Life According to Nobody: love

Relationships are hard. When you truly love someone, you'd do anything in your power to make them happy. I recently moved out of my parents home and into a flat on my own in the big city. Don't get me wrong, I love it here. I can do what I want, whenever I want. I'm surrounded by my friends and my boyfriend works just around the corner so I cna see him all the time.
I know I'm going to sound like a whiney bitch who's never happy but I've noticed that the high I'd been riding on all of summer is beginning to plummet and I can feel myself sinking into the all too familiar slump of emptiness. Now, before I say anything more, there are a few things I need to point out.

1. I'm in a happy, loving relationship. The way I feel about him has not changed in the slightest. He still makes me unbelievably happy and I would do anything for him.

2. I am in no way self-diagnosing myself with depression or anything like that. I'm happy. Just a little sad-happy, if you understand.

I've been in Australia for 14 days now. I really want to be full of wanderlust but I just seem to have come to the conclusion that I'm too happy at home to go off exploring new countries. Don't get me wrong , nothing fascinates me more than learning about new cultures but I just don't want to be anywhere but home right now. I miss the comfort of my own bed and the arms of my boy. I'm not ungrateful to my mum for flying me to the other side of the world to see her and explore new places and see new things. I love it here. Brisbane's a beautiful city full of exciting people and wonderful places. But being here makes me a little sad. Maybe more than a little actually. I wish I could share this experience with the man I love. A little piece of me feels like it's missing and I can't truly enjoy all the wonderful opportunities I'm being given here.

25 days 💫

A photo posted by Carrie MacNeill (@carriemac97) on Nov 6, 2016 at 10:39am PST

[Warning: this ones about to get real soppy and gross and omg please don't read it I'm disgusting.]So let me explain something. First off, it's 3.15am so I can't be held responsible for the things that come out of my mouth. It's the witching hour and this is when all my worst word babies form. I doubt this is worth anyone's time to read and I really feel like I'll regret this in the morning and never want anyone to see the ridiculous things that make their way out of my brain at this hour but fuck it.(I'm writing this to a specific person. Everyone else is welcome to jump on the band wagon and think I'm mental but hey ho)I fall in love with you a little bit more every day. I grew up watching movies where the prince would sweep the girl off her feet and she'd be so madly and deeply in love with him and they'd live happily ever after forever. Not every boy is a prince and not every boy is capable of sweeping girls off their feet. Me especially, I ain't light. Love isn't perfect. It's like water. It ebbs and flows. But let me tell you something I'm learning. Not every second of a relationship is perfect but when the relationship is good, the great moments outshine the nagging and the awkward parts where you bump teeth or make some horrendous noise. When I think about my relationship, I think of all the good things he does. They way he makes me feel special and treats me like his princess. I don't care about the little arguments. Most of the time, I can't even remember what they're about. I'm not perfect and my relationship isn't perfect. But my man is perfect for me and in the end, that's all that really matters.
x

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I'm not a massive fan of close families. I don't know if it's due to my general frustration at people or because mine is particularly frustrating. Even though I've lived all over the world, our family has always been ridiculously close. Living in Canada, my mum was on the phone to her sisters at least twice a day.

I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that but it just doesn't work for me. I'm not the most social person in the world. I talk to one person every day. Even the people I hold dearest in my life don't normally hear from me unless they go to the effort of contacting me. It's not because I don't want to talk to them or because I can't be bothered to start a conversation with them. I simply don't remember. I can't count on two hands the number of times I've had a disgruntled phone call from my mum because she hasn't heard from me in 4 days. I love my mum with all my heart and I'm not avoiding her, I just don't really have much to talk about most days. When there's something I think she needs to know, I tell her.

There's nothing I hate more than idle small talk. I don't know if it's due to some discrete social disorder or just because I don't have the mental capacity to think of what to say on the spot. I'd much rather not talk to someone for a couple of days than force myself to talk about literally nothing with them every day.

For example, partake in a simple exercise with me. Answer a few simple questions and tell me if you think it was worth having that conversation:
1.Who was the last person you spoke to that you have a regular conversation with? Mine's my mother.
2. How long did that conversation last? The phone call was 5 minutes long
3. Did you learn any important or interesting information? Nope, she's got a joiner coming at some point in the near future.
4. Did your relationship with that person change in any way? Nope

Don't get me wrong, I love talking to my mother. I care about her life and what's happening but my chest just gets a little bit tight when my phone rings at the same time every nigh tand I have to think of things that have happened in my day to tell my mum about. Then she ends up getting angry at me because she thinks I'm being grumpy and uninterested. Sorry mum, I love you.

