Subtle, perhaps not.

I love my friends, they are the kindest and most generous of all people and I never cease to be thrilled that we met, most of my friends are imaginary ones, ones that live behind a screen and some, I admit, I forget that I have never actually met. Sometimes I remind myself that I haven't met these people in person. I have met lots of my imaginary friends and when that has happened it has always been the most natural and easy of moments, as though we grew up together and of course this is who they are and of course we would feel this way.
I believe all the things my friends tell me, I absolutely do.
No matter how sad I may feel or how baffled I might feel at the wonderful things they tell me, I always believe them because they don't lie to me, neither do they say what they think I want to hear.
They are kind, funny, generous, honest, strong, clever, hard working, some work from home, some work outside the home, all are mothers, some from England, most from elsewhere in this big and sometimes scary world. They are all of these things but the one thing they are not, is subtle or underhand.
I wrote my last entry when I was ( can you believe this?) as low as I have ever been and I wrote exactly what I was feeling. I wrote it and briefly, I worried that I had written it and posted it. Then I let it go and didn't worry because actually, the thing that has yet to let me down when I feel as sorrowful and self pitying as I did on that day, is writing. I can write things I know I would never be able to say out loud to another human being.
I am what I am and I am who I am, I often wish to be different but  this is it. I rather like who I am, I don't like much of what has happened very much but despite how I seem to be lacking in self esteem, I'm really not. I am aware of my strengths and talents and I hope I don't belittle those parts of myself that I can be proud of. I am completely self deprecating in many ways and I suspect that will always be. When I was 18 and ( now I look at pictures) quite beautiful, with naturally voluptuous boobs, little waist, long curly, shiny hair and beautiful eyes, I thought I was fat and the ugly duckling of the family. I rarely care that I was never considered a stunning beauty because from the age of 15 I have always had someone that loved me more than they loved other people, they may have come and gone but they were there and while they were there I was never in any doubt that they loved me and that I deserved it.
So, I wrote the blog and I posted it and then I got on with what I do best, which is getting on with it. I have been quieter than I usually am and I haven't, I don't think, been as funny and supportive as I can be, I am, most definitely, running on empty but I am running, albeit in a spluttery and stop-starty kind of way.
I re-read the last entry several times because I was pleased at just how well it described how I had been feeling and if I am honest, still feel. I don't think too much about comments these days because since I made this blog private I think people forget it is here, that makes it easier for me to write what I want to write, even if it makes it less fun or rewarding ( because I am, to be fair, a comments whore, tell me I am FABULOUS, in writing because then I can come back and re-read and feel fabulous all over again)
The fact that I do write is the very reason, I hope, that no-one need worry. When I spew the misery onto the page (or into the post as is the way in this world of technology) the worst of it stays here.
Today, I started to get email notifications that I had comments on my post, as well as that I got some texts and some lovely messages on Face book and I smiled because I knew that one of my imaginary friends had read the post and sent our mutual imaginary friends a message that I was sad. So although the methods of the incidental messages of love and support were varied, they were all clearly sincere and most welcome.
I am glad that I wrote, quite clearly that the feelings I had towards H were not usual. I adore him and I know that he loves me just as much, it's funny that other people tell me how much he loves me much more often than he ever does. He doesn't tell me very often but he shows me almost every day. I do not get flowers or chocolates but I get so much more. He is the perfect gentleman which in this day and age is almost impossible to find and I will always love that I have that in my husband. I often wish that he would pander to my insecurities and say all those lovely things a woman longs to hear but if I am honest I suspect that it would be my undoing should he ever do just that.
The other day, I went into our room and saw that he had taken his pillowcase off his pillow and hadn't replaced it. I had just ironed a whole pile and so I put a fresh one on and forgot all about it. Later that evening after he had gone to bed, I got a text, sent from his iPod that said " Thank you for my pillowcase, I sure do love you a whole lot" Now to most women that wouldn't mean very much but the fact that he rarely says ( or writes) those words it was heart stoppingly glorious to me. There is something to be said for not spouting those 3 little words 15 times a day. I know that he finds it difficult to say because in his life he has been told he is loved while being shown that he is of no importance at all, by the very people who should never have done anything to make him doubt he was loved.  Life is very black and white to H, his experience of hearing ' I love you' is that people are liars, so when he hears those words, he doesn't feel joyous or in anyway fluffy. He feels wary and distrusting. I have learned to say things like " I love you, in the most sincere and truthful way" which makes him laugh, which in turn means he felt good when he heard them and as time has passed he is much more able to hear the words and enjoy them, in fact he often uses the fact that I have said them to reply with "And I, you." which is marvellous because he hasn't actually had to say them at all! If I call him on the phone he will often wait until I have said goodbye and then he will say, very quickly " love ya now" and hang up because ye gads let's not get into a discussion about it!
He is good for me and I for him. Even when I could punch him in the head, I am completely sure that he is right for me and I am also certain that I was made especially to love him and accept all his quirks and foibles and embrace almost every one of them.
I am so thankful for my friends and love that they are sufficiently caring enough to rally together and make me know that I am loved. Thank you one and all, not at all subtle but every one truly splendid.