Archive | October, 2013

October. Month of sadness and pumpkins.

31 Oct

Well, October, you’ve been a funny little poppet, haven’t you?

At the start of the month I had a full couple of weeks when I hardly cried and I slept really well. It was such a nice break from walking around sobbing all the time.  Turns out it was just a temporary break, though. Now I’m right back to where I was in August. I cry every day. I don’t sleep. I don’t see the point in anything. Yesterday I broke down in a furniture shop. So unexpected.

Usually at the end of the month I write a list of all the things I’ve learned that month. And usually it feels good to close the door and move on. Make progress. Draw a line.  This month I don’t feel that way at all.

I think I’m finding it hard to deal with the fact that it’s November tomorrow. Because, back in August, I kind of had it in my head that by November I would be OK. Maybe not amazing. But OK.

I’m not OK.

And I’m starting to wonder when I ever will be.

But I’m trying – I promise I’m trying – to be positive.

So, October, while I can’t thank you for throwing my emotions around like a blustery day, I thank you for pumpkins.

Pumpkin spice latte coffee. Pumpkin-scented candles. Pumpkin-coloured leaves. I’m having a couple of friends over tonight for a pumpkin-themed Halloween dinner, to thank them for being so incredibly wonderful and lovely and kind and understanding over the past few months.

It’s not ideal that pumpkins are the best thing to happen to me in October. But, then, nothing about this situation is ideal. Nothing at all.


30 Oct

I don’t sleep much these days, or nights.

I stay up late trying to tire myself out, and then I wake up early thinking about him.

I go to work. Doing a new job is incredibly tiring. You constantly have to be “on”.

In the evenings I try to stay busy with friends, or the gym, or I’m at my counsellor, or I walk home to distract me from things, or I just sit and cry.

On the weekends I get up and go out so I’m not rattling around my flat on my own. I try to stay out most of the day. I tend to have work to catch up on as well. And, of course, a lot of the time I just sit and cry.

I caught my reflection in the mirror earlier. The dark circles under my eyes are like deep caverns. My skin is blotchy. My lips are chapped.

Frankly, I look like crap. And I feel like crap.

I’d like to go to sleep and wake up in 2015.

I’d like to wake up with no anxiety, no echoes of , “I was never in love with you” , no pain, and no memory of him.

The guilt dinosaur

29 Oct

For a month, between April and May, my ex’s house was being renovated. He came to live here. We got on great. We talked a lot about how fun it was living together. And, of course, the plan was still that we would live together full-time after the summer.

At the end of his stay here at April Towers he gave me a gift – an original print by the French street artist, Dran. Le poulet-dinosaure (the chicken-dinosaur). I love my poulet-dinosaure. Check him out.

My ex gave me a big speech when he presented the picture to me, all about how I was the best girlfriend in the world. I was overwhelmed. I cried. And then we held each other all night and watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (ohhhh the irony).

I called my dinosaur Claude, because he’s French. We put him up above my sofa so he could watch TV with me while my ex was in New York.

The night of the pizza of doom, my ex actually commented on how great Claude looked in my flat. And then he stuffed half a pizza into his mouth, and promptly broke my heart.

I now realise that Claude was never a token of love: he was a token of guilt. He was effectively rent for my ex living here for a month. After all, he was never in love with me.


My friends think I should sell Claude.

Looking at him does make me sad, and kind of angry. But Claude didn’t do anything wrong. And he’s quite beautiful.

Meanwhile, to celebrate my 100 followers and give myself a pat on the back for keeping at my new job, I’ve ordered a print of my own. I’m a massive fan of the husband/wife artistic team Kozyndan. They have recently created something quite majestic – an underwater scene of manatees and rabbits living in harmony. I had to have this in my life.

Whatever becomes of Claude, my manatees are going to take pride of place on the wall from now on.

Because my manatees are a token of love. Love for myself.

I’m a good person with a big heart who didn’t do anything wrong. I deserve my manatees.

Thank you 101 times over

28 Oct

Dear blogger buddies

This morning I woke up to find my silly blog has 101 followers. Not even just 100, but 101.

My little broken heart felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

The past twelve weeks have genuinely been the worst experience of my life. I know that probably makes me sound like a spoilt brat who hasn’t had anything bad happen in life. And, you know what? That might be true. But it doesn’t change the fact: this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

Eleven weeks ago, I turned to Google and stumbled upon some breakup blogs. Thank goodness I did. After reading as much as I could take in, I created Pizza of Doom so that I could get the awful things in my head out of my head.

What I did not expect was to ‘meet’ all of you lovely, lovely people. From my little bubble in London I’ve been able to share in your stories and share mine with you, whether you’re in Iowa, Boston, Maine, Toronto, India, Panama, New Zealand, well, wherever you are.

Rewind eleven weeks and I didn’t think I could get through August. Well, low and behold, it’s nearly Halloween. Honestly, there are days I couldn’t have got out of bed without your words of wisdom and support. Sometimes the only thing of any comfort has been knowing that you understand.

To know I have 101 followers (three of whom are friends in the real world – thank you, Jennie, Kate and Rosie). Well, it makes me feel connected. It makes me feel good.

I’m still sad every day, and I’m afraid I’m going to keep writing and moaning about this for a very long time.

