Archives for the month of: December, 2013

I read my journal entry for 25th December 2012. Here it is:

I’m feeling melancholy.  I feel like I didn’t make enough effort to make the day special. It hasn’t helped that yet again for Christmas I don’t feel well.  Sometimes I just feel helpless at Christmas. My mum always did it so well and I can’t get anywhere near it.  It feels like I don’t know how to and also that I have to create it all on my own and sometimes I just want some help, not only with the practical but also with the magical. I suppose that this is a day that I really feel there is a gap in my life.  An emptiness that needs to be filled…

Perhaps next year we could all get together on Christmas day [ie my sister and her children] and make it special: share the preparations so no-one has to do it all, plan it properly with games.  I suppose that’s one of the things I miss – no-one wants to play games.

This was at a point in my life when I was trying to keep my marriage alive and wondering why I couldn’t fix it. I was naive when I wrote this. I didn’t understand the meaning behind what I was writing.

I’d booked a weekend away for the end of January to try and  bring us closer together.  Husband didn’t come.  He went to work instead.  Shortly after that, I heard the Bruno Mars’ song with the words “I should have bought you flowers, and held your hand, should have given you all my hours, when I had the chance, taken you to every party, ‘cos all you wanted to do was dance, now my baby’s dancing, but she’s dancing with another man.’ 

And I cried.

And I’ve spent the year dancing with another man.  Only dancing, but lots of dancing.

And it’s been lovely.

It’s not how I wanted things to be.

But it has been lovely.


It was my birthday last weekend.  Husband said he would take me out but as the day got nearer, he started making noises about the cost so I said he didn’t have to bother.  I want him to want to be with me, not be with me out of tradition or duty.

And so I made other plans, lots of other plans with people who did want to be with me.  I went dancing, I had afternoon tea, I did some more dancing, I went for drinks.  I had a great time.

Husband worked all weekend.  I didn’t see him.  My counsellor says he has strong Narcissistic traits and although I resisted this, when I look back at what I write, I can understand her view.  Recently, I was saying how I didn’t feel that he saw me as a human being, that I felt like a shop mannequin would serve his purpose better than I could.  He blames me for everything, calls me selfish, wants the world to centre round him, makes me feel ashamed of being myself, gets verbally abusive and angry when I try to raise issues, criticises my friends and family, and so on… It’s his way or no way.  [sigh]

And after the weekend had passed, he didn’t even ask me what I’d done or whether I’d had a nice time.

And I didn’t even care that he didn’t care.

Because other people did.

And I’d had a lovely time.

Without him.


There was no confrontation…nothing.

But his attitude over the past few days had convinced me there would be and so I was anxious.  In fact, I honestly thought that by now.. Oh I don’t know what I thought. Sometimes I get so confused.  I suppose I thought I would have to tell him that the marriage is over and I want out because it’s inevitable.  It’s just that I’m not 100% ready to set the wheels in motion…yet.

Yesterday I was anxious, and weepy, and daughter found me crying and I had to explain the fact that I was anticipating a big scene and warn her of the likely outcome.  She was really supportive and told me what some of her friends had said about the awful way they felt he treated her.  And then I had a similar conversation with younger daughter and reassured her that whatever happened I would be there for her and take care of her and make sure she was all right.

Then nothing happened.

And I’m angry that I allowed his attitude to dominate my day for no reason.

I’m not sure that what I’m saying makes any sense.

But I do know that when the time comes, I will be ready.  I’m preparing myself mentally, and I’m preparing my daughters.

And that makes me feel better.


I’m nervously awaiting husband’s imminent arrival home from work.  In the very brief periods of time that I’ve seen him this weekend,  he’s been decidedly narky and I sense a confrontation is brewing.

What a delightful way to spend a Sunday evening.

It’s because I went out on Friday to a friend’s gathering, followed by a Motown evening.  He could have come but there’s absolutely no point asking him.

So I’m going to be punished.


I’m listening to Tom Odell – a bad sign, because it means I’m in a melancholy mood. Through his songs, he expresses the raw emotion that I’m feeling, not necessarily through the words but through the way he sings them.  So the process is cathartic.  Soon I’ll feel better and I’ll put on something more upbeat and dance around the kitchen. But until that feeling comes, I’m wallowing in sadness.

Every so often, I feel that if only I could do the right thing, I could resolve the situation and make our marriage work. The doubts creep in and believe that it IS All My Fault.  And no matter how much I go over what’s happened and read through my journals and talk to my friends and tell myself that it takes two and I can’t fix it on my own, there’s that small niggling voice that tells me to keep searching for that one thing that will make a difference, unlock the box that contains that mysterious, elusive element.  Even though I know deep down that it doesn’t exist, somehow I just can’t give up hope and move on.

And I feel sad, and I look at myself in the mirror and wonder what it is that makes me so unworthy of love, or even compassion.  Surely I can’t be that bad.  Yet I feel like Public Enemy No 1.

And I keep searching.

And I’m stuck.