I have a confession to make; I need to be really honest.

Against my better judgement and all echelons of common sense I possess, I continued to converse with him. He is still blocked on messenger and I haven’t become friends with him again – although he did send me a request.

We were emailing. Note ‘were’. I have stopped and deleted… at last.

I think the following morning after I blocked him, I woke up and there was a friend request from him. I deleted it and moved on. Then I get an email from him – ‘why did you block me?’

My immediate reaction was ‘why the hell do you think, dick head?’ Instead, I took time and wrote him an email telling him that I was done. That I couldn’t continue to receive messages from him, that I didn’t deserve any of that and that he was ruining my time away, I would get anxious about seeing a message from him when I got back online. I then attached a pdf of our conversation – which I had titled ‘dick head comments’.

I was brutally honest in there and said I couldn’t keep going on. He needed to move on as he clearly hadn’t and I needed to be free of him. He replied to say that he still loved me, but that there was nothing he could do as I’d made up my mind. I fell for it, and went back to say that if he wants something, he needs to fight for it, not give up on things so easily. If he wanted me, he needed to work hard on it and convince me.

He then sends an email listing what he loved about me and things he didn’t. I responded to each point – being honest all the way. I asked him to elaborate on some points, but he didn’t. He told me about his plans for going to college and other bits and piece and said he liked that I was having a good time. In one email, he asked me if I was sleeping with boys. I deliberately didn’t answer that. If I am sleeping with boys, it has nothing to do with him. As per his dick head comments, he was going out with girls, so why should he care what I’m doing?

I did find that he would come back and talk about non-related items, or tell me more about his circumstances, but he never answered my questions. I asked him if he was actually reading what I’d sent, and if so, why not answering them. Apparently I asked too many questions and it confused him.

He then apologised if any of his comments had upset me. I told him that they had absolutely angered me and I wanted to know where it had all come from. He replied that he was simply in a funny mood. I told him that wasn’t good enough; I needed more. He didn’t answer. I went back again and asked and he then said he’d already elaborated.


That is my last, and final, email to him. I tried to include him in things, provide openings and tell him what my travel plans were and what I’d been up to. Yet he still can’t be honest with me. I am absolutely done.

As much as I feel for him – his dad is having heart surgery and he’s now apparently pursuing the army for hearing loss and PTSD (big jump from not willing to consider an admission of depression) – but I can’t help him. I am no longer required to do so. He alone is responsible for him.


It’s not a word that I like to use, it is too blasé and extremely lacking in respect, but it has to be that way.

I’ll confess that I did keep having wonderings in the back of my head, what if… will he… will I… can we make it work? But I know in my head of heads that we can’t. He needs to be a changed man, and even if he is or does, he won’t be the guy I fell in love with but he will still always be the guy who deserted me, who disrespected me and spoke extremely horribly to me. Why on earth should I hope and wonder about a future with someone like that?

I am trying my best to have an amazing time away and am so far succeeding brilliantly, albeit with the bumps of contact with him. But no more bumps. Not anymore. I don’t wish him or his family any ill will, but I do wish him away from me.

Wow. I think I truly do. He’s not my first love, but he was my first fiancé, my first live in partner and the first to get me pregnant. But he won’t be the last – I deserve better. I will find better. But I’ll only find better once he is away.

I’ll confess something… there’s always going to be a part of me that will want him to suddenly appear out of nowhere and sweep me off my feet.

I’ll confess something else… I’m glad I finally said whatever.





Empowered. That’s me right now. I’m surprised with how clear and empowered I’m currently feeling. I don’t think I’ve actually felt like this before and am wondering why I didn’t do this sooner.

I’ve been feeling at peace since the end of February and having my time on the beach. I still want children and it is taking a lot of self control to not steal every child or baby I see – seriously, the kids here are so freaking cute – but I’m no longer sad or in pain.

