Archive | August, 2013

Only know you love her when you let her go

27 Aug

I’ve been listening to this all day. Probably an ill-advised move. I wish that he would feel this way about me. It makes me wonder what he’s thinking and feeling. (Giving you the ‘Eye of the Tiger’ version not to be all doom and gloom).

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Some musings on Teen Mom 2

27 Aug

I won’t lie: the weekend was really tough. I can’t really see the point in anything. Also, it feels like there are couples everywhere. Everywhere. And they are all so f***ing happy.

 

Still, I did indulge in one of my favourite weekend activities. Namely, drinking coffee and watching Teen Mom (Teen Mom 2, that is, I can’t take Farrah anymore). But, damn, it made me sad.

 

Leah, Kailyn and Jenelle all appear to be getting married in the near future. In fact, Leah got hitched at the courthouse in this week’s episode. I’m pleased for her. And she gives me great hope that I will fall in love with someone else one day as she is able to be engaged/married/broken up so often.

 

I’m not sure where this punk of Jenelle’s emerged from, but at least he’s no commitment-phobe (or at least wants the extra army money it appears he will benefit from if they are to marry).

 

And I’m very, very happy for Kailyn who, I believe, has had the worst time of them all up to this point. Javi seems like a catch, despite being a bit weird about his dogs sleeping outside.

 

But, dear God, poor Chelsea. Before now, I’ve felt nothing but frustration with her and this Adam obsession. Frustration with Chelsea, and anger with her dad, Randy, for spoiling her to the degree that she is ill-equipped for life. Now, I feel nothing but sympathy. This poor girl can’t catch a break. I was actually so upset by the episode (in which Adam flaunts his new girlfriend all over South Dakota) that I Googled to hear the latest news. And what do you know? He’s had a baby with the new girlfriend. My heart breaks for Chelsea. I just want to give her a big hug.

 

Much as I don’t want my ex to become ‘my Adam’, we are now well into Week Four and I am still crying constantly and thinking about him every second of every minute of every day. And I’m tired.

Sleep anxiety

26 Aug

Sleep has not been my friend since the break up. I lie awake, tossing and turning, going over and over and over things in my head. Or I’m so tired I fall asleep, then wake at four and start my anxiety session then. 

Last night, however, was the worst. I got to sleep, but I dreamt that he was asking me to take him back and telling me how much he loved me, and how much his family and friends loved me too. 

Then I woke up.

Perhaps it’s easier being an insomniac.

Emotional at Ikea

26 Aug

I am trying to keep busy. Busy, busy, busy. It’s a bank holiday so I got up super early, drank coffee, watched Teen Mom 2, and then took a trip to Ikea. 

I want to tell you something. My ex had never been to Ikea in his life. Fascinating, isn’t it? What kind of person has never been to Ikea? Never tried to decipher the difference between a Borgstad and a Brigit bookcase? Never felt the sickening sense of panic when it becomes apparent there is no logical way to lift boxes from the warehouse into your trolley (or worse you can move them, but then get stuck halfway)? Never spent an entire weekend building, then rebuilding, a Pax wardrobe?

My ex before this one (more about him anther time) had the great pleasure of building my wardrobe with me. Tense times. Every other piece of furniture in my flat I bought and built myself. I am 5ft 1. So I feel pretty good about this. It’s something I often boast about. I like to be independent. It’s good to know I don’t need anybody else. In fact, I think it’s important.

But that isn’t the same as not wanting somebody else. And, specifically, wanting my Ikea-virgin ex.

The last time I went to Ikea was just before Christmas. I had downloaded old pictures of Hackney off a website, printed them on nice stock, and was framing them as his Christmas present. I was so excited.

Today was less fun. Although I purchased some rhubarb cordial. So things are looking up.

The whole ‘no contact with the ex’ thing

25 Aug

So. When the pizza of doom happened three weeks ago, I was in shock. He kept saying, “Is there anything you want to ask me? Are you going to be OK? You can call me anytime.” But I couldn’t get him out of my flat fast enough. He turned around at the door, I guess to hug me or something, and I asked him just to leave. I hate that memory.

