At least that’s what I hope. Only a day or so after that delightfully intimate alleyway experience my nether regions add more agitated 😠 then I can possibly describe. I’m on the verge of scratching/tearing myself to bits. It feels like thousands of ants are all biting me, inside and out. A sensation which unquestionably tortures me, so painful is it.
I’ve spent the day in another type of distress, though. One of the heart. It’s the torture of a girl in love with a man who does not love her. A man who I must now cease contact if I’m to stand the least charge of obtaining as a permanent feature in my life.
The very fact that this is even a consideration is an example of how the magic of creative visualization does exist in a world we do often think is without a sparkle.
A year ago he sent a message to see how I was and now 12 months later when ‘relaxed’ (translation – inebriated) sends me the most wonderful naughty messages and I hope craves my body as much I desire his.
Christmas was a success with him suddenly, and surprisingly making a move on me even after saying many times he never would. As much as it was cold, dark and not more than a fumble, it was our ‘first fumble’. And all I can do now is hope there will be more. It had been a long time coming if at all and when I finally found his lips against mine my world began spinning. But now I must spin away into the darkness and away because yet again I’ve played too many cards and shown too much care. There is no question he is ‘fond of me’ and attracted to me too but – and this is the but – he does not love me… Yet.
How could I be so arrogant?
No – this isn’t arrogance – this is love 💕
This is not like anything else I’ve ever experienced. This is not a girlish crush – this is a man who is family. Before I knew that he was handsome. Before I realized that liking had grown to something more mature, more complicated and this is not something I can fuck up. He was someone I cared for greatly and considered if nothing else, almost an older brother.
And part of not fucking this up is knowing that our future if there is to be one, must be orchestrated through a careful analysis of what I’ve done in the past that have pushed people away, so that I don’t fuck this up – and also realizing that this part of a bigger plan.
I’m not the girl I was before. And as a dear friend said to me today –
I needed that – more than she could ever know.
Today we drove up to Surrey so that I could ‘catch up’ with my Endocrinologist and my mother could offer some support to my sister who is staying at home with her four-month-old baby. The journey came up as 4 hours and 43 minutes on Google Sat Nav, and that and the fact it is a countdown was reassuring as, unlike the Sat Nav which only tells your arrival time, with Google you feel like you are getting somewhere. To begin with, I was ok, spurred on by the adrenaline of the adventure, and the excitement any journey in my Motability car brings. But before long I was tired so Mummy took over. Then she was tired so it was my turn again, and as she dozed I kept myself actively awake by actioning pelvic floor muscles exercises and trying to enforce a permanent resting face of a smile for as long as a track of music lasted. Or as long as I could at least. FFF keeps creeping back into my mind, and I wished my phone would light up with a message from him. Of course, there was nothing though. I reminded myself he is from a generation before texting, WhatsApp and all these other things I take for granted. The fact he manages to participate so well when aroused and excited by the idea of me and us. It seemed odd that a year ago my head was full of Mr Unavailable and now it was him. Him who has been a feature of my life for so long, and yet only so recently has become such a dominant feature.
When we finally arrived I was exhausted. My body ached, and even to move a very few steps felt as though I was lugging my various body parts through quicksand while they were weighted down. I had a session of TM which I suspect I fell asleep during or towards the end but was still surprisingly refreshing.
My birthday treat from my sister was a trip to see Frozen 2 and although she would have been happy to walk the short distance I felt barely able to stand. We drove and parked easily which was a surprise as parking these days always seems impossible whether it’s a supermarket, hospital or just a street. There are two many cars, not enough spaces, I hope one day a reasonable solution is constructed. One that understands that people like me need to be able to get close to the location they are visiting and doesn’t ignore invisible illnesses as they do now.
As remakes go it wasn’t bad, but as always I found something to cry at. A tear, cool and genuine slid down my cheek to be mopped up by my holey old jumper as I can’t find a tissue, and then another as some part of the film touches a nerve. When I had my transplant, it’s like they opened the flood gates to tears, and now there is no holding them back. It’s not bad for a sequel and I am pleased that women aren’t being married off to provide a happy ending even if I am after one myself. By sitting completely still and ramming handfuls of sweet popcorn into my mouth I am almost able to ignore the discomfort/pain which is eating away from my insides down below. (I’ve also read somewhere that popcorn is low in calories and this doesn’t seem to be right logically so I am trying to eat as much as I can before I fact check the truth on Google.)
Afterwards, as my sister goes off in search of Cider, I phone my GP Surgery in the Westcountry to describe my symptoms.
I was pleasantly surprised when I was referred to the emergency line and a GP phoned back within a minute or so of me putting the phone down. When he called I felt sheepish, but pain makes you brave so I stuck my kneck out.
The doctor is incredibly sympathetic and because this feeling of a thousand ants eating away at my insides seems to be internal too, suggests it might be Thrush and suggests a pessary treatment.
He asked where the irritation was and then struck upon the fantastic conclusion it could be thrush and asked if I would like a cream and pessary prescribed. I, of course, jumped at the idea, but the phone down and then realised I was in the wrong county for this to be a viable collection offer immediately. My sister and I then set off to Waitrose, me with fingers tightly crossed, to see if they had said item in stock. When we arrived the shelves had similar items but not the pessary kit, and my little heart sunk with disappointment. Fortunately, smart cookie that my sister is, she picked up a pack, and there, lurking behind something labelled quite differently, was a pessary and cream Thrush treatment set. I was beyond excited and we rushed home for me to apply the said treatment.
Of course, I am miles away but thankfully Waitrose is open late so we dash there and I am thrilled to discover the treatment pack, even if it is a ruthless £14. Who comes up with these prices on tampons and things to help relieve pain to women? Men, I imagine…
The instructions suggest lying on the floor, knees apart and similar relaxed states, but my sister’s bathroom doesn’t get cleaned to the same high standard of the bathrooms in the world I am happy to lie on the floor of, so I propped myself up, foot on the bath and slipped it in. well, I say slipped it in, but honestly, there was one of those moments when I thought it had gone up the wrong bit. Do you know that feeling? It’s the thought process that goes through someone’s head who has read too many scare stories about women with two wombs and sometimes feels the tampon head has to choose which pipe it goes up… I don’t think I’ve got two wombs, but sometimes I’m not sure things feel right either.
By the time we finally got to bed I had resigned myself to no messages from FFF. It’s probably for the best. If he messaged me, I would want to message him and we don’t want we can have, we want what we can’t. I need to be what he can’t have. I need to be strong. I need to go out and do what I need to do to make myself happy, and financially secure. The first part of that is a painting course I have treated myself too on Monday morning by a renowned local artist. I was a bit fretful as I can’t find most of my kit but he has kindly said he will loan me some things which is kind. Art, writing, podcasts and parties. I have got a busy year ahead.
Please God, let this year be more positive for me in terms of love? Please?