Someone put this on in the office this afternoon.
And I spontaneously burst into tears.
Archive | Music RSS feed for this section
Nothing in this world will ever break my heart again
23 JulThe morning is my thinking time.
Before my brain gets all messed up with work and conversations and ‘to do’ lists, I enjoy my journey into work, sitting on the bus daydreaming. But my mind can go to some very odd places. I don’t always even realise what it’s up to, or what I’m thinking, until the thoughts resurface later in the day.
When I got off the bus this morning I was deep in a conversation with myself. I was asking myself, “Could you go through another break up like this?”.
So, could I?
Last year in the days of torture immediately after the pizza of doom, I remember a friend telling me that I’m someone who feels extreme highs and lows (he was right about this). He told me you’ve got to feel the lows to feel the highs (true story). And then he said, “Things will get good again. You’ll feel great again. And then something like this might happen all over again and you’ll feel low. But the highs will make it worthwhile.”
Ummm. No. I looked him straight in the eye (as much as I could with tears and mascara streaming from my face) and said, “I can never feel this bad again.”
I think I was right. I think the past year has taught me all sorts of resourcefulness, but has also taught me to protect myself. And listen to alarm bells. And not fall head-over-heels-over-head-over-heels for a man with robots tattooed up his arm.
I know I will most probably experience more failed relationships in my lifetime. But when I think back to August 2013, no. No. No. No. No.
I can never feel that bad again.
I can’t.
I won’t.
Where does the good go?
9 JunIt was a year ago this coming weekend that my ex came back from his first stint working in New York.
It was the second worst weekend of my life. (The worst being the fun-filled weekend of the pizza of doom, which was to follow a few weeks later). I came in to work the following Monday and collapsed on a colleague in tears. It’s all a little bit blurry in my head. I guess I’ve blocked a lot of it out because it’s too painful. Or too embarrassing. But I remember telling my friend, “I don’t think he feels how I feel anymore.” I felt like a different person came back from New York that weekend. And this different person was kind of a dick.
But, my goodness, a year ago this week I was giddy with excitement about him coming home. I remember I was on a film shoot and wouldn’t stop babbling away to the client about everything I had planned. I made him his favourite red velvet cupcakes. I booked a table at our favourite restaurant and cocktail bar. I counted the sleeps. I left work early on the Friday. Stupid girl.
Because there was a different energy in the air that Friday evening. As though he didn’t know what to do with me or say to me. But I put it down to jet lag. Like I say, stupid girl.
But this whole concept of energy is something Irish Two and I were discussing recently. How you can sense tension in the air, how you can feel calm in an environment, how energy can be palpable. I’m no physicist. So it’s actually from a book about ghosts and ghosthunting that I discovered you can’t destroy energy – you can only transfer it. Yeah, I think most people learn this stuff at school.
So if you invest so much energy and so much of your being in loving someone, what happens with all that love? I was a good girlfriend. No, a great girlfriend. But what’s become of all that energy? I guess that’s why we are programmed to try and find someone to fill the void. Because we have all this energy and capacity for love which is suddenly rendered redundant. But it’s such a positive force. Where does it transfer to? And is it ultimately just going to be wasted?
Where does the good go?
A life that’s good
7 AprIf I ever have kids, I want to train them to be the next Lennon and Maisy.
If I ever have kids. This song pretty much sums up all I want out of life. And while I have a ridiculous DVD collection, all the Diet Coke and Aperol I ever want to drink, and many, many beautiful things that Topshop has made me, I don’t have any of the things that matter. Sad times.
For good?
6 MarI didn’t end things with Irish Two on Tuesday. I will on Saturday. Much more to be explained, but on Tuesday I made him talk to me. Really talk to me. About his exes, his family, his friends. Trying to get a sense of anyone he’s connected to.
It made me realise with renewed ferociousness how our relationships change us. Forever.
I am changed. Changed through my relationship with my ex. Changed by our breakup. In all kinds of ways, and I’m sure even more to come that I haven’t even realised yet.
I used to be a huge fan of the musical Wicked. It’s harder to be a fan now. That last weekend my ex and I were together in New York I got us tickets to see it on Broadway. We held hands through the whole thing. It was a clammy July night. We rode the subway back downtown, drank cocktails and ate oysters on Water Street.
Not being able to listen to the Wicked soundtrack – just another way I’m changed.
But tonight I let myself listen to the song ‘For Good’.
I knew it would hurt.
Of course, the song is about best friends, not a couple. But much of it rings true.
He’s still with me, like a handprint on my heart. So much of me is made of what I learned from him. And, whatever way my story ends, I know he has rewritten it.
