Ugh! Somebody shoot me now.

I’ve got this pain in my left abdomen, just below my ribcage. It’s going…stab…pull…stab…pull…stab…pull…stab, then pull, then buuuurn. I don’t have painkillers with me.

I think I’ll go straight to bed after watching Strictly Come Dancing.

**Update: I went to bed immediately after Strictly Come Dancing, woke up at 5 am, turned on the telly only to be reminded by BBC News that it’s actually 4 am, so tried going back to bed again. Incredible pain continued, I started to panic and thought about A & E. So I got up, had a shower and conditioned my hair – just wanted to look my best in case I was going to turn up at A & E later or call an ambulance. None of that happened because I fell asleep while trying to keep warm in bed waiting for daybreak. I then slept the day away and woke up at 8 pm, no pain, but very hungry…tried getting out of bed but couldn’t for about an hour…in the distance I could hear the sounds of happy children trick or treating. Now I’m here typing away after managing to get something down my throat. Halloween 2010, you were glorious!

I live with a bunch of loonies - well some of them. Let me first eliminate the non-loonies:

A meat loving Brazilian couple who judged by their frequent mirth filled weekend evenings with visiting fellow countrymen seem to be a very fun-loving couple on restrain mode . Restrained because in this  shared flat, they can’t always do what they want, and they too definitely – I can tell – consider some of the housemates loopy. The girl’s english is not well, as she told me. She’s probably 1.99% fluent.

Now to loony number one. She’s a witch. Honestly, even this petty girl does not compare to her. Why am I even comparing? This witch is, in the literal sense, an old witch! I can’t tell but I’m guessing  she’ll  soon  be welcoming her 60s. A fact that continues to puzzle me day on end. What is she doing here? Doesn’t she have a family? There was talk of a daughter and a son a while ago  but I didn’t get the details because at that point I had decided to switch off whenever we found each other in the kitchen or any other communal area. I never even say hello sometimes. It may sound harsh but her behaviour towards me has been very weird. I moved in and she  seemed so friendly, showing me around and telling me I was free to use her stuff in the kitchen as long as I cleaned everything afterwards.  I do this for about a week, next thing I know, she’s marching in the kitchen at every opportune moment muttering about ‘there’s somebody ‘ere stealing my things’ or ‘using my things without my permission’ at which moment I point that I don’t know who said culprit is and I’m only using the things she let me use. My statement is then followed by a blank silence before either one of use walks back to their room. That bothered me but I reckoned at her age, her head was just doing things so I didn’t think any think of it. You can imagine how pissed I was when she started accusing me of pilfering her food, and her other kitchen paraphernalia. I fumed and told  her where to put her stuff.

I mean, for the love of Jesus, just toddle off! I literally starve these days, just about surviving on baked beans and frozen rice and then she comes at me with this stupidity. Fucking ridiculous. At this point I’ve got nothing to lose and I really can not tolerate bollocks because I’m just thinking about survival.

Once I stopped acknowledging her, she grasped a hint but alas, this hasn’t curbed her crazy. She still hovers around the house complaining about anything and everything to anyone who’ll tolerate her waffle. And she’s always going on about the cleaning, which, since I moved here , I’ve never seen her lift a finger to do!

Then there is the two Italian sisters with their penchant for taking up the whole  kitchen space preparing their meals. Oh, and their track suit wearing mother who’s been ‘visiting’ them since last month. Don’t get me wrong, but you don’t visit your daughters for a whole month knowing fully well they live in a cramped, and shared space. I mentioned this in an email to The Italian on the first week I moved in and he was quick to assure me that “we don’t behave like that in Italy bella. We are very considerate people”.  They are also very loud. On a given day, if they feel like it, they would start at around 7 am in the morning…up and down the stairs, shouting, talking, shouting, talking, munching, blocking up the kitchen space, more talking and munching. One of the sisters is of the passive aggressive stock; just like this annoying female, she leaves notes all over the house for people to read. I mean, what happened to talking to people about things in the house? She doesn’t seem to have a problem making noise for everyone the rest of the time!

Needless to say, I feel harassed when I’m somewhere in the house, in the company of this lot.

