that as humans we bring upon ourselves, I feel this sense of love and loyalty; this ability to consume this pleasure despite the looming death provides hope that as people we are not so lost. It restores the possibility that one day we may learn to prevent ourselves causing the end of our existence.