Do you think People have wild passionate love? Great question that could have been answered as a reaction with a quick Fuck no coming from the space of a broken, bruised, and burnt heart. 6 months ago it would have been my answer without a second thought.

Maybe I still slightly believe it if I am protecting that space in the middle of my chest...But I can only fool myself for so long, until the answer has to be I really fucking hope so...otherwise what is the point of breathing?

I replied pretty quickly with that, and as I lament on that response whilst walking ankle deep in duck shit and mud, I say to myself - It is actually true. What is the point of living and moving forward if I don't believe in love? Or that somewhere, someone out there exists that I am able to love the way I want and they need. If I whole bodily believe that there isn't a wild passionate love out there to meet my romantic soul and heart, then why do I wake up every morning?

Which then took me on a different tangent of those that I have loved. Partners, lovers, strangers, friends, family, acquantices, coworkers, husbands, wives... Definetely a pattern, and definitely coming from a place of the desire that is held to desperately be loved and choosing those that are unavailable to love in return or unavailable, which fulfills the schema of being unloveable…

But then there is the secret, quiet, from a distant love..The love that is developed and born over time. The slow, silent, unconditional, dark and light love that is never spoken off but it wells inside at certain interactions. I believe we all have it, some dismiss it quickly with a "eew" response when they talk to themselves within the cranium, then there are those that let it sit and watch where it goes through the rivers of the arteries that send blood to our 2 most important organs that tell us that we are attracted in some way to another.

And like patient paddlers, waiting for the current to change over an outcrop that would suck you into a vortex and trap you underneath a branch, whilst looking up at the blue sky with the water filling your lungs, you watch where it goes.

Like the boulders down stream, you wonder if it is worth the risk of launching off with the strength you still have in your upper body, and making it through the other end, or wait for the river to slow and take the far left option and miss the thrill of the unknown. Where you know every outline of their jaw bone and twitch in their ear when they recall a story or moment that impacted them in some way, or  their neck flushes from the left to the right when they speak of their passion, or the way they twirl their hair which indicates the uncertainty in a decision, or the crossing of arms and looking off into space when they are feeling vulnerable and don't finish their sentence.

There have been I think 3 occasions where I have totally got out, pulled the kayak to the side, and watch the water traverse through over the granite whilst you marvel at the beauty and bravery of other paddlers going before you, whilst you safely watch from the sides.

Is this living? Is this staying in comfort zones? Is this being smart? When you have lived your life with pushing the What If's? you ponder the thought of getting your toes wet again....Or do you marvel of the warmth and comfort that dry feet bring.

All this whilst duck shit and mud are getting into your socks and running down to your toes... Fucking love/lust/love.

From the moment you walked in I was intrigued.

You spoke with your eyes and listened with an intent of genuine interest.

You where open and kind and extended this by simple acts that did not go unnoticed.

I noticed the softness and pureness of your skin and how the colours jumped out like a painting demanding to be noticed

The length of your hair that fell down your back and hugged your curves 

I wondered what your lips felt like and whether the red lipstick would stain mine if I kissed them

Being in your presence was melting the harshness I had worn as a protective suit for a while

It frightened me tremendously, and made me shrink into the shadows I had been comfortable in

The memories I held onto had caged me and my experiences felt like a sentence that I deserved.

With a touch of your hand, a caress of your mouth you awoke my body to consider that I could be wanted and want another again.

I cannot be with you, and I do not expect to be. We are circling our paths on different journeys that lead us in opposite directions.

But I know what I would like, before this path is widened by 10, 578 miles

I want to see your eyes light up when you smile 

I want to hear more about your hopes, your dreams and your future

I want to know and hear more of your story.

I want to spend time in your company. I want to keep cracking open the armor that I wear. 

I want to trace your skin with my fingers extremely slowly and lightly to take every millimeter of you in.

I want to feel you pressed against me, with nothing between us as our curves blend with the other

I want to feel your skin on mine. I want to hold your face in my hands whilst I kiss you slowly but deeply.

I want to see you with the lights on, every part of you. I want to do this sober. I want you to be my last magnificent memory of being here.

I want you to be the woman who freed me and guided me on my way.

I selfishly want you, before I go....

I found my american cell today under my nieces bed. I charged it and switched it on. There was a big part of me that just wished I had lost it forever. A bunch of texts from my fiancé who became my wife. A bunch of photos.

I read them all. 4 times. Over and over again. And I came to the realisation that she did love me. She loved me in the way she knew how to love. The love that when it becomes to real you self sabotage and lash out, and hurt yourself or others. The desperation in her texts broke my heart and left a canyon of emptiness in my stomach. She was begging me not to leave. I was keeping my boundaries. I had switched into social worker mode and I hadn't even realised it back then.