Gary has reached out to me a few times and we’ve had some nice enough messages going back and forth, he had said he was sad around 23 February, but I’m not sure if that was genuine or not. I really can’t believe anything he says anymore. I told a few people my ‘sob story’ during my tour. My roomie was the first to find out and she really questioned why I was still in contact with him – she kept asking if I’d unfriended him yet. I was able to finally send her a message this morning and tell her that I’d blocked him and unfriended him. I feel so much better for it.

I’ve been in Hanoi for about two weeks now and have been enjoying some down time, aimlessly wandering and making new friends. Just enjoying the thrill of being away but not being tied down to anything, or being pressured into rushing into something.

Well, a few days ago, Gary once again asked me if I still loved him. I didn’t respond – why should I? Then I went out and had a few drinks, so jokingly sent him the same question. And I’m not sure exactly what happened, but things turned. He was an absolute arsehole. I’m trying to forget everything that he said, but it really came from out of nowhere.

He claimed that he was in pain, and I was insulting him by telling him that he needed to speak with someone about his time in the army and his anxiety. He claimed we was speaking with someone – he was speaking with me. I refuted this, as when I had tried to call him to physically speak, he wouldn’t answer or wouldn’t elaborate and would completely bypass the issue.

Then suddenly, he told me that I was effectively too fat, that I didn’t dress well or care about myself enough. That I didn’t have any pride in myself and it was a turn off. He was scared that if we got married I’d gain five stone and therefore be even fatter. He then proceeded to give me ‘advice’ about looking after myself so that I would be desirable to others in the future, that I’d one day look in the mirror and thank him for giving me this advice.

He told me that I needed to be a princess, that I needed to improve my clothes and do my hair and nails and wear more make up. He then proceeded to insult my sister and think that it was all okay – he was doing this to help me. Apparently when I was trying to lose weight last year, I was doing it wrong. I shouldn’t have been listening to my doctor, nutritionist or exercise physiologist, but rather should have been going to the gym four days a week for an hour each session. I should have listened to him – an uneducated male.

I did point out that we did go to the gym a few times and enjoyed it, however we stopped going together and he in fact stopped going himself. I didn’t point out that at the time we were doing this, I was unknowingly pregnant so anything in regards to my weight would have been difficult to control. I also didn’t point out that I then dropped 10 kilos without even trying.

There was a lot more in relation to that, but it turns out it was quite an issue for him as he had to ‘stick his dick inside me’ and our sex life suffered. Curiously, when I had tried to discuss our sex life, not much was said and he certainly never told me that he found me unattractive or didn’t like sticking his dick inside me. Obviously it wasn’t that much of an issue as he did manage to get me pregnant.

What I am surprised further by is that he was quite nasty, but seemed to genuinely think he was doing me a favour. Had this happened a few months ago, I’d likely be a mess. He chose my biggest insecurity and attacked it, truly attacked it unprovoked. It was also early in the morning for him in his time, so I can’t even blame this on him having a few drinks, like when he’s asked me if I loved him. This all came from nowhere.

I was determined not to get upset and I tried so hard not to stoop and bite back and attack him, but when he insulted my sister, I couldn’t hold back. I went back at him and said he wasn’t top shit, not the best looking and his fashion of tracksuit pants was not suitable for everyday wear. He needed to work on his appearance as well. I did hold myself back from commenting on the sex – from our time together, he did only satisfy me about three times. Sex was all about and for him – shame he had to do it with a fat unfashionable non-princess. Anyway, he simply responded that I raised valid points. He didn’t bite.

Eventually he turns it into a joke and brings up getting married – that he thinks we should go to Vegas and get married. Seriously? After insulting me and my family, he thinks I’d marry him? I told him if he wanted a princess, he’d need to treat a girl like one and make her feel as though he’d stop the earth for her. I said he needed to be happy within himself before he could ever consider making someone else happy.

