When my husband was living here I hated the mess he made when he cooked...drove me mad, I use to nag terribly at the start of the marriage and a crumb on the breadboard would have me seething. Towards the end I learnt to control this a bit better but it was still there. I have my clean kitchen now...I hate it. It is empty, dead, barren like me. I have to put tvs on in the house to make it feel lived in. I have my clean house, no muddy shoes in and out, no toothpaste round the sink, no handmarks on the fridge......why the hell was it so important then. God I wish he was here cooking and walking around the kitchen dripping water over the floor as he carried a seive of veg across the room. And his dinner parties, I cringed as I watched him and stressed at all the shoes coming in and out and the food spilled and drinks knocked over....I made people tense. One of the reasons he stopped inviting them and made a social life without me. I got my clean house, arent I lucky.
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I have been here before, a long long time ago and now I am back.Forgive me for not just saying what I want to say,even under a triple dose of antidepressants it is still raw and seeping and I am hesitant at revealing it as at least under the bandages around my heart I don,t have to look at how raw and wounded.My child was cleaved from my heart by his own actions. my child of ten,turning eleven...
theatre and I are there already. I'm having a very berry tea with crackers, cheese and cherry tomatoes and she's having a joint with some beer and we're both on really comfy recliners on thick pile carpet. we need some help with the decor if anyone is around??