This isn't my diary. Diaries are secret books kept hidden away from the world beneath the bed. This is my story, my tiny bubble of non-fiction, of how this girl met the boy.

Tuesday, 21 August 2012


Sleep tortured me that night.
It sat in the corner of the room and watched as I curled myself as tight as I could and tried to somehow wipe my mind of the all the mess. When sleep finally dragged me under it stabbed at my skin with memories and flickering images until I woke, my body sweating and aching whilst I tried to cry quietly so I didn't wake K.
I saw dawn seep under the curtains, marking the beginning of a new day. I blinked, my eyes felt so sore, I brought my hand up to touch my face and could feel the make-up and tears smeared across my skin. It even hurt to swallow. I wanted water, wanted it so badly everything burned. But I couldn't move. Yesterday I couldn't stay still, didn't want to just stop, but now, my bones felt like somebody had hollowed them out and filled them with sand whilst I drowned in my sleep.
I don't know how long I stayed staring at the floor. When I heard K's alarm I finally breathed in as much as I could and turned over onto my back, stretching out my cramped limbs and wincing as the pain gnawed through my mussels.
I must have dozed whilst K was in the shower, because I woke with such force when she opened the curtains, letting the white light spill through the window and over me, drenching me in cold reality.
I closed my eyes and allowed myself to remember, just for a moment.
I remembered him sitting up in bed reading a book about some philosopher...the way I would roll over and let my hand rest on his chest whilst I drifted in and out of warm sleep to the sound of him turning the pages.
Just stop.
I begged myself to stop thinking of all the good times, but it was no use. I wanted to run back.
But something, something somewhere deep down at the very back of me knew I was there for a reason. That reason might have been lost to me right then, but the reminder of it's existence was just enough.
'Will you go to work?' K asked.
I shook my head.
'Are you going to your parents?'
I swallow hard. 'I need to tell my mum. I'll leave now with you and drive to their house.'
As I get into my car fresh tears fall. I start the engine and whisper to myself.
'Hey mum, guess what? I'm moving back in.'

Monday, 13 August 2012


When I get to K's I stand outside her door and really try to stop crying. I smear my fingertips under my eyes and then wipe my hands down my jeans leaving smudges of black make-up across my thighs.
I give up and knock on the door. She could barely understand me on the phone, but she did, just, and she will know what sort of state I'm in.
When the door opens I suddenly wish it was another night. That this was just a normal Monday evening and I was popping round for us to watch American sit coms and eat skittles. The thought is brief but so strong I have a heart wrenching urge to run back to the our flat and take it all back, to swallow every broken word and plead with him to just let life go back to the way it was. When it all felt so simple, so easy and so expected.
When K sees me she tries to smile and tells me to come on in and I get the feeling that she might be wishing the same thought as me. We walk through her living room and I keep my eyes on the floor. I don't look or speak to her parents but I'm guessing K has told them because they don't speak or look at me either.
I suddenly start to dread reaching K's room. I know the time for talking is so close and yet I feel like it's the last thing I can do.
It takes a while. K is patient. She hugs and asks questions and doesn't seem to mind that she's rarely getting answers. She puts tissues on the bed and makes coffee.
Eventually I start to speak, small words uttered into my lukewarm black coffee.
'When I woke up this morning I knew. I just knew. I remember when I woke up and I didn't want to turn over and look at him, couldn't bear to see his face because somewhere inside me I knew that soon nothing would ever be the same again. I walked our of our bedroom with my head turned away from his side.
All through my day at work my stomach was twisted with fear and dread. Fear of what I was concieving in my mind, fear of it becoming a reality, fear of the unknown and of thinking things that I never thought I would think. And that dread, that horrible sickly dread rooted right down in the very core of me, never letting me forget that those thoughts I was thinking would become real very soon.
My crying increased throughout the day. My boss kept sending me outside to get 'fresh air' or 'to have a walk' or 'clear your head'. Nothing helped, because nothing was normal and everything was breaking.
In the morning the cracks were spreading, but I could almost still pretend that I was only crying over the thought of my relationship ending. I kept saying over and over to myself like a mantra it will be ok. You'll forget this and everything will go back to normal.
The word used to describe what my life had entailed for the past six years. Normal was him. But now I wasn't sure if normal was enough, wasn't sure if normal was working anymore. And no matter how much I tried to push that thought out of my head it kept coming back. I was infected by it.
And thats when I stopped crying with worry for my relationship, and started breaking because I knew it was ending, and it was me who was going to have to end it.'
I look at K then.
'The only thing that was going round and round and tormenting me was the fact that I was knowingly going to go home and smash our world  and us apart.'
I can't speak anymore for a while, so K gently asks what made up my mind. She knew things hadn't been right for a while, but she was shocked that I'd pulled the plug tonight.
I sigh and my breath rattles from my lungs. I swallow hard and look at her.
'I just finally realised we weren't making eachother happy anymore. I wanted us to work so so badly. I gave it everything, I really did.'
'I know you did.' K strokes my arm.
I gulp in air. 'And I almost wish that there had been some huge dramatic reason and then maybe I wouldn't feel so empty right now. But there wasn't. It was just a horrible moment where two people find out their world is breaking.
And when I ran down our stairs to the sound of his crying and when I slammed the door and drove away it slammed into me so hard I thought I was drowning. I'd done it. We we broken.'