Every family is different and I've learned recently that it's impossible to assume someone's family situation based on your own. My relationship with my parents is less of a mother-daughter relationship and more of a mutual understanding between equals. I may not show them the respect they deserve 100% of the time, but in return, they don;t treat me with the nurture I need 100% of the time. I've grown up building my own protections up, instead of relying on mummy and mummy mollycoddling me.

Families are difficult and most people wish at some point or anther that they were in a different one. Believe me, I wished countless times for a picket fence family. But the older we get, the more we realise, that the families we're stuck with are the reason we are who we are today. Childhood isn't perfect but I wouldn't be the person I am today without the family around me moulding me into the young woman I am today.

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By now, you should all know that I'm a quiet person.My last post was all about my lack of participation on conversations. I seem to have made myself out to be a little bit of a moaner. That's probably true. There's always something i could have a good winge about. But that's not all I am.

I'm a worry guts. The people I love the most mean so much to me. I like to think I know these people fairly well. I've not got a large group of friends, but the friendships I do have have bonds as strong as steel. I really get to know people and grow so attached to them that it hurts me to see them upset. I have a strong sense of empathy, I know when they're down and I would do anything to cheer them up.

But sometimes they can't be cheered up. Either, I'm the one upsetting them, intentionally or otherwise. Or something has happened to them that I can't affect. I would take a bullet for some of the people I'm closest too, but the feeling of helplessness I get when I see them struggling with grief or illness or family issues breaks my heart. I want them to tell me what I can do to make it better but oftentimes, there's nothing. Some people don't like opening up and talking about things that are getting them down. That's understandable, but it hurts me so much to see them change mood so quickly without any warning or explanation. I can't expect everyone to tell me everything that's on my mind.

I just want those people to know how much I love them. Some people, myself included, try to be strong and proud and not ask for help. They struggle through their problems, hiding them from the world to try and brush them under the carpet. But I know from experience how that turns out. During my angsty teenage years, I closed myself off from everybody. As my problems built up, I got more and more stressed, more and more introverted, more and more upset. After years of not talking to anyone about what was upsetting me, boys, family issues, academic stress all swimming about in my head driving me crazy, I exploded. I blew my top at my friends and family. Friends withdrew from me, not wanting anything to do with the girl who had screamed at them over nothing. My family actually wanted to get me psychological help. I'd gone from this quiet, reserved girl to an absolute monster. I would slam doors, scream and shout, ignore them, cry. I lost a grip on reality for a time, swimming about in this seemingly bottomless pit of anger.

Because I refused to talk about what upset me for all those years, I still feel the residual effects. I'm sarcastic, I avoid confrontation and the friends and family who stuck by me through the dark times still give me the odd worried look when I get stressed. I've lost faith in myself and my ability to deal with stress. I don't feel comfortable talking about my feelings with most people.

I wish to make a plea to each and every one of you reading this. If any of you ever feel like you're falling into the same hole I've described, GET HELP. There's no easy solution, but I would hate for any of you to go through what I did. I am always here to listen to anything that any of you need to get of your chest. Even if it's me that's bothering you. Tell me, I want to help. I love you all and I want to look after you when I can. Take care of yourselves.

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I'm a bit of a loner. I don't really enjoy the company of lots of people. I'm at my happiest when I'm all on my own, laptop in hand or a good book (currently Game of Thrones. My god. It's amazing. Post to come.). For the last 2 years, I've been at a boarding school where I could disappear for a few hours, get away from society and do my own thing, ALONE. I didn't feel left out or anything, I just prefer my own company.

I get exhausted trying to make small talk to people for hours on end. I really hate it when you sit with someone and they tell you the same story over and over and over again because they'd rather hear the sound of their own voice than some peace and quiet. My boyfriend and I were discussing this the other day and he told me he didn't feel uncomfortable when neither of us were talking. I hadn't realised it up until that point but, looking back on it, I hadn't realised how often we end up sitting in silence. It's not that we have nothing to talk about. We are just able to enjoy each other's company without constantly filling the air with pointless noise.

I'm used to not taking part in conversations. I keep quiet and listen. Not because I don't have anything to add or because I feel uncomfortable around people. I just don't feel the need to be constantly engaged in conversation. I don't feel uncomfortable sitting quietly with somebody, enjoying their company without having to endure their conversation.

Maybe there's something wrong with the wiring in my brain that causes me to lack the need for communication with others. Maybe the people I spend time with just have too much to say. Either way, I find myself getting wound up by spending long periods of time with some people in my life. I don't blame them, (well I do at the time). It's not necessarily their fault. My family have grown up surrounded by lots of people, being taught that it's polite to make small talk and keep a conversation going.

