(5) My Diary '3rd November 2016'

3rd November I wrote;

((( Save me. I've got 7 days left and fuck. I'm scared, glad and devistated. Crying is my new hobby. My only hobby. I sent a text to my mom this morning. She replied about 15 minutes later with a phone call from my brother. I found it pretty easy not to pick up. Annoyed me actually. It means she shared the text with him. When I text someone, I mean it only for them, unless I state otherwise. My mom finds it hard to keep anything to herself. Thats a trait her and I do not share. I'm glad. I love her, but I hate how weak she is. Prevents me from opening up to her. When I speak about emotions to other people, I'd like them to note that this is something I don't do often. I'm not just another client to them. Take me seriously or don't bother listening at all. I don't think I've ever opened up fully to anyone in my life. Which is probably why I'm so good at hiding my true self, my mother. Which is probably why I hate my weak self.

I'm tired of being the mess I am inside. You made it feel as if that side of me never existed. But now, you're the reason I feel weak. What should I do? I'm tired of crying and thinking silly thoughts. I want to feel the way I did when I was with you. I need you to feel that way. So what am I to do? I sound like a fucking idiot. Missing you makes me dizzy. I hate the way I cry. I hate the way I cry. I hate how I didn't realize I wrote that twice. Wow. God if I was to ever slip away I'd want it to be now. To be with you again... It really sounds amazing to me. I don't care if I die. What I leave behind (What do I have honestly?) If I were to die and be with you again, I wouldn't care about a thing. For you to hold me again. It's all I want. I can't believe you're gone. I know you see me cry. Do you hold me? Am I being stupid? Is this even real? Are my thoughts normal? I need you. )))

Hi again. This was 7 days before my flight back to the UK. I was sitting in the back yard of the house I was staying at in GA, USA. It was beautiful. Everything reminded me of him. I was sitting at this beautiful small iron table, with matching chairs. Parts of the table were rusted. The orange rust set beautifully underneath the dull-ish gray paint. I could see it through the cracks that had formed over time. I remember that table so clearly. I remember the noise the chairs made when you'd pull them out from under the table. So old and heavy. I wrote there nearly every day after he died. The calmness the back yard gave me. Being outside. The suttle distractions that surrounded me so my thoughts didn't seem so intense. The leaves that slowly fell off the trees everyday. The warm autumn breeze. Bird chirping away. I was a living and breathing video recorder. Little did I know it. It brings me great peace whenever I think of all the times I sat out there, alone, with just my thoughts, my detox tea and my diary.

I never spoke to my family much during the trip, or even before it. I told them what they needed to hear. Not what they wanted to hear. I think very clearly when it comes to my family, especially those I live with. If I know they can handle only so much, only so much is what I will give them. I travelled to the US alone, to be with my boyfriend for 2 months. Hell they didn't even know I was leaving till two weeks before the plane took off. They didn't even know he was my boyfriend at the time. I'm strong in that sense. If I'm going to do something, I will do it no matter what anyone tells me. But when the voice in my head told me to call my mom after he died, I didn't want to listen. But then I thought of going back to the UK and I thought of all the smiles, and excitement and questions that they'd be busting to ask. I couldn't handle that. I knew that would be the worst possible way to break the news. Especially because they didn't even know him. He was a complete stranger to them. They couldn't possibly know how to react. They'd think I was lying.

And thats exactly what my mother thought when I told her on the phone a few moments after the doctors told me he was gone. Crying hysterically in a small room balled up on a hospital couch, I told her what happened. And you know what she did? She passed the phone onto my fucking brother. The one moment I needed her and she gave the phone away. I wanted to slit my throat right there. I stared blankly at the wall with rageas my brother took charge. No one has ever heard me cry, especially my brother. I never felt so shamed in my life. I needed my mother, or at least I thought I did. I told him what happened, calmed down and ended the call on a calm note. When I got back from the trip my mother told me she thought I was lying when I told her he was dead. Part of me knew this. Part of me knew she wouldn't believe me. Sometimes she doesn't think before she speaks. Why would you even tell your daughter you didn't believe her when she told you her boyfriend died? I'm a stone when it comes to my mother though. I know how to handle it all. It's brought me down time and time again.

But you know what, I can't even tell you how much I wanted to erase the fact I had a family. I've always felt different from them. At times they'd tell me I was different too. (I'd secretly enjoy that) They called me brave at even attempting to go so far on my own... Brave... I mean, the word brave alone told me they did not understand me at all. Brave is the word people who do not know you tell you when you go away on your own. I didn't feel brave, I felt sure. I felt normal. I was just so happy that I was finally going to be happy. Away from them all. I was going to be with the man I'm in love with. The one person I trusted. I was extremely excited and internally laughing at everyone.

But after he died I felt everyone was laughing at me. I'm broken. My brother was extremely against me going to the US. I know my mother and sister were too, but they couldn't tell me because they gave me such a bad example at life. Everything I've ever done had always been a good thing. Never gave them a reason to stress and worry. Such a good kid. For weeks after he died, I felt physically sick. I knew that my family would feel bad for me in some way but apart of them would be saying, "I told her" "I was right" or thoughts like that. It's just who they are. They love being right, even in the worst situation. I'm not even explaining it properly. Maybe because I'm blinded by how much I hated the thought of them at the time. What I'm trying to say is... The one time I opened up to my family, I felt used. This trip was the biggest thing that had ever happened in my life on my own hand, and I didn't even want to tell them about it. What does that say? You probably think I have extreme trust issues. But to me the whole experience proved that I was right. I was right to keep it all quiet at first. I was right to hide my true emotions. And the one time I broke down on the phone, I regretted instantly. And even now, I know I will never be able to fully open up to my family or possibly anyone. No matter how much they think they know me. I guess I know where I stand.

I think my depression sores between the loss of my boyfriend and how much I hate my life. How scared I am of my future and how selfish I am. I guess I also suffer from loneliness? Yet I love being alone in my room, undisturbed. I don't know. Someone mentioned PTSD. It makes more sense to me now. I'm unsure on who to talk to about this stuff though. I called and emailed a bereavement support counselling place a week ago, but they havent got back to me. 

I'll post more soon, thanks