This did ruin my evening, and I spent the night in the hostel moping around a bit and shed a few tears on my bed. But it wasn’t the insults – I know I’m attractive and what I wear suits me and I look good. I’m comfortable in my own skin – it’s taken me time, but I am who I am and look how I look. But the nastiness – the idea that I was actually in love with someone capable of that and had committed myself to spending my life with him – that made me angry, it upset me immensely. I was and still am deeply confused by this. Where the hell did it all come from?

He then took it further by sending me a couple of my past Facebook profile pictures. One was taken in Kuala Lumpur about eight years ago – he told me that he loved that Laura. I told him he’d never met that Laura, and unsurprisingly in eight years I have aged (also curiously, I was incredibly unfashionable at that time, hadn’t done my hair and wasn’t wearing an ounce of make up). Another picture was of me at my cousin’s wedding, so of course dressed up. I told him that no girl was going to dress up for a wedding every day of her life.

He had said that he was over me and had moved on, had dated a couple of girls and puts them on a test. He gets them a few drinks, and if they flirt with other guys, they aren’t for him. I have no idea where he gets all this from – why test a girl on a first date? Why test her at all? How the hell did I get involved with this?

I did tell him that I would look back and thank him. That I would be thankful that I didn’t marry him, didn’t commit to spending the rest of my life with him and am extremely thankful that he won’t be the father of my children. He simply responded that he’d make a good husband and father one day. I asked him to prove it – and he simply said he would to the right girl – clearly forgetting we were engaged last year. I mean come on, what an absolute dick. How did I fall for this guy???

Then yesterday morning I wake up to another message from him: ‘Good Night Laura x’.

What. The Hell.

He then messages later on to say that we need to move on, he can’t go on like this it’s not healthy. I then remind him he told me had moved on and he had also said he found it easy to let go. I said I had moved on and that I was confused by his contradictions and I wished him well.

I then get a further message saying that he can only get married in Vegas. I chose not to bite and am proud of myself for not. Instead, 24 hours later I decide that my time is better spent than trying to help or understand him. He is not worthy of any more of my time and has already taken up far too much of it. So at breakfast this morning, I blocked him on messenger and unfriended him on Facebook. I feel so much better. No longer will I wait or get anxious about a message coming through from him. I am clear of him. He cannot contact me.

I was chatting to a new friend the other day, after the insulting messages and I said I didn’t know why I was still in contact with him, why I felt that need. What troubled me was that he could turn so nasty. It simply comes down to guys wanting to play games to make themselves feel better. I truly believe that for Gary. He is a lost soul and can only make himself better by blaming his bad choices and circumstances on someone else. He refuses to accept or take any responsibility for what he does to himself and others. And I no longer need to deal with that.

A while ago Fiona mentioned to me that it was an ego thing, me wanting to stay in touch. I didn’t think much about it, but now, yes I see it. It felt nice to think that I was needed and he was reaching out to me. It was nice to know that he hadn’t moved on and was watching my moves. But remove the ego, and I have no responsibility for him. I have no obligation to help him. He needs to help himself. I do not. I have to help myself and only myself. He can go get fucked for all I care now. If he is happy and proud of his actions, then good for him. That is purely a reflection on him and nothing on me. I am better than that and I have so many better things to be doing with my time and much more worthy people to spend my time on and with.

I am travelling at the moment and I am looking after myself. I am making new friends and seeing and experiencing so much more than I could have hoped for. I am a good person and dicks that won’t help themselves will no longer hold me back.

I am an empowered woman and I am strong. I am woman, hear me roar.

It comes down to trust

It’s about trust. I’m starting to get some trust back and it’s making me think that perhaps I am far too trusting. I don’t question enough and perhaps I’m a little too easy going, willing to just go with the flow.

I’m trying to get things sorted before I go away, which included getting a pap smear. No biggie, we’ve all got to get them and it’s a part of being a grown woman, an ‘adult’. My GP suggested the Compass Trial; I fell in the right range to take part, meaning that there would be an extra test and if all was well, then I’d likely only have to get checked every five years instead of every two. I wasn’t going to be out of pocket, so I told her I’d go for it.

