Once year since the break up (and happy birthday, Liz)

Today is the doomaversary. It was the night of the 3rd of August last year that everything fell apart.

I’ve been thinking long and hard about what to do to mark today. In truth, I know it’s just another day. It isn’t going to tangibly change things. But, for me, it’s very meaningful. It feels like crossing the finish line. I officially got through the worst year of my life. And I’m coming out smiling. Yay me.

I asked you all a few weeks ago what I should do to mark the occasion. Obviously pizza had to be involved, and tonight some friends are coming over to eat pizza with me. Homemade pizza, because it’s better than the takeaway stuff he was obsessed with anyway. But what else what else?

One of my dearest blogger buddies recommended that I think of today as her birthday rather than the doomaversary. So, happy birthday, Liz. I hope you enjoy the title of this post. You, my friend, are a perfect example of one of the loveliest things to have come out of this whole mess of a year: new friends.

Another terribly clever blogger buddy (who I can always rely on to call my ex the ass that he is), suggested that I write him a letter telling him how far I’ve come, and post it on here.

I straight up loved this idea. But when I sat down to write it, hmmmmm, I found I had nothing to say to him. Nothing at all.

And, you know what? I love that feeling.

So, let’s focus on something and someone more important: let’s focus on me.

I cried a little this morning. Not because I missed him, but because I remembered how horrifically sad I felt last year. I went over the evening of August 3rd 2013 in my head and it made me want to go back in time and give myself a big hug and lots of reassurance. So that’s what I’m going to do.

Instead of a letter to him, this is a letter to the April of August 3rd last year.

Dear April on the 3^rd of August, 2013, just after 9.30pm

Sit on the floor. Put your head between your legs. Try to stop the room spinning. It will stop eventually, and you will get your breath back. I know it’s scary, but this is your body dealing with trauma in its own way. And you’re supposed to feel this way: the man you thought you were going to marry just broke your heart.

You’ve never felt like this before. You can’t make sense of it. And for the next two days you aren’t going to sleep at all as you go over and over and over and over what’s just happened. You’re going to tell yourself that it will never feel as bad as it does in this moment. Unfortunately, that’s not quite true. Right now you’re in shock. When that wears off, the confusion will kick in, then the sadness. I hate to tell you, but you’re going to feel sad for a very long time. You’re not going to sleep properly for a very long time. Go to the doctor. He can help.

At your worst, you’ll wish not to wake up in the morning. You’ll stand on train platforms wondering what would happen if you just stepped forward. Months from now you’ll come to a plateau where these thoughts stop, but you have no idea why you’re alive, or why you would want to be. Because life has no meaning when you’re alone. And if he didn’t want you, well, doesn’t that mean you’re worthless?

You’re not worthless. You help people. You care for people. You make people smile, and there are people who love you. He says that he never did. But your parents do. And your best friends do. And that doesn’t make you pathetic. Because the people who know you best see the good in you. He was blind. And a c***.

Five weeks from now you’re going to start your new job. Two days before, he’ll call you. Because it would be beyond him to realise what bad timing this is. It’s going to be tough. Prepare to hate this job for the first few months. Your confidence just hit rock bottom. How are you supposed to concentrate? But be kind to yourself. Because a year from now you’ll look back and feel proud of how you stuck this job out. In fact, it’s going to rank right up there with your greatest achievements, just the fact that you got out of bed every day and made it to the office. You’ll have been to Boston, New York and Paris with work. And you’ll be planning a trip to Belgium. You’ll have made new friends. It’s a challenge, but if anyone can deal with that, you can.

Christmas will suck. Just saying.

Do what you know how to do. Find your therapy in your writing. Start a blog. You’ll find friends in the strangest of places. You’ll build your support network. And when it comes to support, the bigger the better. You can try new things too. You don’t know it yet, but you really love yoga.

You’re not going to fall in love again in a hurry. For a long time the very thought of someone else is going to make you feel physically sick. But there will be other guys. To date. To kiss. Someone will come along and have the best sex of your life with you. He’s not boyfriend material, but he’s going to turn out to be a good friend. Trust him. He’s odd, but he means well.

If there’s one thing I want you to know right now, it’s that it will be OK. But not for a long time. So don’t panic if you’re still crying months for now. You were madly in love. Take comfort from the fact that your feelings were real. You know what love is. And you need to grieve to move on.

Next spring the darkness will lift. In the sun of next summer, you’ll plan a new future. You’ll get involved in new activities and realise all the new people who have come into your life.

I can’t tell you if this will ever stop hurting. I can’t tell you what’s going to happen to you. I can tell you that opportunities will come your way. And that maybe not knowing what the future holds is more exciting than a future with a man who never loved you, anyway. I can tell you that you’re too good for that.

And, I promise, you will eat pizza again.

Lots of love,

April on the 3^rd of August 2014, just after 3.30pm

Tags: blogging, break up, breakup, broken heart, exboyfriend, friendship, grief, love, moving on, one year since break up, one year since breakup, pizza, relationships