I keep building up my own idea of what you must think of me, and it’s not nice. It’s pretty painful.

And I know that’s what I did when we were still together. I didn’t put words in your mouth so much as I put thoughts in your head… in my head. Time and again I made myself believe that you weren’t bothered about me (why should you be?) and time and again you reassured me with sweet, kind words as was your wont. Still, I never quite believed it.

Obviously, this had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I was, and still am, projecting my own feelings onto you. My own insecurities and low self-esteem wouldn’t let me believe that someone as wonderful as you would be interested in someone like me. That’s why I became so needy, I wanted you to reassure me every five seconds because every four seconds I convinced myself that you didn’t want me, but that’s not the way it works is it? You had the patience of a saint but there was only so much you could do. The issue became recurrent and eventually it felt like I was asking too much of you. All I needed was a few words, every so often, but maybe you thought I wanted more and you weren’t in a position to give more (which you explained and I completely understood from the beginning).

It hurts so much to think that if I’d just kept quiet, if I’d just let things play out naturally, we would probably still be together. It hurts so much to think that I ruined it. I ruined one of the best things that has ever happened to me.

I know all this, I know it’s all in my head but I’M STILL DOING IT! I still imagine what you think of me and I don’t like it. One bit. I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself, it’s almost as if I like the pain.

I really don’t, not at all.

I can’t bear it.




I know it was my fault that it ended between us. I know it was wrong to keep pushing you, but you need to understand that all I wanted was to see you again. That’s all. You can’t blame me for wanting that, not after what you did to me. You made me feel so much, you made me fall for you in such a short space of time. I probably could’ve handled it better but how was I to know? How was I to know that you’re not supposed to say what you actually feel? That you’re supposed to play games, play hard to get, pretend not to be bothered? I just wanted to be honest. I just wanted you to know how I felt, how much I wanted you. Isn’t that a good thing?

I wish you could feel what I’m feeling, just for a second. That would be enough to change your mind, because you’d realise how unbearable it is. All these horrible feelings wrapped into one. I know these feelings are just the counterpoint to what you made me feel before: I’m feeling so shit now because I felt so wonderful then. So incredibly happy. 



“Don’t be afraid, I’ll not forget you, nor do I want to.”

“I’m always glad to hear from you.”

Somehow the fact that he is so nice makes it even worse. It’s been 11 weeks since I last saw him and 7 weeks since it ended and I still feel so much affection for him. It’s not surprising, given how wonderful he is. It’s going to be really hard to let him go, especially because I want to think about him all the time.

Even though it hurts, I like to think about him. Even though it hurts, it makes me happy.





I’m dangerously close to texting you. My resolve is dissolving… Birthdays are always hard, aren’t they? When you’re not OK? Sometimes you feel so bad that you don’t really give a shit about the consequences… you just want to do what you want to do, you look for comfort wherever you can, even if it’s at your own expense. Loss of dignity and a whole new batch of pain traded in for a warm, fuzzy feeling that will be gone as soon as it arrives. Is it worth it? It doesn’t really matter. Like I said: sometimes you just don’t give a shit. Sometimes you get tired of doing the right thing, of being rational and level-headed. I want to stop making myself a martyr.

I think the only real reason keeping me from messaging you is the fact that I’m ashamed of the life I’m leading at the moment… no job, no real plans… I’m feeling like a bit of a loser and I’m scared you’ll ask me what I’m up to.

Still… I’d love to chat with you.

I miss you so… and it hurts to think that you might have forgotten me already. That’s another reason why I want to text you. To remind you I’m still here.





It’s my birthday tomorrow, but you don’t know that. I wish you did because maybe you’d text me to wish me a happy birthday (oh, the irony…)

Last night I was reading and came across a name that reminded me of you. You know how I told you about that cool bookshop in Inverness and you were shocked that you’d never come across it? And the next time you went to Inverness you found it and sent me a picture, and then you told me they didn’t have any books by the author you were looking for and that you’d had a word with the owner and I asked who the author was and you told me it was Louis MacNeice? I’d never heard of him…

Well, he cropped up in the book I was reading. A book about Churchill during WWII for crying out loud! Nothing to do with Ireland or poetry or plays or theatre or literature… but there was his name, and my heart just contracted painfully when I read it. It was almost as if I’d come across your name. He described the bombings in London so that’s why he was in the book:

On the moonlit night of May 10, the Luftwaffe smashed London and continued pounding it with high explosives and incendiaries until dawn on the eleventh. The Anglo-Irish poet Louis MacNeice had arranged to spend the night in the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral. He wrote that soon after the raiders appeared, “great tawny clouds of smoke, rolling in sumptuous Baroque exuberance, had hidden the river completely and there we were on the dome, a Classical island in a more than Romantic Inferno. It was far and away the most astonishing spectacle I have ever seen.”

It feels like life just keeps kicking me when I’m at my most vulnerable. It’s not all about you, but I’m not in a very good place at the moment.

The worst thing is that I would love to share this passage with you… but I can’t. It makes me so sad.

It’s my birthday tomorrow, but you don’t know that. Maybe if you did you’d send me a message and maybe that would make me feel a little better. Then again, it would probably make me feel worse. Maybe it’s probably for the best that you don’t know.

If I still had my facebook account you would know, but you were the reason I deleted it. It wasn’t doing me any good going through your feed, or stalking your ex (how perfect is she? No wonder you can’t get over her).









I’ve noticed

what I’m feeling inside

changes my perspective

everything is relative

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror

and see someone beautiful

sometimes I see someone I don’t want to see

can’t stand to see

So sometimes I see and think

of course he liked me

but other times

– most times – I think

of course he didn’t

The truth is it’s not about him

it’s about me

and whether I can like me

as me

or whether I will only ever like me

as his

Isn’t that terrible?