Archive | March, 2014


31 Mar

Springwell 2013 029

When I spoke to my ex on the phone, five weeks after the pizza of doom, I cried a lot. I tried to express to him how unbearable the pain was. How deep the shame, the disappointment, the loss.

He kept telling me I would be OK. Condescending asshole.

And when he did, I cried even more and said, “I know I’ll be OK, I just wish I could wake up in March.”

This was back in September. After the break up at the start of August.

It never crossed my frazzled little mind that by March I would still be crying every day. That things would lift, but still feel ohsolow. That I would still think about him all the time.

No, I figured by March I would be fine.

It’s the last day of March. I don’t feel fine.

But tomorrow is April.

April is my month. April is springtime. April is lighter evenings and sunnier mornings and smells of grass that’s freshly cut. April is the run up to May. And in May I go on holiday. April is my birthday. April is Easter and visiting friends in Edinburgh.

And when my ex wakes up in the month of April, I know he’ll have to think about me – seeing as it’s my name and all.

I hope it hurts.

Keep. On. Going.

31 Mar


I just stumbled across this picture while doing some totally legit work. Seriously. My job is that silly.

Anyway, check out that furry little beauty. Look at that determination in her eyes. And she must be freezing her whiskers off.

Let this be motivation to us all: however cold life feels at times, run don’t walk towards the sunshine.

When Will I Feel Better?

30 Mar

Amen to this.

Lessons From the End of a Marriage

“When will I feel better?”

This is perhaps the question I hear the most often.

And it is also the most difficult question to answer.

Because there is no single answer.

Healing does not speak calendar.

Feeling better has nothing to do with lunar cycles or landmark anniversaries.

It operates on a different timeline for everybody, depending upon the circumstances, prior experiences, coping skills and support systems. Some may feel better in weeks, while others take years. One person may appear to be healed while holding in the pain while another wears the pain until it wears off. Feeling better is not linear. It is more the slow decrease of bad moments intermixed with the increase of good than a step by step progression.

Feeling better depends upon perspective. You have to remember how bad bad could be to realize that it’s not so bad anymore. Healing…

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One hell of a journey

30 Mar

Funny things, airports.

They make me think. A little too much, maybe. Everyone’s going somewhere. On a journey to another destination. And, yet, Glasgow airport will always remind me of the week after the pizza of doom when (after lying in bed at my parents’ house for hours that turned to days) I had to face up to life and head back to London.

Surrounded by people in transition, that day I felt paralysis.

I couldn’t eat or drink anything. I couldn’t read. I walked around the shops but couldn’t focus long enough to take anything in, let alone make a purchase (god knows what I’d have bought if I had been able to). So I sat perfectly still, crying my eyes out, until my flight was called and – like it or not – I too was on the move. Back to my life in London. Without him. And my first night alone since the break up.

Sitting in the departures lounge nearly eight months later, I wonder how much I have moved out of paralysis since then.

Well, I have to give it to myself, I’ve come a long way. I managed to start my new job and keep going to it until that started to feel less like cruelty and more like routine. I’ve made some new friends. I’ve kissed two boys, and dated four. I’ve had sex with someone else (and it was fantastic). I can be in my own company now, watch TV, read, eat – all those things that become strangely impossible when you’re in distress. Most importantly, I’ve kept trudging through the fogs of sadness and pain to a point where I’m nearly OK.

Nearly, but not quite. Because it only takes one moment letting my mind wander to him for my eyes to swim with tears. It only takes one glance at a happy couple travelling together to knock a little air out of me. It only takes one person with a baby to set my mind racing through the, “OhmygodI’mgoingtobealoneforeverbecausesomething’swrongwithmeandI’llneverhavekids” cycle of craziness.

I guess the point is that I’m still mid-journey. Because however far I’ve come, I still wonder why I wasn’t good enough. Why he didn’t love me. Why he said he did. And I do still love him.

Eight months on.

I guess this is a long-haul journey. And I’m just on a stopover.

