It was a good day. I really thought that I was having a good day. I got up around 10am, I opened my curtains to the birds singing their little hearts out and the sun was shining. I stepped out for a little while and walked around the block. It wasn’t incredibly warm, but it was nice enough for a stroll without a jacket. I wished that Liam was with me holding my hand as we walked in the sunlight. I got home and had lunch, my mother went to visit my aunt for a few days and I waved her off as her car left the driveway. My dad went to town, so I had some peace and quiet for a little while. I just sat around watching tv and bumming about in my room on Twitter. I’ve not had much energy the last few days, yet I’m not tired and I stay awake most nights until around 3am. I can’t seem to sleep, I’m not sure whether it’s because Liam isn’t in the same bed or whether I’m going through a manic period. It’s probably the latter.
So the afternoon comes around. I make all these promises to myself and none of the stuff on the list actually gets accomplished. Lying on my double bed and staring at the ceiling, I daydream about having more money and less time to myself. Time to myself is very bad as my mind starts to wander and I usually end up hating myself. This is what happened this evening.
It started off okay. I was listening to music and talking on Twitter. Myself and Liam watched a film together over Skype, as I bought up Netflix on the laptop and used the camera on my iPad to transmit the movie to his end. It was nice, but I really wished that he was lying next to me holding me close. I missed his physical presence next to me so badly. The film got me thinking about my life. And then that’s where the thoughts got out of control.
You see. When I am at work, I have no time for thinking as most of my idle thoughts are consumed with work stuff like proceedures and rules and hours I have to work. Lots of ‘Am I doing this right?’ and ‘Oh god. Don’t mess up, if management catch you- you’re for the chop, Missy’. Even when I am at home, as long as I have work the next day I don’t have time to really get thinking. My thoughts don’t have the chance to fall into a groove. But anymore than two days off work, and you can guarantee that before long I’m reaching for the alcohol and playing Radiohead while I weep in a corner. Used paper tissues around me in a circle, mascara-stained cheeks and eyes so red and swollen. I’m a horrible mess and I would dread for anyone to see me like it. I’m ashamed to even admit it now, I’m sorry if this gives you a different impression of me but that’s the way I am.
I thought about my life. I thought about how my marriage had fallen into a deep, dark pit. How I tried to rescue it but thanks to my ex’s drinking- it was long beyond salvaging. I still regret leaving my daughter with my ex. I wanted to take her with me back to the UK so badly but the moral part of me decided that it would have been incredibly selfish to move her away from all the people she knew and the only life she knew and the only friends she had. I know, she was four at the time. It would have been easy for her to adjust. BUT STILL. I never want to hurt my daughter, and I know deep in my heart that she misses me dearly. I miss her too. I wish I could split myself in two so one side is in the US and the other in the UK. I want to be a Mom. When I was there in October, listening to her call me Mommy and randomly hugging me while telling me ‘No Mommy. You’re not going home to England, you’re going to stay here and love me forever.’ broke my fucking heart. That night, I went home and cried myself to sleep. It was the saddest, most heart-rendering thing my only child has ever said to me and I don’t think she could do worse. I’m aware that she never meant to hurt my feelings. I know she wants me to stay with her, I want to stay with her too. I love her more than I love anyone else on the planet. I will always love her forever, and hopefully one day she knows that.
I’ve taken to writing her frequent letters now when I can’t make phonecalls. I hope she saves them and looks back on them fondly. I want to do so much for her, I have so much love to give her and there’s only so much I can do. I want to do more for her, but I can’t and it hurts. I never used to understand when parents used to tell me about a ‘Mothers Love’. But it’s so true. You never know what it’s like to love your child so deeply and dearly until it is ripped away from you like a warm blanket.
I want my soft, warm blanket back that gives big sloppy kisses, tells silly jokes and holds me tighter than anyone else I know. I want her so badly