He’s changed me for good.
But not for the better. I’ve done that on my own.
I’ve made my choice
10 JanI’ve been a bit bad at blogging recently.
2014 is off to a crazy busy start. But, I am over the fricking moon to tell you that I’m enjoying it.
Sometimes I find myself almost hyper with glee that I feel normal again. And that I can watch TV without crying. And sleep. And eat. Oh, it’s all just so much better than I even remember it.
I’m also feeling very grrrrr about everything. I lost a lot of 2013 to sadness and that makes me angry.
After all, I’m pretty awesome.
I’ve mentioned before that I’m ever so slightly in love with the TV show Nashville. Ooohhh, I’ve listened to this song so much recently…. And just like the singer herself, I’ve made my choice between heartbreak and revival.
One more sleep
9 DecI’m not really a Leona Lewis fan. She has always struck me as looking too much like a camel. But, I’ve been listening to her new Christmas song ‘One More Sleep’ pretty much non-stop this morning.
Fabulous Christmas pop.
It’s very Mariah-esque.
And the words. Ahh, the words. A girl in love singing to the one she loves, who is going to be with her for Christmas. She’s counting down the sleeps.
I’ll admit it: I was this girl. When my ex did his first stint working in New York for four weeks, I counted down the sleeps until he was back. And I used to say on the occasional email (not every email I hasten to add), “Oohhh, nine more sleeps”, or “Two more sleeps ‘til I can snog your face.”
When I reached the point of one more sleep, I was beyond excited. I baked him his favourite cupcakes. I planned to leave work early the next day. I hardly slept, I was so excited to see him again.
It turned out to be one of the most depressing and hurtful weekends of my entire life. I went into work on the Monday morning and collapsed on one of my colleagues in tears. Ever the professional.
He came home. He ate the cupcakes. But he didn’t seem to want me around. He even gave me a lecture about how, “We are just two people who are going out. We aren’t married.” Let me tell you, he was the one always talking about marriage and babies and moving in. Not me. Him.
He said I got too excited about him coming home. He seemed particularly offended that I had counted the sleeps.
I asked him if he’d prefer that I didn’t give a sh** that he was home. If he’d rather have a girlfriend who was cold and thoughtless and didn’t make red velvet cupcakes that taste like drops of heaven.
Apparently he would.
Do you believe in life after love?
29 NovSkip to about 0.55 when she actually starts singing.
It makes me cry.
Also, Nicole Scherzinger’s breakdown afterwards just goes to show – even celebrities have to put up with this sh**.
All too well
8 NovI. Am. On. Holiday.
OK, I’m not flying ‘til Sunday, but I am finished work for two long weeks. Delightful. I celebrated with a massage on my way home tonight.
Funny, though. I don’t quite feel the crazy holiday excitement that I usually get.
It’s this time of year, damnit. Last year at this time, well, it was the happiest I’ve ever been. For about two months I was on the highest of highs. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have met him. I couldn’t believe how incredible he made me feel.
I know this makes me (the dumpee) sound pathetic. But – believe me – he was the same. He was the one talking about marriage and moving in and kids. Not me. Him. I remember it all too well.
Now, let me just take a moment to thank Taylor Swift. There are days when hearing her pinpoint my emotions literally got me out of bed. Sometimes she seems like the only one who understands me.
Tonight I was listening to ‘All Too Well’ on the way home, and realised just how accurately it describes my current situation. As if the break up isn’t painful enough, I have to cope with remembering the blissfully happy times. The disgustingly happy times. And while he says he was never in love with me, I remember how he acted back them. I remember it all too well.
Unfortunately, I can’t think about it for too long without also remembering the mess I’m in now.
“You call me up again just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest.”
I couldn’t describe my ex better. I’m certain that he feels OK about himself after our phone call (five weeks after the pizza of doom). I’m sure that he believes he did the right thing in telling me he was never in love with me. In the name of being honest. Why couldn’t he have said his feelings just changed? Why couldn’t he have made up something – anything – rather than leave me with that emotional baggage?
The damage is going to stay with me for a long, long time.
More than three months have passed and every morning I still struggle to get out of bed. Every day I cry. A lot. And I wonder just what exactly makes me so unlovable?
The old April would be so ecstatic and hyper about her holiday, she’d have massive butterflies flapping around in her stomach. No butterflies today. But hopefully two weeks of sunshine will help bring the real me back.
Because, as my good friend Taylor puts it,
“I’d like to be my old self again but I’m still trying to find it.”
I liked the old me. I remember her all too well.
Pizza of Doom 
Recent Comments