Never give up

29 Mar

I’m in Scotland for a bit of a mixed bag of a weekend. It’s the first time I’ve seen my Dad since his 70th birthday, my friend is over from Australia with her new baby girl, and tomorrow is Mother’s Day (which means my sister and her family are coming to my parents’ house and my Mum is treated to producing a four-course meal for the seven of us – ooooh, how we spoil her).


Today I got to catch up with my two best friends from school – one of whom is now all married and babied up in Australia, and the other who lives in Glasgow and finds herself in a similar situation to myself.

We caught up on the gossip and each other’s family news, heard about childbirth (which sounds more and more unpleasant to me), laughed a lot, and then all asked each other, “So, have you heard?”

Yes, the talk of the town in the suburb of Glasgow where I grew up had reached us all independently.

And it’s big news. Huge.

Our junior school headmistress is getting married. Now, bear in mind that we left junior school 21 years ago.

She is 77 years old. And she finally met the man of her dreams.

How awesome is that?


Damn you, Facebook

28 Mar

Excuse my posting just hours after my last post.

I’ve had a Facebooktastrophe.

Ever since the pizza of doom I have been so so so good at not looking at him on social media. The very night of the pizza of doom I deleted him from everything. Everything, I tell you!

Today I was looking through old pictures and there was a photo he had commented on. A photo from last summer. At a wedding I went to with him. He’s not in the photo. But he had commented back at the time. Anyway, I noticed that his little profile picture shot had changed.

Goodness knows what came over me, but I clicked to look at his profile.

Stupid me.

It is very, very obvious to me that (although he is wearing a really terrible fedora in this photo) he is very much in love with whoever is taking the photo. It’s there. In his eyes. He’s alone in the photo. But, you know, someone’s taking it. Someone I hate.

I feel physically sick. My arms are like lead. My breathing has gone mental and I can’t stop shaking.

It is so incredibly, incredibly unfair that eight months on I am left this shattered, weird version of myself while he has sauntered right into meeting someone.

I f***ing hate him.

And I f***ing love him.

I need to lose half my bodyweight! Immediately!

28 Mar

Well, you know, buddies, I’ve been feeling pretty sorry for myself of late.

And I still do.

I still think it’s ridiculously unfair that I am a thoroughly nice girl with a good sense of humour, a good job, and lovely hair, and yet I have nobody.

But I have also come to realise that moaning and worrying really doesn’t get you anywhere. So I’m wondering what else in my life (aside from being a lonely cat) I would like to change.

I would like to be thinner.

There it is.

Blame the fashion magazines. Blame the MTV. Blame what you will. But I really think there is nothing wrong with aspiring to be leaner version of oneself.

Will it make me happier?

Yes, it definitely will. And it will open up a huge new range of wardrobe choices.

But here’s the thing, I am just not prepared to get crazy about this. I cannot and will not count every mouthful and every single itty bitty calorie. I’ve been down that road before and it only leads to meltdowns over scrapings of peanutbutter and an overreliance on ice lollies. That’s a sad way to live.

I want to get some kind of exercise schedule going on. Which is ironic, because I just cancelled my gym membership. But it’s springtime now and I live opposite a huge park.

However, I’ve never been very good at getting into an exercise regime. And, by “never very good” I mean “pretty awful”. I tend to go nuts for a few weeks and then get in a mood with myself and decide not to do any of the exercises that I’ve worked so hard to build up to.

So, this time I’m throwing it open to you, my blogger buddies. Any suggestions for workouts, routines, circuits etc. that can be achieved at the park with nothing more than a skipping rope and weight resistance band thingie are most welcome.

I have five weeks until I go to Florida. I would like to be able to run on the beach and not risk being mistaken for a manatee who has swum ashore.

(Although, how cute are manatees?)


Gatwick airport

27 Mar

I’m sitting in a bar at Gatwick airport drinking an Aperol Spritz, waiting for a flight to Glasgow.

In just over five weeks time I will be back here, headed for Florida.

This is great news.

As is my Aperol.