BB is an adventurous lover. But he’s not tender or overtly affectionate. I get a hint of his inner struggle to be loving with me but not to get too carried away. He wants to be cautious – but of course he slips, unconsciously.  The way he grabs my hand; strong enough to pin me right where he wants me but gently enough for me to see that he cares. He always goes for my right hand. He clasps it  protectively, and then kisses me hungrily.  Like a famished carnivore, he devours me. It’s almost like a ritual to him. And then when he’s close to the climax he puts a finger in my mouth and I drink him in. I feel his strength draining out of him. He relishes this moment.

But I miss tender  fucking. The kind of fucking where there is so much unbridled passion, of the ‘so good I want to die’ variety. The kind of fucking where it doesn’t matter if it’s about love or not but a man is giving himself to me, only for that moment. The kind of fucking where no one is rushed. Where we are just allowing ourselves to get lost and meshed in each other without a care in the world about whether we’ll still be together after we orgasm or not.

Once, after a beautiful orgasmic groan - something that caught me by surprise because he’s the silent type - he immediately turned and fell into a foetal position beside me, hands between his thighs, whimpering softly. I looked at him and at that moment, I really did not know what to do, so I stroked his hair. I was fascinated; what is it about sex that  reduces a grown man to this?

I will blog about my a father and his choices which have essentially let our family down and landed us in this financial mess. I usually just mention it in passing but when all’s well, I’ll get into it. Do I resent him? Absolutely yes! Do I blame him for everything? Yes, about 90% of the time. I used to feel a bit guilty for feeling this way but I’ve come to terms with it, I’m human, I need to feel like this to face the situation and find a way of dealing with it, and possibly getting over it?

For two weeks I’ve heard only £5 with me. I bought milk on Monday and spent £2 on a Starbucks coffee while out with BB because he said to share, and I don’t want to look like a leech. But he knows I don’t have any money! So why would he ask that?

Yesterday evening I made fried rice, had it with baked beans and fish cakes. Random combination I know, but I’m eating everything that is in the house just to fill my body so that I don’t starve. Speaking of starving, I’ve had only one meal a day, for two weeks now. I don’t count breakfast because it’s useless. Sometimes it’s just two pieces of toast or a small slice of cheap cake. Oh, I spiced the rice with chillies and rosemary, just to make it taste…nicer?

I now have £0.50 until next week when I get £150 which I’ll have to pay £120 towards my weekly rent, after that I’m supposed to economise the £30 for about three weeks.

Reasons for all that?  I don’t have a job..again! And my mother’s left for work abroad, which was supposed to bring a glimmer of hope in our lives but has turned into yet another source of trouble. There is a lot of paperwork to sort out before she starts getting paid – I was relying on this to keep me going for the time being. I feel like our family is going nowhere, every decision we make no matter how hopeful turns out to be a deadend or a massive struggle before we see any  payback. And I blame my dad! Yes my dad. I might sound like I’m putting too much on him, but there is a huge story I haven’t told on this blog about how he is the cause all of this to us. I’ll tell when all’s well. When this is just a nightmare of the past. But, when will that be? Next year? The year after? Probably never because things never seem to be OK with me.

I’m very scared now especially with my mum away. I have no one and morbid as this may sound but I worry about dying. Alone. Here in this pitiful state. Since she left I’ve heard numerous dizzy spells and felt so weak, I had to grab onto something when walking up and down the stairs of the new shared flat that I moved in. The flat where everyone seems to be cooking and consuming sumptuous dishes! Where I feel harassed. I get into the kitchen and it’s always a case of ‘don’t put that there, you must leave this here’…argh. I don’t care where the bloody vacuum cleaner should be. Honestly.

With BB now I feel used, exploited, whatever other synonyms you know, use them here. I feel like I’m getting nothing out of it. He goes and comes when he pleases. But I’m needy. I literally have no one to talk to, and the little company and physical contact he gives me makes me feel human. Of course he doesn’t know how needy I am because I don’t show it. But, I’m falling apart.

I know I’ve heard very bad times in the past, but these so far are my darkest. I want so bad to get out of here, I’d give anything.