The Origami Girl updatesPosted: December 5, 2011
A little round up of life, in lieu of anything especially interesting to say…
Dead in the water. (Ooh! Literally! A solitary Nike flip flop surfing the waves, a mop of curly hair floating out to sea, surrounded by slightly bewildered sharks – a tasty snack, for sure, but this human didn’t seem to have a heart…)
Yes. I obviously still care. A lot. For fuck’s sake. He made a brief reappearance last week – at my instigation, his website is failing like you wouldn’t believe because he isn’t looking after it and I couldn’t bear the tale of neglect from Google Analytics any longer. I emailed him giving him a list of things to do. He replied asking for a bit of advice and basically feeling sorry for himself. But it’s over.
I don’t miss him, I don’t think. He didn’t exactly make me happy. He didn’t make me feel beautiful, or desirable. In all honesty, he made me feel like shit. But I miss… the potential. He could have been good. We could have been good. And, Jesus, he really did smell fucking amazing. Did I mention the smell?! Bastard bastard BASTARD man.
Our divorce will be finalised in January, the house has now been transferred to me along with all the equity, his new baby is due in January, it’s a boy. High five! Cigars all round! I’d be happier if it was a girl. WE have a boy together. He should only have one No. 1 son. I fear our boy will suffer. He rings me most days, we text all the time. It’s like being married still. Too much to think about right now.
He’s still dead. Terribly inconsiderate of him. I still cry. I told The Boy that Grandad Pete had gone on a trip to the stars and wouldn’t be coming back, and now I find myself looking up and talking to him at night. I don’t even believe in an afterlife. Grief does funny things to you.
It took me a while to realise I’m not clinically depressed any more, just totally fucking miserable. It’s hard to tell the difference. The symptoms are similar. But I feel less… More… I don’t know. Like I’ve turned a corner – yay! – but all there is for as far as I can see is more misery – boo! I still feel like I want to fold into myself. Origami Girl. I shall make myself be something spiky and *small*.
I stopped going to counselling – it was making me worse. I stopped seeing The Pirate – he was making me worse. I started taking 5-HTP tablets on the recommendation of a good friend. I sort of imagined I’d come out of the depression and it would be all bluebirds and rainbows and, well, like this:
Turns out, not so. I suppose it was too much to expect that my life would magically mend itself while I wasn’t looking.
My body hates me a bit
But not as much as it did. I’ve put on half a stone – though in fairness, that’s me hating my body, not the other way around. The eczema has nearly gone thanks to the miracle of propolis cream. The thrush has gone. My hair really needs dyeing – the roots are shocking. I’m not feeling so super-hot, truth be told. But if I concentrate on mending the inside, the outside can wait.