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The Diary/Blog of Amy Savington

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Dear Diary or rather dear blog I suppose.
That’s what this is,isn’t it? A blog?
We don't write in our diaries anymore and hide them away.
We write blogs and share them with the world. Out there for all the world to see.
Well alright.
This is a blog that I'm starting to help fix things...ya know things like my actual life.
I mean if it can work for certain telly characters then why not me then? 
And I'll just ignore any irony of it all. Is that the right word? Irony?  
The reason I'm starting this is because he called me today. He. Himself.

He called me to complain about the other himself. The stress point in our relationship.
Wait. No that's not right.
My therapist would want me to say Ben was just ONE of many stress points in our relationship.
But he was one. A big thorny one with stupid cheekbones and dumb schedules and ridiclous luck.
Well HE called me today. Martin.

Martin called to complain about Ben. He was complaining about the interview he had to today and how they brought it all up again and he had to declare that he and Ben weren't lovers. That they didn't play it as lovers and how he ranted at the poor man writing the article for a good 15 minutes before they got back on track. He complained about all the little people who kept writing their stories and deciding he was wrong. He complained until I got distracted wondering where my life went wrong along the way.

"Are you even listening, 'Manda?"

"Sorry," I said.

I wasn't sorry.

"Sorry." I repeated myself to make it sound more authentic. "You were complaining about your fans. Go on."

"Well when you say it like that I just sound like an asshole."

I said nothing to this.

"I'm NOT an asshole." he said emphatically.

I emphatically said nothing in return.

He huffed out a sigh then went on complaining.

"I just don't know why they won't let it go. Me and Ben are...."

I sucked in a breath and he heard me. I hated when he said "Me and Ben." Like they were the bloody couple and not him and me.

Though I suppose we aren't anymore.

"Sorry," he said. I could imagine the look on his face. Also his voice did that thing it does when he wants you to know he cares. He really was sorry.

"It's okay," I said.

"No, I really am. Sorry 'Manda. It's just know. You're one of the only ones I can talk about this with. You're still my mate."

I am his mate. I really am. I know it. We are friends.

He's the father of my children and I love him as a friend.

He makes me laugh and I really am his mate.

I'm even happy to be his mate.

I've seen those couples that break up and can't stand the sight of each other and that's just not how it is with me and Martin. This friendship thing we got going's the better way to be.

So I took a deep breath to try to hear him, try to help him.

"I know. Listen. I know it's frustrating and...well you know I know better than anyone. As your former beard--"

"Stop it."

"Just a joke. So as your former not-beard then well I have to's a bit odd how upset it makes you."

"I'm not upset." He didn't yell the words as much as he said them incredibly slow and forced. Which is Martin's very not subtle way of showing he was actually quite upset.

"Right. Sure."

"I just..." He stopped speaking and sighed.

Then I pretended I heard one of the kids calling me and I hung up.

Which was wrong of me I know.

I know!

He needed someone to talk to.

But I couldn't, could I?

Am I really supposed to help my ex figure out what seems to be bloody obvious to everyone including random strangers?

I'm not a saint.

And I think even the saints would say this is pushing it a bit far.

The fact of the matter is he hurt me. Martin hurt me.

It took many months of therapy to admit that because I wanted to pretend I was so strong that it didn't hurt.

That it was all fine.

I wanted to be bloody above it all with a "conscious uncoupling" and pretend like it was okay that our relationship ended.

I wanted to pretend like what happened was fine.

But he hurt me.

He was wrong for how he left me behind, for being with others. I was wrong too. I made mistakes too, but mine were in response to his and...fucking hell he hurt me.

I can say that now.

But he is still someone I love and care for.

So as I type this up in the dead of the night I have to wonder like Carrie Bradshaw.

Is it ever possible to truly be friends with your ex?

I like to think it is possible.

But the next step is it it possible be such good friends with your ex that you'd help them land a new someone?

I don't know if that is possible.

I think to do that is admitting that your relationship is officially over and will never happen again.

Am I ready to admit that with Martin?

No more Martin and Amanda ever again?

If I'm being honest with myself I'm not quite there yet.

But I want him to be happy.

So in the morning I guess I'll send him a text and invite him around for tea and perhaps subtly suggest that perhaps he wants to stick his penis in Benedict Cumberbatch and wiggle it about.

That's tomorrow.

For now I'm going to sleep.

Right after I say a prayer to God that I don't dream about wiggling penises.

Night all!