my chest and the names he called me only served to twist it into me further. Pushing against him with all my strength I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. I sank to the floor where I stayed until my taxi was outside. When the driver called my phone, I opened the bathroom door and looked out but apart from a couple who were too distracted by each other, the hallway was empty. I grabbed my bag and slipped out of the party and ran all the way down the three flights of stairs and on to the street.
I believed I deserved all of what I got and nothing of what I wanted. If my three encounters up until that point were what I was to expect from a relationship then I wanted out of the running.
I felt stripped down and torn up. I hope you will not judge me badly for that, I know it's wrong to feel so much self-pity. And yet looking back now it’s almost as if she is a younger sister I feel sorry for her rather than my seventeen year old self.
I believe in love, I’ve seen it and not just in films. Every now and then I’ll see the way a couple look at each other, the quiet smile they give one another, the way it seems as if they are alone even when they are surrounded by others. I envy them that feeling. I didn’t just want to have what they had; I wanted to be them in another life.
‘Other half’ implies that you are only one half of a perfect whole, it offers the hopeful idea that somewhere out there is one person, a perfect match, an equal, one that will prove to everyone you are worthy of love. But if I’m only half a person, then are there parts of me missing as I am? If I fall in love and am loved in return, will I all of a sudden become a better person, smarter, funnier, more beautiful, and interesting?
What if I'm not worthy of love, I thought over and over. I've proved that time and time again. My own Father couldn’t even stick around. Maybe I’ve just been getting it wrong. If I had chosen a different path, how might my life have turned out? Right now, monotony seems kind of nice.
I woke to find I’d fallen asleep at the end of that last sentence. My pen was on the floor and my diary still open beside me. I’d expected to have nightmares with drudging up all these memories but it had been the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time. It was comforting having this little diary near to me, as if I could write down all the bad things and it would keep them from my thoughts and dreams.
Liam
This wasn't actually a relationship - more like an unrequited obsession. On my part, although that probably goes without saying (or writing!).
‘Finally.’ thought Alex, he didn't think he could bear anymore of the physical or emotional abuse and frankly the less sex the better. This diary was beginning to feel like he was doing an autopsy on her heart and finding all the scars she had been given but blamed herself for. It looked as if he was around a third of the way into the diary, and despite being aware of the late hour on his clock sat on his bedside cabin, he couldn't stop now.
Summer had long gone and the very last of the seasonal warmth wouldn't be long in disappearing too. My brothers had been kind enough to help me move my few personal belongings and clothes into my tiny room in the student residences. It was like a small four bedroomed flat with two little bathrooms to share, but it allowed me more privacy than I ever had at home. The girls moving in with me didn’t know my every waking expression, and would hopefully have enough respect not to barge into my room the way my brothers often would, or tap on my door asking if I was alright like my Mother had taken to doing of late. I wonder if there is a limit to the number of times you can lie to someone you love, or if the lie eventually begins to feel like the truth? Maybe if I lied enough to them, it would start to feel real enough that even I would believe I was okay.
I felt somehow safer in a new environment, no one knew me
I believed I deserved all of what I got and nothing of what I wanted. If my three encounters up until that point were what I was to expect from a relationship then I wanted out of the running.
I felt stripped down and torn up. I hope you will not judge me badly for that, I know it's wrong to feel so much self-pity. And yet looking back now it’s almost as if she is a younger sister I feel sorry for her rather than my seventeen year old self.
I believe in love, I’ve seen it and not just in films. Every now and then I’ll see the way a couple look at each other, the quiet smile they give one another, the way it seems as if they are alone even when they are surrounded by others. I envy them that feeling. I didn’t just want to have what they had; I wanted to be them in another life.
‘Other half’ implies that you are only one half of a perfect whole, it offers the hopeful idea that somewhere out there is one person, a perfect match, an equal, one that will prove to everyone you are worthy of love. But if I’m only half a person, then are there parts of me missing as I am? If I fall in love and am loved in return, will I all of a sudden become a better person, smarter, funnier, more beautiful, and interesting?
What if I'm not worthy of love, I thought over and over. I've proved that time and time again. My own Father couldn’t even stick around. Maybe I’ve just been getting it wrong. If I had chosen a different path, how might my life have turned out? Right now, monotony seems kind of nice.
I woke to find I’d fallen asleep at the end of that last sentence. My pen was on the floor and my diary still open beside me. I’d expected to have nightmares with drudging up all these memories but it had been the best night’s sleep I’d had in a long time. It was comforting having this little diary near to me, as if I could write down all the bad things and it would keep them from my thoughts and dreams.
Liam
This wasn't actually a relationship - more like an unrequited obsession. On my part, although that probably goes without saying (or writing!).
‘Finally.’ thought Alex, he didn't think he could bear anymore of the physical or emotional abuse and frankly the less sex the better. This diary was beginning to feel like he was doing an autopsy on her heart and finding all the scars she had been given but blamed herself for. It looked as if he was around a third of the way into the diary, and despite being aware of the late hour on his clock sat on his bedside cabin, he couldn't stop now.
Summer had long gone and the very last of the seasonal warmth wouldn't be long in disappearing too. My brothers had been kind enough to help me move my few personal belongings and clothes into my tiny room in the student residences. It was like a small four bedroomed flat with two little bathrooms to share, but it allowed me more privacy than I ever had at home. The girls moving in with me didn’t know my every waking expression, and would hopefully have enough respect not to barge into my room the way my brothers often would, or tap on my door asking if I was alright like my Mother had taken to doing of late. I wonder if there is a limit to the number of times you can lie to someone you love, or if the lie eventually begins to feel like the truth? Maybe if I lied enough to them, it would start to feel real enough that even I would believe I was okay.
I felt somehow safer in a new environment, no one knew me
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