But one day I hope to tell you that I feel amazing.

One day I hope to tell you I’m over him.

One day I hope to tell you I’ve eaten pizza again.

Lots of love, buddies. You keep me sane.

April x

Cheerful autumn thoughts

28 Oct


My blog has been a little morose of late. I can imagine you are all tired of hearing me whine. I’m worse than Carrie Bradshaw at her most self-centred (when she cheats on Aidan).

So here’s some good stuff I want to share:

1. The storm that is about to “devastate” London (weather people are so dramatic. I think it’s an inferiority thing from working alongside journos who are reporting on politics and world events and crime, while they are reporting on clouds and stuff) has the same name as my sister. Jude.

2. The leaves that have all been shaken from the trees are very pretty.

3. I’m working in a coffee shop today with my fellow Creative Director. Team planning, business planning, etc etc. it’s easier to do this stuff than come up with amazing creative ideas when your brain is determined to be sad and focused on your ex. Coffee is delicious.

There we go. Just some ramblings. Just because.

Jude’s on the way…

What is there to say?

27 Oct

I’m feeling really low. I’m struggling to sleep without my sleeping pills again. I’m even low on inspiration for my blog.

What is there to say?

It’s been 12 weeks.

I still cry nearly every day.

Sometimes I hate him.

Sometimes I hate myself.

I’m so busy trying to distract myself that I’m exhausted.

I’ve seen two therapists.

Two doctors.

Three psychics.

Lost count of the massage therapists.

Nothing really makes me happy anymore.

I’m not even looking forward to Christmas.

I’m angry at myself for sounding so miserable and self-centered.

And I still love him.

Apparently there’s a huge storm about to sweep across the country. I hope it blows the past away.

Happy Facebook updates

26 Oct

If one more person announces on Facebook that they are pregnant, I will leave Facebook.

I actually won’t. I love Facebook.

Just being dramatic because the best news I posted all week was Starbucks comically misspelling my name on the side of an Americano.

Well, I found it funny.

My experience of my relationship

25 Oct

Something is on my mind.

I would like it to f*** off elsewhere, but it won’t leave, so I’ll blog about it instead.

All this talk with my counsellor about communicating with him has brought a lot of stuff to the surface. Hurtful stuff. Stuff that I think about on the bus when I’d rather be daydreaming. Stuff that distracts me at work. Stuff that has (rudely) started to ruin my enjoyment of my Ally McBeal boxset.

When the ex and I spoke on the phone, five weeks after the pizza of doom, he kept telling me that I should feel lucky that I had been in such a lovely relationship.


Yes, you heard me right. I should feel lucky.


Lucky is not my experience of this. My experience is that I was in a relationship with someone who was never in love with me. Every memory is mutated by this. My experience is painful and humiliating. My takeaway from this relationship is that I won’t trust people in the future. I will never treat anyone as nicely because it gets you nowhere. People just take advantage of niceness (and they don’t appreciate notes with hand-drawn pictures of cats and other fantastic creatures, apparently).

I feel like I wasn’t good enough. I feel stupid.

And, twelve weeks later, I still cry nearly every day.

Really. F***ing. Lucky.

(Excuse my language today, I’m terribly upset and tired).

Well, this is unexpected

24 Oct

I went to bed really early tonight. I’ve been so tired all week, I was ready to get some major zzzzzzzzzzzs.

But I couldn’t sleep.

So I watched Netflix.

Still couldn’t sleep.

So I read some blogs.

Still couldn’t sleep.

So I lay very still and tried to lull myself into sleep.

Somehow, instead, I lulled myself into thinking about him. And now I can’t stop crying. The kind of hot, messy, gulpy crying I was doing 11 weeks ago. The crying that hurts your heart and feels like it will never stop.

Please, stop.

Will contact really resolve anything?

24 Oct

I’m kind of at an unpleasant crossroads.

I saw my counsellor last night, which gave my brain a much-needed massage. My counsellor believes that I need to resolve things with my ex in some way. She thinks he needs to know the impact that all of this has had on me, and that I need for him to know that too. Oh, it’s so complicated, isn’t it?

I was caught completely off-guard when we broke up. One day he was using phrases like, “If we had a daughter..”, and “If we were married…”, and a few days later he arrived home from New York, came over to my flat, ate half a pizza (I still struggle to understand how he digested this under the circumstances), and broke my heart into a zillion pieces. At the time I was in shock. When we spoke five weeks later, honestly, I was still in shock. Months later, there are things still going round and round and round in my head that I wish I had said. It’s hard to be articulate when you’re struggling to breathe.

From the start I’ve told my counsellor I’m not sure that I can put myself through any communication with him. I don’t want it to feel raw again. And if I was to actually see him, well, it would be devastating. I’m still completely in love with him. I would definitely be holding out some kind of desperado hope that he would see me and realise he wanted me back. In the words of the oh-so-clever Taylor Swift, “I can’t say hello again and risk another goodbye.”

I told her (my counsellor, not Taylor Swift) that seeing him would destroy me. I’d break down, and then I’d look pathetic and be unable to express myself anyway.

And she smiled, and said, “Yes, this time you need to be in control. This time, you need to eat the pizza first.”