Well, last week I had a missed call from the doctor’s office and then a text message asking me to call them to make an appointment. I made the appointment and confirmed that my GP did request to see me, even though she had told me that the results are usually mailed out.

I called mum and a letter had arrived there due to my mail redirection. She read it out, and it said there was something out of the ordinary in the results and to make an appointment. It also included a brochure with further information. I didn’t really take it all in. Mum said that she’s had similar results before and it just meant that she had to go back in twelve months, rather than wait the two years.

So I had the appointment and had a vague idea of what my doctor would say. One set of results was fine, but there had been changes since my last test and indicated the presence of high-risk HPV DNA types. However, it wasn’t 16/18, which is the bad high risk. I need to go back in twelve months and was told that things will likely resolve itself. If this eventuates into cancer, it’s very slow moving and can be treated.

She mentioned a lot of other things which I didn’t really take in, something about there being an infection, but it not being classified as an STD, even though it is sexually transmitted, that treatment can include removing some of the cervix and then she said some other things. Again, not a lot sunk in. I think this can be quite serious, but at the time I was putting my trust in her when she was telling me that I’m okay and it shouldn’t be anything to worry about.

I was a little nervous in the lead up to the appointment, I mentioned to Rachael that I had to go in for a follow up, and she was quite casual about it so I kind of clung to that. I did feel out of sorts a little after the appointment and mentioned a little of it to Alison. I just wanted to talk about it. But it just wasn’t quite right.

It’s been hovering at the back of my mind since. I’m just not understanding enough, but am trusting that it will all be fine. Thankfully I’m seeing Manda on Friday. I can talk to Manda about anything.

My doctor also saying about it being sexually transmitted; I’ll admit, I am truly naïve about all of this. That’s why I see professionals. It’s all on them, they tell me what to do or what to worry about. But then I’m also thinking that this is because of Gary. He’s the only one I’ve had unprotected sex with, so this is on him. I trusted him and look where it got me.

I’m sure this will be fine. It’s all procedure and why we get regular check-ups. But what else can be thrown at me? Just as I was starting to feel positive, actually feel happy and looking forward to a great future, this comes up. I did ask if the miscarriage could have lead to any of this, but no. Fertility won’t be affected, so really, there’s nothing to worry about. I just need to trust my doctor.

I do trust her. I just don’t trust me. I trust everyone else, quickly, easily and with few questions asked. Gary asked me a few times if I trusted him, to which I responded yes each time. He seemed surprised, asked if I thought he could physically hurt me (looking back now, that is quite odd and a warning sign). I told him that he would have been capable of it, but I trusted that he wouldn’t, otherwise I wouldn’t have allowed him to move in nor would I have been with him.

Talking with Fiona last week, she mentioned how I am quick to forgive. I did forgive Gary very quickly after he doubted me and after he abandoned me when I needed him most. I need to question things more. If I’m not sure of something or really can’t take it in, I need to slow down and ask questions. I’ve always known that I don’t ask enough questions at the time – I’ve really only thought about it from a work perspective, interviews etc. I worked on that and when going into meetings or on calls, I have questions on the go. Why haven’t I done that in my personal life? I trust quickly and easily. I need to question more and allow time for trust to be built.

I do need to be more stringent with who and what I trust. Of course, I’ve been seeing my GP for two years now and am comfortable with her, she is absolutely someone that I can and should trust. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t ask more questions. I need to stop being so willing to accept things and move on. A lot in life really is about trust, giving and taking it. Trust is precious and deserves to be questioned. It’s not bad to trust, but be sure that you trust the right people.

I’ve got some work to do with trusting myself. This trip will help me do that; I’ll have no one but myself to trust and rely on. I don’t need to question myself any further though – I am looking out for me and my best interests. I can and will trust myself.

Two Months On

I’ve now been not-pregnant for longer than I was actually pregnant and it doesn’t seem to be getting any easier to deal with. I’m trying not to countdown; to blame myself. I’m trying to keep myself busy and think of other things, but when something as unexpected and painful as this happens, I can’t help but do all of that. Life is so unfair at the moment. I want nothing more than to move on, be happy, looking forward to what is yet to come. But I can’t. My mind won’t let me and I keep circling around what I’ve lost; what I should be gaining.