Thursday, 9 August 2012

running away

When the lights turn red I press my foot on the break, everything slows and then stops. I rest my forehead onto the wheel and squeeze my eyes shut.
Where am I going to go?
I sit up and try to take a deep breath but I just heave in stuttering gulps. I stare at the number plate of the car in front of me, it doesn't make any sense.
I could go to my parents. I should go to them, that would be sensible. But there will be questions. So many huge questions the size of mountains with no one to answer them because the thought of speaking terrifies me. It would be admitting what I'd done, like staring straight at the wound when the accident's just happened and it's still raw and bleeding. It only ever makes it hurt more.
No. I can't talk about it. Not now maybe not ever. Right now I don't even know what I need, or want. Every thought that clatters through my mind is the worst thought I've ever had.
I grind my teeth together as my shoulders start to shake again. The taste of the salty water dripping over my cracked lips makes me feel sick.
Somewhere, deep inside me, I know I can not stay sat in my car all night crying. I know I have to do something. I stare at the red light, letting it lull me for a moment. It is an unexpected moment of stillness. A few seconds pass and then I suddenly snatch up my phone again. I stab at the buttons and hold it to my ear.
The ringing feels like a drill pushing through my back and out between my ribs.
I realise I am holding out all my hope and everything I have left that she'll answer.
The lights change and I almost stall but manage to hold on.
"K, it's me. I've split up with C. I've left, it's all over."

Tuesday, 7 August 2012

Monday, The Last Week In March

I'm driving away. My eyes hurt, my face feels swollen and my skin's dry but still the tears fall. I should stop the car, pull over and just stop. Stop everything, just for a while, because I should have done so long ago. I knew it couldn't continue, it wouldn't last with me patching over the crumbling walls. It didn't matter how much I wanted it all to work, for it all to be how I always thought it would be, my ignorance to the truth was unsustainable, and now it's all fallen and I'm choking in the dust.
Gasping in another lung full of air I snatch my bag from the passenger side floor, groping with my left hand until I feel the solid weight of my phone. Another sob escapes as I try and change gear and drop the phone, it bounces off the gearbox and lands somewhere near my feet. I wipe my blurry eyes and then lean forward, pulling the steering wheel and making the car jerk across the road in my attempt to retrieve it. When I have it in my hand again I sit back and stare straight ahead of me as I try telling myself once again to pull over. Then the crying starts again, just as loud and disgusting as before. My nose is running and I don't have a tissue and my eyes are so swollen they hurt every time I blink.
I grip the steering wheel hard enough for my knuckles to turn white and then shout fuck over and over again as loud as I can.