The whole stigma surrounding "awkward silences" drives me crazy. I believe that there's a great comfort that comes from silence. The people I feel happiest with, I can sit alone with, sharing our thoughts. But most importantly, having thoughts. I struggle to comprehend how people are able to keep conversations going for hours on end. I take time to think things through. I can't come up with immediate responses to the 100 questions that are thrown in my direction during a conversation with my mother.

Don't get me wrong, I can be a grumpy cow. I snap at people when I'm tired or hungry. I'm no model citizen but nothing frustrates me more than somebody trying to spark up conversation with me when I'm trying to read. I went out to sit alone on the balcony and read my book today. My aunt appeared at the balcony door (they had been out on the balcony on the other side of the house) and asked me why I was sat on my own when they were all out having a chat. I told her I just wanted some peace and quiet to read so she decided to round everyone up and bring them out on to the balcony beside me. Peace shattered.

I think it must be quite frustrating for people who talk all the time to spend time with me. I sit in silence, without even acknowledging people as they come and go. I know it's rude. Small talk is just part of the basic manners that your parents teach you when you're little. Chew with your mouth closed, say please and thank you, never sit in silence.

I'd like to make a request to those of you who spend time with me on a regular basis. Please believe me when I say that I don't intend to be rude. I'm not ignoring you and I'm not in a bad mood. Sometimes I just need some quiet time. I don't hate you, you probably haven't done anything wrong. I dont want you to take offence to this, but I enjoy my company more than yours. There's only one person that I'd be happy to be with 24 hours a day. Just like me, he enjoys the quiet.

When he was here with me, we would float side by side in the pool, each of us reading. Together but not talking. Just being with each other. I never thought I could spend so much time exclusively with one person without them driving me up the wall. I've never enjoyed being around anyone before. I normally endure people until I can find a reason to escape. Things have changed now. Instead of dreaming of getting away from everyone to be alone, I dream of running away to him.

The boy has changed me. SOS I need help. I'm going soft. I'm a bloody marshmallow.

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Being in a familiar place can be comforting. Being alone in a familiar place can be a lot less comforting. I’ve been here countless times in my life. This has been our home in the sun since before I can remember. I’ve grown up surrounded by the locals. I know my way around the broad, tourist-laden streets. I know the secrets of the village, the local traditions and the native families that live around me. However, I’m still lonely. I’ve discovered a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘love hurts’. I’m not heartbroken. Quite the opposite. I’ve never been so utterly enveloped in affection for another being. When we’re together, his needs are always my first priority. I don’t cringe at the chronically stereotypical gender roles that we adopt. I’m more than happy to cook and clean and do his washing as he lies on the sofa with a beer watching sports. If I were to tell this to myself a year ago, I’m sure I wouldn’t believe it. I’m an independent person. I rarely rely on the kindness of others to guide me through life. I make my own luck, working hard to get what I want without the charity of others where possible.

Bringing him to my sanctuary, the place I feel safe and happy and at peace was a big risk. We’d never spend more than a day or two together and I knew that ten days alone in a foreign country my stretch our relationship. My mother had warned me that ‘you don’t really know someone until you go on holiday with them’ and I was a little dubious that the passion that bubbled between us would soon turn sour and we’d resent each other on day three.

I don’t like talking about my relationship in depth on here in fear of the future. I worry that if we do decide to go our separate ways, either in friendship or on less pleasant terms, these thoughts may serve as a painful reminder of what I had. What I lost. However, this is an exception. I suppose, as an aspiring writer, I see profound emotions as deeply inspirational. I doubt (and hope) I will ever feel the intense adrenaline rush of being held at gunpoint or the heart wrenching sorrow of the loss of a child. But I’ve gained a little insight into the fervent rush of affection for another. I hope that, in the future when I become a world-famous writer, that I can use the way I feel right now to try and put in to words the way a woman feels when her husband goes off to battle. Or when a girl sees the boy she dreamt of standing on the opposite train platform from her, waving solemnly as he disappears from her.

This place that I call home, the one I dream of curled up in my blankets on stormy winter nights has turned into what I can only describe as a birdcage. When two love birds are together in that cage, they sing joyfully all day, grooming each other and relishing in each other’s company. Now my fellow love-bird is gone, and I won’t see him for almost a month, all I can do is stick my little beak through the bars of this gorgeous, suntrap and listen out for the sweet birdsong that tweets on so far away from me now.

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