Fisrst day of the week we never wanted to come.

Monday. Monday the 19th June, in three days I thought we would be meeting our baby. 

Instead my partner and I are in survival mode. 

I asked him if he was okay and he said no. Obviously I then felt like a total dumbass for asking. Of course he’s not. I’m not. The world is not okay right now. 

Yesterday was fathers day. Jesus in heaven did that suck. Today is the first day of the week I was due. Today is awful. Tomorrow will be awful )although I get to see my partner. Halelujah.) So will Wednesday when I have to celebrate my Mums birthday, and while I do not want to deny her that, I have no idea how the fuck I am supposed to get through a birthday party dinner without puking and/or having a breakdown.

I can blame it on exams if asked why I’m a wreck but I don’t want too.

I thought we would have told our parents by now. But the pain is too raw and I have never found both the courage and the words at the same time.

Last night I stayed up and watched 12.06am roll over before I could let myself sleep. I had planned on being asleep by 9.30 this evening but here I am at 11.48 still up with no idea how, or when I am supposed to be able to sleep right now. 

He and Emmet, our little family is everything to me.

Today, well yesterday as it is  now 12.25 am on Tuesday. 

Yesterday we talked for a long time

We still are talking actually. I wish it was in person but sadly many of our conversations have to be in text. The day I live with that man is the day I can finally think straight let me tell you. I fucking hate living appart. 3 years to go. I just need to get qualified. Get a degree and then I pray that our lives might finally be on track. We have done 5 years of this, we can do another 3.

We’ve been engaged more than a year now. I haven’t written that before. We don’t talk about that either. Two Italians, a ginger, a guy with an afro and a hot blond know. That sounds like a bad pub joke, but that is the order of our best friends who know. It’s a running joke for us now, that our friends sound like the start of a joke. We’re not making it public till we are at uni. So shhhs.

I wish I was drunk now. I wish I still drank. I’m just tired. I expect this looks like drunk ramblings but sadly not.

It’s like talking about the things that matter most to me is like the German episode of faulty towers where Bazil walks about in that mad ass way shouting 

Don’t mention the war!

My parents (mainly Mum) are anti marriage saying it is a trap etc… and how she would never do it again and hopes I would be sensible. Or whatever. I stopped listening a while ago.

I feel like I’m a bit like Bazil with the whole don’t mention the war thing. Except it’s 

Don’t mention marriage it will start a war…

If they don’t like that then the fuck knows how they would accept a grandbaby. Especially a dead one. 

Reason one why I never told my mother was fear of the 

It was for the best.

Comments. 

Jesus fuck I have no idea what to write

I am spluging words on ‘paper’. 

I am a incoherent mess. 

I fucking hate today. I fucking hate today. 

I miss them so much.

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