Archive | September, 2013

I’m exhausted

25 Sep

I saw my new counsellor tonight. The moment I met her I liked her, and felt totally at ease with her. She complimented me on my cat socks. I think she’s going to be great for me.

We talked through the whole sorry story. I cried. As I do these days. And at one point she just looked at me, sympathetically but not in a patronising way, and said, “You’re completely exhausted.”

That set off the tears again.

I am so tired.

It’s not just the not sleeping, or the stress of the new job, or constantly trying to think of things to be happy about, or the hours lost to crying. It’s not flying up to Scotland to lie in bed for a week, then back to London, then Scotland for a hen party, then London, then France for a ‘feel better holiday’, then London, then Scotland for Sarah’s wedding, then London.

These things are tiring, yes. But my poor brain is still trying to compute what has actually happened. I’m still going over and over and over and over the same conversations, eight weeks on. Even when I sleep, I have nightmares about it. It’s no wonder I can’t concentrate on anything. My mind is absolutely frazzled.

Much as I’d like to not think about my ex for an hour, or even a half hour, I need to let my brain keep going because we need to work through this together. And sooner or later, we will make sense of it all. This brain came top in its class, got through law school, and has won awards for some pretty great creative work in its time. I trust it. I know we’ll get there.

In the meantime, we’ll keep getting up every morning and dragging ourselves to work. We’ll try to focus, and play around with decidedly mediocre creative ideas. And we’ll go over and over the same things we’ve gone over and over for the past eight weeks.

I thought the worst thing my brain would ever have to go through was my second-year commercial law exam. At least it only lasted three hours.

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The thing that sticks

24 Sep

I’m trying herbal Nytol to avoid becoming completely addicted to the sleeping tablets that my doctor has prescribed in very generous quantities.

So far, the herbs ain’t doing much.

One thought is going round and round my head. Same thought that has stuck and hurt the most for seven and a half weeks.

He was “never completely in love” with me.

It undoes everything. All my memories come apart. It’s like a thread that you pull and a whole jumper unravels. Everything’s gone.

And I must be in some way deficient.

Because I was completely in love with him.

Grrrrrrrr I’m feeling angrrrrrrrry

24 Sep

I’m angry that your life goes on while I still love you.

I’m mad that you’ve cost me a fortune in massages, flights, therapy, and self-help books. And vodka.

I’m annoyed that you’re still going to Italy this weekend. Without me.

I’m furious that you’ve ruined pizza for me.

I’m cross about the conversation we had on the Friday night in New York when you accused me of being a bad role model.

I’m livid that you apologised the next day, when you clearly didn’t mean it.

I’m angry that I still love you while your life goes on.

I want to poke him in the eyes

23 Sep

Last night I spoke to my friend Jennie. Jennie is one of my very favourites. Talking to her is like getting a massive hug, a shot of vodka, and a cupcake. She used to live in London, but moved back to Scotland a couple of years ago. Which is very sad news for London. And very sad news for me.

Anyway, yesterday I felt so down, I knew she was the person I wanted to moan at. We caught up right before bedtime (10pm for me, I’m practically geriatric).

We talked, and talked, and talked about my ex and how I feel about everything. We’ve had the conversations before. We’ll probably have them again. I cried. We laughed. We talked some more.

And finally Jennie said what I think we’ve all been thinking, “I want to poke him in the eyes! I want to poke him right in the eyes and I want to pinch the bit of skin under his upper arm. And his tattoo is sh**.”

Sometimes you can talk yourself in circles about being betrayed and rejected and the complexities of love and life and blah blah blah.

And sometimes you just need to hear that your friend would commit grievous bodily harm for you.

The National – Slow Show

22 Sep

Another old favourite that has taken on new meaning for me.

Listen for one of the most romantic lines ever, “You know I dreamed about you, for 29 years, before I saw you.”

My ex used to say he’d spent his whole life looking for me. And yet, somehow, I’m the one with everything I love “lost in drawers”.

What if you could travel back in time?

22 Sep

I took my broken heart to the movies this afternoon. I think the immersive feel of the cinema helps take my mind off things. On Wedding Boy’s recommendation, I went to see ‘About Time’. I fully expected it to be a saccharine rom com that half bored me and half annoyed me. Quite the contrary. It’s a gorgeous movie, and I cried through the whole thing. Don’t let that put you off. It isn’t sad until the end, it’s just that I cry at the happy bits too these days.

Now, if you don’t know the basic plot, a guy discovers he has the ability to go back in time to ‘redo’ stuff. I know. Sounds horrific. Trust me, it’s done tastefully.

Anyway, it got me thinking about my ex (surprise surprise), and our relationship.

If I could go back in time like the dude in the movie, what would I redo?

I wouldn’t redo anything.

I wouldn’t change our first date, being 15 minutes late because I got stuck at work, or toasting the birth of my littlest nephew with champagne to start the evening. I wouldn’t change saying, “YES!” when he asked me to be his girlfriend. Or how nervous I was the first time I met his friends. Or how very, very nervous I was when I first went to spend the weekend in Ireland with his family. I would still write him a short story for Valentine’s Day. And take the day off work before his birthday to learn how to make arancini – and then make arancini (his favourite food that disappeared from Broadway Market last winter). I’d still have him to stay in my flat for a month when his house was being renovated. I wouldn’t change any of the “I love yous”, or the lazy afternoons on the sofa, or runs in the park, or drunken nights in our favourite cocktail bar.

And when he went to New York and things got weird? Well, it’s a fine line between a regret and a memory. But I wouldn’t be any less supportive than I was. Yes, though in the end it was humiliating, I’d still send him my stupid, cheerful emails. I’d still make him cupcakes when he came home for a week and complained that I was “too excited”. I’d still count the days ‘til I got to see his face.

Because, whatever happened – and I don’t think I’ll ever really know – one thing I have is the knowledge that I was the best girlfriend I could be. I loved as much as I could. He said himself that he was the happiest he’s ever been in his life when he was with me. I know I was the happiest that I’ve ever been.

In fact, the only thing I might change, if I had the chance, would be to have never met him in the first place. At least that way the haunting blissfulness would never flicker through my mind, and I’d have nobody to miss.

Not a great psychic experience

21 Sep

Hmmm. I went to see a tarot reader today. Not one who I have been to before, but every time I have dabbled in this kind of thing I have left feeling confident, happy and excited about the future. As well as a little delighted that they could actually tell me stuff that they could not have otherwise known.

This time was different.

I just had a feeling about the woman doing the reading. A feeling that I really didn’t like her. For a start, she wouldn’t stop talking about what a stressful couple of days she’d had (whilst stuffing her face with biscuits). Em. I’ve had a pretty stressful few weeks myself, let’s talk about me seeing as I’m the one paying for this little get together.

Her main focus was that I am so keen to prove myself that I tend to trample on other people. Honestly, I am such a self-aware person. I have plenty of faults. Plenty. But this is just not one of them. I over-analyse every interaction with every person to make sure that the other person is OK. I worry constantly about the feelings of others. If anything I trample on myself at times.

As soon as she found out that my ex’s career had something to do with banking (she asked me straight out what he did, didn’t even attempt to tell me), she painted him with the ‘banker’ brush and described the stereotype that we’ve all been encouraged to despise over recent years.

I actually felt myself withdrawing from the whole thing emotionally. How dare she tell me about my relationship. How dare she speak badly of him. How dare she presume to know anything about my career or family or lifestyle.

She also slagged off ‘Sex and the City’.

I left feeling sad and angry.

And I just don’t know what else to say about this right now.

But in other news, my little blog is one-month old today. Thank you all for reading. I apologise for being slightly mental right now.