I knew the cycle of violence, I knew the cycle of borderline personality disorder, I knew the cycle of dysfunction, and I grew up with the cycle of narcissism. That typical I hate you fuck off, I love you please don't leave, It wont happen again I promise, I will change, and then the cycle starts all over again.

The suicidality I have been living with on a daily basis, due to the loss and grief and the deep wounds of the last little while is minimised on a scale of if I stayed. I know my mental health. I know my triggers. I know the pattern of both of us. I would have killed myself without a shadow of a doubt.

It was in that moment when I was reading back over those texts, that I wanted to hold her close to my naked chest. Let my warmth radiate into her. Press her head into my neck, stroke her hair and feel the heaving of her chest, and promise her everything was going to be ok. Like I had a hundred times before. My natural instinct to make it ok for everyone else - the path of martyrdom that I so easilyfall into.

I turned the phone off, and looked up at the rain falling like snow form the sky and said just loud enough for the wind to hear "You did enough, you where enough and you are ok" As i walked into the house to restock the fire, I whispered, Im sorry Jas, I loved you but I need to let you go x

45 year old's post secret,

12 year old child should have got it right.

Today I ran and the pain in my knees was excruciating. I kept running until I was out of breath and tears rolled down my cheeks. I remember how much I used to love to run. Pull on my shoes, lace them up and just go. The feeling of my lungs burning, my face on fire, my legs twitching, and the boom, boom, boom on the pavement with every contact. Pushing past the burning in my lungs, taking deep breaths and feeling so goddam free. Like I could run forever. Just keep going.

Whether I was happy, sad, angry, frustrated, feeling caged, wanting to punish myself - whatever emotion I LOVED TO RUN. Those days are over. With no cartilage left cushioning my bones, I can literally hear and feel the impact of bone on bone, and my knees ripping with pain. The best I can do is a fast walk, and i fucking hate walking. The cross trainer is good as far as impact goes, but its not the same as going for a run.

So on the cross trainer I realised I was scared. I was scared of immigration not letting me into the USA on the 28th September, scared that my green card won't arrive before then, scared that Jas would find out I was coming and call immigration, scared of working as a social worker again. I was such a fucking amazing social worker. Unorthodox possibly, as in not worrying about the environment I was in, but keeping true to my grass roots, keeping true to the principles of social work, embracing my political days in youth work, and giving 500% to the people I worked for. I wasn't a social worker to make friends with co workers, I was a social worker to make sure people with whom I worked got what they wanted. And I was so fucking good at it. Consultant Psychiatrists would ask for me specifically to work with complex and chronic cases. Cases that other workers couldn't get results with.

I was happy to break into a persons apartment at 2am in the morning because they had overdosed on a bad batch of heroin, perform CPR on them, call ambulance and hold them in my arms whilst they vomited over me and we waited for officers to arrive. Go home shower, go to bed and be back at work at 8am the next morning to do the same thing. I knew who I was. I liked who I was. And I felt normal in an environment of dysfunction.

I was petrified going back to that environment. My social worker bubble had burst. I doubted everything and started to question if I had actually lost it. If I was such a good social worker how the hell could I not have foreseen what was happening in my own life. I have worked intensively with mental health for 15 years. I have spent more time with people living with mental illness than I have with undiagnosed people. I fucking specialised in working with women with a diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder. I had exceptional working relationships with these women because of an understanding, experience, skills and boundaries. In a work place that capped BPD clients at 3 per worker because of the high burnout rate - I HAD 9.

And I never saw it coming. I saw the scars. I estimated they where eat least 15 years old. I know people recover and no longer act on impulses to self harm. That it might have been a small period of coping required to survive. I didn't see it fucking coming. I was played beautifully. I refused to social work myself. My relationship. The environment. I cried. I cried for my foolishness. I cried that I allowed myself to be played so well. I cried that I gave everything, again as I do, and got played. I cried that I lost a woman I thought I loved. I cried because I lost a father I so desperately wanted in my life, that stopped being my father 35 years ago. I cried because I lost my mother, a woman I would have died for over and over again. I cried because she chose him over me. I cried because it felt like even though I try to the right thing its just one loss, continually again and again.

I cried because I felt so alone, so useless, so scared. I cried because the woman I married, who is still legally my wife, has a boyfriend. I cried because I mattered so little to a person who I let see all of me. I cried because I wondered if this is how good life will get for me. If this is it. I cried for being so desperate for love and being wanted, that I feel so pathetic and worthless. I cried because he was probably right. And I cried because she couldn't love me....

In a matter of 8 weeks i have lost a wife, a mother, a father, a life.... these days turned out nothing like i had hoped

Today I am tired

Today I realised how tired I am.

tired of breathing

tired of placing those feet in front of the other

I've been so tired since 1982. Its exhausting and I just want to sleep.