Yes, I was in shock. But I think some kind of self-preservation thing kicked in. From the moment he said he had something to talk to me about (and it was clear this was not something fun), I knew that any contact we had was going to hurt me. And I cannot take being hurt any more right now. I immediately unfriended him on Facebook and deleted him from my gmail chat contacts too. I don’t need to torture myself by stalking him.

It was a few days before I realised that every website and self-help book wanted me to do just this and have no contact with him. Yay me.

Of course I’ve also been on the websites that say this is the best way to get him back. Boo me.

I haven’t really found it hard to have no contact, though. I miss him like hell. I think about him all the time. Everything reminds me of him. I cry constantly. But I know that any text or email or phone call is going to make me feel even worse. There is nothing he could say that would make this hurt less.

There’s also the fact that we’re kind of in breakup purgatory. I still have a lot of his things, including his house keys. He has my things. He has my house keys. At some point there is going to need to be contact. And I guess until then I don’t need to face that he is no longer a part of my life. Forever.

You know when you meet up with an ex (usually to exchange things or for some kind of closure) and you know it’s the last time you will ever see the person? I don’t think I can face that. I think I’ll have to tell him he can come and pick up his things when I’m not here. Which means the last time I saw him will forever be that awkward moment when he turned around to hug me.

I’m kind of surprised he hasn’t been in touch at all. I’m surprised he hasn’t checked in to see if I’m ok, or at least wanted his things back. But then I was surprised when he ate half a pizza, stroked me, cuddled me, and then promptly broke up with me. 

He’s back in New York now for two weeks. I guess I won’t be hearing from him til he gets back to London. And so the no contact continues. Well, according to the books, at least I’m doing something right.

A red velvet caketastrophe

24 Aug

My ex loved my red velvet cupcakes. He used to say that the first time I baked them for him was a “significant moment in our relationship”. Who could blame him? I’m a damn fine baker.

But since the break up I am incapable of making red velvet cake. I tried last weekend for my friend’s hen party (which I ended up leaving after 24 hours because I couldn’t stop crying). They came out of the oven a murky brown.

Tonight I gave it another go, trying to make a large red velvet cake to take to a friend’s house tomorrow. It’s eggplant-coloured.

I guess I’ll know I’m finally on the mend when I get that springy, yummy, scarlet sponge right again. Or maybe I need to find a new recipe. One that doesn’t remind me of him.

Why does everything smell of my ex?

24 Aug

It’s been three weeks since the pizza of doom. I’m kind of surprised that I’m still incapable of pulling myself together. This morning I woke up and decided it was time to put his stuff in a bin bag and get it out of sight. It’s no fun seeing his protein bars in the fridge, his jeans hanging in my wardrobe, his aftershave in my bathroom cabinet. I felt positive about this decision. I would get my flat hetoxed. I would put new sheets on my bed. I would deep clean. Everything would feel fresh. And fresh would feel better.

Very ambitious. Very naive. Wow. I had no idea it was going to hurt this much. As soon as I opened “his drawer” the tears started. Big, ugly, sobby tears. My neighbour must have heard me howling, I’m quite sure. At one point I thought I was going to vomit from crying so much. 

Anyway. I’ve packed everything away. My flat is so teensy, tiny that I can’t really get “the bag” out of sight. It’s blatantly going to sit in my bedroom like a giant, mean elephant in the room.

I decided to keep going and clean out my entire life so have been through my wardrobes and drawers sorting clothes into ‘keep’, ‘bin’, and ‘charity shop’. Here’s the weird thing: all my stuff smells of him. Even things that I’m sure I never wore when we were together. 

I love his smell. I always did. 

Why is my nose torturing me? Does stuff really smell of him or am I imagining it? Can he smell me at his house? And when the hell is this going to get easier?

The thing is, I guess I don’t want everything to feel fresh. Because fresh means he’s gone.