The unfathomable

27 Mar


I’m working from home this morning before I go to the doctor to get this stick taken out of my arm. I woke up with really sore boobs again today. It is definitely the right decision to get this sucker whipped out.

Anyway. I digress. I need to stop talking about boobs.

I saw my counsellor last night and was probably the most teary I have been in a long time. And I confessed to her – the poor person who has to listen to my saddest little tales of self-pitying woe – that every night I come home, sit on my sofa, eat a Marks and Spencer’s kids meal, and cry and cry and cry.

We deduced that there are two main reasons for this.

  1. The time of year

I thought I was going to be in Japan with him right now. Last year at this time, he was about to move in with me for a month. And everything was amazing and happy and the best time in my life. Next week is my birthday. I honestly don’t even see the point in having a birthday. I have nothing to celebrate. Nothing. I can’t even say I’ve made it through the worst year of my life, because I don’t feel like I’ve made it through. How can I be eight months on from the breakup and tell my counsellor, “Yes, if he asked, I would take him back. I don’t know why. I love him.” His Mum bought me antique spoons for my birthday last year. It is the best present anyone has ever given me. This alone sends me into fits of sobbing.

  1. The unfathomable

What with the whole turning 32 thing, I’m questioning life. I have a career. I have an apartment. I have a good social life. I have lots of nice clothes and more bottles of Philosophy bubble bath than you can shake a loofah at. I would give it all up to meet someone. And I’ve reached the point that I genuinely don’t think that is ever going to happen. I look at my friends in their relationships – whether they’re just happy together, or getting married, or having babies – and it is unfathomable to me that this can happen.


For the most part I’m content. I’m enjoying work. MTV continues to produce shows that thrill me. But the moment I start thinking about stuff, I start crying.

I genuinely wonder if I’ve done something bad in a past life (because I can’t think of anything that bad that I’ve done in this life) to deserve this hopelessness.

But then I kind of believe that you only get one life. And mine is just not working out how I want it to.


26 Mar

I’ve always been very anti putting hormones into your body.

I’ve mentioned on here before that I had a breast reduction when I was 21. Well, – wait – before I go on, I should really say a WARNING TO ALL MEN I AM ABOUT TO DISCUSS HORMONES, PERIODS, BOOBS and I’ll also moan about my ex.

So, yes yes. I had huge boobs. Ginormous. Disgusting. And, being 5ft 1, way too big for my little old self. So I had a breast reduction eleven years ago. Let’s be clear: this is not a decision that anyone takes lightly. It’s major surgery. But the best decision I’ve ever made.

That’s why – despite crazy period pains – I’ve always been scared to take contraceptives because I worried they would make my boobs bigger.

Well, last summer when the ex went to work in New York and became a stranger who didn’t give a sh** about me, he also started to complain about my PMS. I would have done anything for him. So, after loads of research, I decided to get the contraceptive implant to steady out my moods.

Which it did.

Not that my moods were ever that bad. And, to be honest, they were caused by feeling upset that my boyfriend didn’t have a nice thing to say to me anymore. I think it’s a little unfair to blame oestrogen entirely.

Of course, three weeks after I had the Nexplanon implant put into my arm, the ex came back from New York, ate half a pizza, and broke my heart. One of the few things I remember saying to him that night was, “Why did you let me get this f***ing thing in my arm?”

What with trying to get out of bed every morning and keep on breathing, I had quite a busy few months after the pizza of doom. I didn’t really think about getting the implant removed. I figured I had no periods. No side effects at all, really. And some lucky man would take advantage of the whole contraceptive situation at some point in time.

But my boobs were getting bigger.

And bigger.

Since January they have just seemed huge. And sore. So sore.

So tomorrow I am getting this bad boy removed.

It’s not like there’s any chance of me getting pregnant right now. And there’s nobody in my life to complain about a little PMS.

But I feel kind of sad. I like feeling this little stick in my arm.

In a very strange way, it reminds me of him. And even though he was a massive asshole about the whole thing, it feels like giving up another little bit of him.

But give it up I will.