Think I have royally screwed this one up...

Shit! I mean really: shit!
Why the friggin heck do I not learn to keep my mouth shut and myself  to myself in matters of the heart?
Before yesterday things looked like they would work out somehow. Being friends seemed manageable, feelings locked up, stored up and starved of oxygen. Then I make a stupid comment, really designed to be flippant and get shot down in flames. The two word reply struck harder than a slap in the face.
Then came the apology, which was fine I guess. A few more exchanges and the words that cut like a knife:  "my friend."
I know I agreed that being friends was better than nothing, but that hurt. It felt like none of what I thought we had was real. So I blew my top tried to explain how I felt for once. I don't want to just lie down, be the walk-over anymore that I have been for 13 years.
Now there is silence and silence is bad. I don't know if it's because of what I said or how I said it. All I know is that I want to cry.

Well fuck this for a game of soldiers!
At least he responded to my email. That's something, I guess. Spent the whole fucking morning moping, then went for a walk with some angry rock music punishing my ears and now I wish nothing more than that this was thirteen years ago, and the Zeche was close by!!!
Come to think of that, I wonder if I can actually get a last minute flight today to Berlin and just gate crash Freddie's place. Something tells me that isn't that good an idea but man do I need a change of scenery, and a friendly face that doesn't tell me that long distance internet relationships are always destined to fail and that they aren't real to start with.

Pretty Shit Year

Another year and another disaster.
What is it this time? Where to start?
Pats has died. I am single again after 13 years. I am on my own. Yes, it was me who called it quits, I couldn't bear being nothing but a flat mate anymore. Nor could i face another night of sleeping in our bed while he spent time with the booze in the living room. I have had enough of being taken for granted. No more being a doormat.
AS a result, I have been relegated to the big bad evil, because I moved on. I made the decision and that automatically means that I am to blame.
Our friends claim they feel awkward. In fact so awkward that I am no longer welcome in our usual pub when they are there. They, get this, said we were selfish in breaking up because of the impact it would have on them. This being the same friends who practically encouraged me to do this because they noticed I had been unhappy for a while.
And they don't want to take sides. Yet they clearly are. He has told everybody and thus I am the big bad who needs to be ostracised. Even asking them for help constructing  wardrobes for just half an hour elicits only the suggestion that maybe a book could do the same thing for me. Quite frankly: screw you! If that is how react when a friend asks for help , then clearly you are no friend!
All of that is not exactly designed to make me feel cherished, welcome or anything remotely like being appreciated.
then this morning came the body blow i feared was coming, but had hoped was just my paranoia.
THe one person I had my heart set on, the one person, who stood by me, the one guy whose messages, pictures and emails made me ready to face the world, told me we had no future as a couple because there was an ocean and a continent between us, that it was better to stop now and try and be friends, rather than face the harshness and heartache any ill-fated long distance relationship seemingly inevitably must end in. 
I do not deny that having a long distance relationship across the Atlantic and the US is tough going. I know that physical contact is important in relationships, believe me, I know. I know we only spent fleeting short moments in each others company and I know that they were not enough, that I wanted more