There’s something every day that reminds me of what I’ve lost, what I’m missing out on. From waking up each morning with an ache in my stomach, to smelling the bath products I brought as a treat after I found out I was pregnant to coming home to an empty house. From losing weight and not gaining it to seeing so many happy families and baby products. To friends on Facebook counting down their pregnancies and others counting up the age of their babies. All of these things bring back the memories and stop me from being able to let go of the pain.

I’ve been told that a miscarriage is nature’s way of telling me that my pregnancy wasn’t viable, that I couldn’t have done anything to change the outcome. What I don’t say in return is that I feel like I gave nature a helping hand. That I put myself through so much stress in those weeks, experienced so much anger and frustration that I forced my body and nature to react in this way.

I’m not one to hold on to guilt or lay blame. But right now I feel all of it. I blame myself for not being able to keep my baby alive. I feel guilt for having had a hot bubble bath, for getting angry with Gary, for having a couple of drinks before I knew. I feel so guilty that I was using a facial cleanser that contained ingredients that shouldn’t be used in pregnancy.

I found out I was pregnant on the Thursday night; I kicked Gary out on the Saturday morning. I spent the day and night crying. I ate McDonald’s on the Sunday and spent a miserable day with my family. I went to the doctors on the Monday morning and then had an argument with Gary after. I didn’t allow myself to be happy or excited. I kept thinking about the possibility of miscarriage.

When I told dad I was scared, he asked me why. I told him I was scared of doing it alone, I was scared of everything. I was scared of having a miscarriage. I told mum I was scared of miscarrying. She told me it didn’t run in the family, so there wasn’t a reason to be scared.

On the Tuesday I bought myself ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’. I had a hot bubble bath then settled into bed with my new book. I read about the dating scan I was booked in for, what we should see and tried to work out how far along I was. I then read that having hot baths is a no-no. The body can overheat by staying submerged and can’t adjust, as it needs to. I freaked out.

I messaged Gary and told him I was scared of miscarriage and being alone. I was scared I’d done something wrong. I was scared I’d do something wrong. I was scared.

I went about the next nine days in a scared, yet hopeful, daze. I embraced the constant feeling of nausea, the lack of appetite and constant need to pee and just the overall exhaustion. These were all symptoms for the baby that was growing inside me. These were real things that were happening for a very real and exciting thing.

The day for the scan arrived at long last. Mum and Gary came in with me while dad waited outside. I stripped off my jeans and underwear and made myself comfortable on the bed with my knees bent up.

The technician went about her business, asked a few opening questions then proceeded to move about with lots of clicks and measurements on the screen. I had no idea what I was looking at, and eventually asked in a light tone ‘there’s just the one in there, isn’t there?’

The question seemed to linger. She asked me if my doctor had thought that my levels were low. I’d had my blood test almost two weeks ago; I told her that in fact she seemed to think they were quite high and I might have been further along than expected.

Silence followed. I wasn’t too sure what to make of it all. I just stared at the screen, hoping to make sense of the black and grey swirls. It all remained a mystery. I did find it odd that she wasn’t speaking to me, to us and telling us about what she was looking at.

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t detect a heartbeat.’

I don’t know what I said or what happened next, but she said something about sending the genetic counsellor in. Mum was then by my side and hugging me. My tears started and I lay frozen, my knees eventually dropping flat.

We didn’t see the technician again. I kept looking at the screen trying to make sense of it all. I began to doubt myself. Had I made up the symptoms that I’d still been experiencing that very day? Had I somehow created the hormones to appear in my urine and blood tests? Was this all just a big joke?

My biggest fear had come true. The main thing that played on my mind for those two weeks had been my fear of miscarriage. And that is exactly what happened. My body’s ultimate betrayal.