Missing you

So a part of my life that I don’t talk about a lot is attachment. I think I’ve struggled with it for as long as I remember, way back in primary school I would get really upset every year when we changed teacher, even though I knew it was inevitable. 

In the past few years though it’s definitely reared its ugly head more and more often. A year out of school and I’m still painfully attached to teachers and members of staff I used to see, especially my old guidance teacher. Missing her is the basis for the above poem, written on a day when I felt particularly floored by my attachment. 

I guess it’s natural to miss her, she was the first person I opened up to and showed me so much care and compassion that I’m not surprised I became so easily attached. I could probably say she saved my life, and that’s not something you get over easily. 

But oh lord does it cause so much pain. So much pain. Every time I’m out I’m looking for her face, her silhouette, every double take I take rips out another part of my heart – I don’t even know what I’d say to her were I to see her again, I’d probably just cry. I have her email address and it takes everything within me not to contact her, as I know that that would just open up the old wound and aggravate it, but lord do I miss her so much. I miss her so much it physically hurts, I feel sick to my stomach and my heart aches when I think of it. I wish I could get over her, I honestly do and I tried to bring it up with my team yesterday in a note but they ended up focusing on other more concerning parts. 

I just wish I had somebody to talk to about this, it hurts so much to deal with it on my own and so I turn to places like here and Instagram to vent, but it’s never quite the same as speaking to her. It feels like grief, like I’ve lost her forever and a part of me has died. I know these thoughts are irrational, that she’s only supposed to be a fleeting part of my life but it still won’t stop hurting no matter how much I try to rationalise.

I’m not sure what the purpose of this blog post was, I guess I just wanted to share this portion of my life with all of you. 

An audience of geese?

The cursor blinks on my screen as I stare at the blank draft, asking myself for the billionth time why I thought it was a good idea to start a blog. To me, this blog feels like those diaries you had when you were a child – the ones that came with a padlock (the key for which was inevitably lost within a week), the contents strictly private, a secret held between you and your stuffed toys only. I guess that leaves you, my audience, to be the fluffy bears and rabbits, the keepers of my rather public secret blog. Apologies for the comparison.

Not that there’s anything wrong with having secrets, of course. Only it does seem quite odd to make such an intimate thing so public – why am I sharing such personal thoughts with the internet? It all feels rather backward, quite counter-intuitive really. I would feel embarrassed sharing my blog with friends and family, yet I am fine with the rest of the internet seeing it. Maybe that’s because this blog was never really targeted at a wide audience, or much of an audience at all. I’m writing, not for the enjoyment of others, but for myself (I know, how selfish). I’m simply writing because I can, because I enjoy the challenge of turning thoughts into words, arranging those words into sentences and building those sentences into a coherent structure.

So what’s the deal with this ‘dream audience’ thing then? It doesn’t really matter to me who reads my posts, as to most strangers I will just be another blogger in the sea of words and opinions, and I’m fine with that. My audience could consist largely of a huge gaggle of geese and it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference. I don’t expect many people to pay attention to little old me, so I guess my dream audience is simply anyone that is interested, and anyone that cares. I don’t want to make money or become famous, I just want to write. I’m not much of a muchness, but if people do find this blog entertaining or helpful, that’s an added bonus.

Now, pinky swear to keep this between us, okay? – Oh, and the geese too.