I guess I'll miss the man.

This is not a love letter, this is a bleeding heart.

In this post (composed in the coldest bedroom in the north of England) I will be opening up about my obsession with toxic relationships and how they develop.

My first serious, sexual boyfriend cheated, repeatedly. He was, in my eyes the greatest man alive, the girls messaging me to inform me what he was doing, and where he was doing it to them were the issue. I was so scared of releasing him that we made a deal. He could do whatever he wanted so long as I, nor my friends heard of it and he never brought anything back to me. I know now, looking back how insane that was. Back then though, I convinced myself it was better to sit at home wondering who he was with, was a better option than leaving. I even had a fight with a girl simply because she had spoke about it on work experience with one of my friends. I was ashamed quite simply, I wasn't enough for him. I couldn't leave him, I think I was in love with the dramatics of it all. The screaming, the apologies, then the making up. Don't get me wrong, this is still someone I met with almost annually for a good few years, kind of to see if he had changed at all (no, no he has not.) I still speak to him to this day, more for a smug amusement than anything, (he regularly asks one of my best friends for a shag.) The other day he had the cheek to ask me to come 'nurse him back to health' (-I'm sure you can imagine how I laughed) I think this set off my string of unsuccessful flings and my rather casual approach to the wonderful world of sex.

In the years between him and my only other relationship worth mentioning I have managed to attach myself to 
many, 
many,
many.
many, chaps who have had little to no respect for women. Who believed themselves to be strong, testosterone fuelled studs. I have also managed to run away from every sweet soul who had my best intentions at heart. (Time for another example kids,) As a teen I had a lovely boyfriend for a few months, between his job and me being at school/running away from home, we never had the time to see each other. He broke up with me and I ran to his best friend. Now for the post we will call this wonderful human Dale* he was a saint. All he wanted was to see me smile, he literally worshipped the ground I walked on , and due to him actually being fucking lovely, I walked all over him. For years I walked all over him, I left him shortly after getting with him then a couple of years down the line I hunted down Dale* again. I wanted to be with someone who loved me. I wanted stability and security. I didn't want to go to bed alone. Upon reflection, Dale wasn't who I wanted, he just fit the requirements. I think deep down I never felt deserving of him either, like that kind of love and respect was something I had never encountered from a boy. It made me uncomfortable, as though I was suffocating. Dale,* if you are reading this, I am sorry and I cannot wait to see you settled with a woman who gives you all the respect and admiration you deserve.

Skip forward a couple of years, I'm single, living on London Road, (If you aren't from Sheffield, London Road is somewhat of a cultural hub, it is home to the mighty Ozmens and fast food of every nationality, check it out sometime) having a whale of a time Tindering, I meet a lovely young chap who by chance lives just up the road from myself. He was a sweet, warm hearted man, who knew where to find all the best whiskys and bands. Again this was another occasion where I met someone fantastic, and fucking ran away. Around the same time I started working at a new pub where I met a bit of a Jack The Lad. He'd stagger about, leaning over me at the jukebox, questioning my choice in music. At first, I ignored him. He was just another guy who spent too much time at the gym and probably spent his weekends in Players (again, for the non-natives, its a fucking awful place, just don't bother going in). Eventually I warmed to his persistent offers to put up the chairs for me at the end of the night and relentlessly asking if I'm coming to town.
Now I must admit, I hadn't actually broke it off with afore mentioned sweetheart by this point, yet still, off I went knowing exactly what his intentions were. It was the beginning of a, my ghosting repertoire and b, a beautiful, disastrous love.

Within about a month I realised I had spent all weekend, every weekend with him. We both realised we weren't just mates who fucked at the weekend. We were a couple. It was intense and went at the speed of lightening. We didn't leave each others sides, within a few months I had moved in, we were going for weekend city breaks. It was the safest I'd ever felt. I 'wore' him everywhere, my very own little designer boyfriend, amazed that I had managed to attract such a wonderful, respectable man. I was so in love I ignored the signs. How on Halloween, he had thrown me out of the house because I had took too long having a piss, it surely meant I was telling my friend that I didn't want him? The next day I called him, yes, I went fucking grovelling, and we had the apologies, the promises, the usual cliche bullshit you hear every day from another sobbing face. Forgiven, he was mine again, I was the luckiest girl in the world.

That was not the end of the tale, at first he convinced me to leave the pub I met him in, it meant we would have more time together. No more dickheads hassling me for my number at the bar. Then, did I really want to wear that top? Or need that much makeup on, I was going to work, who would I want to impress? 'That' friend was a bad influence on me, I should avoid them. She just wants to go on the pull, you don't want that babe, do you? It's all so fucking cliche but I didn't see any of it. He loved me and just wanted the best for me. When I was having a bad MH day, I was hurting him, couldn't I see how my hurt was affecting him? It didn't matter, that soon enough we were having more bad days than good days, we were made for each other. He was my heroin. I loved the toxicity so much that after the big fight, I still wanted to go back to him. I did one night, I left a friends house and turned up at his door, the one that used to be ours, demanded to stay the night. I fucking hurt myself so much trying to get him back. He never, ever fought for me but I couldn't see it that way.

 I often tell my friends that unless it's a challenge I'm not interested. It's not a joke, it's how I work and it's fucking dangerous. I break my own heart in the pursuit of finding someone I feel I'm undeserving of, and when I do get them I torture myself reminding myself of all my faults and their perfection. Quite simply, I emotionally bruise myself repeatedly and then wonder why I struggle to ever feel good about myself.

 I'm trying so hard to change my ways, I promise. (Boys, keep in mind I have promised myself that unless you hold the door and bring flowers, a second date is off the books.) and I'm hoping to round up 2018 with a happier post full of self love and potentially, the right love.

Please keep love in your hearts and never allow yourself to be second best.
Heres hoping, Soph. x


*Obviously names have been changed. I've never fucked a Dale, yet..